Blazing the Trail (19 page)

I glanced across the deserted street, thinking as furiously as I could.

How much was I prepared to do to ensure the alliance
between shifters, to ensure that all four remaining kinds had a future?

How long would Derek be patient?

And how could I know, without any real ability to see the future, whether there really was no possibility of that union occurring? I didn’t know what I was going to want on Monday; how could I know what I wanted for the rest of my life? Especially since I was probably going to live for centuries? How could I know when I’d have a firestorm—the mark of a destined union for the
Pyr
—or with whom?

Maybe unions and alliances should be made where they could be made.

Maybe securing the future for four different species was more important than my own personal yearnings, given that my particular desire was unlikely to ever come true.

Maybe I’d been right that it would be smarter to like guys who liked me, rather than yearning after the elusive ones who never would like me.

“All right, I get it,” Derek said, pulling his hand away. I reached out and stopped him, putting my hand on his arm.

He looked at me, all stillness and intensity.

“No. No, you don’t.” I swallowed and took a breath, knowing that in this moment, what I had to do and what I wanted to do were exactly the same. “I want to see the future. I want to know how everything is going to work out. I want to make the right choice every time.”

“Nobody does that, Zoë.”

“Wyverns are supposed to.”

“Maybe that’s just the myth. What you have is the reality.”

He was right. All I could do was make the most reasonable choice in the moment and hope for the best. I looked into the shades of silver and blue and gray in his eyes and doubted I would ever know anyone more steadfast and true.

My heart clenched.

I remembered my resolution.

And I knew it was absolutely right.

“This is what I want,” I said, and reached up to kiss Derek on the mouth.

I tasted his surprise and felt him jump a bit. His heart skipped as it never had before and mine matched that crazy pace. Although I made a clumsy start, the kiss rapidly improved from there. We melted against each other, and he angled his head so our mouths fit together better. I felt the weight and heat of his hand on my shoulder, the touch of snowflakes melting on my face, the press of his body.

And then his tongue met mine. I felt as if I’d touched an electrical wire and pulled back, my breath coming in gasps. I felt flushed and shivery at the same time.

That was only half of what I felt when Derek smiled at me. “Okay,” he said, and his voice was uneven, too. He visibly took a breath. “Okay.”

I swallowed. “Okay,” I said, and his eyes lit.

He smiled at me, a sweet smile that made my heart ache. “Do I get another ride?”

“Not just yet. I need some sleep.” I was exhausted—not surprising given that I’d been dreaming and adventuring most of the night. I yawned, unable to help myself.

Derek grinned and flung his arm across my shoulders, turning to walk me back to the Jamesons’. It felt good to have the weight of his arm around me, the heat of him nudging against my side. I felt all squishy inside, warm from his kiss and stirred up, too.

And it was good.

I
T SAYS SOMETHING ABOUT MY
energy level that I did sleep. Hard. Despite everything I had to do and think about.

It seemed that I’d only just snuck back into Meagan’s room and put my head down on the pillow when the alarm clock started ringing. I opened my eyes to find the sky was lighter and Mrs. Jameson was making coffee in the kitchen. Meagan went to the bathroom first, and I dozed off again.

The ring of Meagan’s messenger woke me up, because she didn’t answer it as quickly as usual. She came running from the bathroom and scooped it off the nightstand. “It’s from Jessica,” she said, then sat down on the edge of my bed to read the message. She made a face. “Mozart and King were at her door this morning. Mozart is even worse, so she’s waiting for the Oracle to come, but then she wants to talk to you.”

I was wide-awake then. “I hope they’ll be okay.”

Meagan made a face. “Maybe two gems are better than one.”

More fallout from my mistake. I had a feeling the day would only get worse.

By the time I was ready, Meagan was still making up her mind over what to wear—she was hoping that Garrett might turn up today, even though it was only Thursday—so I ended up leaving the bedroom first. It was knee-deep in discarded possibilities.

I could hear the television in the kitchen when I came down the stairs and could sense that Meagan’s parents were riveted by the news. Something big was going on for them to be so attentive. There was a potent silence coming from the kitchen, as if neither of them dared to breathe.

“Any persons with information are requested to contact the police.…”

I rounded the corner and Mrs. Jameson saw me right away. Her eyes were wide and she was pale. She gestured to Mr. Jameson, and he killed the video feed before I could hear more.

“Good morning, Zoë,” Mrs. Jameson said brightly—a little too brightly, if you must know. Her smile was definitely forced. “Did you sleep well after our little incident?”

“Yes, fine, thanks,” I lied.

She fixed me with a stern look. “And we will not have a repeat of that incident, right?”

“No. Not a chance. I just had the one and wanted to try it.” I hung my head in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“Everybody tries it once,” Mr. Jameson said. “At least it wasn’t dope.” His wife shot him a glance that might have turned another man to stone. Mr. Jameson got interested in his breakfast.

The air practically crackled in the kitchen, and it wasn’t about the cigarette.

“Something going on in the world?” I asked, nodding toward the television. The Jamesons exchanged a quick glance—which I didn’t miss—then Mr. Jameson made a fuss about leaving the table.

“Nothing important,” Mrs. Jameson said. “Yogurt this morning?”

You know, I’ve always thought I was the lousiest liar on the planet, but clearly I was going to have to surrender my number-one status to Meagan’s mom. She was a completely crap liar. I’d have to have been kicked in the head by a team of mules to not realize that something
was
going on and that she didn’t want me to know about it.

Which just meant that I would find out ASAP.

I agreed, she headed to the fridge, and I pulled out my messenger. I logged in and looked for headline news, and there it was.

Local Teen Murdered.

And the picture was of that kid, the one I’d seen with Trevor and Adrian, the one who the ShadowEaters had
attacked. Beneath his picture, it said his name was Steve Ford.

Here was the proof that I hadn’t been making up that story yesterday, but it wasn’t proof that I wanted to see. Even if this Steve Ford had been an apprentice Mage, I thought it was awful that he was dead.

Had his body been found because I’d asked to have the veil torn?

I read the article quickly, and it seemed as it he’d been found just as I’d seen him in my vision.

Pool of blood—check.

Slit throat—check.

Vacant lot—check.

Missing liver—check.

The article didn’t mention anything about his shadow being gone. But would it?

I felt a curious mix of responsibility and relief—because how awful would it be to be dead and have no one realize you were gone? I could easily imagine that Steve had had a horrible death. I remembered the feeling of the ShadowEaters nibbling at my own shadow and shuddered. What an awful way to die.

Mrs. Jameson turned around and nearly dropped the yogurt tub in her shock. “Zoë! No messengers before school! You have a test today.”

But it was too late and we both knew it.

I shut off my messenger and put it away. “I don’t know him,” I lied, then added a bit of truth. “He didn’t go to our school.”

Mrs. Jameson sat down opposite me. “No. He went to St. Joe’s.”

The Catholic school around the corner. I met her gaze and saw her fear.

“You have to be careful,” she said, speaking hurriedly. “You and Meagan have to stick together and ride home together. Or maybe I’ll pick you up instead of you driving yourself.” She grabbed her own messenger and checked her schedule, her fingers shaking.

I reached out and took her hand, and she looked up at me.

I knew what I had to do. I summoned the flames of beguiling in my eyes and looked straight at Mrs. Jameson, willing her to believe me. She wanted to believe that Meagan and I were safe, so it should be easy to persuade her. “I’m sure it was a fluke,” I said, dropping my voice to that low hypnotic tone.

“The police are afraid there’s a killer,” she said, licking her lips.

“He was probably just coming home late,” I said, willing her to agree. “Breaking the rules.”

“Breaking the rules,” she agreed warily, then nodded. I could feel that I was losing her.

But then I was, after all, apparently a girl who knew a lot about breaking the rules. Maybe that hadn’t been the most reassuring angle.

I went for simplicity on the next try. “Meagan and I are fine.”

“Meagan and you are fine.”

“We’ll look out for each other and come home safely.”

She smiled at me in relief. “You’ll look out for each other and come home safely.”

“We always look out for each other.”

“You always look out for each other,” she said, totally convinced of that.

“You don’t need to pick us up. We’re perfectly safe.”

“Perfectly safe.”

Our gazes held for a long moment and I sent her as many reassuring vibes as I could.

The thing was, I wouldn’t be able to fix this, to figure out
what to do and banish the ShadowEaters, if I got grounded. I needed Mrs. Jameson to be calm and confident.

“Everything will be fine,” I told her, trying to believe it myself.

“Everything will be fine,” she agreed; then Meagan came into the kitchen.

“I seriously need contacts,” she complained, making yet another play to ditch her glasses. “The bow of my glasses is broken again.…”

“I’ll fix it,” Mrs. Jameson said, leaping up and breaking the connection between us. She fussed over Meagan’s glasses, Meagan impatient with the whole exercise. Her mother remained adamant that there would be no contacts in Meagan’s immediate future.

That was when my mom called. Fortunately, it wasn’t my dad, because he would have heard all the unspoken nuances in my news update, and I still had to confer with the guys about involving the older
Pyr
. Even my mom clearly had her suspicions—I could tell by her tone—and I thought she’d probably call Mrs. Jameson back later.

So she’d hear about Steve Ford and about me cutting class.

I felt bad about not sharing the news with my dad, but I knew that Derek was right. I knew this was our test to prove ourselves. We were the ones who had fought these enemies before. We had the data and I had the responsibility. We had to get rid of those ShadowEaters ourselves and we had to do it ASAP.

When I sat down to finish my breakfast, there was a news update on my messenger. Another kid had been found dead, throat slit, similar to Steve Ford. (He still had his liver, so Skuld must have missed out.) I didn’t know him, either, but he’d gone to Central and played in the band.

Band. Was he another apprentice Mage?

One thing was for certain: the ShadowEaters were wielding the NightBlade in our realm—in a very icky and effective way.

FIVE THINGS I KNOW ABOUT THE NIGHTBLADE:

I tapped the lip of my messenger, considering the list.

I didn’t know where the NightBlade actually was at this point in time. I had to assume that the ShadowEaters had it, wherever they were.

Kohana might know more, but I didn’t know where Kohana had gone. In my experience, I never could find him; he found me when it suited him. He also told me very little unless it suited him.

Where was Trevor and what did he know? Could I read
his memory again? I’d done that in the fall. He was still functioning, so his memory hadn’t fused with the Mage hive memory before its destruction. Still, it seemed like a long shot that I could poke around in his thoughts twice. He’d be on guard against me after the day before.

I considered number five again. Was the Bastians’ knowledge of the NightBlade part of the reason Mozart had been attacked?

Talking to Jessica became much more important.

Updating Meagan would help, too. I’d tell her everything as we drove to school. You never knew—she might figure it all out before I could.

CHECKLIST FOR A TYPICAL DAY IN THE LIFE OF A TEENAGE WYVERN