Authors: Deborah Cooke
The smile slowed her down.
She wasn’t that stupid. I held the messenger behind my back while I replaced the back panel.
Mrs. Mulvaney was marching toward us, pointing her finger and lecturing about rules.
I held up the messenger between us. “Sorry. Thought it was mine.” I tossed it at Suzanne.
She barely caught it, then scanned it for damage. It took her a minute to figure out what I’d done; then her eyes flashed. “Bitch!” she snarled, but I dropped the memory card on the tile and slammed the heel of my boot down to destroy it forever.
Suzanne squared her shoulders to glare at me, ignoring Mrs. Mulvaney. “You owe me, Sorensson,” she said.
“Less than you owe me,” I replied.
“Suzanne Moore!” Mrs. Mulvaney said. “Such language is inappropriate.”
Mr. Zacharias trailed behind Mrs. Mulvaney and glanced down at the smashed memory card. He was probably assuming that Suzanne had taken nude pics of me in the bathroom. Mrs. Mulvaney had missed my move with the memory card. She was too busy organizing and ordering, shooing people this way and that. Suzanne and I simply glared at each other.
“She wrecked my messenger,” Suzanne said. “She did it on purpose.”
Mrs. Mulvaney looked at me.
“I didn’t wreck it. I just thought it was mine.”
Our excuses were so thin and so lame that even Mrs. Mulvaney knew that they were only a fraction of the truth. “You have it back, though,” she said to Suzanne.
Suzanne nodded. “But she owes me.” She mouthed the word then:
freak
.
I smiled my confident dragon smile, liking that she shivered just a bit.
“All right, everyone. Get to class,” Mrs. Mulvaney said. She pointed at me. “You’re coming down to the principal’s office, Zoë.” Suzanne only had time to smirk before Mrs. Mulvaney pointed at her. “And so are you, Suzanne. Let’s get this argument sorted out, girls.”
We were walking down the hall when Meagan came to my side. She handed me my bag, and I knew from the weight of it that she’d hidden Skuld’s shears inside. “Your messenger is in the side pocket,” she said, slanting a glance at Mrs. Mulvaney.
I made a show of checking, then feigned relief. “How weird. I never put it there before. Thanks, Meagan!”
“An honest mistake, then,” Mrs. Mulvaney said, a triumphant conclusion, but Suzanne snorted.
And I looked back to see Derek scooping up the smashed bits of memory card. I flashed him a smile of gratitude. Jessica was standing beside him, back in her usual sloppy clothes, but looking much more serene. This was the alliance in action, each of us guarding one another’s backs and succeeding as a team.
I should have known it couldn’t last.
T
HEY SEPARATED US TO GET
our stories without collaboration.
I insisted that Suzanne had bumped into me and I thought she’d taken my messenger, although, gosh, I couldn’t imagine why she would play such a trick on me.
I have no idea what Suzanne told them, but the interrogation team went back and forth between us for a good twenty minutes. Then they had to confer with each other for another twenty. Then they decided to call our parents. They’d call Meagan’s mom about me, since my parents were away, and I wasn’t too worried about Mrs. Jameson. Worst case, I could beguile her. Suzanne pitched a fit about this decision, though. Apparently she was worried about having her freedom limited right before the Valentine’s Day dance.
It took them another fifteen minutes to reason with her and explain that they were doing this for her own good. Suzanne wasn’t buying it, but her attitude gave me some time alone in my designated corner: the principal’s office. The office had windows on all sides, even the door, like it was command control—or a lookout tower. This worked for me, because I could see everything that was going on and, thanks to my
Pyr
senses, hear it, too.
What was the deal with the spell light surrounding Suzanne and her friends? I thought I had seen some the day before around Trish and Yvonne, then later with Trevor in the parking lot. Were they being targeted by the ShadowEaters? Or was Trevor up to something?
Suzanne and her cronies were all human, with no shifter powers and no spellsinging powers—at least not that I knew of. While they certainly thought themselves special, I couldn’t see what the ShadowEaters would want with them.
I knew I wasn’t imagining the spell light, though. It had to be Trevor’s doing, but I couldn’t figure out his scheme. It was a puzzle.
“Mr. Sorensson is waiting on two,” the principal’s secretary said from the reception area.
“Thank you.” The principal came into her office, shut the door behind her, and picked up the desk phone. She looked pretty grim. She pushed for the second line, while I sat there with my mouth hanging open.
They’d called my parents.
In the Caribbean.
Why hadn’t I guessed that would happen?
And welcome to the inner circle of hell. Remember that my dad is a dragon shifter—he can supply the fire, if not the brimstone, on demand.
I doubted this exchange would end well.
I
OFFICIALLY LISTENED TO ONE
side of the conversation, eavesdropping shamelessly and secretly on the other side.
The principal’s tone had that mix of honeyed sweetness and iron will that characterized all of my dealings with her. (Probably everyone’s dealings with her, come to think of it. She is not someone you would ask for a hug.) “I’m very sorry to trouble you on your vacation, Mr. Sorensson, but there has been an incident at the school and I knew you’d want to know about it.”
My father made conciliatory noises.
She discussed the incident in question, distaste in every syllable she uttered.
My father made sympathetic and faintly outraged comments, which only encouraged her. He didn’t defend me, not one iota. Between the two of them, I was judged and convicted in a matter of moments. The principal repeated most
of her points, seeming to enjoy her moral triumph, then handed me the phone.
I stared at the receiver and gulped. All I had to do was ace a math test, check in at regular intervals with Muriel, find the NightBlade, banish the ShadowEaters, and persuade my dad that I shouldn’t be on his Incinerate Now list.
No pressure.
I
T IS SOME KIND OF
cosmic joke that when everything seems to be going to hell, the most unlikely things come easily.
My dad doesn’t like me drawing attention to myself for any reason. It makes him think of dragons being nearly hunted to extinction in the Middle Ages, and generally moves him into high-octane, take-no-prisoners, Protective Parent mode.
This is much worse with a dragon dad. Just so you know. I know because we’ve been there and done that.
Would I be grounded?
Exiled?
Roasted?
The principal’s eyes narrowed as she watched me.
I decided to take the initiative and grovel for mercy. “I’m really sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to get into trouble.…”
“We shall have to talk about this when your mother and I get home!” he shouted sharply, and I winced. “You had better behave yourself for the next week, Zoë. Frankly, I expected better of you, and if one more thing happens while your mother and I are away, you will be…”
The principal smiled with satisfaction, then left me in the office alone.
My dad stopped in midtirade. “Is she gone?” he asked, his voice low and silky. Conspiratorial.
“Yes,” I said carefully.
“You were caught,” my father said easily, as if we were talking about my sneaking a granola bar before dinner. His tone had changed completely and I didn’t trust it one bit. He was softening me up, faking me out before he went for the kill. I had broken the Covenant again, after all.
I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Yes.” I swallowed.
“Excellent choice,” he said. “Almost intuitive in its speed, which is always the key to containing any incident in which you are revealed. Did you destroy the memory card in the messenger?”
I straightened. “Yes.”
“Very good. I assume that you had a good reason for shifting as you did, and that it was unavoidable?”
“Yes.”
“Also that you cannot tell me about the details now?”
I glanced at the principal hovering outside her office door. “Not really, no.”
My dad mused for a minute while I sat blinking in astonishment that he wasn’t roaring at me. “It’s entirely possible that no one will believe this Suzanne person this time, either, but for the sake of insurance, if you can be alone with her, it might be wise to beguile her. As soon as possible.”
I had to fight my smile of triumph. The principal was still lurking. “Yes, Dad. As soon as possible.”
“And I think a reward is in order for your deft handling of an unavoidable breach of the Covenant. What do you say to having your own car?”
“What?” I asked, barely daring to breathe.
“Your mom wants a new car. You can have the Toyota. I’ll pay the insurance, but all other costs will be yours to cover. Deal?”
I was being rewarded.
I slanted a glance toward the principal, who was talking to her secretary and suitably distracted. If goodies were being distributed, I knew which one I wanted—and it wasn’t the Toyota.
“You could give me the Lamborghini,” I suggested softly.
My dad laughed, a throaty dragon chuckle. “That insurance I’m not going to pay. Besides, it’s sold.”
I was shocked. “Sold?”
“A collector of vintage cars. He’s going to pick it up after we get home, which will make room for your mom’s new car in the garage.”
Sold? Before I even sat in the driver’s seat?
Sold?
“Can I drive it just once?”
“No.” He was succinct and firm. There was no wiggle room on this. “It has been sold in its current pristine condition and will be delivered the same way.”
Rebellion rose hot in my chest. I wanted to choose my reward, and it wasn’t the bashed-up red Toyota. “But…”
“Have you been maintaining the dragonsmoke boundary at the loft?” he asked crisply. “It may be starting to wear down already, and I don’t want anything to happen to that car.”
“I’ll go after school to check.”
“Excellent.” His voice dropped to a warmer timbre. “Well done, Zoë,” he added; then he was gone.
It says something about my state of mind that I stared at the receiver for a minute before putting it back in the cradle.
My dad was proud of me.
I had a car of my very own.
And, you know, I was thinking the Toyota wouldn’t be so bad.
Suzanne’s call wasn’t going nearly so well, from the sound
of it. I was excused, and headed off to math class late and without having managed to spare a minute to cram for the test.
But the math test was easy.
So easy that I was sure there was a mistake. Had I gotten a different one? The wrong one? Like maybe the one I should have gotten a year ago? No one else seemed to be surprised by it, so maybe I was channeling some Meagan and Jessica brilliance.
Speaking of which, Meagan wasn’t in class. Her seat at the front of the room was empty. I might have been more worried about this if Jessica hadn’t been there, acting as if nothing was wrong at all.
You will be less surprised than me to realize that no one noticed Meagan was gone.
I saw a teensy shimmer of purple spell light dancing around Mrs. Dawson’s head. It swirled around her head like a glittery blindfold. Apparently, Meagan
was
learning more about spellsinging—and her spell ensured that Mrs. Dawson didn’t notice the empty seat in the prime A-student zone.
I could have used a bit of that for Muriel.
I had to wonder, though, how exactly Meagan was going to conjure up the test she wasn’t taking.
Never mind where she was.
I surreptitiously checked my messenger and saw that there was a message from her. I might have gone for it, even against school rules, but I saw Trish watching me. There was venom in her eyes—as well as that twinkle of golden spell light—and I understood that she would be more than happy to rat on me in vengeance for Suzanne.
Who was not in class.
I smiled at Trish, dropped my messenger back in my bag, and focused on my test.
Even having started ten minutes late, I was done fifteen minutes early and itching to accomplish something before art class. When I finally got out of there, I had a plan.
First things first. I needed backup.
Dragon backup.
I sat down by my locker and tugged out my messenger again. The message from Meagan was pretty enigmatic—she just said she had something to do and would see me at lunch. I decided on a meeting at my fave tofu-burger place and sent her an update. I composed messages to the guys, my fingers and thumbs moving in a blur as I brought them up-to-date and asked them to come to the restaurant.
I was sure that if we all put our heads together over lunch, we could come up with a ShadowEater Elimination Plan.
Of course, I wasn’t counting on the fact that Meagan already had one.
T
HE RED TOYOTA HAD IMPROVED
remarkably in its appeal during the morning.
The news that it was mine, all mine, made it look infinitely better.
I walked around it in the school parking lot, admiring its color and its signs of experience. It started right away when I turned the key, as if it, too, liked that we were going to be a team.
“Nice of your dad to let you use the car,” Derek said when he got in.
“It’s mine now,” I said with a thrill of pride. I’d already told him that Jessica had said she was going to meet us at the restaurant. I was assuming that she was with Meagan.
He looked impressed. “What are you going to do to it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You could repaint it. Black.”
“Purple,” I said. “Lime green.”
“Or install a better stereo,” he added a minute later. We skidded a little bit on a corner. “Get bigger tires for the snow.”
His suggestions got me excited about the possibilities. Just because my mom had liked the car being minimal in terms of luxury didn’t mean I had to keep it the same way.