Winging It (8 page)

So much for lunch with Meagan and Jessica.

I spent lunch in the library, madly reading and scribbling, barely managing to pull together an essay that was somewhat coherent in time.

On the way to English class, I joined the group of people gathered outside the closed bathroom that had been the scene of the crime. I had a peek around the temporary barrier – easy since there were worker dudes who had moved it aside in their assessment of the damage – and smiled to myself at the diameter of the peeling scorch mark on the ceiling.

‘They’re trying to say that she was smoking something,’ Stacey said, with a roll of her eyes.

‘It’d be a helluva toke to burn that much,’ Mike replied.

‘I think we would have smelled it before it wrecked the ceiling,’ Tanya added, and they all laughed.

When I got to English class, Derek was already there, watching me from his fave seat at the back. I stumbled right on cue. He didn’t miss one bit of it and I was glad to take my seat and turn my back to him.

The day couldn’t end soon enough.

Gym was my last class and predictably painful, even with Suzanne absent. Volleyball. Ugh. Whenever I hit the ball – which was infrequent – it went straight into the net.

Eventually, the last bell rang. Meagan was ignoring me, probably because I hadn’t showed at lunch.

I was late already, so I just headed out, reasoning that I’d patch things up with her later. I’d also have to think of a story to tell Mrs Jameson. Maybe a dentist appointment. I’d sent Isabelle a message and she’d agreed to meet me at a coffee shop at four. I’d met her at the same place a couple of other times. I had to take the bus and the L to get there, but I was used to that.

I like meeting up with Isabelle. In a way, she’s everything I want to be. In another, she’s
been
everything I want to be. It’s odd, hanging with someone who had your job before but doesn’t remember doing it.

Last spring, I discovered that she’s the previous Wyvern reincarnated. This would be incredibly useful, if she remembered all of the Wyvern goodness she once must have known and could thus help me get a grip on my slippery new powers.

Of course, it doesn’t work that way. Nothing about this Wyvern gig is easy. She doesn’t remember anything about a past life and is pretty much taking my word on the whole reincarnation thing.

Why am I so sure of who Isabelle was? Granny showed me. One thing I have learned is that what goes down in my dreams, especially when Granny is on the scene, proves to be real. Every time.

Maybe that’s a Wyvern trick.

Memory or not, there was no telling what Isabelle had inadvertently learned about the ring while growing up in Rafferty’s house. I still had hopes for more information.

Usually Isabelle’s in England – where Rafferty and his partner, Melissa, live – taking courses on tarot cards and auras while being effortlessly gorgeous. She’s older than me, but doesn’t get snotty about it. This year, Isabelle had decided to enroll in some exchange program and study in Chicago. I’m pretty sure she did this to be close to Nick and I had to wonder how well that was working.

I got on the bus, reminding myself that my mom never minded if I went downtown to meet Isabelle before dinner. (Well, if I wasn’t grounded. Details.) I felt as if I was (sort of) following house rules, even in the absence of parents and home.

For whatever that was worth.

In fact, the likelihood of having either again, or having things return to any kind of normalcy, seemed pretty low. I was afraid my dad had decided to compromise too late for it to matter.

Which made me wonder why I even cared about house rules.

And helped me to rationalize what I intended to do.

Sure, I’d never asked my mom about the concert and my dad had said I couldn’t go, but they’d both left town. I was the only one in Chicago who knew I wasn’t supposed to go. Even if Meagan’s mom knew I was supposed to be grounded, it didn’t seem as if she was too hot about enforcing it. Maybe she thought it unimportant compared to my parents’ splitting up. Maybe she was giving me a break.

I’d run with it, either way.

If I could get to Jared’s concert, prove that I was right about him, and maybe get a peek at the book or even learn the Mages’ revised plan, that would justify defying my dad. Right? It might also score me at least one item from my birthday wish list.

I wasn’t going to be irresponsible, though, or get myself into an unsafe situation. I’m not stupid. The co-op where Jared’s band was going to play was in a crummy neighborhood and not the place to be alone at night. I needed someone to go with me – a partner in crime, as it were.

Which brought me to Isabelle.

Isabelle was already sipping a big foamy coffee when I arrived. She was perched at a table for two by the window and if I didn’t like her so much, I could have been green with envy that she could look so good and make it seem so easy.

Make no mistake – Isabelle is
g
orgeous.
Even though I know it, I’m astounded every time I see her again.

The weather had turned crummy. It was windy and starting to snow, the kind of snow that falls in big flakes and then melts on contact with anything. I was wet and chilled after my walk from the L. I shivered and kept my fave shawl wrapped around my neck like a big cowl when I sat down.

They were playing hokey Halloween music, those novelty tunes which just about made me barf. There were jack-o’-lantern posters on the walls and everything in the place was black and orange. They had posters up for a pumpkin spice coffee special and the staff were dressed up – one wore a witch hat and a green wig, while the other wore a zombie costume.

Isabelle was wearing a thick burgundy sweater with a wide cowl neck that showed her throat. She has that flawless skin that British girls tend to have, all creamy silk. I doubt she’s ever had a zit. She’s feminine and mysterious, and confident too. Like I said, Isabelle’s everything I want to be. Her chestnut hair is loose and wavy over her shoulders – no bad-hair days for her. With her jeans tucked into her high boots and her pale pink lip gloss, she looked like a lingerie model.

Or every guy’s winter fantasy.

That she has a scrumptious British accent would have sealed the deal for pretty much anyone. Most of the guys in the coffee shop were checking her out, probably imagining that I was her baby sister.

The plain one.

Isabelle had also bought a big foamy drink for me, which she pushed toward me. I’m not much for coffee, but was cold enough to drink it. I thanked her and wrapped my hands around the warm cup, realizing as I raised it to my lips that it was actually hot chocolate.

Yummy. I smiled at her in appreciation.

‘Heard from Jared?’ she asked, right when I was taking a sip.

I choked.

Figuratively and literally.

Trust Isabelle to cut right to the chase. Here was my opening, if sooner than expected. ‘He has a concert here on Saturday, at this club …’

‘I know. Knightshade.’ She watched me carefully, and she knew I had ducked her question. ‘Did you message him?’

‘Once. Last summer.’

She looked a bit annoyed. ‘Didn’t he answer you? Didn’t he get in touch about this weekend?’

‘Yes and no.’ I put down the cup. ‘He sent me a short answer last summer.’

‘Blowing you off,’ Isabelle muttered into her coffee. ‘Guys!’

‘I think he’s busy.’ I tried not to think about Jared being amused by high school girls who send him messages just because they’ve kissed him once. ‘And, you know, that’s fine.’

Isabelle’s eyes gleamed. ‘Is it?’

‘The thing is, I need to talk to him about that book on the
Pyr
he has. I need to look at it again. Reference, you know.’

Isabelle started to smile. ‘Uh-huh,’ she said and I blushed.

‘So I wondered whether you would take me to the concert Saturday.’

It wasn’t smooth, but maybe it would get the job done.

I probably looked as hopeful as a puppy.

Isabelle’s smile widened. ‘Just to talk about the book, of course.’

I blushed even more. ‘Look, I’m trying to not be pathetic about it. You could help.’

‘Try harder,’ Isabelle said teasingly.

I had to be red enough to glow in the dark. She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. ‘I wish he’d gotten in touch with you, Zoë. I thought you two had some magic.’

‘Me, too.’

Isabelle sighed. She looked out into the falling snow. ‘Why is it that guys just don’t get it?’

I was surprised by her despondency. ‘How’s Nick?’

Isabelle grimaced. ‘Oh, he tells me he has a girlfriend.’

‘You.’

Isabelle shook her head. ‘Teresa, I think is her name.’ She widened her eyes slightly and sipped her coffee.

I was appalled. ‘No way! You two are made for each other.’

‘Nick seems to think that love, romance, and sex are all the same thing.’ She shook her head and looked unhappy. I couldn’t help hearing my dad’s warning about Jared. He couldn’t be right about guys, could he?

Isabelle sighed again. ‘I think maybe he’s just not ready.’

Nick is hot and fun and the life of the party, the jock everyone wants to be – or be with. I could see him having tons of friends and going to lots of parties.

But a girlfriend who wasn’t Isabelle?

The idea bummed me out even more than the reality of my parents’ trashed relationship.

I took a big swig of hot chocolate and it burned all the way down. ‘Maybe he’ll appreciate you more after he’s been with someone else.’

‘Maybe.’ Isabelle didn’t look as if she believed that. She pulled out her tarot cards and began to shuffle them absently.

I love her tarot cards. They’re huge, each card more than twice the size of a normal playing card. And the illustrations are beautiful. Isabelle seems to always pull a card that has meaning for the situation at hand, and I love watching her do what she does.

Maybe because she always tries to explain it to me.

Maybe because it fascinates and mystifies me. How could pieces of cardboard – even ones with great illustrations – give a glimpse of what the future will be? If there’s a portal or a dimension or a sense that allows a person to peer into the future, shouldn’t I be aware of it? The Wyvern is supposed to be able to see past, present, and future simultaneously, but I had no such prophetic abilities.

Maybe I was hoping that it was contagious.

Because Isabelle certainly had that power.

Or maybe it was in the cards themselves.

She glanced up at me without drawing a card and smiled. ‘So, what else is new, other than the fact that guys are jerks? Maybe that’s not even new.’

It was likely to be the best intro I’d get.

‘Well, I wanted to talk to you about this ring.’ I dug it out of my pocket, then placed it on the table between us. Isabelle caught her breath at the sight of it. ‘My mom said Rafferty sent it to me for my birthday. I’m wondering why he would give it to me.’

Isabelle eyed the ring but didn’t touch it.

‘He loaned it to you last spring.’

‘Well, yeah.’

‘And something happened.’

I nodded. ‘It turned into the ghosts of Sophie and Nikolas.’

‘The last Wyvern and her lover.’

‘And they helped me defeat the Mages, as well as get Rafferty and me free of their spell trap.’

‘And then?’

‘They spun back into the ring.’ I picked it up, turned it in the light. It didn’t have any of that starlight inside it anymore. Strange. ‘Like Aladdin’s lamp, but more portable.’

‘Do you get more than three wishes?’

‘I don’t know.’ We both looked at the ring. It appeared to be just a piece of glass, reflecting the twinkle lights hung in the windows. It was hard to believe at this moment that it had any power at all.

‘Maybe Rafferty thinks you awakened something in it,’ Isabelle said. ‘Like now it’s rightfully yours.’

‘Then he would have just given it to me in the spring, I think.’ I shook my head. ‘I think it’s something else. I thought you might know.’

Isabelle shook her head. ‘You could ask him.’

‘I did.’

‘Let me guess – he told you to work it out for yourself.’

I nodded agreement. ‘He didn’t answer at all.’

Isabelle smiled. ‘Maybe he doesn’t even know the answer.’

She studied me for a long moment, then took a deep breath. ‘Let’s see what the cards can tell us.’ She shuffled the deck of tarot cards as I watched. She drew a card and snapped it flat on the table beside the ring.

The Falling Tower.

I don’t know much about the meanings of the cards, but this picture – of a castle being struck by lightning and tumbling to pieces – seemed somewhat less than optimistic.

If I was wary, Isabelle was spooked.

Her hand shook as she set the rest of the tarot deck down on the table. She stared unblinkingly at the card, which wasn’t a particularly encouraging sign either. I waited, thinking that maybe she was meditating on it or something. With Isabelle, you can never be sure.