Rebel Belle (16 page)

David’s car shook and shimmied as he slammed on the brakes and swerved off the road. Throwing it in park, he turned around in his seat and joined me in staring slack-jawed at the spot where Blythe had been. “How?”

“She’s a Mage,” I offered, too stunned to think of anything else. Saylor had said their magic was pretty low-level. Making yourself disappear was not what I considered low-level magic.

David made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and lowered his forehead to the seat.
“She wasn’t kidding about her alchemy game, was she?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
As I looked at the empty backseat, all I could see was Blythe leaping over that desk, Mr. Hall bleeding to death on the bathroom floor. They weren’t trying to kill David, they were trying to kill
me
, and I had let one of my would-be assassins go. One who had way more power than I’d prepared for, at that.
After a beat, David turned to me, “You wanna drive around for a little bit?”
Wordlessly, I nodded. David turned his car down one of the side streets leading toward Pine Grove Park, and we drove until we reached the little hill above the playground.
We sat in silence while watching kids scampering over the brightly colored playground equipment. A little girl climbed up the same slide where, when we were eight, I’d shoved David off the ladder. Or had he shoved me? I couldn’t remember. And there, on the swing set, a boy sat on the swing where Ryan had given me my first kiss.
Shutting off the ignition, David leaned forward on the steering wheel. “She wants you dead,” he said.
I looked at my hand again. “Yeah, I got that.”
He let out a heavy sigh, dropping his forehead to the steering wheel. “So what do we do now?”
I wished I had an easy answer. I wished I could pretend none of this was real, and that everything could go back to the way it was. But now there was a lot more on the line than my social life. My actual
life
was at stake here, and while the idea of hiding under the covers, preferably until Rapture, was appealing, it didn’t seem to be an option.
Sitting up straight, I pushed my hair away from my face, gathering it into a loose knot. David’s backpack was at my feet, and I fumbled through it until I found a notebook and a pen. Skipping past a bunch of sketches at the front—which, hey, were actually pretty decent. I stopped, looking more closely at a few. There was Chie, his friend from newspaper, her dark hair curling around one ear, hand playing with her bangs. And there was Bee, laughing. Bee did this thing when she laughed of tipping her head  all  the way back, mouth open and teeth flashing. David had captured it perfectly, and I couldn’t help but smile.
I flipped to another page, and there was me. I took up nearly the whole sheet of paper, standing next to a wall of lockers, my head slightly down, face in profile. I was smiling, but my shoulders were tense and I was clearly twisting my ring around my finger.
Clearing his throat, David pulled the notebook back and flipped to a blank page. “I like drawing people,” was all he said before once again placing the notebook back in my hands.
Something seemed to have settled over the car, something heavy and weirdly tense, like the air before a storm.
“When did you draw—” I asked, but David tapped the blank paper in front of me.
“So what was all that stuff Blythe said?”
Taking the hint, I nodded and picked up a pen. “Okay. So the Ephors want to do a spell that makes you Mega Oracle.” I jotted that down. “And they’re doing it at Cotillion.”
David was studying me over the rims of his glasses. “Are you . . . making a flow chart?”
“Shut up. Also, why is it that prophecies are always so vague and mystical? I mean, would it kill you to be able to say, “Oh, the bad guys are coming on
this
day at
this
place and they’re going to do
this
thing? ‘Night of the Swans,’ honestly . . .”
A ghost of a smile flittered across David’s face. “I’ll try to make things more specific the next time I have terrifying visions of the future, Pres.”
I caught myself smiling back before returning my attention to the notebook. “But now we know what this test you have to face is. She’s going to try the spell on you. So all I have to do is keep that from happening.”
David nodded, but he didn’t seem any happier. “Unless she kills you first.”
I swallowed around the sudden lump in my throat. The cold sweat was back, too. You know, if the universe is going to give you super-strength and super-speed and fighting skills you never had, it should also give you some kind of anti-fear power.
“Saylor has wards up all around town to protect you, right? Well, we’ll see if she can whip up some for me, too.” My voice was light as I said it, but the hand holding the pen shook a little, and David was still frowning.
“You’re serious,” he said after a moment. “You really want to do this. Be my Paladin. Fight the forces of evil during your Cotillion.”
I laid the pen on the notebook and met his eyes. “It’s the only choice. These people want me out of the way—”
“Dead,” David interjected, and I scowled at him.
“Yes, dead.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. “Why do you keep bringing that up?”
“Because I want you to get it,” he snapped back, his hands squeezing the steering wheel. “Because the idea of someone— anyone—
dying
for me makes me feel sick, and the thought of
you
 dying for me is . . .”
Breaking off, he squeezed the steering wheel again, fingers flexing almost convulsively. “Pres, this is real. It’s real, and it’s scary, and it’s so messed up, I don’t even know where to start. You could die. I could die. People are actively trying to hurt us. And I feel like we both need to . . . acknowledge that. Use words like ‘dead’ instead of cutesy euphemisms.”
Cold sweat was still prickling all over my body. Outside the car, on one of the benches, a harried young mom in jeans and black turtleneck called out something to her kid, probably “Be careful!” My own mom had sat on that same bench, saying the same thing to me.
I thought of Mom’s tired smile, of her sad eyes, and the big hole that Leigh-Anne had left in our house. If something happened to me . . . Blinking against the stinging in my eyes, I picked up the pen and started to write again. I would have to make sure nothing
did
happen to me.
“You’re right,” I said, and David didn’t say anything for a long time.
Then, finally, “It hurt you to say that, didn’t it?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him lean back in his seat.
“The words nearly choked me, yeah.”
He snorted, and I went back to writing. “So yes, people want me dead. They might do a spell that makes
you
dead. Happy now?”
David leaned back in his seat, reaching around the headrest to stretch his arms. “Will you start saying the real F-word with more regularity, too?”
“Don’t push it,” I replied, as outside, a gust of wind sent dead leaves rattling against the car. Cotillion was only three weeks away. Three weeks didn’t seem like nearly enough time to plan for something this big. Heck, last year’s Spring Fling had taken me over two
months
to prepare.
Glancing up from my notebook, I took in David as he slouched in his seat. Once again his hair was all mussed and his glasses were slightly crooked, and he was obviously thinking over something pretty hard. His brow was furrowed and his fingers drummed against the steering wheel.
“What are you fretting about so hard over there?” I asked him.
He worried at his lower lip for a moment before answering. “Remember when I told you about those crazy dreams I always had?”
“Yeah.”
“Well . . . one of them was about you.”
My heart thudded heavily in my chest, but I made my voice as light as I could. “Ew. So don’t want to hear about that.”
Now he did smile, but only a little. “No, not like that. You asked me the other day why it was that you and I could never seem to get along. And, I mean, yes, part of it was competition.”
“Egregious,” I muttered, and now his smile was a little wider.
“Felicitations,” he replied, and some of the tightness in my chest eased. “But part of it—” He broke off and thumped his head back against the steering wheel.
“God, this is so dumb.” He sat up again, his eyes on the ceiling. “When I was like five or six, I dreamed that you killed me.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, and he swiveled his head to look at me.
“I always knew a dream was a stupid reason not to like you. But now . . . Pres, apparently I can see the future. What if—”
I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “No. Saylor said you were only now starting to come into your powers. You probably didn’t even have them when you were five.”
He nodded, but his knuckles were white around the steering wheel. “Only . . . you weren’t angry in the dream. Neither was I. It was like we were both . . . sad. I woke up crying and everything.”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Even as he said it, it was like I could see it. Me and David, staring at each other, tears streaming down both of our faces. There was something in my hand . . .
But wait. No, there was no way that could happen.
Making a fist, I pulled my arm back and swung at his face with everything I had. David gave a startled cry and flattened himself against the other side of the car, but the punch never landed. Instead, my fist came to a halt six inches from his nose.
“See?” I said, and relief washed over his face.
“Right.” David gave a shaky laugh. “You can’t hit me.”
“I can’t so much as pinch you,” I replied. “So killing you? Totally off the table. Now let’s drop that, and get back to the real problem, namely this.”
I thumped the notebook with my pen, dismayed to see that everything Blythe had told us didn’t even take up a whole page. “You need to call your Aunt Saylor.”
“She’s not—”
“I know, I know.” Lifting a hand, I waved him off. “But you know what I mean. We need to talk to her as soon as possible and tell her what happened. Call her and tell her to meet us—” I checked my watch. It was only a little past one in the afternoon. Hard to believe it had only been a few hours since David picked me up. “Tell her to go to Miss Annemarie’s Tea Room.”
David already had his phone out, but he paused, lifting both eyebrows. “And you want us to talk about this in Little Old Lady Land why?”
Miss Annemarie’s was a Pine Grove institution. A tiny room filled with china, chintz, and more ceramic cats than anyone should ever own, the tea room catered almost exclusively to senior citizens. It was one of The Aunts’ favorite places to go for  lunch, but today was Saturday, and they only went on Wednesdays.
“I want to talk this out in a neutral area,” I told David. “And, no offense, but ever since that night, your house gives me the creeps.”
He nodded, sympathetic. “Yeah, I get that.”
“Plus, everyone at Miss Annemarie’s is ancient, so there’s less chance of being overheard.”
“Good thinking.” David went to dial, but before he did, stopped, ducking his head a little so he could meet my eyes. “So we’re really doing this. You’re going to fully accept Paladin-hood or whatever.”
The way I saw it, my only foolproof way of getting out of this thing alive was getting rid of Blythe and ensuring the spell didn’t happen at Cotillion. It had taken the Ephors seventeen years to  find her; who knew how long they’d have to search for a new Mage? Besides, no Blythe, no spell, no need to kill David’s Paladin.
But all I said to David was, “Harper Jane Price doesn’t quit. Ever.”
David’s lips quirked. “Yes, I believe I’ve picked up on that over the years.”
He turned back to his phone, punching in Saylor’s number. As he talked to her, making plans to meet in a few minutes, I watched the kids playing and tried to tell myself I wasn’t making a huge mistake.

“You should try the oolong,” Saylor told David as she unfolded her menu at Miss Annemarie’s. As I’d anticipated, the tea room was nearly empty, with the exception of two women sitting by the front window, both of them easily in their eighties. Outside,  the wind had picked up, and gray clouds moved swiftly across the sky. Miss Annemarie’s was situated in the town square, right next to the jewelry shop where The Aunts bought all my Christmas and birthday presents. In the middle of the square, there was a statue of one of the town founders, Adolphus Bridgeforth. David was glaring at Saylor over the top of his menu. “I hate oolong,” he told her. “It tastes like leaves.”

“It
is
leaves,” I noted, opening my napkin over my lap. “Touché,” he muttered, a faint smile hovering on his lips. Saylor was watching David, and the look on her face wasn’t

quite sadness and it wasn’t exactly longing, but it was some mixture of the two. Then she folded up her menu, slid the corner of it under her saucer, and folded her hands on the table, fingers clenched.

Her diamonds winked in the light from the tiny lamp in the center of the table, and now her expression was as placid as all the china cats dotting the restaurant. Seriously, Miss Annemarie’s could give Saylor a run for her money in the glass knick-knacks department. “Well,” she said at last. “I assume the two of you had a reason for bringing me to Miss Annemarie’s.”

I squirmed a little bit in my rose-patterned damask chair. I’d made my chart and I thought I had a good idea of what I wanted to tell Saylor, but there was no escaping the fact that David and I had kind of screwed up today. Even though I knew Saylor wasn’t the person I’d thought she was, old habits die hard, and I hated the thought of disappointing her.

Maybe David picked up on that, because he leaned over the table, and in a very low voice, said, “Something happened today.”
Saylor didn’t move, but her eyes flicked to my hand. We’d stopped on out way back into town to get bandages and antibiotic cream for my cut, and the majority of my palm was swathed in gauze. “I can see that.”
As quietly and quickly as he could, David told Saylor about Blythe, pausing only when Miss Annemarie tottered over to take our orders. When he was done, Saylor sat very still, her face totally blank. But her hand was clutching her fork so hard, I was afraid she might actually bend the metal. “And the two of you decided to tackle this by yourselves why exactly?” she asked, voice syrupy sweet, eyes blazing.
I took a sip of ice water, stalling for time, but David already had an answer. “Because I don’t trust you,” he said. “Her,” David added, gesturing to me with a teaspoon, “I trust.”
Miss Annemarie reemerged with our food—chicken salad for me and Saylor, a club sandwich for David. As she set it down on the table, Miss Annemarie smiled at me. “How are your aunts, Harper?”
“Fine, thank you,” I said, hoping that would be enough. I loved the old ladies in my town, but dear God, they could
talk
. And Miss Annemarie didn’t show any signs of quitting. “And your parents?”
“Also fine, thank you, Miss Annemarie.”
The old woman sighed and shook her head, chins wobbling. “They’ve been so strong after your sister passed. Such a tragedy.”
I forced a tight smile. “They have, yes.”
“I’m keeping y’all on my prayer list,” she murmured, patting me on the shoulder before shuffling back to the kitchen. Now the two women by the window were looking over at us, squinting like they were trying to recognize me.
Yes,
I wanted to say,
I am Leigh-Anne Price’s sister. Yes, that Leigh-Anne, the Homecoming Queen who wrapped her car around a tree when she was totally smashed.
“You okay?” David asked in a low voice.
Clearing my throat, I speared a mayo-coated grape with my fork. “Yup. Now, back to what we were saying about Blythe. She told David that they didn’t want to kill him anymore; now they want to do a spell on him. Apparently it’s the same one—”
I didn’t get to finish. Saylor’s hand was shaking so badly she nearly dropped her tiny cup of oolong.
She put it back in the saucer amid a clatter of china. “Alaric’s ritual.”
“That’s the one,” David said around a mouthful of club sandwich. “But Blythe said it only went so badly with Alaric because he wasn’t a Mage. She thinks if she tried it—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence, David Stark,” Saylor snapped. Outside, the wind blew harder, rattling the big window, and all three of us jumped. “Didn’t you hear what I said the other night? That ritual drove Alaric mad. It resulted in the deaths of hundreds. It turned him into a monster.”
Saylor laid her hands flat on the table, and I could see they were trembling slightly. “No matter what this girl said, it’s the ritual itself that’s dangerous. Alaric had to be put down like a dog. And you said this Blythe girl was . . . what was the term you used, David?”
He swallowed before answering, “Super psycho bitch batshit.”
Saylor’s upper lip curled. “Ah, yes. Charming. And only seventeen, right?”
When we both nodded, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “The temporal shifts, the vanishing spell . . . those are things Mages just don’t do. They’re too dangerous, too risky, too . . . big. And she’s using them all over the damn place. What must they be thinking, using someone so young to attempt something so insane? And
why
?”
I shook my head. “She claimed she could do it better than Alaric, and that David and the Ephors could work together afterward. Apparently surviving this ritual is the test David has to face the night of Cotillion.”
“Which I’m still in favor of just skipping altogether,” David said, dumping three packets of sugar into his cup.
Saylor stirred her tea with more force than was probably necessary. “I told you, there is no skipping it. This event is preset. Destined.”
David and I both groaned a little at that word, but I had to admit, it made sense. “Think of it this way,” I told David, tossing my hair over my shoulder. “At least we know when it’ll happen. We have a set date to prepare for.”
If the way David glowered at his tea was any indication, he wasn’t exactly buying that, but he gave a little shrug. “Okay.”
I shot a look over at the old ladies by the window, but they were deeply involved in their crème brûlée and not paying any attention to us. “Miss Saylor, could you get back to that part about putting Alaric down like a dog?” I glanced over at David. He wasn’t looking at me, but was tracing little patterns on the tablecloth with his fork. “You said almost all of his Paladins died protecting him. So who killed Alaric?”
Saylor was quiet for so long that I didn’t think she was going to answer. And then, finally, “The other two Paladins.”
David’s fork stopped moving on the table, snagging on the gingham. “How? If their ‘sacred duty’ is to protect—”
“Alaric was a danger to himself in that state.” Saylor reached out, her hand hovering over David’s for a moment before she pulled it back. “Which meant the inherent contradiction in that overrode the Paladins’ instinct to keep him safe.”
Lowering her head, Saylor pinched the bridge of her nose. “If we were at my house, I’d be able to show you. I have books, illustrations, things you’ll need to see.”
Giving up the pretense of eating—my mouth was too dry, my stomach too jumpy—I pushed my plate away. “Well, we’re not at your house. If I’m going to do this, I need to do it . . . my way.”
“There is no your—” Saylor said, but she broke off as the front door to the tea room rattled open, bringing another puff of wind and the smell of rain. As her eyes widened, I heard a familiar voice say, “Jewel, honestly, no soup is worth going out on a day like this.”
My heart sank as I heard Aunt Jewel reply, “Oh, hush, it’s not even raining.”
“Yet,” Aunt May snapped.
Turning slowly in my chair, I took in my aunts, all huddling in the doorway of the restaurant. The three of them were all dressed in nearly identical black slacks, orthopedic shoes, and bright sweaters. Aunt Martha saw me first, her eyes widening in pleasure. “Oh, look, girls!” she trilled. “It’s Harper Jane!”
Smiling weakly, I raised my hand in a little wave as they started to bear down on me. As they did, the front door opened again, and there, right behind The Aunts, was my mom.