Prophecy Girl Page 6

  “Uh, we?”

  “Or it’s something new. Like a Graymason,” I finished with a narrow glare. “And yes, we. You can’t deny we work well together. I could be your sidekick, if you want. Like Superman and Lois Lane. Or Peter Pan and Tinker Bell.”

  “Tinker Bell isn’t menacing.”

  “Which proves how much you need me,” I insisted. “Fairies are terrifying.”

  He sat up straighter and dusted off his pants. “Fairies don’t exist. Neither do Graymasons.”

  “That’s what humans say about vampires and werewolves,” I argued. “So we’re agreed. You pass me on my field exams and I’ll help you bust the Graymason?”

  Jack grunted at that, but didn’t argue.

  His glasses had been knocked off during the fight, and this close, I could see details I hadn’t noticed before. Little worry lines edged his mouth and tiny scars streaked his left cheek and forehead. It made me wonder what kind of battle he’d gotten himself into, or if maybe he’d ridden his tricycle into a thorn bush when he was a kid. Either way, he wasn’t as perfect as I’d first thought, but I didn’t care. It made him more interesting to look at.

  I was so hypnotized by those gorgeous eyes I barely noticed him getting closer until his face was only a few inches away. In a heartbeat, all thoughts of Tinker Bell vanished. As inappropriate as it was, I couldn’t help wondering what the school policies were on students hooking up with substitute teachers. Especially hot, young, unbonded ones. Did we even have policies on that?

  “How do you feel?” His hand cupped my face and he hit me with an intense I-can-see-your-soul stare. “Any dizziness? Disorientation?”

  I tried not to panic as he gazed into my eyes. “I was thinking about school policy. So, yeah, a little disoriented.”

  “Your pupils are dilated,” he said. “I think—”

  “Yes?” I breathed.

  “I think you have a concussion.”

  I blinked. A concussion? That’s so not where I thought he was going.

  “You do,” he decided, jerking his hand away. “Report to Dr. Gunderman for eval.”

  “But…but he’ll tell me to go home.”

  “Then you should go home. In fact, I think you should stay home this week to recuperate. I’ll mention it in your incident report.”

  “Incident report?” I frowned at him as he yanked a yellow notepad from his back pocket and started scribbling. It wasn’t that I hadn’t gotten incident reports before. Or that I hadn’t deserved them. But this was such a clear case of wrongful persecution I had a hard time not screaming “objection.”

  Narrow rivulets of blood trickled from his temple down one side of his face. I noticed with a jolt that one of his shoulders must have been dislocated, the muscles forming ropey knots at his neck. Even his eyes looked haunted from the power drain.

  “Okay, no offense, but you just downed like two hundred rohms of Crossworld power. And your face looks like you made out with a lawn mower. You’re telling me to go see Gunderman?”

  “I’m ordering you,” he corrected, still scrawling on the paper.

  “Uh-huh. Because that worked so well last time?”

  He glanced up, annoyed. “Miss Bennett—”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake, hold still.” Before he could stop me, I lifted my hands to his face and squeezed my eyes shut. “Salve!”

  It began almost instantly. Heat sparked on his skin and I felt something gnaw at my chest. Although healing channels draw on Crossworld power, they’re a much milder brand of poison to Channelers. Vodka instead of hemlock. When I opened my eyes, shadows slithered across my skin. But instead of seeping in, they left only a tiny sting, then dripped away like rain before it turns into hail. With the tenderness of an artist’s brush, my fingertips stroked along Jack’s forehead, the cut on his jaw, then over his eyelids and lips. Everywhere I touched, his injuries knitted together.

  Healing was the first thing we learned in school, around the same time we started writing our names, so it was one of the few things I did well. But in all the times I’d done it before, it had never resonated quite like this.

  Each touch was a sigh through my body, the soft rush of eagles in flight. Colors flashed through my head. Then, before I could consciously register what was happening, my mind flipped channels and Jack and I were dancing. I didn’t recognize the place—some huge hall filled with golden light—but the “me” in the vision seemed comfortable there. Near us, people whirled and swirled around a giant ice sculpture of an angel, its wings outstretched in flight. Jack wore a tuxedo and I was in a fitted white dress with pearls embroidered down the bodice. And even though I kept stepping on his toes with my stupid high heels he didn’t seem to mind. He just smiled and held me tighter.

  It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds before my eyes fluttered open, the vision melting away. For a moment, I thought I might faint. My brain hummed lightly. His forehead was pressed against mine, eyes shut and breath shallow. A wash of dizziness hit me, but it couldn’t eclipse the warm, wonderful feeling of being right where I was supposed to be.

  “Jack?” I whispered.

  He swallowed, Adam’s apple working nervously. “Yeah?”

  I didn’t know what to say. All the questions I had—What just happened? Who are you? Is this normal?—died before they reached my lips. His breath was so sweet, his fingertips digging into my ribcage. The world spun in little circles and for a second, I felt a need to kiss him so fierce I wasn’t sure I’d be able to resist.

  “Jackson,” I whispered again, because I couldn’t think of anything else.

  The sound of his name seemed to shake him out of whatever trance he was in. With a muffled grunt, he sprang to his feet, nearly tripping over one of the fallen chairs in the aisle. I reached out to help him, but he jerked away like I was made of acid.

  “I-I have to go.”

  “Wait!” I scrambled after him, the barest hint of a golden sheen beneath my skin. My head vibrated from the power draw and I struggled not to wobble as I stood. “Let me come with you. I can help. Don’t you see that?”

  But he didn’t see it. The way he blew all the air out of his lungs, fists balled at his forehead, he was definitely angry. I hated to admit it, but the guy’s reaction made sense. Even for an R.G., this kind of boundary violation was so far from the borders of “helpful,” it might well have been declared its own country.

  For a moment, he stood still, staring down at me in bewilderment.

  “Say something,” I begged.

  But he didn’t. It was like he was afraid to speak.

  Thin trails of light draped between us, cobwebbed and delicate, but I barely noticed. I couldn’t stop looking at the unhappy shape of his lips, thinking about how badly I wanted to kiss him and how ludicrous it was to want that.

  “Go to the infirmary,” he said quietly, “then go home. If I see you again, I’m filing an incident report.”

  I watched in silence as he walked away. Every bit of me screamed to go after him, to get away from the burned stench of demon death that filled the hall. It didn’t matter whether he wanted my help or not. Without him, I had no reason to stay.

  Chapter Five:

  Shaking the Tree

  For the record, infirmaries suck. Fluorescent lights. Strange smells. People in lab coats peeking at your orifices. Pretty unrelaxing, if you ask me.

  Most of the beds were empty when I reported for my exam, though a few curtains had been drawn. Probably survivors from the demon attack in Slidell last weekend. Smalley tried to keep us shielded from the front lines until after graduation, but with the Elders carting in fallen warriors all the time it was hard not to notice. Too many wounded, too few facilities to treat them, I guess. The patients’ low moans and ragged breathing made for a weird soundtrack to my physical exam.

  “Are you seeing spots?” Dr. Gunderman flashed a penlight in my eyes, making it impossible not to see spots.

  “No,” I said. Lie number six. Or was it seven?
Crud, I’d lost count.

  “Dizziness?”

  “No.”

  “Nausea? Vomiting? Diarrhea?”

  “No, no, and yuck,” I said. “Dr. G, can I please be excused?”

  “Not yet. How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “Eleven.”

  “Amelie.”

  I scowled, ignoring the way my body still tingled where Jack had touched me. “Sir, I’m fine. Just let me go to class. Please?”

  Gunderman unhooked the blood pressure cuff from my arm and looked at me like I’d asked to borrow his credit card. “Young lady, the fact that you want to go to class gives me definite pause for concern. I will, however, grant you a pass—”

  “Thank you.” I started to rise, but he pushed me back down.

  “On one condition. You go straight back to the assembly hall and wait for dismissal. If you feel dizzy or need a healing charm for any reason, you are to see Ms. Hansen immediately. Understood?”

  “Consider it done.”

  “And I’d feel better if you’d agree to talk to Dr. Evans. You channeled a lot of energy today, Amelie. Most girls your age would be in the hospital after that kind of power draw.”

  “And yet,” I said, gesturing to myself, “I am fine. No need for a healer or a shrink.”

  “So you say.” He frowned. “Stay here. I’ll get your paperwork.”

  I sat for a minute while Gunderman retrieved my pass slip. As soon as I had it in hand, I bolted. No sense giving him a chance to change his mind. Besides, being in the sick ward was starting to give me the willies.

  On the way out, I noticed most of the patients had gone quiet, either too drugged or traumatized to moan. There was one, though, who left me with a softball-sized knot in my belly. A cute Watcher—curly hair, about twenty-five—tucked in an alcove near the door. His curtain wasn’t fully drawn, and, through the opening, I could see him curled in a fetal position on the bed.

  Normally, I’m pretty good with people in pain. Comes with the healer territory, I guess. But this guy’s pain was so palpable, so intense, it radiated through the curtain. It filled up the room in such a bleak, dark way I had no choice but to stop.

  “These things happen.” A resigned murmur jolted me out of my trance and I turned. Henry, the Archivist, stood behind me, a grim look in his eye. “More than they should, these days. We’re lucky, you and I.”

  “We sure are,” I agreed. Then I asked, “How are we lucky, exactly?”

  With a sad smile, he nodded to the man behind the curtain. “His bondmate was killed. That’s the fourth Channeler they’ve taken this month.”

  “They?” Did he mean Graymasons?

  Henry lowered his head. “You witnessed this morning how dependent we are on our Channelers for Crossworld riftwork. Well, the demons have noticed it, too. And with our forces spread so thin—”

  “Wait a sec, they’re targeting us? I didn’t think demons were smart enough to mount an offense like that. Don’t they usually go after their own? Vamps and weres?”

  “They used to.” He shrugged. “Not as much since the Peace Tenets passed. Now there are too many souls, not enough Guardians.”

  I was about to ask what he meant when the squeal of a curtain pulling shut cut me off.

  “Miss Bennett,” Gunderman warned, “I thought I told you to return to assembly.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry.” I whirled back to where Henry was but he’d already wandered off to browse the latest International Classification of Demon Diseases. Yeesh, no wonder the man knew everything.

  I glanced at the door, fully prepared to follow Gunderman’s order. I didn’t want to think about the unnatural hunch of that Watcher’s body, the wracking sobs of silent pain. But I couldn’t block it out.

  Gunderman had already drifted into another patient’s alcove. As soundlessly as possible, I slid behind the curtain and laid one hand across the wounded Watcher’s sweaty forehead. I didn’t know him, didn’t know anything about him. But if I were hurting like that, I’d want someone to help me.

  “Salve pacem,” I whispered. “Salve.”

  A soft burn passed through my palm into his skin as the Crossworld energy coursed between us. His face took on a look of drowsy peace. I knew unauthorized healing was prohibited in the student handbook, but I figured Smalley would understand. I’d done far worse for less noble reasons, right? And it wasn’t exactly a sin. I waited until his breath settled into the soft rhythm of sleep then, quietly as I’d come, I eased out of the infirmary and returned to assembly.

  …

  Which may have been a mistake.

  As soon as I set foot in the room, Jack started glowering at me from the now-splintered dais. Like, serious evil-eye. I barely had time to obsess about it before Lisa hit me with a full-body tackle-hug so energetic you’d think we’d just survived Armageddon.

  “Oh, thank heavens you’re okay!”

  “Oof! Lis! Oxygen!”

  “Sorry.” She released me. “Wow, you look awful.”

  I scowled at her. “Thanks.”

  Lisa sat beside Katie and me, clutching my hand, while Smalley gave some lame speech about what a brilliant job our new examiner had done with the “simulated emergency situation.” What crock! That nightmare was no more a planned exercise than I am an international supermodel. Don’t get me wrong, I understood why she had to spin it. And why they believed her.

  Our families were promised St. Michael’s was safe; the wards around the school’s perimeter kept the villains out and the heroes in, no exceptions. That was one of the main reasons why, in spite of the constant demon threat, Guardian parents still let their kids come here. If they admitted for even one second that someone inside the wards had summoned a swarm of homicidal subterraneans, the world as they knew it might just disintegrate. They needed to believe her.

  By the time Smalley wrapped up, the vibe for most folks had returned to a tense little corner of normal. For me, however, normal was at least three buses and a cab ride away. My skin still had a faint glow to it, and, every time I caught Jack’s eye, electric shivers shot through my nerves.

  “Quit that.” Lisa jabbed an elbow at my ribs.

  “Quit what?”

  “Quit looking at him like that,” she warned in a hushed tone. “I’m not kidding, Amelie. He’s dangerous. He boils kittens in ritual sacrifice.”

  Katie wrinkled her nose. “He does not, Lisa.”

  “You don’t know that. Look what he did to this place!”

  “He didn’t do this,” I said. “You know as well as I do a rift that big was no exercise. And the perimeter wards are still active. That means it had to be an inside job.”

  “Oh, here we go.” Lisa rolled her eyes in exasperation.

  “Has anybody checked Creepy Daniel’s bloodline lately? What about Veronica Manning? Anyone who spends fifty grand on a Mardi Gras dress has to be the spawn of Satan, right?”

  Lisa’s smile faded as she laced her arms across her chest. “You sound really paranoid, you know that?”

  “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not after you.” We both turned to where Katie stood, absently stacking her books in a neat pile organized by color, size, and topic of study. “Sorry,” she said, when she noticed us staring. “Habit.”

  Around us, everyone stood to pack their things. It would have resembled a normal dismissal but for the charred walls, splintered furniture, and light fixtures dangling like bones. While I didn’t believe for a second Jack had orchestrated this catastrophe, I had to admit Lisa wasn’t completely off-base. There was something dark about the guy. Even when we’d had our special moment before, I could feel it lurking beneath the surface. He lacked that certain “bunnies and rainbows” vibe I’d always imagined my boyfriend would have. Not that I like bunnies. Or rainbows. Demon dismemberment, on the other hand…

  “I thought he seemed nice. I liked his glasses and he has a nice smile.” Katie blew her limp blond bangs out of her eyes.

  “K
atiebear, grow up. Just because a guy wears glasses and smiles at you doesn’t mean he’s nice.” Lisa dug around in her purse for a tube of lip-gloss. “Maybe he’s a visually impaired cannibal. Did you ever think of that? Like one of those serial killers you love so much.”

  “I don’t love serial killers,” Katie argued, defensive. “Not romantically, at least.”

  “He probably is a serial killer,” Lisa prattled on. “Smalley said he’s with Paranormal Convergence, right?”

  “So?”

  “So, those Convergence freaks hang around with Inferni. It’s all bloodlust and bondage with guys like that. I’ll bet he snacks on entrails and bathes in the blood of his victims.”

  “Lisa, I don’t think you’re supposed to say stuff like that anymore,” Katie noted. “It’s not PC…even if it’s true.”

  Over the sea of students’ heads, I watched as the visually impaired cannibal wrapped up a heated argument with Smalley, punctuated by angry gestures in my direction. His glasses hung from his pocket like twisted sculpture art, his shirt ripped and stained scarlet. I’d healed all the scrapes on his face as well as the dislocated shoulder, but he still had streaks of blood, dirt, and demon slime all over him. He cast a withering look in my direction and stalked toward the exit.

  “You guys, I’ve gotta go,” I mumbled to Lisa and Katie. “I’ll see you in class.”

  “Whatever. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Lisa called, annoyed.

  I picked up my pace as the door swung closed behind him. If I could just catch him, maybe I could make him understand I wasn’t the child he thought I was. Maybe he’d see that I could help him.

  I’d barely made it past the front row of chairs when Headmistress Smalley’s hand caught my arm.

  “Not so fast, young lady,” she said. “Some things can be fixed with words. This isn’t one of them.”

  “But—”

  She gave my shoulder a hard squeeze. “Go back to class. Whatever you have to say will keep ‘til tomorrow.”

  Grr. Did I look like I needed advice? Hokey as it sounded, Jack’s departure was like a magnet to my heart, complete with gut-wrenching ache. I didn’t know if it could keep ‘til tomorrow.