Rachel Hawkins - Rebel Belle

Saylor’s smile was bright as ever, and her accent seemed thicker than normal. “Where did you find that dress?”

I could tell Mom was still a little puzzled, but manners trumped confusion. “Nordstrom,” she answered, brushing a hand over the skirt. “I think it’s supposed to be a mother-of-the-bride dress, but I guess that’s appropriate.”

She gave a nervous little chuckle, and Saylor laughed, too. “Mine is the same. But that color . . . here, let me get a closer look.”

And then she touched Mom’s hand. The scent of roses wafted over me as Saylor held on to Mom and looked deep into her eyes. “You are going to stay home tonight, Hillary. You and Tom both. You don’t feel well, and you can’t bring yourself to ruin Harper’s special night. Tomorrow, you’ll wake up and you’ll be so sorry to have missed it, but you’ll know it was the right thing to do.”

Mom swayed on her feet a little, and I gripped her other arm. But after a moment, she gave a faint nod. “I don’t feel very well. I think I’ll stay home tonight.”

Saylor gave her hand a pat. “Good girl. Now go on and change into something more comfortable.”

Mom didn’t walk out of my room so much as float. “Thank you,” I said to Saylor, even though watching my mother leave made my heart twist painfully.

But Saylor was still staring out the door. “Harper, if Blythe’s spell goes badly tonight, it won’t matter that your parents aren’t actually at Magnolia House.”

“I know.” I looked around my bedroom, wondering if this was the last time I’d see my purple bedspread, or the silver and cherrywood jewelry box that had been my grandmother’s.

“Everyone in this town is in danger if—”

“ I. Know ,” I repeated. “And I know that my aunts will still be there, and my friends, and my boyfriend.”

Turning back to the mirror, I pinched my cheeks in a last-ditch effort not to look quite so much like death. Honestly, white really is a difficult color for anyone to wear. “But I had to do something.”

I thought Saylor would argue that, too, but she just sighed and sank down on the edge of my bed. “Don’t we all.”

“Have you been to Magnolia House yet?” I asked. “Any sign of . . . anything?”

She shook her head. “Everything is as it should be at the house, but Blythe is here.”

The words sent a shiver racing through me. “How do you know?”

“I felt my wards giving way this afternoon,” Saylor said, glancing up as she rummaged in her handbag. “I don’t know how she did it, but it has to be her.”

“What could she even be planning?” I asked, going to sit next to Saylor. “Is she just going to march into Magnolia House and start her mojo?”

Saylor shook her head. “I don’t know. She’ll need to be protected from you while she’s attempting the ritual, but she doesn’t have a Paladin on her side. And the ritual itself is surprisingly simple. It won’t take her long.”

Dr. DuPont, shoe sticking out of his neck, suddenly flashed through my mind. That had been six weeks ago. Six weeks to completely reorder my entire life.

And possibly end it.

“Hired assassins then maybe? Disguised as cater waiters?”

“That’s a possibility,” Saylor acknowledged with a nod. “Keep an eye on them.”

Crossing over to my dresser, I picked up my lip gloss. I wasn’t forgetting that tonight, at least. “I will,” I said, swiping on a coat of Coral Shimmer.

Saylor watched me in the mirror. “Of course, there’s always the possibility she’ll try to kill you before she starts the ritual. That would probably be the easiest thing to do.”

My heart sank, and the hand holding the lip gloss trembled. “Well, yeah, there’s that.”

Rising from the bed, Saylor came to stand behind me, her hands on my shoulders. “You can do this,” she told me. “I know you can.”

“I have been rocking the training pretty hard,” I admitted, and Saylor tightened her grip.

“I’ve known you since you were a tiny little girl, Harper Jane Price. You are driven, and smart, and sharp, and there’s no other Paladin I’d rather have fighting for David tonight than you.”

It was all I’d ever wanted her to say. Okay, so I hadn’t exactly wanted the Paladin part, but Saylor Stark praising me about anything was good enough for me. Reaching up, I took one of her hands and squeezed it.

“Are you ready?” she asked as the doorbell rang downstairs.

Ryan.

“As I’ll ever be.”

THE GRAVEL and shells crunched under Ryan’s tires as he pulled the car up to Magnolia House. My heart thumped steadily in my chest as I stared at his headlights. How many times had I looked at this house and thought it was the prettiest place in the world? How many times had I pictured myself living there, sweeping down those wide front stairs in a Scarlett O’Hara gown?

Now staring at it, all I could think was that not only would I never live in Magnolia House, but that I might actually die there. Tonight. I tugged at my gloves. They were damp and wrinkled, and I realized my palms were sweating.

I was so busy fiddling with the row of pearl buttons, trying to get the stupid gloves off, that I didn’t notice Ryan watching me until he reached out and began undoing the buttons himself.

“Here,” he said softly. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as they pulled the buttons through their little loops, and for the first time in a long time, something swelled in my chest as I watched him. It wasn’t love. Or at least, it wasn’t the boyfriend kind of love. But it was warmth and affection and this . . . I don’t know, gratitude.

Ryan was a good guy. He always had been. Once he’d finished half the row, he tugged at each finger until the glove slid off my hand. “Thanks,” I said as he handed it back to me. One hand free, I went to work on the other glove myself, even though I could feel his gaze like an actual weight on the curve of my neck.

“We’re done, aren’t we?” he asked. I raised my head, the left glove still half on, half off.

For a second, I thought about pretending I didn’t know what he was talking about. Maybe if I smiled at him and made a joke about the gloves, I could stop this from happening. But did I want to? Was there room for Ryan in my life—short as it might be—now?

I knew there wasn’t.

But even more, I wasn’t sure there had ever been room for Ryan. Not really. Not the way he deserved. Still, I couldn’t make myself say anything.

Ryan wasn’t stupid. He knew what my silence meant. His throat worked, and his eyes were shiny. “Well, we had a good run of it,” he said, broad shoulders shrugging inside his tux jacket. He looked the handsomest I’d ever seen him, like he was meant to wear formal wear every day of his life.

I laughed, but it sounded sad. “You make it sound like we’re getting divorced.”

He laughed, too, dashing at his face with the back of his arm. “Hey, we’ve been together nearly our entire high school lives. That’s, like, twice the length of a lot of marriages.”

Smiling, I reached out and took his hand. “I love you, Ry.”

Sniffing, he nodded toward the house. “I know that. But I’m not an idiot, Harper. There’s someone in there you wanna be with more than you wanna be with me.”

I actually recoiled at that. “W-what are you talking about?”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Harper, you and David Stark have been circling each other since kindergarten.”

My mouth suddenly felt dry, and I busied myself taking off my glove. “David and I . . . maybe we have ended up being friends after all, and I guess we have some stuff in common—”