Hex Hall

Felicia Miller was crying in the bathroom. Again.

I knew it was her because in the three months I'd been going to Green

Mountain High, I'd already seen Felicia crying in the bathroom twice. She had a really distinctive sob, high and breathy like a little kid's, even though

Felicia was eighteen, two years older than me.

I'd left her alone before, figuring that it was every girl's right to cry in a public bathroom from time to time.

But tonight was prom night, and there was something really sad about sobbing in formal wear. Besides, I'd developed a soft spot for Felicia. There was a girl just like her at every school I'd ever been to (nineteen and counting). And while I may have been a weirdo, people weren't mean to me; they mostly just ignored me. Felicia, on the other hand, was the class punching bag. For her, school had been nothing but a constant parade of stolen lunch money and nasty remarks.

I peeked under the stall door and saw a pair of feet in strappy yellow sandals. "Felicia?" I called, rapping softly on the door. "What's wrong?"

She opened the door and looked up at me with angry, bloodshot eyes.

"What's wrong? Well, let's see, Sophie, it's prom night of my senior year and do you see a date anywhere near me?"

"Um . . . no. But you are in the ladies' room, so I thought--"

"What?" she asked as she stood up and wiped her nose with a huge wad of toilet paper. "That my date's out there waiting for me?" She snorted.

"Please. I lied to my parents and said I had a date. So they bought me this dress"--she slapped at the yellow taffeta like it was a bug she was trying to kill--"and I told them my date was meeting me here, so they dropped me off.

I just . . . I couldn't tell them I didn't get invited to my senior prom. It would have broken their hearts." She rolled her eyes. "How pathetic is that?"

"It's not that pathetic," I said. "Lots of girls come to prom alone."

She glared at me. "Do you have a date?"

I did have a date. Sure, it was Ryan Hellerman, who might have been the only person at Green Mountain High less popular than I was, but it was still a date. And my mom had been so excited that someone had asked me.

She saw it as my finally making an attempt at Fitting In.

Fitting In was really important to my mom.

I watched Felicia standing there in her yellow dress, wiping at her nose, and before I could stop myself, I said something totally stupid: "I can help."

Felicia looked up at me through puffy eyes. "How?"

I looped my arm through hers, pulling her to her feet. "We have to go outside."

We made our way out of the bathroom and through the crowded gym.

Felicia seemed wary as I led her through the big double doors and out into the parking lot.

"If this is some sort of prank, I have pepper spray in my purse," she said, holding her little yellow clutch close to her chest.

"Relax." I looked around to make sure the parking lot was deserted.

Even though it was late April, there was still a chill in the air, and both of us shivered in our dresses. "Okay," I said, turning back to her. "If you could have anyone as your prom date, who would it be?"

"Are you trying to torture me?" she asked.

"Just answer the question."

Staring at her yellow shoes, she mumbled, "Kevin Bridges?"

I wasn't surprised. SGA president, football captain, all-around hottie . . . Kevin Bridges was the guy almost any girl would pick to be her prom date.

"Okay, then. Kevin it is," I muttered, cracking my knuckles. Lifting my hands to the sky, I closed my eyes and pictured Felicia in Kevin's arms, her in her bright yellow dress, him in a tux. After just a few seconds of focusing on that image, I started to feel a slight tremor under my feet and a feeling like water rushing all the way up to my outspread hands. My hair started to float from my shoulders, and then I heard Felicia gasp.

When I opened my eyes, I saw exactly what I'd hoped. Overhead, a huge dark cloud was swirling, sparks of purplish light flashing inside of it. I kept concentrating, and as I did, the cloud swirled faster until it was a perfect circle with a hole in the center.

The Magic Doughnut, as I'd dubbed it the first time I'd created one on my twelfth birthday.

Felicia cowered between two cars, her arms raised over her head. But it was too late to stop.

The hole in the center of the cloud filled with bright green light.

Focusing on that light and the image of Kevin and Felicia, I flexed my fingers and watched as a bolt of green lightning shot out of the cloud and raced across the sky. It disappeared behind some trees.

The cloud vanished, and Felicia stood up on shaky legs. "W-what was that?" She turned to me, wide-eyed. "Are you like a witch or something?"

I shrugged, still feeling pleasantly buzzed by the power I'd just unleashed. Magic drunk, Mom always calls it. "It was nothing," I said. "Now let's go inside."

Ryan was hanging out by the punch table when I came back inside.

"What was that about?" he asked, nodding toward Felicia. She looked dazed as she stood on tiptoes, scanning the dance floor.

"Oh, she just needed some air," I said, picking up a glass of punch.

My heart was still racing, and my hands were shaking.

"Cool," Ryan said, bouncing his head in time with the music. "Wanna dance?"

Before I could answer, Felicia ran up and grabbed my arm. "He's not even here," she said. "Didn't that . . . that thing you did make him my prom date?"

"Shhh! Yes it did, but you'll have to be patient. As soon as Kevin gets here, he'll find you, trust me."

We didn't have to wait long.

Ryan and I were only halfway through our first dance when a huge crash echoed through the gym.

There was a rapid succession of loud pops, almost like gunshots, that sent kids screaming and diving under the refreshment table. I watched the punch bowl plummet to the floor, splashing red liquid everywhere.

But it wasn't a gun that had made the popping sounds; it was balloons.

Hundreds of them. Whatever had happened had sent the huge balloon arch swooping to the ground. I watched as one white balloon escaped the carnage and rose into the rafters of the gym.

I looked over and saw several of the teachers running for the doors.

Which weren't there anymore.

That was because a silver Land Rover had crashed through them.

Kevin Bridges staggered out of the driver's seat. He'd cut both his forehead and his hand, and was bleeding on the shiny hardwood as he bellowed, "Felicia! FELICIA!"

"Holy crap," Ryan murmured.

Kevin's date, Caroline Reed, scrambled out of the passenger side. She was sobbing. "He's crazy!" she shrieked. "He was fine, and then there was this light and . . . and . . ." She broke off into more hysterics, and I felt sick to my stomach.

"FELICIA!" Kevin continued to scream, wildly searching the gym. I looked around and saw Felicia hiding under one of the tables, her eyes huge.

I was careful this time, I thought. I'm better at this now!

Kevin found Felicia and yanked her out from under the table.

"Felicia!" He smiled broadly, his whole face lit up, which, what with the blood and all, was terrifying. I didn't blame Felicia for screaming her head off.

One of the chaperones, Coach Henry, sprinted over to help, grabbing

Kevin's arm.

But Kevin just turned, one hand still clutching Felicia, and backhanded Coach Henry across the face. The coach, who was six foot two and easily over two hundred pounds, went flying backward.

And then all hell broke loose.

People were stampeding for the doors, more teachers were swarming

Kevin, and Felicia's screams had taken on a desperate, keening edge. Only

Ryan seemed unfazed.

"Awesome!" he enthused as two girls scrambled over the Land Rover and out of the gym. "Carrie prom!"

Kevin was still holding one of Felicia's hands, and by now he was on one knee. I couldn't be sure, thanks to all the screaming, but I think he was singing to her.

Felicia wasn't screeching anymore, but she was fishing in her handbag for something.

"Oh no," I groaned. I started running toward them, but I slipped and fell in the punch.

Felicia whipped out a small red can and sprayed the contents in

Kevin's face.

His song broke off in a garbled cry of pain. He dropped her hand to claw at his eyes, and Felicia ran.

"It's okay, baby!" he shouted after her. "I don't need eyes to see you! I see you with the eyes of my heart, Felicia! My HEART!"

Great. Not only was my spell too strong, it was also lame.

I sat in the pool of punch while the chaos I'd created raged around me.

A lone white balloon bobbed by my elbow, and Mrs. Davison, my algebra teacher, stumbled past, shouting into her cell phone, "I said Green Mountain

High! Um . . . I don't know, an ambulance? A SWAT team? Just send somebody!"

Then I heard a shriek. "It was her! Sophie Mercer!"

Felicia was pointing at me, her whole body shaking.

Even over all the noise, Felicia's words echoed in the cavernous gym.

"She's . . . she's a witch!"

I sighed. "Not again."

"Well?"

I stepped out of the car and into the hot thick heat of August in

Georgia.

"Awesome," I murmured, sliding my sunglasses on top of my head.

Thanks to the humidity, my hair felt like it had tripled in size. I could feel it trying to devour my sunglasses like some sort of carnivorous jungle plant. "I always wondered what it would be like to live in somebody's mouth."

In front of me loomed Hecate Hall, which, according to the brochure clutched in my sweaty hand, was "the premier reformatory institution for

Prodigium adolescents."

Prodigium. Just a fancy Latin word for monsters. And that's what everyone at Hecate was.

That's what I was.

I'd already read the brochure four times on the plane from Vermont to

Georgia, twice on the ferry ride to Graymalkin Island, just off the coast of

Georgia (where, I learned, Hecate had been built in 1854), and once as our rental car had rattled over the shell and gravel driveway that led from the shore to the school's parking lot. So I should have had it memorized, but I kept holding on to it and compulsively reading it, like it was my wubby or something:

The purpose of Hecate Hall is to protect and instruct shapeshifter, witch, and fae children who have risked exposure of their abilities, and therefore imperiled Prodigium society as a whole.

"I still don't see how helping one girl find a date imperiled other witches," I said, squinting at my mom as we reached into the trunk for my stuff. The thought had been bugging me since the first time I'd read the brochure, but I hadn't had a chance to bring it up. Mom had spent most of the flight pretending to be asleep, probably to avoid looking at my sullen expression.

"It wasn't just that one girl, Soph, and you know it. It was that boy with the broken arm in Delaware, and that teacher you tried to make forget about a test in Arizona. . . ."

"He got his memory back eventually," I said. "Well, most of it."

Mom just sighed and pulled out the beat-up trunk we'd bought at The

Salvation Army. "Your father and I both warned you that there were consequences for using your powers. I don't like this any more than you do, but at least here you'll be with . . . with other kids like you."

"You mean total screwups." I pulled my tote bag onto my shoulder.

Mom pushed her own sunglasses up and looked at me. She seemed tired and there were heavy lines around her mouth, lines I'd never seen before. My mom was almost forty, but she could usually pass for ten years younger.

"You're not a screwup, Sophie." We hefted the trunk between us.

"You've just made some mistakes."

Had I ever. Being a witch had definitely not been as awesome as I'd hoped it would be. For one thing, I didn't get to fly around on a broomstick.

(I asked my mom about that when I first came into my powers, and she said no, I had to keep riding the bus like everyone else.) I don't have spell books or a talking cat (I'm allergic), and I wouldn't even know where to get a hold of something like eye of newt.

But I can perform magic. I've been able to ever since I was twelve, which, according to sweaty brochure, is the age all Prodigium come into their powers. Something to do with puberty, I guess.

"Besides, this is a good school," Mom said as we approached the building.

But it didn't look like a school. It looked like a cross between something out of an old horror movie and Disney World's Haunted Mansion.

For starters, it was obviously almost two hundred years old. It was three stories tall, and the third story perched like the top tier of a wedding cake.

The house may have been white once, but now it was just sort of a faded gray, almost the same color as the shell and gravel drive, which made it look less like a house and more like some sort of natural outcrop of the island.

"Huh," Mom said. We dropped the trunk, and she walked around the side of the building. "Would you look at that?"

I followed her and immediately saw what she meant. The brochure said Hecate had made "extensive additions to the original structure" over the years. Turns out, that meant they'd lopped off the back of the house and stuck another one onto it. The grayish wood ended after sixty feet or so and gave way to pink stucco that extended all the way to the woods.

For something that had clearly been done with magic--there were no seams where the two houses met, no line of mortar--you would've thought it would have turned out a little more elegantly. Instead it looked like two houses that had been glued together by a crazy person.

A crazy person with really bad taste.

Huge oak trees in the front yard dripped with Spanish moss, shading the house. In fact, there seemed to be plants everywhere. Two ferns in dusty pots bracketed the front door, looking like big green spiders, and some sort of vine with purple flowers had taken over an entire wall. It was almost like the house was being slowly absorbed by the forest just beyond it.

I tugged at the hem of my brand-new Hecate Hall- issue blue plaid skirt (kilt? Some sort of bizarre skirt/ kilt hybrid? A skilt?) and wondered why a school in the middle of the Deep South would have wool uniforms.

Still, as I stared at the school, I fought off a shiver. I wondered how anyone could ever look at this place and not suspect its students were a bunch of freaks.

"It's pretty," Mom said in her best "Let's be perky and look on the bright side" voice.

I, however, was not feeling so perky.

"Yeah, it's beautiful. For a prison."

My mom shook her head. "Drop the insolent-teenager thing, Soph. It's hardly a prison."

But that's what it felt like.

"This really is the best place for you," she said as we picked up the trunk.

"I guess," I mumbled.

It's for your own good seemed to be the mantra as far as me and

Hecate were concerned. Two days after prom we'd gotten an e-mail from my dad that basically said I'd blown all my chances, and that the Council was sentencing me to Hecate until my eighteenth birthday.

The Council was this group of old people who made all the rules for

Prodigium.

I know, a council that calls themselves "the Council." So original.

Anyway, Dad worked for them, so they let him break the bad news.

"Hopefully," he had said in his e-mail, "this will teach you to use your powers with considerably more discretion."

E-mail and the occasional phone call were pretty much the only contact I had with my dad. He and Mom split up before I was born. Turns out he hadn't told my mom about him being a warlock (that's the preferred term for boy witches) until they'd been together for nearly a year. Mom hadn't taken the news well. She wrote him off as a nut job and ran back to her family. But then she found out she was pregnant with me, and she got a copy of The Encyclopedia of Witchcraft to go along with all her baby books, just in case. By the time I was born, she was practically an expert on things that go bump in the night. It wasn't until I'd come into my powers on my twelfth birthday that she'd reluctantly opened the lines of communication with Dad. But she was still pretty frosty toward him.

In the month since my dad had told me that I was going to Hecate, I'd tried to come to terms with it. Seriously. I told myself that I'd finally be around people that were like me, people I didn't have to hide my true self from. And I might learn some pretty sweet spells. Those were all big pros.

But as soon as Mom and I had boarded the ferry to take us out to this isolated island, I'd started to feel sick to my stomach. And trust me, it wasn't seasickness.

According to the brochure, Graymalkin Island had been selected to house Hecate because of its remote location, the better to keep it a secret.

The locals just thought it was a super-exclusive boarding school.

By the time the ferry had approached the heavily forested spit of land that would be my home for the next two years, the second thoughts had majorly set in.

It seemed like most of the student body was milling around on the lawn, but only a handful of them looked new, like me. They were all unloading trunks, toting suitcases. Some of them had beat-up luggage like mine, but I saw a couple of Louis Vuitton bags, too. One girl, dark-haired with a slightly crooked nose, seemed about my age, while all the other new kids looked younger.

I couldn't really tell what most of them were, whether they were witches and warlocks or shapeshifters. Since we all look like regular people, there was no way to tell.

The faeries, on the other hand, were very easy to spot. They were all taller than average and very dignified looking, and every one of them had straight shiny hair, in all sorts of different colors, from pale gold to bright violet.

And they had wings.

According to Mom, faeries usually used glamours to blend in with humans. It was a pretty complex spell since it involved altering the mind of everyone they met, but it meant that humans could only see the faeries as normal people instead of bright, colorful, winged . . . creatures. I wondered if the faeries that got sentenced to Hecate were kind of relieved. It had to be hard, doing that big of a spell all the time.

I paused to readjust my tote bag on my shoulder.

"At least this place is safe," Mom said. "That's something, right? I won't have to be constantly worrying about you for once."

I knew Mom was anxious about my being so far from home, but she was also happy to have me in a place where I wasn't risking getting found out. You spend all your time reading books about the various ways people have killed witches over the years, it's bound to make you a little paranoid.

As we made our way toward the school, I could feel sweat pooling up in weird places where I was pretty sure I had never sweat before. How can your ears sweat? Mom, as usual, appeared unaffected by the humidity. It's like a natural law that my mother can never look anything less than obscenely beautiful. Even though she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, heads turned in her direction.

Or maybe they were staring at me as I tried to discreetly wipe sweat from between my breasts without appearing to get to second base with myself. Hard to say.

All around me were things I'd only read about in books. To my left, a blue-haired faerie with indigo wings was sobbing as she clung to her winged parents, whose feet hovered an inch or two above the ground. As I watched, crystalline tears fell not from the girl's eyes, but from her wings, leaving her toes dangling over a puddle of royal blue.

We walked into the shade of the huge old trees--meaning the heat diminished by maybe half a degree. Just as we neared the front steps, an unearthly howl echoed in the thick air.

Mom and I whirled around to see this . . . thing growling at two rather frustrated-looking adults. They didn't look scared; just vaguely annoyed.

A werewolf.

No matter how many times you read about werewolves, seeing one right in front of you is a whole new experience.

For one thing, it didn't really look much like a wolf. Or a person. It was more like a really big wild dog standing on hind legs. Its fur was short and light brown, and even from a distance I could see the yellow of its eyes.

It was also a lot smaller than I'd thought one would be. In fact, it wasn't nearly as tall as the man it was growling at.

"Stop it, Justin," the man spat. The woman, whose hair, I noticed, was the same light brown as the werewolf's, put a hand on his arm.

"Sweetie," she said in a soft voice with a hint of a Southern accent, "listen to your father. This is just silly."

For a second the werewolf, er, Justin, paused, his head cocked to the side, making him look less like a throatripping-out beastie and more like a cocker spaniel.

The thought made me giggle.

And suddenly those yellow eyes were on me.

It gave another howl, and before I even had time to think, it charged.

I heard the man and woman cry out a warning as I frantically racked my brain for some sort of throatrepairing spell, which I was clearly about to need. Of course the only words I actually managed to yell at the werewolf as he ran at me were, "BAD DOG!"

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of blue light on my left. Suddenly, the werewolf seemed to smack into an invisible wall just inches in front of me. Giving a pitiful bark, he slumped to the ground. His fur and skin began to ripple and flow until he was a normal boy in khakis and a blue blazer, whimpering pitifully. His parents got to him just as Mom ran to me, dragging my trunk behind her.

"Oh my God!" she breathed. "Sweetie, are you okay?"

"Fine," I said, brushing grass off my skilt.

"You know," someone said off to my left, "I usually find a blocking spell to be a lot more effective than yelling 'Bad dog,' but maybe that's just me."

I turned. Leaning against a tree, his collar unbuttoned and tie loose, was a smirking guy. His Hecate blazer was hanging limply in the crook of his elbow.

"You are a witch, aren't you?" he continued. He pushed himself off the tree and ran a hand through his black curly hair. As he walked closer, I noticed that he was slender almost to the point of skinny, and that he was several inches taller than me. "Maybe in the future," he said, "you could endeavor not to suck so badly at it."

And with that, he sauntered off.

Between nearly being attacked by Justin the Dogface Boy, and having some strange guy who was not that hot tell me I sucked at witchcraft, I was now thoroughly pissed.

I checked to see if Mom was watching, but she was asking Justin's parents something that sounded like, "Was he going to bite her?!"

"So I'm a bad witch, huh?" I said under my breath as I focused on the boy's retreating back.

I raised my hands and thought up the nastiest spell I possibly could--

one involving pus and bad breath and severe genital dysfunctions.

And nothing happened.

There was no sensation of water rushing up to my fingers, no quickening heartbeat, no hair standing on end.

I was just standing there like an idiot, pointing all of my fingers at him.

The heck? I'd never had trouble doing a spell before.

And then I heard a voice that sounded like a magnolia dragged through molasses say, "That's enough, my dear."

I turned toward the front porch, where an older woman in a navy suit stood between the scary ferns. She was smiling, but it was one of those creepy doll smiles. She pointed one long finger at me.

"We do not use our powers against other Prodigium here, no matter how provoked we may be," she said, her voice soft, smoky, musical. In fact, if the house could have talked, I'd have expected it to sound exactly like this woman.

"May I add, Archer," the woman continued, turning to the dark-haired boy, "that while this young lady is new to Hecate, you know better than to attack another student."

He snorted. "So I should have let him eat her?"

"Magic is not the solution for everything," she replied.

"Archer?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. Hey, you might be able to take away my magical powers, but the power of sarcasm was still at my disposal. "Is your last name Newport or Vanderbilt? Maybe followed by some numbers? Ooh!" I said, widening my eyes, "or maybe even Esquire!"

I'd hoped to hurt his feelings or, at the very least, make him angry, but he just kept smiling at me. "Actually, it's Archer Cross, and I'm the first one.

Now what about you?" He squinted. "Let's see . . . brown hair, freckles, whole girl-next-door vibe going on . . . Allie? Lacie? Definitely something cutesy ending in ie."

You know those times when your mouth moves but no sound actually comes out? Yeah, that's pretty much what happened. And then, of course, my mom took that opportunity to end her conversation with Justin's parents and call out, "Sophie! Wait up."

"I knew it." Archer laughed. "See you, Sophie," he called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the house.

I turned my attention back to the woman. She was around fifty, with dark blond hair that had been twisted, teased, and probably threatened into a complicated updo. From her practically regal bearing and her suit in Hecate

Hall's signature royal blue, I assumed she was the school's headmistress, Mrs. Anastasia Casnoff. I didn't have to look at the brochure to remember that. A name like AnastasiaCasnoff tends to stick with you.

The blond woman was in fact the awesomely named leader of Hecate

Hall. My mom shook her hand. "Grace Mercer. And this is Sophia."

" Soh-fee-yuh," Mrs. Casnoff said in her Southern lilt, turning my relatively simple name into something that sounded like an exotic appetizer at a Chinese restaurant.

"I go by Sophie," I said quickly, hoping to avoid being known forever as Sohfeeyuh.

"Now, y'all are not originally from this area, am I correct?" Mrs.

Casnoff continued as we walked toward the school.

"No," Mom answered, switching my duffel bag to her other shoulder, the trunk still between us. "My mother is from Tennessee, but Georgia is one of the few states we haven't lived in. We've moved around quite a bit."

Quite a bit is something of an understatement.

Nineteen states over the course of my sixteen years. The longest we've ever stayed anywhere was Indiana, when I was eight. That was four years.

The shortest we ever lived anywhere was Montana three years ago. That was two weeks.

"I see," Mrs. Casnoff said. "And what do you do, Mrs. Mercer?"

"Ms." Mom said automatically, and just a little too loudly. She bit her lower lip and tucked an imaginary piece of hair behind her ear. "I'm a teacher. Religious studies. Mostly mythology and folklore."

I trailed behind them as we ascended the imposing front steps and entered Hecate Hall.

It was blessedly cool, meaning that they apparently had some sort of air-conditioning spell going on. It also smelled like all old houses, that weird scent that's a combination of furniture polish, old wood, and the musty smell of aged paper, like in a library.

I'd wondered if the smushed-together houses would be as obvious on the inside as they had been on the outside, but all the walls were covered in the same fugly burgundy wallpaper, making it impossible to see where the wood ended and the stucco began.

Just inside the front door, the massive foyer was dominated by a mahogany spiral staircase that twisted up three stories, seemingly supported by nothing. Behind the staircase was a stained-glass window that started at the second-floor landing and soared all the way up to the ceiling. The late-

afternoon sun shone through it, filling the foyer with geometric patterns of brightly colored light.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Mrs. Casnoff said with a smile. "It depicts the origin of Prodigium."

The window showed an angry-faced angel standing just inside golden gates. In one hand the angel held a black sword. The other hand was pointing, clearly indicating that the three figures in front of the gates should get the heck out. Only, you know, angelically.

The three figures were also angels. They all looked pretty bummed.

The angel on the right, a woman with long red hair, even had her face buried in her hands. Around her neck was a heavy golden chain that I realized was actually a series of small figures holding hands. The angel on the left was wearing a crown of leaves and looking over his shoulder. And in the middle, the tallest angel looked out straight in front of him, his head high and shoulders back.

"It's . . . something," I said at last.

"Do you know the story, Sophie?" Mrs. Casnoff asked.

When I shook my head, she smiled and gestured to the fearsome angel behind the gates. "After the Great War between God and Lucifer, those angels who refused to take sides were cast out of heaven. One group"--she pointed to the tall angel in the middle--"chose to hide itself away under hills and deep in forests. They became faeries. Another group chose to live among animals and became shapeshifters. And the last chose to intermingle with humans and became witches."

"Wow," I heard Mom say, and I turned to her with a smile.

"Good luck explaining to God that you used to spank one of his heavenly beings."

Mom gave a startled laugh. "Sophie!"

"What? You did. I hope you like hot weather, Mom, that's all I'm saying."

Mom laughed again, even though I could tell she was trying not to.

Mrs. Casnoff frowned before clearing her throat and continuing her tour. "Students at Hecate range in age from twelve to seventeen. Once a student has been sentenced to Hecate, he or she is not released until his or her eighteenth birthday."

"So some kids could be here for, like, six months, and others could be here for six years?" I asked.

"Precisely. The majority of our students are sent here soon after they come into their powers. But there are always exceptions, such as yourself."

"Go me," I muttered.

"What are the classes here like?" Mom asked, shooting me a look.

"The classes at Hecate are modeled after those found at Prentiss, Mayfair, and Gervaudan."

Mom and I both nodded at her like we knew what those words meant.

I guess we didn't fool her, because Mrs. Casnoff said, "The premier boarding schools for witches, faeries, and shapeshifters, respectively. Classes are assigned based on both the student's age and the particular struggles that student was having blending into the human world."

She gave a brittle smile. "The curriculum can be challenging, but I have no doubt that Sophie will do very well."

Never had encouragement sounded so much like a threat.

"The girls' dormitories are located on the third floor," Mrs. Casnoff said, gesturing up the stairs. "Boys are on the second. Classes are held here on the first floor as well as in the surrounding outbuildings." She pointed to the left and right of the staircase where long narrow hallways branched off from the foyer. What with the pointing and the blue suit, she brought to mind a flight attendant. I expected her to tell me that in the event of an emergency, my brand-new Hecate blazer could be used as a flotation device.

"Now, are the students separated by . . . um . . ." Mom waved her hand.

Mrs. Casnoff smiled, but I couldn't help but notice that the smile was as tight as her bun.

"By their abilities? No, of course not. One of the founding principles of Hecate is teaching the students how to coexist with every race of

Prodigium."

Mrs. Casnoff turned to lead us to the other end of the foyer. Here, three huge windows soared up to the thirdfloor landing. Beyond them was the courtyard, where kids were already beginning to gather on stone benches under live oak trees. I say kids. I guess they were all things, like me, but you couldn't tell. They just looked like any normal bunch of students. Well, except for the faeries.

I watched one girl laugh as she offered a tube of lip gloss to another, and something in my chest tightened a little bit.

I felt something cold brush my arm, and I jumped back, startled, as a pale woman in blue swept past me.

"Ah, yes," Mrs. Casnoff said with a small smile. "Isabelle Fortenay, one of our resident spirits. As I'm sure you read, Hecate is home to a number of spirits, all of them the ghosts of Prodigium. They're quite harmless--

completely noncorporeal. That means they're unable to touch you or anything else. They may give you a fright now and then, but that's all they can do."

"Great," I said as I watched Isabelle fade into a paneled wall.

As she did, I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to see another spirit standing at the foot of the stairs. She was a girl about my age, wearing a bright green cardigan over a short flowered dress.

Unlike Isabelle, who hadn't seemed to notice me, this girl was staring straight at me. I opened my mouth to ask Mrs. Casnoff who she was, but the headmistress had already turned her attention to someone across the foyer.

"Miss Talbot!" she called. I was amazed at the way her voice crossed the huge room without sounding even remotely like yelling.

A tiny girl, barely five feet tall, appeared at Mrs. Casnoff's elbow. Her skin was nearly snow white, as was her hair, with the exception of a hot-pink stripe running through her bangs. She had on thick, black-rimmed glasses, and even though she was smiling, I could tell it was just for Mrs. Casnoff's benefit. Her eyes looked totally bored.

"This is Jennifer Talbot. I believe you'll be rooming with her this semester, Miss Mercer. Jennifer, this is Sohfee-yuh."

"Sophie is fine," I corrected, just as Jennifer said, "Jenna."

Mrs. Casnoff's smile tightened, like there were screws on either side of her mouth. "Gracious. I don't know what it is with children these days, Ms. Mercer. Given perfectly lovely names, and determined to mangle and change them at the first opportunity. In any case, Miss Mercer, Miss Talbot is, like you, a relative newcomer. She only joined us last year."

Mom beamed and shook Jenna's hand. "Nice to meet you. Are you, um, are you a witch like Sophie?"

"Mom," I whispered, but Jenna shook her head and said, "No, ma'am.

Vamp."

I could feel Mom stiffen beside me, and I knew Jenna did too. Even though I was embarrassed for her, I shared Mom's freak-out. Witches, shapeshifters, and fae were one thing. Vampires were monsters, plain and simple. That whole sensitive Children of the Night thing was total b.s.

"Oh, okay," Mom said, struggling to recover. "I . . . uh, I didn't know vampires attended Hecate."

"It's a new program we have here," Mrs. Casnoff said, reaching out to run a hand over Jenna's hair. Jenna had a polite, if kind of blank look on her face, but I saw her tense up slightly. "Every year," Mrs. Casnoff continued, "Hecate takes a young vampire and offers him or her a chance to study alongside Prodigium in the hopes that we can eventually reform these unfortunates."

I glanced over at Jenna, because . . . unfortunates? Ouch.

"Sadly, Miss Talbot is the only vampire student we currently have, although one of our instructors is a vampire as well," Mrs. Casnoff said.

Jenna just smiled that weird nonsmile again, and we all stood around in awkward silence until Mom said, "Sweetie, why don't you let . . ." She looked up helplessly at my new roommate.

"Jenna."

"Right, right. Why don't you let Jenna show you your room? I've got a few things I want to go over with Mrs. Casnoff, then I'll be up to say bye, okay?"

I looked toward Jenna, who was still smiling, but her eyes seemed to be already looking past us.

I shifted my tote again and went to grab my trunk from Mom, but

Jenna beat me to it.

"You really don't have to help--" I started, but she waved her free hand.

"No problem. The one bonus to being a bloodsucking freak is upper-

body strength."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just lamely replied, "Oh." She carried one side, and I grabbed the other.

"No chance of an elevator, I guess?" I was only half joking.

Jenna snorted. "Nah, that would be too convenient."

"Why don't they just have, like, a luggage-moving spell or something?"

"Mrs. Casnoff's a real stickler for not using magic as an excuse to be lazy. Apparently, carrying heavy suitcases up stairs is character-building."

"Right," I said as we struggled past the second-story landing.

"So what do you think of her?" Jenna asked.

"Mrs. Casnoff?"

"Yeah."

"Her bun is very impressive." Jenna's smirk confirmed that I had said the right thing.

"I know, right? I swear to God, that hairdo is like, epic."

There was only a trace of Southern lilt in her voice. It was pretty.

"Speaking of hairdos," I ventured, "how do you get away with that stripe?"

Jenna smoothed the pink streak with her free hand. "Oh, they don't really care about the poor vamp scholarship student that much. I guess as long as I'm not munching on my peers, I'm free to have any hair color I want."

When we reached the third-floor landing, she studied me. "I could do yours if you want. Not pink, though. That's my thing. Maybe purple?"

"Um . . . maybe."

We had stopped in front of room 312. Jenna set down her end of the trunk and pulled out her keys. Her key chain was bright yellow and had her name spelled out in sparkly pink letters.

"Here we are!"

She unlocked the door and pushed it open. "Welcome to The Twilight

Zone!"

The "Holy-crap-that's-a-lot-of-pink" Zone would have been a more accurate description.

I don't know what I was expecting a vampire's room to look like.

Maybe lots of black, a bunch of books by Camus . . . oh, and a sensitive portrait of the only human the vamp had ever loved, who had no doubt died of something beautiful and tragic, thus dooming the vamp to an eternity of moping and sighing romantically.

What can I say? I read a lot of books.

But this room looked like it had been decorated by the unholy lovechild of Barbie and Strawberry Shortcake. It was bigger than I expected, but still small. There was enough room for two twin beds, two desks, two dressers, and one battered futon. The curtains were beige canvas, but Jenna had twined a hot-pink scarf over the drapery rod. Between the two desks was one of those old Chinese screens, but even this bore Jenna's stamp, as the wood had been painted--you guessed it: pink. The top of the screen was draped with pink Christmas lights. Jenna's bed was covered in what appeared to be deep pink Muppet fur.

Jenna caught me staring at it. "Awesome, right?"

"I . . . I didn't know pink existed in that particular shade."

Kicking off her loafers, Jenna threw herself down on her bed, upsetting two sequined pillows and a ratty stuffed lion. "It's called 'Electric

Raspberry.'"

"That's the perfect name for it." I smiled as I pulled my trunk over to my bed, which looked as plain as . . . well, as plain as me next to Jenna.

"So, did your old roommate like pink too?"

Jenna's face froze for a split second. Then the strange look was gone, and she was leaning off the bed to scoop up her pillows and lion. "Nah, Holly just stuck with the blue stuff they give you if you don't bring your own. You brought your own, right?"

I opened my trunk and pulled out the corner of my mint green bedspread. Jenna looked a little disappointed, but sighed, "Well, it's better than regulation blue. So"--she flopped back onto the bed and began fishing around in her bedside table--"what brings you to Hex Hall, Sophie Mercer?"

"Hex Hall?" I repeated.

"Hecate is kind of a mouthful," Jenna explained. "Most people just say Hex. Besides, it feels kind of appropriate."

"Oh."

"So what was it?" she asked again. "Did you make it rain frogs, or turn some guy into a newt?"

I leaned back on my bed, trying to imitate Jenna's air of nonchalance, but it turns out that's really hard to do on a bare mattress, so I sat up and started pulling things out of my trunk. "I did a love spell for this girl in my class. It went badly."

"Didn't work?"

"Worked too well." I gave her the short version of the Kevin/Felicia episode.

"Day-um," she said, shaking her head. "That's hard core."

"Apparently," I said. "So you're . . . uh, you're a vampire. How exactly did that happen?"

Her eyes didn't meet mine, but her tone was casual. "Same way it happens to everyone else: met a vamp, got bitten. Not really that interesting."

I couldn't blame her for not wanting to share the whole story with someone she'd only known for fifteen minutes.

"So your mom is normal, huh?" she asked.

Hmm. Not exactly something I wanted to get into on the first day, but hey, this was what Fitting In was all about, right? Sharing makeup, clothes, and dark secrets with your roommate.

I cleared my throat. "Yeah, my dad is a warlock, but they're not together or anything anymore."

"Oh," Jenna said knowingly. "Say no more. A lot of the kids here come from divorced families. Even magic doesn't ensure a happy marriage, apparently."

"Are your parents divorced?"

She finally found the nail polish she'd been searching for. "No, they're still disgustingly happy. Or, I mean . . . I guess they are. I haven't seen them since I, uh, changed, or whatever."

"Oh wow," I replied. "That sucks."

"No pun intended?" she asked.

"Right." I finished putting the sheets on my bed. "So if you're a vamp, do I have to be really careful about not opening the drapes in the morning?"

"Nope. See this?" She tugged on a silver chain around her neck and held up a small pendant. It was about the size and shape of a jelly bean, and dark red. Anyone else might mistake it for a ruby, but I'd seen pictures of something like it in one of Mom's books.

"A bloodstone?" Bloodstones were clear, hollow stones that could be filled with the blood of a powerful witch or warlock. The stone acted as a protection against lots of different things. I guess in Jenna's case it negated all her vampire issues, which was a relief. At least now I knew I could eat garlic in front of her.

Jenna started painting her left hand. "So what about blood?" I asked.

She let out a huge sigh. "It's completely embarrassing. I have to go to the infirmary. They have a minifridge in there with a bunch of bags of blood, like it's the Red Cross or something."

I suppressed a shudder at the image. Blood is so very gross to me. If I give myself a paper cut, I nearly hyperventilate. I was really glad to hear

Jenna wouldn't be snacking in our room. I could never date a vampire. Just the thought of blood breath . . . ugh.

Then I noticed that Jenna was staring at me. Crap. Had my disgust been written all over my face? Just in case, I faked a smile and said, "Awesome. Like a bloody Capri Sun."

Jenna laughed. "Nice one."

We sat in companionable silence for a moment before Jenna asked, "So your parents' breakup was ugly?"

"Apparently," I answered. "It happened before I was born."

She looked up from her nails. "Whoa."

I walked to my desk. Someone, Mrs. Casnoff, I guess, had left my class schedule there. It looked like a normal enough schedule, but said things like "M-F, 9:15-10:00, Magical Evolution, Yellow Sitting Room."

"Yeah. Mom doesn't talk about it much, but whatever happened, it was bad enough that she won't let him meet me."

"So you've never seen your own dad?"

"I have a picture. And I've talked to him on the phone, and e-mail."

"Damn. I wonder what he did. Did he, like, hit her or something?"

"I don't know!" It came out more sharply than I had intended.

"Sorry," she murmured.

I turned to my bed and began smoothing my comforter. After I'd fixed about five imaginary wrinkles (and Jenna had painted one nail three times), I turned back and said, "I didn't mean to snap--"

"No, it's cool. That was none of my business anyway."

That cozy feeling of companionship was completely gone now.

"It's just . . . for like, my whole life, I've lived with only my mom, and

I'm just not used to this whole telling-your-life-story thing yet. I guess we've always been pretty private."

Jenna nodded, but she still wasn't looking at me.

"I guess you and your old roommate told each other everything, huh?"

That dark look came over her face again. She abruptly capped her bottle of nail polish. "No," she said softly. "Not everything."

She tossed the bottle into her drawer and hopped off her bed. "See you at dinner."

As she left, she nearly smacked into Mom, mumbling an apology as she ran off.

"Soph," Mom said, dropping down onto my bed. "Don't tell me you already had a fight with your roommate."

She was annoyingly good at reading my moods. "I dunno. I think I'm just really bad at this girl stuff, you know? I mean, the last friend I had was in sixth grade. It's not like you can find a best friend when the longest you ever stay anywhere is six months, so I gue--Oh, Mom, I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

She shook her head and wiped away the stray tears. "No, no, sweetie, it's fine. I just . . . I just wish I could have given you a more normal childhood."

I sat down and wrapped my arm around her. "Don't say that. I've had an awesome childhood. I mean, how many people get to live in nineteen states? Think of all I've seen!"

It was the wrong thing to say. If anything, Mom just looked sadder.

"And this place is awesome! I mean, I have this cool, extremely pink room, and Jenna and I seem to have bonded enough to fight, which is a pretty important part of the girl-friendship thing, right?"

Mission accomplished. Mom was smiling. "Are you sure, sweetie? If you don't like it, you don't have to stay. I'm sure there's something we could do to get you out of here."

For a second I thought about saying, "Yes, please, let's catch the next ferry out of this freak show."

Instead, what I said was: "Look, it's not forever, right? Just two years, and I'll have Christmas and summers off. Just like regular school. I'll be fine.

Now go before you make me cry and I look like a huge dork."

Mom's eyes teared up again, but she pulled me into a tight hug. "I love you, Soph."

"Love you too," I said, my throat tight.

Then, after making me swear to call at least three times a week, Mom was gone.

And I lay down on my not-pink bed and cried like a huge dork.

Once I'd gotten that out of my system, I still had an hour until dinner.

I decided to do some exploring. I'd opened the two small doors in our room, vainly hoping for private bathrooms, but no. Just closets.

The only bathroom on the whole floor was at the opposite end of the hall, and it, like the rest of the house, was spooky. The only light in it came from a few low-wattage bulbs surrounding a big mirror over the bank of sinks. That meant that the shower stalls in the back of the room were shrouded in darkness. Giving the showers a closer look, it occurred to me that I'd never had a true reason to use the word "dank" before now.

I knew I should have packed flip-flops.

In addition to the mildew-rific showers, there were also a bunch of claw-foot tubs against one wall, separated by waist-high partitions. I wondered who would ever want to take a bath in front of a bunch of other people?

Risking all manner of communicable diseases, I went to one of the sinks and splashed water on my face. Looking at myself in the mirror, I saw that the water hadn't really helped. My face was still bright red from crying, which had the charming effect of making my freckles stand out even more.

I shook my head, as if that would suddenly improve what I was seeing. It didn't. So with a sigh I set out to investigate the rest of Hecate

Hall.

There wasn't much happening on my floor; just the usual chaos that occurs when you throw roughly fifty girls together. There were four hallways on the third floor, two to the left of the staircase, two to the right.

The landing was huge, so it had been converted into a lounge. There were two couches and several chairs, but none of the furniture matched, and it all looked a little worse for wear. Since all the seats were taken, I hovered near the staircase.

The faerie I'd seen earlier, the one with the blue tears, had apparently recovered. She was draped over a chartreuse fainting couch, laughing with another faerie. This one had light green wings that beat softly against the back of the sofa. I'd always though faeries' wings would be like butterflies', but they were thinner and more translucent. You could see veins running through them.

They were the only faeries in the room. The other couch was taken up by a group of girls who looked about twelve. They were whispering nervously to each other, and I wondered if they were witches or shifters.

The dark-haired girl I'd seen on the lawn sat in an ivory wingback chair, idly flipping channels on the tiny television sitting on top of a small bookcase.

"Could you please turn that down?" the green-winged faerie said, turning to glare at the girl in the chair. "Some of us are trying to have conversations, Dog Girl."

None of the twelve-year-olds reacted to that, so I figured they were all witches. Surely a shifter would've looked more offended.

The blue faerie laughed as the dark-haired girl stood and turned off the TV. "My name is Taylor," she said, tossing the remote at the green faerie. "Taylor. And I turn into a mountain lion, not a dog. If we're going to live together for the next few years, you might want to remember that, Nausicaa."

Nausicaa rolled her eyes, her green wings beating softly. "Oh, we will not be living together for long, I assure you. My uncle is king of the Seelie

Court, and as soon as I tell him I am sharing a room with a shifter . . . well, let's just say I expect my living arrangements to change."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't look like your uncle could keep you out of this place," Taylor fired back. Nausicaa's face was still blank, but her wings beat faster.

"I will not live with a shifter," she said to Taylor. "I certainly don't want to deal with your litter box."

The blue faerie laughed again, and Taylor turned bright red. Even from several feet away I saw her brown eyes turn gold. She was breathing hard as she said, "Shut up! Why don't you go and hug a tree or something, you faerie freak?"

Her words sounded garbled, like she was mumbling around a mouthful of marbles. Then I realized that she was mumbling around a mouthful of fangs.

Nausicaa had the good sense to look a little scared. She turned to the blue faerie and said, "Come on, Siobhan. Let's let this animal get control of herself."

The two of them rose. They glided past me and down the stairs.

I looked back at Taylor, who was still panting, her eyes squeezed shut. After a moment, she shuddered, and when she opened her eyes, they were brown again. Then she looked up and saw me standing there.

"Faeries," she said with a nervous laugh.

"Right," I said. Like I'd ever seen a faerie before today.

"This your first day too?" she asked.

When I nodded, she said, "I'm Taylor. Shifter, obviously."

"Sophie. Witch."

"Cool." She knelt on the couch the faeries had vacated, folding her arms on the back and looking at me with those dark eyes.

"So what did you do to get in here?"

I glanced around. No one was paying attention to us.

Still, I kept my voice kind of quiet. "Love spell gone wrong."

Taylor nodded. "There's a bunch of witches in here for stuff like that."

"You?" I ventured.

She pushed her hair out of her eyes and said, "Pretty much what you just saw. Lost my temper with some girls at marching band practice, lioned out. But that's nothing compared to the crap some of the kids here have pulled." She leaned forward and her voice dropped to a near whisper. "This one werewolf, Beth? I hear she actually ate some girl. Still," she sighed, looking past me toward the stairs, "I'd rather have somebody like that for a roommate than a snotty faerie."

She looked back at me. "What are you rooming with?"

I didn't like the way she said "What," so my tone was a little sharp when I said, "Jenna Talbot."

Her eyes widened. "Dude. The vamp?" She chuckled. "Forget it. I'll take a bitchy faerie over that any day."

"She's not so bad," I said automatically.

Taylor shrugged and picked up the remote she'd thrown at Nausicaa.

"If you say so," she murmured, turning the TV back on.

Apparently our conversation was over, so I headed to the second floor. That was Boy World, so I couldn't really do any exploring. The layout was identical to the third floor, but their lounge area looked even more beat up than ours. Stuffing was leaking out of one of the couches, and a card table leaned crookedly in the corner. There was no one in there, but I did glance down one of the halls. I saw Justin trying to maneuver a huge trunk into what I guessed was his room. He paused, and his shoulders sagged with defeat. I felt a little sorry for him. Watching him try to push around a trunk that was nearly as tall as he was reminded me that, vicious werewolf or not, he was just a little kid. Then he turned, saw me, and, I boy you not, snarled.

I hurried down the stairs and onto the first floor. It was quiet down there. I only saw a couple of people hanging around, including a tall jock-

looking guy all in denim and flannel. I wondered if he was someone's older brother, since he looked too old to be at Hecate, and he was wearing jeans instead of khakis.

My footsteps were muffled by a thick oriental rug in swirling shades of red and gold as I turned down one of the hallways off the main foyer.

I peeked into the first room I came to. It looked like it had once been a dining room, or maybe a large parlor. Directly across from the door, one wall was nothing but windows, finally allowing me a good look at the grounds. This room overlooked a small pond with a pier and a pretty, ramshackle cabin. But what really struck me was all the green. The grass, the trees, the thin coat of algae on the pond, where I really, really hoped we wouldn't be canoeing or anything . . . all of it was this bright, hurt-your-eyes green that was like nothing I'd ever seen before. Even the heavy clouds that were beginning to swell with the threat of an afternoon thunderstorm seemed lime-tinted.

The carpet in this room was also green, and it felt soft, almost mushy underfoot, making me think of moss or fungus. Pictures covered the other three walls. Every one showed the same thing: a group of Prodigium gathered on the front porch. I didn't know if they were witches or shifters, but there were no faeries. A tiny gold plaque at the base of every frame told the year, starting in 1903 and ending with last year's picture, just to the right of the door.

There were only six adults in the oldest picture, and all of them looked really serious, like they'd probably kicked kittens for fun. Younger

Prodigium didn't start showing up until 1967. I wondered if that was the first year Hecate Hall had become a school. And if so, what was it before then?

Last year, there were nearly a hundred kids, and everybody looked a lot more relaxed. I spotted Jenna in the front, standing next to a taller girl.

They had their arms slung over each other's shoulders, and I wondered if this was the mysterious Holly.

To be honest, I felt a little jealous. I couldn't imagine ever being close enough to someone to casually put my arm around them in a picture. In all my old school pictures I was always the one standing alone in the back with my hair in my face.

Was that why Jenna had seemed so weird when I'd mentioned her old roommate? Had they been best buddies, and now I was the interloper trying to take Holly's place? Great.

"Sophia?"

Startled, I turned around.

The three most beautiful girls I'd ever seen in my life were standing behind me.

Then I blinked.

No, they weren't all drop-dead gorgeous. It was just the one in the middle. She had auburn hair that fell in soft bouncy curls nearly to her waist.

She probably didn't even have to use a diffuser. I bet she woke up with her hair looking like something out of a Pantene commercial while little bluebirds circled around her head, and raccoons brought her breakfast or something.

I also couldn't help but notice that she didn't have any freckles, which was enough to make me hate her instantly.

The girl to her right was a blonde, and even though she had that whole

California girl thing going--stick-straight hair, tan skin, deep blue eyes--her eyes were too close together, and when she smiled at me, I noticed she had a pretty bad overbite.

Rounding out the trio was an African American girl who was even shorter than I was. She was prettier than the blonde, but nowhere near as lovely the redheaded goddess in the middle. Still, looking at the plainer of the three, it was like my brain wanted them to be beautiful. My eyes wanted to skip over all of their imperfections.

A glamour. That was the only explanation, but I'd never heard of a witch using one. That was some serious magic.

I must have been looking at them like I was mentally damaged or something, because the blonde snickered and said, "Sophia Mercer, right?"

It was about then that I realized my mouth was literally hanging open.

I closed it so quickly, it made a clacking sound that was really loud in the quiet room.

"Yeah, I'm Sophie."

"Great!" said the short girl. "We've been looking for you. I'm Anna

Gilroy. This is Chaston Burnett"--she gestured to the blonde. "And this is

Elodie Parris."

"Oh," I said, smiling at the redhead. "That's pretty. Like 'Melody' without the 'M.'"

She smirked. "No, like Elodie."

"Be nice," Anna admonished before turning back to me. "Chaston, Elodie, and I are sort of like the welcoming committee for new witches.

So . . . welcome!"

She stuck her hand out, and I briefly wondered if I was supposed to kiss it, before I came to my senses and shook it.

"You three are witches?"

"That's what we just said," Elodie retorted, earning another sharp look from Anna.

"I'm sorry," I said. "It's just that I've never met any other witches before."

"Really?" Chaston asked. "Like, never met any witches at all, or just never met any other dark witches before?"

"Excuse me?"

"Dark witches," Elodie repeated, giving Nausicaa a run for her money in the Snottiest Tone Ever competition.

"I . . . um . . . I didn't know there were types of witches."

Now all three of them were looking at me as if I'd just spoken in a foreign language. "Yes, but you are a dark witch?" Anna asked, pulling a piece of paper from her blazer. It was some sort of list, and she scanned it intently. "Let's see, Lassiter, Mendelson . . . here, Mercer, Sophia. Dark

Witch. That's you."

She handed me the list, which was titled "New Students." There were about thirty names, all with classifications in parentheses. "Shapeshifter,"

"Faerie," and "White Witch." Mine was the only one that said "Dark Witch."

"Dark and white? What, are we like chicken meat?"

Elodie glared at me.

"You really don't know?" Anna asked gently.

"Really don't," I said casually, but inside I was kind of annoyed. I mean, hello, what is the point of having a mom who's supposed to be some sort of witch expert if she doesn't know the really important stuff?

I get that it's not really her fault, and that most modern witchcraft information is highly secretive since they're so freaked out about being discovered . . . but damn, this was getting embarrassing.

"White witches--" Anna began, but Elodie cut her off.

"White witches do weenie spells. Love spells, fortune reading, locator spells, and . . . I don't know, making bunnies and kittens and rainbows appear out of thin air or whatever," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

"Oh," I said, thinking of Felicia and Kevin. "Yeah. Weenie spells."

"Dark witches do the bigger things," Chaston offered. "And our powers are a hell of a lot stronger. We can make barrier spells, and if we're really good, control the weather. We're also necromancers if--"

"Whoa!" I held up my hand. "Necromancers? Like, power over dead things?"

All three girls nodded eagerly, like I'd just suggested going to the mall instead of raising zombies.

"Ew!" I exclaimed without thinking.

Mistake. Simultaneously, their smiles disappeared, and a distinct chill came over the room.

"Ew?" Elodie sneered. "God, how old are you?Power over the dead is the most coveted power there is, and you're grossed out by it? I swear," she said, turning back to the other two, "are you serious about wanting her for the coven?"

I'd heard of covens, but Mom always said they'd fallen out of favor in the last fifty years or so. These days, it was more like every witch for herself.

"Hold up," I started, but Anna cut in like I hadn't even spoken.

"She's the only other dark witch here, and you know we need four."

"And I have the power of invisibility, apparently," I muttered, but they all ignored me.

"She's worse than Holly," Elodie said. "And Holly was the most pathetic excuse for a dark witch ever."

"Elodie!" Chaston hissed.

"Holly?" I asked. "Like, Holly who used to room with Jenna Talbot?"

Anna, Chaston, and Elodie managed a three-way glance, which is no easy feat.

"Yes," Anna said guardedly. "How do you know about Holly?"

"I'm rooming with Jenna, and she mentioned her. So she's a dark witch too? Did she graduate or something, or just move out?"

Now all three of them looked genuinely freaked out. Even Elodie's perma-sneer was replaced by a look of shock.

"You're rooming with Jenna Talbot?" she asked.

"That's what I just said," I snapped, but Elodie seemed totally unfazed by my attempt at bitchiness.

"Listen," she said, taking my arm. "Holly didn't graduate or leave. She died."

Anna moved in on the other side of me, her eyes wide and frightened.

"And Jenna Talbot killed her."

When someone tells you somebody's been murdered, laughing is probably not the best response. You know, for future reference.

But laughing is exactly what I did.

"Jenna? Jenna Talbot killed her? What did she do, smother her with pink glitter or something?"

"You think this is funny?" Anna asked with a slight scowl.

Chaston and Elodie were glaring at me, and I figured my temporary membership into their club was about to be revoked.

"Well, yeah, kind of. I mean," I amended quickly, afraid smoke might actually start pouring out of Elodie's ears, "not that someone died. That's awful, 'cause . . . you know, death--"

"Yeah, we know. 'Ew,'" Elodie said, rolling her eyes.

"But the idea that Jenna could kill anyone is just . . . funny," I finished lamely.

Again with the three-way glance. Seriously, did they practice in front of a mirror?

"She's a vampire," Chaston insisted. "Can you think of any other way

Holly ended up with two holes in her neck?"

All three of them had gathered around me now, like we were in a huddle. Outside, the late afternoon sun had finally disappeared behind heavy clouds, making the room feel even gloomier and more claustrophobic.

Thunder had started rumbling, and I could smell that faint metallic scent that always comes before a storm.

"When Holly started two years ago, we formed a coven," Anna began.

"The four of us were the only dark witches here, and you need four people for a really strong coven, so it seemed natural that we would become friends.

But then Jenna Talbot showed up at the beginning of last year, and she and

Holly became roommates."

"Next thing we know," Chaston interjected, "Holly won't hang out with us anymore. She starts spending all her time with Jenna, totally blowing us off. When we asked her why, all she would say was that Jenna was fun.

Like, more fun than us."

She gave me a look that clearly said anyone being more fun than the three of them was impossible.

"Wow," I said faintly.

"Then one day in March, I find Holly in the library crying," Elodie said. "All she would tell me was that it was about Jenna, but she wouldn't tell me what."

"Two days later, Holly was dead," Chaston said, her voice dark and somber. I waited for another crack of thunder, thinking one surely had to follow a statement like that. But the only sound was the soft shushing of the rain.

"They found her in the upstairs bathroom." Elodie's voice was almost a whisper. "She was in a tub, with two holes in her neck, and almost no blood left in her body."

By now my stomach was somewhere south of my knees, and I could actually feel my heart pounding in my ears. No wonder Jenna had freaked when I'd mentioned her roommate. "That's horrible."

"Yeah. It was." Chaston nodded.

"But--"

"But what?" Elodie's eyes narrowed.

"If everyone's so sure it was Jenna, why is she still here? Wouldn't the

Council have staked her or something?"

"They did send someone," Chaston said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "But the guy said Holly's wounds couldn't have been made by fangs.

They were too . . . neat."

I swallowed. "Neat?"

"Vampires are messy eaters," Anna replied.

I tried really hard to keep my face blank as I said, "Well, if the

Council said it wasn't Jenna, then it wasn't her. Pretty sure those guys wouldn't let a rabid vampire go to school with Prodigium kids."

Elodie was the only one of the three who would meet my eyes. "The

Council was wrong," she said flatly. "Holly was living with a vampire and she was killed by someone draining her blood through her neck. What else could have happened?"

Chaston and Anna still weren't looking at me. Something was definitely off here. I wasn't sure why these girl were so determined make me believe Jenna was a killer, but I wasn't buying it. Besides, the last thing I wanted to do on my first day was get wrapped up in some sort of witch/vamp gang war.

"Look, I still have some unpacking to do--" I started to say, but Anna decided to change tactics.

"Forget about the vamp for just a second, Sophie. Hear us out." Her voice slid into a whine. "We really need a fourth for our coven."

"Yeah," Chaston added. "And we could teach you so much about being a dark witch. No offense, but you seem like you could use the help."

"I'll, uh, think about it, okay?"

I turned to leave, but the door slammed shut inches from my face.

Suddenly a wind seemed to blow through the room and the pictures on the walls rattled. When I turned back to the girls, all three of them were smiling at me, their hair rippling around their faces like they were underwater.

The one lamp in the room flickered and went out. I could just make out silvery traces of light passing under the girls' skin, like mercury. Even their eyes were glowing. They began to levitate, the tips of their Hecate-

issue loafers barely brushing the mossy carpet. Now they weren't homecoming queens or supermodels--they were witches, and very dangerous ones at that.

Even as I fought the urge to fall to my knees and throw my hands over my head, I was wondering, was this what I was capable of? If I hadn't been busy doing "weenie spells" like Felicia's, would I have looked like this, my skin lit up with silver and my eyes on fire? The power I sensed surging up through them made me feel like I was in the room with a tornado, like I was about to be blown out of that wall of windows and into that scummy pond.

As it was, the energy was enough to send the glass splintering out of three of the framed photographs. One thin sliver sliced my forearm, but I hardly felt it.

Then, as quickly as it had started, the wind died down and the pictures stilled. The three girls in front of me no longer looked like primeval goddesses. They were just normal, if stunning, teenagers again.

"See?" Anna said eagerly. "That's what we can do with only three.

Imagine what we could accomplish with four."

I stared at them. Had that been their sales pitch? Look!We're really scary! Come be scary too!

"Wow," I finally said. "That was . . . yeah. Really something."

"So are you in?" Chaston asked.

She and Anna were still smiling at me, but Elodie was looking off to the side, bored.

"Can I get back to you?" I asked.

Chaston's and Anna's smiles vanished. "Told you so," Elodie said.

And then, like I suddenly ceased to exist, they walked out.

I collapsed into one of the wingback chairs, my knees drawn up under my chin, watching as the rain died down.

That's where Jenna found me nearly an hour later, just after the dinner bell rang.

"Sophie?" she asked, poking her head in.

"Hey." I attempted a smile.

Which must have been pretty pathetic, because Jenna immediately furrowed her brow. "What's up?" But before I could explain about the

Witches of Clinique, Jenna rushed on, her words coming so fast that I could practically see them tumbling out of her mouth. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier. None of that was any of my business."

"No, no," I said, rising to my feet. "Jenna, it's not you. Really. We're cool."

Relief washed over her face. Then she glanced down. It happened so quickly that I couldn't be sure, but I thought I saw her eyes darken for a split second. I looked at my arm and saw the cut where the flying glass had hit me.

Right. I'd forgotten about that. It was deeper than I'd expected. Now, as I looked down, I could see splotches of my own blood staining the carpet.

I looked up at Jenna, who was obviously trying not to stare at my arm.

An uncomfortable prickling sensation crawled over the back of my neck.

"Oh, that," I said, covering the wound. "Yeah, I was looking at the pictures and a couple of them fell. The glass broke and I cut myself. I'm really clumsy."

But Jenna had already turned to the wall to see that none of the pictures had fallen; that just three of them had shattered. "Let me guess," she said softly. "You had a run-in with the Trinity."

"Who?" I said, lamely forcing a laugh. "I don't even know--"

"Elodie, Anna, and Chaston. And the fact that you didn't want to tell me about it means they must have told you about Holly."

Great. Was my only chance at friendship here destined to be thwarted at every turn?

"Jenna," I started, but now it was her turn to cut me off.

"Did they tell you I killed Holly?"

When I didn't answer, she made this sound that I think was supposed to be a sarcastic laugh, but she was clearly holding back tears.

"Right, 'cause I'm a monster who can't control herself and would eat her . . . her best friend." The corners of her mouth had started to tremble a little. "They're the ones who are into the really dark stuff, but I'm the monster," she continued.

"What do you mean?"

She looked back at me for a second before turning away again. "I don't know," she mumbled. "Just some stuff Holly said. Some sort of spell they were trying to do to get more power or something."

I thought of them hovering over the carpet, skin on fire. Whatever "stuff" they'd tried, it had clearly worked.

Jenna started sniffling. I felt sorry for her, but I couldn't stop thinking about that look I'd seen on her face before.

It was hunger.

I pushed the thought away and stepped closer to her. "Screw them."

Except I didn't say "screw." There are certain times when only really bad words will work, and this was one of them. Jenna's eyes got huge, and relief visibly flowed through her. "Damn straight." She agreed with such a strong nod that we both burst into giggles.

As we made our way to the dining hall, I looked over at Jenna, who was now babbling about how awesome the pecan pie was. I thought about those three girls, how wrong they'd been; there was no way Jenna could hurt anyone.

But even as I laughed at her rapturous descriptions of pie, I felt a small shiver at the base of my spine, thinking about her eyes as she'd watched my blood drip to the carpet.

The dining hall was completely bizarre. After hearing that it was a converted ballroom, I'd expected something fancy: crystal chandeliers, shiny dark wood floors, a wall of mirrors . . . the full-on fairy-tale ballroom.

Instead, it had the same decayed feeling as the rest of the house. Oh sure, there were chandeliers, but they were covered with what looked to be big trash bags. And there was a wall of mirrors, but it was covered from floor to ceiling in big sheets of canvas.

The dining hall was a jumble of tables of all sizes and shapes shoved into the massive room. There was a huge oval oak table right next to a

Formica and steel table that looked like it had been stolen from a diner. I even thought I spotted a picnic bench. Wasn't this school run by witches?

Was there not, like, a furniture-creating spell or something?

But then I caught sight of the long low table that held all the food: big heaping silver bowls of shrimp, steaming pans full of roasted chicken, vats of gooey macaroni and cheese.

I gaped at the towering chocolate cake, easily three feet tall, covered in dark creamy frosting and dotted with thick red strawberries.

"This is a first-night spread only," Jenna warned.

Once I had piled my plate high, Jenna and I looked around for a place to sit. I saw Elodie, Chaston, and Anna sitting at a glass-top table near the end of the room, so I immediately started to look for a table far away from them. There were a couple of empty spots available at nearly every table, and I could hear my mom saying, "Now, Sophie, please make an effort to meet new people."

But Mom wasn't here, and I could see that Jenna wasn't really in the mood to socialize either. Then I spotted a small white table near the doors, and pointed it out to Jenna.

It looked like it had once been used for some little girl's tea party, but it was the only table for two, so, you know, beggars, choosers, and all that.

I sat in one of the little white chairs. My knees thwacked into the edge of the table, causing Jenna to snort with laughter.

While I devoured the delicious food on my plate, I asked Jenna questions about various people in the dining hall. I started with the huge ebony table that sat on a raised platform at one end of the room. It was clearly the teachers' table, since not only was it the nicest, it was also the biggest. Besides Mrs. Casnoff picking at her salad at the head of the table, there were five other adults--two men and three women. The faerie teacher was easy to spot, what with the wings, and Jenna told me that the big man next to her was Mr. Ferguson, a shifter.

On his right was a young woman with bright, nearly purple hair and thick-framed glasses like Jenna's. She was so fair-skinned I guessed she was the vampire Mrs. Casnoff had mentioned earlier, but Jenna said she was actually Ms. East, a white witch.

"The guy next to her, he's the vamp," Jenna said through a mouthful of pie. She pointed to a really good-looking guy in his thirties with black curly hair. "Lord Byron."

I snorted. "Oh God, how angsty can you be, naming yourself after a dead poet?"

But Jenna just looked at me. "No, he's the real Lord Byron."

Now it was my turn to stare. "No freaking way! Like, 'She Walks in

Beauty' and all that? He's a vampire?"

"Yup," Jenna confirmed. "One of them turned him while he was dying in Greece. The Council actually held him prisoner for a really long time since he's kind of conspicuous. Kept wanting to go back to England and turn everybody into vampires. When they opened this place, they sentenced him to be a teacher here."

"Wow," I breathed softly, watching the guy I'd written a paper about last year boldly scowl at all of us. "How bad would that suck to be immortal and have to spend eternity here?"

Then I remembered who I was talking to. "Sorry," I said, looking at my food.

"Don't be," Jenna said, shoving a forkful of pie into her mouth. "I don't plan on spending the rest of my very long life at Hecate, trust me."

I wanted to ask Jenna some more questions about what it was like to know you'd live forever. I mean, vamps are the only Prodigium that get to do that. Even faeries will blink out eventually, and witches and shifters don't live any longer than regular people.

Instead I gestured to the tall woman with curly brown hair who was sitting across the table from Mrs. Casnoff.

"Who's that?"

Jenna rolled her eyes and groaned. "Ugh. Ms. Vanderlyden. Or the

Vandy as we all call her. Not to her face," she quickly added. "Do that and you'll never get out of detention. She's a dark witch, or at least she was. The

Council stripped her of her powers years ago. Now she's kind of like our dorm mother or something, and she teaches P.E. or what passes for it at Hex.

She's in charge of making sure we follow the rules and stuff. She's also totally evil."

"She's wearing a scrunchie," I said. I had rocked some scrunchies in my day, but that had been when I was, like, seven. The thought of wearing one as a grown woman was just tragic.

"I know." Jenna shook her head. "We have this theory that it's her

Portable Portal to hell. You know, she just stretches it out and steps through whenever she needs to recharge her evilness."

I laughed, even as I wondered if Jenna was actually being serious.

"There's also a groundskeeper," Jenna added. "Callahan, but we all call him Cal. I don't see him tonight."

We moved on to the students. I noticed that Archer was sitting at a table with a bunch of other guys. They were laughing at something Archer was saying. I really hoped it wasn't the "Bad Dog" story. "What about that guy?" I asked with forced casualness.

"Archer Cross, resident bad boy and total heartthrob. Warlock. Every girl here is at least, like, half in love with him. Crushing on Archer Cross might as well be a class."

"What about you?" I asked. "You have a crush on him?"

Jenna studied me for a moment before saying, "He's not really my type."

"What, you don't do tall, dark, and handsome?"

"No," she said lightly. "I don't do guys."

"Oh," was all I could say to that. I'd never had a gay friend. Then again, I'd never really had a lot of friends.

Still looking at Archer, I said, "Yeah, well, I attempted to kill him earlier."

After Jenna recovered from the sweet tea that nearly shot out of her nose, I filled her in on the actual story.

"Mrs. Casnoff didn't seem very impressed with him," I said.

"She wouldn't be. Archer was always in trouble last year. Then he left in the middle of the school year for almost a month, and there were all these rumors about him. People thought he went to London."

"Why? So he could ride one of those double-decker buses?"

Jenna gave me a funny look. "No, London is where Council headquarters is. Everybody thought he'd gone through the Removal."

I'd read something about that in one of Mom's books. It was this really intense ritual that took away magical powers. But something like one in a hundred Prodigium survive it. I'd never heard of anyone going through it voluntarily.

"Why would he do that?" I asked.

She pushed her food around on her plate. "He and Holly were . . . really close, and he was in a bad place after she died. A couple of people said they heard him telling Casnoff that he hated what he was, wanted to be normal, stuff like that."

"Huh," I said. "So he and Holly were a couple?"

"You could say that."

I clearly wasn't going to get any more out of Jenna about that, so I said, "Well, apparently he didn't go through the Removal. He's still got powers."

"Yeah, powers over your pants," Jenna said with a giggle.

I threw a roll at her, but before she could retaliate, Mrs. Casnoff rose from her seat. She raised her hands over her head and the room fell quiet so quickly, you would have thought she'd just cast a silencing spell.

"Students," she drawled. "Dinner is now concluded. If this is not your first night at Hecate, please exit the dining hall. The rest of you are to remain seated."

Jenna gave me a sympathetic look and cleared our empty plates.

"Sorry in advance for what you're about to see."

"What?" I asked as the dining hall began to empty. "What's going to happen?"

Jenna shook her head. "Let's just say you may regret that second piece of cake."

Oh my God. Regret cake? Whatever was about to happen must be truly evil.

Everyone was filing out when Mrs. Casnoff's voice rang out. "Mr.

Cross? Where are you going?"

Archer was only a few feet from me and about to head out the door. I also noticed that he was holding hands with Elodie. Interesting. Of course it made total sense that the two people who already seemed to dislike me the most would be dating.

Archer stared down the length of the ballroom at Mrs. Casnoff. "This isn't my first year," he said. The line out the door had frozen, everyone's curious faces turned toward Archer. Elodie placed her other hand--the one that wasn't clutching Archer's like he was a prize she'd won at a carnival--on his shoulder.

"I've seen all this crap before," he insisted.

The shifter teacher, Mr. Ferguson, rose to his feet. "Language!" he bellowed.

But Archer's eyes were on Mrs. Casnoff, who looked calm and cool.

"And yet I don't believe it has sunk in," she told Archer. She gestured to the Jenna's now-empty chair. "Kindly have a seat."

I'm pretty sure he muttered an even worse string of words as he grabbed the chair across from me. "Hey there, Soph ie."

I gritted my teeth. "Hi. So what is this?"

Archer settled into his seat, a grim look on his face. "Oh, you'll see."

And then everything went black.

As soon as the lights went out, I expected that usual thing that happens when a teacher turns off the lights: laughter, oooohs, and the rustling of clothing and squeaking of chairs that tells you people are scooting closer together, probably to make out. Instead the room was silent. Of course, there were only about twenty of us in there.

Next to me, I heard Archer sigh. It always feels weird to sit next to a guy in the dark, even if it was a guy I didn't like. Because I couldn't see him, I was very aware of him breathing, shifting in his chair, even the way he smelled (which, admittedly, was clean and soapy).

I was about to ask him again just what I was in for when a tiny square of light appeared at the front of the room next to Mrs. Casnoff. The square grew larger and larger until it was roughly the size of a movie screen. It hovered there, blank and glowing, until, very slowly, an image began to appear, like a photo developing. It was a black-and-white painting of a group of stern-faced men wearing the black suits and big hats of Puritans.

"In 1692, two witches in Salem, Massachusetts, came into their powers and created a panic that left eighteen innocent humans dead," Mrs.

Casnoff began. "A group of warlocks from nearby Boston wrote to the warlocks and witches in London and created the Council. It was hoped that with structure and resources, the Council could better control magical activity and prevent other tragedies like this from occurring."

The picture faded and morphed into a portrait of a redheaded woman in a green satin dress with a huge hoop skirt.

"This is Jessica Prentiss," Mrs. Casnoff continued, her voice filling the huge room. "She was an enormously powerful white witch from New

Orleans. In 1876, after her younger sister, Margaret, perished while having her powers stripped by the Council, Miss Prentiss proposed the idea of a safe house of sorts, a place where witches whose powers were potentially harmful could live in peace."

The portrait faded and the old photograph that I'd seen earlier, the one of the school in 1903, appeared.

"It took almost thirty years, but her dream was realized in 1903," Mrs.

Casnoff continued. "In 1923, the Council granted shapeshifters and fae the right to come to Hecate as well."

No mention of vamps, of course.

"This isn't so bad," I whispered to Archer. "Just a history lecture."

He shook his head slightly. "Just wait."

"In 1967, the Council realized that it needed a place to train and mold young Prodigium who were using their powers without the proper level of discretion. A school where they would learn more about the history of

Prodigium, and of the dreadful consequences of exposing their abilities to humans. And so Hecate Hall was born."

"Juvie for monsters," I muttered under my breath, earning me a low laugh from Archer.

"Miss Mercer," Mrs. Casnoff said, making me jump. I was afraid she was going to bust me for talking, but instead she asked, "Can you tell us who

Hecate is?"

"Um, yeah. She's the Greek goddess of witchcraft."

Mrs. Casnoff nodded. "Indeed. But she is also the goddess of the crossroads. And that is where all of you children now find yourselves. And now"--Mrs. Casnoff's voice rang out--"a demonstration."

"Here we go," Archer murmured.

Once again, a small speck of light sparkled in the front of the room, but this time, no screen appeared. Instead, the light took the form of an old man, maybe around seventy. He would have looked completely real if it hadn't been for the slight shimmer that clung to him, making him glow in the dark room. He was dressed in overalls and a plaid shirt, and a brown hat was pulled low over his eyes. A scythe dangled from his right hand. For a moment he was totally motionless, but then he turned and began swinging the scythe near the ground, like he was cutting grass that wasn't there. It was . . . eerie. It was like we were watching a movie, but the action was happening live.

"This is Charles Walton," Mrs. Casnoff announced. "He was a white warlock from a village in England called Lower Quinton. He kept to himself and earned one pitiful shilling an hour as a hedge cutter for a local farmer. In addition to that, he performed simple spells for the people of Lower

Quinton: potions for gout, the occasional love spell . . . simple harmless things. But then, in 1945, the village had a bad harvest." As she spoke, more figures began to materialize behind the man. There were four of them in all: normal-looking people in cardigans and sensible shoes. Two of them had their backs to me, but I could see a short, squat woman with a rosy face and steel gray hair, and a skinny guy wearing a deep burgundy hat with earflaps.

They looked like they should be on a box of shortbread. Both also wore stark, scary expressions on their faces, and the skinny guy was holding a pitchfork.

"The people of Lower Quinton decided that Charles must have been to blame for their crops failing, and . . . well, you can see the rest."

The man with the pitchfork darted forward and grabbed the old man by the elbow, whirling him around. The old man looked terrified, and even though I knew what was coming, I couldn't turn away. Instead I watched as three people, people who looked like they should be baking pies or sipping tea, forced the old man to the ground, and the skinny man drove the pitchfork through his neck.

I thought for sure someone would scream; that someone in the room would cry out or even faint. But it seemed like everyone was as frozen as I was. Even Archer had stopped slouching in his seat. Now he was leaning forward, his elbows on his thighs, hands clenched.

The sweet grandmotherly woman knelt down next to the body and picked up the scythe, and just as I was thinking that I really did regret that cake, the scene in front of us shimmered and vanished.

Mrs. Casnoff filled us in on what we hadn't seen. "After stabbing him, the villagers went on to carve symbols on Mr. Walton's body, which they hoped would ward off his 'evil' magic. After five decades of trying to help his fellow villagers, this is how Charles Walton was repaid by humans."

And suddenly the room was full of images and sounds. Just behind

Mrs. Casnoff, a family of vampires were staked by a group of men in black suits. I could actually hear the horrible wet sound, almost like a loud kiss, as the wooden stakes pierced their chests.

From the left I heard the sharp rattle of gunfire, and I instinctively ducked as a werewolf collapsed, riddled with silver bullets fired by an old woman in, of all things, a pink housecoat.

It was like being thrust into a horror movie, and it was everywhere. In the center of the room, I now saw two faeries, both with translucent gray wings, forced to their knees by three men in brown robes. As the faeries screamed, their wrists were shackled in iron that immediately seared their flesh, filling the room with a smell that was disturbingly like barbecue.

My mouth went so dry I could feel my lips sticking to my teeth. That's why I couldn't even gasp when a gallows full of hanged witches sprung up right next to me.

Instead of fading in as the other pictures had done, this one shot straight up from the ground like a jack-in-the-box. Their bodies actually jolted and started spinning on their nooses, their faces purple, tongues protruding from swollen lips. I could hear faint screaming, but I wasn't sure if it was from my fellow students or the images themselves. I wanted to cover my face, but my hands felt heavy and clammy, my heart stuck in my throat.

Something warm settled on the back of my hand. I tore my eyes away from those dangling bodies and saw that Archer had covered my hand with his. He was staring straight at the witches, and I realized they weren't just women. There were warlocks hanging too. Without really thinking, I curled my fingers around his.

And then, just when I was sure I was going to be sick, the images vanished and the dining hall lights came on.

Mrs. Casnoff stood at the front of the room, smiling serenely, but when she spoke, her voice was cold and hard. "This is why all of you are here. This is what you all risked when you recklessly used your powers in the presence of humans. And for what?" She looked around the room. "To gain acceptance? To show off?" Her eyes fell on me for a second before she continued. "We've been persecuted unto death by humans who will happily use our powers if it suits them. And what you just saw"--she swept her hand around, and I could almost see those hanged witches again, their eyes cloudy, their lips blue--"is just what normal humans have done. This is nothing compared to what is done by those who've made it their life's work to eliminate our kind."

My heart was still pounding, but my stomach was no longer threatening mutiny. Next to me, Archer had resumed slouching, so I guess he was feeling better too.

Mrs. Casnoff waved her hand again, and like before, images sprang up behind her, only this time they were still pictures instead of movies from hell. "There's a group that calls themselves the Alliance," she said, sounding almost bored as she gestured to a group of bland-looking men and women in suits. I thought her tone was awfully dismissive for a lady who worked for a council called "the Council," but I had to agree that "the Alliance" was pretty lame.

"The Alliance is made up of agents from several different government agencies from several different governments. Luckily, they stay so bogged down with paperwork that they're rarely an actual threat."

That picture faded as a trio of women with the brightest red hair I'd ever seen appeared. "And, of course, the Brannicks, an ancient family from

Ireland who have been fighting 'monsters,' as they call us, since the time of

Saint Patrick. These are the current keepers of the flame, Aislinn Brannick, and her two daughters, Finley and Isolde. They tend to be a little more dangerous, as their ancestor was Maeve Brannick, an incredibly powerful white witch who renounced her race to join with the church. They're therefore imbued with more power than your regular human."

She waved her hand again, and the women disappeared.

"And then there is our most forceful enemy," Mrs. Casnoff continued.

As she spoke, a black image formed over her head. It took me a minute to figure out that it was an eye. But not an actual eye--more like a really stylized tattoo sketched all in black, except for the iris, which was deep gold.

"L'Occhio di Dio. The Eye of God," she said. I heard the room draw in a collective breath.

"What's that?" I whispered to Archer.

He turned. That sarcastic smile was hovering around his lips again, so

I figured our earlier camaraderie was pretty much over. He confirmed it, saying, "You can't do a blocking spell, and you've never heard of L'Occhio?

Man, what kind of witch are you?"

I had an incredibly nasty retort ready that involved his mother and the

U.S. Navy, but before I could get it out, Mrs. Casnoff said, "L'Occhio di Dio is the greatest threat to any Prodigium. They are a group based in Rome, and their express purpose is wiping our kind off the face of the earth. They see themselves as holy knights, while we are the evil that must be purged. Last year this group alone was responsible for the deaths of more than one thousand Prodigium."

I stared up at The Eye and felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Now I remembered why it looked so familiar. I'd seen it once in one of

Mom's books. I'd been about thirteen, just idly flipping through the pages, admiring the glossy pictures of famous witches. And then I'd turned to a painting of a witch's execution in Scotland, maybe around 1600 or so. The picture was so gruesome that I hadn't been able to stop staring at it. I could still see the witch lying on her back, strapped to a wooden plank. Her blond hair streamed to the ground, a look of sheer terror on her face. Standing over her was a dark-haired man holding a silver knife. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and just above his heart was a tattoo--a black eye with a golden iris.

"In the past we've more than held our own against these three groups, but that's when they were separate and at odds. Now we've received word that they may be forging a sort of peace. If this happens . . ." She sighed.

"Well, let's just say we can't let that happen."

The Eye faded, and Mrs. Casnoff clapped her hands together. "Now.

Enough of that. You all have a very big morning tomorrow, so you are dismissed. Lights out in half an hour."

She sounded so bright and businesslike that I wondered if I had hallucinated the part where she basically told us we were all going to die.

But one look around the room and I knew that my classmates were just as shell-shocked and confused as I was.

"Well," Archer said, slapping his hands on his thighs. "That was new."

Before I could ask what he meant, he was out of his seat and disappearing among the crowd of students.

Thanks to his long-legged stride, I nearly had to jog to catch up with

Archer.

By the time I reached him, he was halfway up the stairs.

"Cross!" I called. I just couldn't bring myself to say "Archer" out loud.

I'd have felt like I was in an episode of Masterpiece Theatre: "Archer! Let us fetch a spot of tea, old boy!"

He paused on the stairs and turned to face me. Shockingly, he wasn't smirking.

"Mercer," he replied, making me roll my eyes.

"Look, what did you mean by 'that was new'? I thought you'd seen all that before."

He came down a couple of steps. "I have," he answered when he was only two steps above me. "Three years ago, when I was fourteen. My first year here. But it was different then."

"Different how?"

He shrugged out of his blazer, rolling his shoulders as if the jacket had been heavy. "They still did the Charles Walton thing; that seems to be a favorite. And there was a werewolf getting shot, and maybe one or two faeries on fire. But there weren't as many images. And they weren't all at once like that."

He looked down at me like he was sizing me up. "No hanged witches and warlocks either. I have to say, I'm a little impressed."

I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled. I didn't like the way he was looking at me. "Impressed by what?"

"When I saw that show three years ago, I had to run into that little bathroom over there"--he pointed to a small door across the foyer--"and puke my guts out. What we saw tonight was a lot worse, and you don't even look pale. You're tougher than I thought."

I fought the urge to laugh. My face may have looked calm, but my belly still felt like a mosh pit. Briefly amused by the image of my organs wearing eyeliner and ripped jeans, I gave Archer what I hoped was a look of cool nonchalance. "I just don't believe all that."

He raised an eyebrow, which made me totally jealous. I've never been able to do that. I always just end up raising both of them and looking surprised or scared instead of sardonic.

"Don't believe all what?"

"All that about humans wanting to kill us in lots of nasty ways."

"I think history pretty well supports that hypothesis, Mercer. Hell, humans have wiped out thousands of their own kind trying to get to us."

"Yeah, but that was in the past," I argued. "Back when they also thought drilling a hole in your head, or draining your blood would cure you of a disease. Humans are a lot more enlightened now."

"That a fact?" He was smirking again. I wondered if his face hurt if he took too long a break from it.

"Look," I said. "My mom is human, okay? And she loves Prodigium.

She'd never do a thing to hurt one. She even got a--"

"Her daughter's one."

"What?"

He heaved a sigh and tossed his jacket over one shoulder, holding it with the tip of his index finger. I thought only male models in GQ did that.

"Your mom may be an awesome person, but do you honestly believe she'd feel all warm and fuzzy about witches if she weren't raising one?"

I wanted to answer yes. I really did. But he had a point. Mom may have become a monster expert for my sake, but hadn't she run from my dad the minute he'd told her what he really was?

"You're right," Archer said, his tone softening a little. "Humans aren't what they used to be. But all those images were real, Mercer. Humans are always going to be scared of us. They're always going to be envious of our powers, and suspicious of our motives."

"Not all of them," I said, but my voice sounded weak, and I was thinking of Felicia, hysterical and screaming, "It was her! She's a witch!"

Archer shrugged again. "Maybe not. But you've been living with one foot in each world, and you can't do that anymore. You're at Hecate now."

His words hit hard. It had never occurred to me that I was different, that most Prodigium grew up in households with two parents just like them.

And some of the kids here had had hardly any interactions with humans once they'd come into their powers. Despite the doubt that was crawling over my skin like bugs, I said, "Yeah, but--"

"Arch!"

Elodie was standing on the landing above us, one hand on her basically nonexistent hip. Normally when this kind of thing happens in movies, the girlfriend is glaring down at the other girl with bright green jealousy, but since Elodie was a goddess, and I was, well, not, she didn't look even the littlest bit threatened. More bored, actually.

"Be right there, El," Archer called up to her. She executed that combination eye-roll/hair-flip/hand-wave thing that only beautiful girls irritated with their boyfriends can pull off, and walked up to the third floor. I think she put a little too much swing in her hips as she went, but, hey, matter of opinion.

"'Arch'?" I asked once she was gone, attempting the raised-eyebrow thing. As usual, it didn't work, so I probably just looked startled.

"See ya, Mercer," was all he replied. But as he turned to go, I couldn't help blurting out, "Do you think they might have a reason sometimes?"

He turned back to me. "Who?"

I glanced around, but the hall was empty.

"Those people. The Alliance and those Irish girls. The Eye," I answered. "I mean, what we saw was awful, but aren't there dangerous

Prodigium too?"

For a moment we held each other's gaze. At first I thought he was pissed at me, but then I realized the look in his eyes wasn't anger. It was more like he was . . . I don't know . . . studying me or something.

I felt a weird sort of heat travel from my stomach to my cheeks. I don't know if he noticed it, but he smiled at me, a real smile this time, and I actually felt my breath hitch in my chest. It was the same feeling I'd had in the fourth grade when Suzie Strelzyck dared me to touch the bottom of the pool at the YMCA. I'd done it, but kicking back up to the surface, my chest had felt like it was caught in a trash compactor, and I was light-headed by the time I'd broken through the water.

That's how I felt now, staring up into Archer Cross's eyes.

He walked down the two steps between us until he was on the same stair as me. I still had to look up at him, but at least it didn't make my neck hurt. He leaned in close, and I caught that clean soapy smell.

"I wouldn't say that kind of thing around here if I were you, Mercer," he whispered. I could feel his breath warm against my cheek, and although I wouldn't swear to it, I think my eyes may have fluttered.

But just a little.

As I watched him lope up the stairs, I gritted my teeth and repeated a mantra in my head:

I will not have a crush on Archer Cross, I will not have a crush on

Archer Cross, I will not . . .

When I got back to my room, Jenna was sitting cross-legged on her bed, reading a book.

I heaved a sigh and leaned against the door, pushing it shut with a loud click.

"What's wrong? The Moving Picture Show get to you?" Jenna asked without looking up.

"No. I mean, yeah, of course. That stuff was messed up."

"Mm-hmm," Jenna agreed. "Anything else?"

"I have a crush on Archer Cross."

Jenna laughed. "How original of you."

I flopped down on my bed. "Why?" I moaned into my pillow. I rolled over and stared at the ceiling. "Okay, so he's cute. Big deal. Lots of guys are cute."

Clearly my whining about a boy I liked was interfering with Jenna's reading, because she uncrossed her legs and came to perch on the edge of her desk. "Archer's not cute," she amended. "Puppies are cute. Babies are cute. I'm cute. Archer Cross is smokin' hot. And I'm not even into guys."

Okay, so Jenna was not going to be much assistance in squashing the crush. "He's a jerk," I pointed out. "Remember the whole werewolf thing this morning?"

"Yeah," Jenna said drily. "Saving you from a were-wolf. What a tool."

I groaned. "You're not helping."

"Sorry."

We sat in silence for a moment, me looking at a suspicious mildew stain on the ceiling, Jenna leaning back on her elbows, drumming her feet against the desk drawers. Outside, I could hear howling. It was a full moon, so the shifters got free run of the grounds. I wondered if Taylor was out there.

"Ooh!" Jenna said suddenly, sitting up so fast she knocked over her cup of pens. "He has a total bitch for a girlfriend!"

"Yes!" I said, sitting up and pointing at her. "Thank you! Evil girlfriend who already hates me, no less. And any guy who willingly spends time with Elodie is not a guy worth liking."

"Too true," Jenna said with an emphatic nod.

Feeling better, I rolled onto my stomach to grab a book from beside the bed. "It's weird, though," Jenna said.

"What is?"

"Archer and Elodie. She was after him all last year, but he never wanted anything to do with her. Like, ever. Then he came back from wherever he was, and bam! Suddenly they're a couple. It's weird."

"Not that weird," I countered. "I mean, she's incredibly beautiful.

Maybe hormones finally got the best of him."

"Maybe," Jenna said, resting her chin in her hand. "But still. Archer is smart and funny in addition to being hot. Elodie is stupid and dull."

"And hot," I added. "And even smart boys are dumb when it comes to hot girls."

"True," Jenna agreed.

I was about to bring up the subject of Holly again when Casnoff's voice drifted through the room, almost like she was on a PA system. I guessed it was some sort of voice amplification spell.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in light of tomorrow's busy schedule, you are expected to retire early tonight. Lights out in ten minutes."

I glanced at my watch. "It's eight o'clock," I said incredulously. "She wants us to go to bed at eight o'clock?"

Sighing, Jenna went to her closet and pulled out her pajamas.

"Welcome to life at Hecate, Sophie."

There was a mad rush for the bathroom to brush teeth, but it was all shifters and witches. I guess faeries have naturally clean teeth. Once I made it back from that, I only had three minutes left to put on my pajamas and dive into bed. At 8:10 exactly, the lights blinked out.

My mind was whirling, and I didn't know how I was ever going to get to sleep. "Is it weird for you," I asked Jenna, "going to bed at night? I mean, aren't vampires supposed to sleep during the day?"

"Yeah," she replied. "But as long as I'm here, I have to follow

Hecate's schedule. It's gonna be a bitch once I get to leave."

I didn't ask Jenna when she would get to leave. Everybody else was released from Hecate at eighteen, but the rest of us aged like humans. Jenna would always be fifteen.

I settled into my bed and tried to think sleepy thoughts. It seemed like

I had just closed my eyes when I heard the door creak open.

Panicked, I sat up, heart pounding. The clock by my bed said it was a few minutes after midnight.

A dark figure slid into the room.

I gasped. "Relax," Jenna muttered from her bed. "It's probably just one of the ghosts. They do that sometimes."

Then there was the soft snick of a match being lit, and a small pool of light illuminated the figure.

Elodie.

She was wearing purple silk pajamas, a black candle cradled in her hands. Two other candles blazed to life, and I saw Chaston and Anna, also pajama-clad, standing behind Elodie.

"Sophia Mercer," Elodie intoned, "we have come to induct you into our sisterhood. Say the five words to begin the ritual."

I blinked at her. "Are you freaking kidding me?"

Anna gave an exasperated sigh. "No, the five words are 'I accept your offer, sisters.'"

I brushed my hair out of my face and said, "I told you earlier, I'm not sure if I want to join your coven. I'm not saying any words to begin any ritual."

"Saying the five words doesn't mean you automatically join," Chaston said, stepping forward. "It just means that the ritual of acceptance can start.

You can back out any time."

"Oh, just go with them," Jenna said. I could see her in the candlelight, sitting up in her bed, her dark eyes wary. "They're not going to leave you alone until you hear them out."

Elodie's mouth tightened, but she didn't say anything.

"Fine," I said, pushing off my covers and standing up. "I . . . I accept your offer, sisters."

The three of them led me to Elodie and Anna's room.

"How did you two get to room together?" I whispered. "I thought the big thing at Hecate was learning to live with other Prodigium."

Elodie was searching her desk for something and gave no sign of hearing me, so Chaston said, "Witches sometimes have to pair up since there are always way more of us than faeries or shifters."

"Why is that?" I asked.

Anna answered me as she lit some more candles, bathing the room in a soft glow. "Faeries and shifters don't attempt to travel in the human world as much as witches do. Less chance of them getting sent to this place."

Elodie had found a piece of chalk in her desk and was busy drawing a large pentagram on the hardwood floor. Once she was done, she drew a circle around it.

"Normally we'd do this ritual outside, preferably in a ring of trees," she said, sitting at the head of the pentagram. Chaston and Anna sat on either side of her, so I took my place at the other end. "But we're not allowed in the woods. Mrs. Casnoff is, like, insanely strict about that."

The four of us sat around the pentagram holding hands. I wondered if we were about to sing "Kumbaya."

"Sophie, what was the first magic you put out into the universe?"

Elodie asked.

"What?"

"The first spell you ever cast," Chaston said, leaning forward, her blond hair spilling over her shoulders. "It's a sacred thing for a witch, that first spell. When I was twelve, I created a storm that lasted three days. And

Anna froze time for . . . how long?"

"Ten hours," Anna answered.

I looked across the circle at Elodie. The light from the candles flickered in her eyes.

"What about you?" I asked her. "I turned day to night."

"Oh."

"What was yours, Sophie?" Chaston asked eagerly.

I thought about lying. I could say I turned someone to stone, or something. But then again, maybe if they knew what a crappy witch I was, they'd back off from this coven business.

"I turned my hair purple."

I was met with three identical stares.

"Purple?" Anna asked.

"It wasn't on purpose or anything," I said. "I was trying to permanently straighten it, but I guess I did something wrong because instead it turned purple. Only for three weeks, though. So . . . yeah, that was the first magic I ever did."

They were silent. Anna and Chaston exchanged looks across the circle.

"Maybe I should go," I said.

"No!" Chaston said, squeezing my hand.

"Yeah, don't go," Anna added. "So your first magic was . . . well, kind of stupid. You've done bigger spells than that since then, right?" She nodded at me encouragingly.

"What spell got you in here?" Elodie asked. She was sitting perfectly still, her eyes glittering. "Surely that was something."

I met her gaze across the circle. "I did a love spell."

Anna and Chaston heaved identical sighs and dropped my hands.

"A love spell?" Elodie sneered.

"What about you?" I looked around the circle at the three of them.

"What did you do to get sent to Hecate?"

Anna spoke first. "I turned a boy in my English class into a rat."

Chaston shrugged. "I told you. I made it storm for three days."

Elodie glanced down at the floor for a second. I wasn't sure, but I thought she took a deep breath. When she raised her head, she looked calm.

Relaxed, even. "I made a girl vanish."

I swallowed. "For how long?"

"Forever."

Now I took a deep breath. "So all three of you did spells that hurt people."

"No," Anna replied. "We did powerful spells befitting our kind.

Humans just . . . got in the way."

That was all I had to hear. I stood up. "All right, well, thanks for the offer, but . . . yeah. I don't think this is gonna work out."

Chaston reached up and grabbed my hand again. "No, don't go," she said. Her eyes were huge and shining in the candlelight.

"Oh, let her," Elodie said in a disgusted voice. "She clearly thinks she's better than us anyway."

"Okay, that's not what I said--"

"But we need a fourth," Chaston broke in.

"Not if that fourth is dead weight," Elodie retorted.

"She's the only other dark witch here. We need her," Anna said in a low voice. "Without four, we won't be strong enough to hold it."

"Hold what?" I asked, but at the same time, Elodie hissed, "Shut up, Anna."

"It didn't work anyway," Chaston said glumly.

"Seriously, are you guys talking in code or something?" I asked.

"No," Elodie said, rising to her feet. "They're talking about things related to the coven. Things that don't concern you."

I don't think anyone has ever looked at me with that much anger. I was kind of baffled by it. I mean, sure I'd turned down the invitation to join their coven, but it wasn't like I'd spit in their faces or anything.

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings," I said, "but . . . um, it's not you, it's me?"

Oh, that was original, Sophie.

Anna and Chaston were both standing by now. Anna was scowling at me, but Chaston still looked worried.

"You need us too, Sophie," Chaston said. "It won't be easy for you without your sisters to protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

"Do you honestly think people here are going to welcome you with open arms?" Elodie asked. "Between that leech you room with and your father, you're looking at total pariahdom without us."

My stomach dropped. "What about my dad?"

The three of them glanced at each other.

"She doesn't know," Elodie murmured.

"Know what?"

Chaston opened her mouth to reply, but Elodie stopped her. "Let her figure it out on her own." She opened the door. "Good luck surviving

Hecate, Sophie. You'll need it."

If that wasn't a dismissal, I didn't know what was.

I was so distracted thinking about my dad that I walked right into the middle of the circle, kicking over the candle as I did. I hissed as hot wax spilled over my bare foot. I could've sworn I heard Anna giggle.

I limped to the door. Before I left, I turned to Elodie. She was watching me stonily.

"I'm sorry," I said again. "I didn't realize turning down a coven was such a big deal."

For a second I thought she wasn't going to reply. Then she dropped her voice and said, "I spent years in the human world being looked at like I was a monster. No one gets to look at me like that anymore." Her hard, green eyes narrowed. "Certainly not a loser witch like you."

Then she slammed the door in my face.

I stood there in the hall, very aware of the sound of my own breathing.

Had I looked at her like she was a monster? I thought of how I'd felt when she said she'd made some poor girl disappear.

Yeah, I'd probably looked at her like that.

"Okay, that is IT!" someone shouted.

A door flew open across the hall, and Taylor stomped out of her room.

She was wearing an oversize nightshirt, and her hair was tangled around her face. Once again her mouth was full of fangs.

"Get OUT!" she cried, pointing down the hall. Through the open door

I could see Nausicaa and Siobhan, along with a couple of other faeries, sitting cross-legged on the floor. A green light glowed from the center of the circle, but I couldn't tell what it was.

The group stood. "You cannot keep me from performing the rituals of my people," Nausicaa said.

Taylor pushed her hair away from her face. "No, but I can tell Casnoff that you four were trying to communicate with the Seelie Court with that mirror thingie."

Nausicca frowned and bent down to pick up the glowing circle of green glass. "It is not a 'mirror thingie.' It is a pool of dew collected from night-blooming flowers found on the highest hill in--"

"WHAT. EVER," Taylor shouted. "I have to be in Classifications of

Shapeshifters at eight, and I can't sleep with your stupid mirror thingie shining in my face."

Siobhan leaned over, her blue hair obscuring her face, and whispered something in Nausicaa's ear.

Nodding, Nausicaa gestured to the other faeries. "Come. We may continue this somewhere less . . . primitive."

Taylor rolled her eyes.

The faeries glided past me. Siobhan shot me a disdainful glance, and then they transformed into circles of light, roughly the size of tennis balls, and drifted down the hall.

"Good freaking riddance," Taylor said under her breath before turning to me with a bright smile. Her fangs were nearly gone now, but her eyes were still golden. "Hi again."

"Hi," I said weakly, giving a wave.

"So what are you doing up and about?"

I nodded my head toward Elodie's door. "Just, you know, socializing.

Shouldn't you be outside, running in the woods or . . . whatever?"

Taylor looked confused. "No, that's only the weres."

"There's a difference?"

The friendliness vanished from her face. "Yes," she snapped. "I'm a shifter. That means I become an actual animal. Weres are somewhere between animal and person." She shuddered. "Freaks."

"Don't listen to her," a voice growled from behind me.

The werewolf was bigger than Justin had been, and her fur was reddish instead of gold. She was standing at the opposite end of the hallway, near the stairs.

"Shifters are just jealous because we're so much more powerful than they are," she continued, leaning against the wall. It was a very human posture, and it made her look that much scarier.

I gulped and shrank back against Elodie's door. Taylor didn't look scared, just annoyed. "Keep telling yourself that, Beth." To me she said, "See you tomorrow, Sophie."

"See you."

The werewolf stayed put at the end of the hall, her tongue lolling out and her eyes bright. I would have to pass her to get to my room.

I struggled to keep my face impassive as I strolled toward her. My foot still stung from the wax, but I wasn't limping anymore.

When I reached the werewolf, she startled me by thrusting out one large hand, tipped in deadly-looking claws. For a second I thought she was trying to disembowel me. But then she said, "I'm Beth," and I realized I was supposed to shake her paw.

I did, gingerly. "Sophie."

She smiled. It was terrifying, but that wasn't her fault.

"Nice to meet you," she said, her voice thick.

Okay, this wasn't so bad. I could handle this. So she had eaten someone. She didn't seem to want to--

She plunged her snout into my hair and took a deep shuddering breath.

A warm string of drool dripped from her open maw onto my bare shoulder.

I forced myself to stay very calm, and after a moment, she released me.

Giving a bashful shrug, she said, "Sorry. Werewolf thing."

"Hey, no problem," I said, even though all I could think was, Slobber!

Werewolf slobber! On my skin!

"See you around!" she called after me as I hurried past her.

"Yeah, sure thing!" I said over my shoulder.

When I reached my room, I dashed over to my desk and pulled out a handful of tissues. "Ugh, ugh, ugh!" I moaned, scrubbing at my shoulder.

Once I was de-drooled, I flipped on my lamp to search for some hand sanitizer.

I remembered Jenna, and turned to look at her bed. "Oh, sor--"

Jenna was sitting up in bed, a bag of blood pressed against her mouth.

Her eyes were bright red.

"Sorry," I finished weakly. "About the lamp."

Jenna lowered the bag, a smear of blood on her chin. "Midnight snack.

I . . . I figured you wouldn't be back for a while," she said softly. The red slowly faded from her eyes.

"It's fine," I said, sagging into my desk chair. My stomach was turning over, but I wasn't about to let Jenna know it. I remembered Archer's words:

You're at Hecate now.

And man, had tonight proved that.

"Believe it or not, it's not the weirdest thing I've seen this evening."

She wiped her chin with the back of her hand, still not meeting my eyes.

"So did you join their coven?"

"Oh, heck no," I said.

She did look at me then, obviously surprised. "Why not?"

I rubbed my eyes. I was suddenly really tired. "It's just not my thing."

"Probably because you're not an evil bimbo."

"Yeah, I think my lack of evil bimbo-ness was the death knell. Then I watched a shifter fight with some faeries--Oh, by the way, what the heck is a

Seelie?"

"The Seelie Court? It's a group of good faeries who use white magic."

"I would hate to see the bad guys, then," I muttered.

Jenna nodded toward the tissues in my hand. "What's up with that?"

"Huh? Oh, right. After the faerie fight, a werewolf smelled my hair and drooled all over me. It's been quite a night."

"And then you came back to your room to watch a vampire chowing down," Jenna said. Her tone was light, but she was twisting her Electric

Raspberry comforter in her hands.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "Hey, werewolves gotta drool, vampires gotta eat. . . ."

She laughed before picking up the blood bag and shyly asking, "Do you mind if I . . ."

My stomach clenched again, but I made myself smile and said, "Knock yourself out."

I flopped back on my bed. "They were pretty ticked off at me."

Jenna stopped slurping. "Who?"

"The coven. They said I needed their protection against social ruin because of, uh . . ."

"Because I'm your roommate?"

I sat up. "Yeah, that was part of it. But they also said something about my dad."

"Huh," Jenna said thoughtfully. "Who's your dad?"

I lay back down, pushing my pillow under my head. "Just a regular warlock, as far as I know. James Atherton."

"Never heard of him," Jenna said. "But then I'm always out of the loop. So you think Elodie and those girls are mad at you?"

I remembered Elodie's hard eyes. "Oh yeah," I said softly.

Suddenly Jenna burst out laughing.

"What?"

She shook her head, her pink stripe falling in front of one eye. "Just thinking. Man, Sophie, it's only your first day and you've already befriended the school outcast, pissed off the most popular girls at Hecate, and developed a full-blown thing for the hottest guy. If you can manage to get detention tomorrow, you'll be like, legendary."

By Jenna's definition, it took me a week and a half to become legendary. The first week went smoothly, all things considered. For one thing, the classes were ridiculously simple. They mostly seemed to be excuses for our teachers to talk us to death. Even Lord Byron, whose class

I'd been really excited about, turned out to be a major snoozefest. When he wasn't waxing poetic on his own awesomeness, he was sulking behind his desk and telling us all to shut up--although there were a few days when he let us take long walks around the pond to "be one with nature." That was kind of fun.

I'd hoped for classes on how to do spells, but according to Jenna, those classes were only taught at the "real" Prodigium schools, the fancy places where powerful Prodigium sent their kids. Since Hecate was technically a reformatory school, we were stuck learning about witch hunts in the sixteenth century and things like that. Lame.

The one bright spot was that Jenna was in almost all of my classes.

"They don't have any special vampire classes," she'd explained. "So last year they just gave me the same schedule as Holly. Guess they decided to do the same thing this year."

The only class Jenna didn't have with me was P.E., or as they called it at Hecate, "Defense." It was on my schedule every other week, so I was halfway into my second week at Hecate before I went.

"Why is it only every other week?" I asked Jenna that morning. "All our other classes meet every day."

I was pulling on my truly heinous Hecate-blue P.E. uniform, which consisted of bright blue cotton pants and a slightly-too-tight-for-comfort blue T-shirt with "HH" printed in swirly white script just above my left boob.

"Because," Jenna answered, "if you had Defense every day, or even every week, you'd be in the hospital."

So I wasn't feeling exactly confident as I headed down to the converted greenhouse they used as a gym.

It was maybe a quarter of a mile from the main house, but by the time

I'd walked thirty feet, I was soaked in sweat. I wasn't stupid: I'd known that

Georgia was hot, and I'd lived in hot places before. But those places, like

Arizona and Texas, didn't have this kind of heat, the kind that seemed to suck all the will to live from me. This was a wet kind of heat that made you feel like mildew must be growing on your skin.

"Sophie!"

I turned and saw Chaston, Anna, and Elodie walking toward me. They looked amazing in the fugly gym uniforms. Shocker.

However, when they got closer, I saw that they too were sweating, which made me feel better. The three of them were in several of my classes, but they hadn't spoken to me since the first night. I wondered what was up with them now.

"Hey," I said casually, as they caught up with me. "What now?

Coming to warn me of my impending death at the hands of fluffy bunnies?

Or shoot lightning bolts at me?"

Chaston laughed, and to my utter surprise, looped her arm through mine. "Look, Sophie, we were talking, and we feel really bad about the other night. So you don't want to join our coven. No biggie!"

"Yeah," Anna added, coming up on my other side. "We overreacted."

"You think?" I said.

"We're trying to apologize," Elodie added, walking backward in front of us. I really, really hoped she'd walk into a tree. "I was talking to Archer, and he said you were all right."

"Really?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Great, Sophie, I thought. Way to be cool.

"Yeah, and he told me you didn't know anything about Prodigium.

Said it was kind of pathetic, actually."

I tried to smile, but there was something dark and sharp twisting in my stomach that was making it a little difficult. "Huh."

"Yeah," Chaston said. "And then we got to thinking that we probably freaked you out."

"You could say that." I could see the greenhouse now. It was a huge white wood-and-glass building, with windows that caught the early morning sun and sparkled so brightly it hurt my eyes. Unlike the rest of Hecate, it looked pretty cheery. There were a bunch of students milling around, looking like blueberries.

"And we're sorry," Anna added. I wondered if they had rehearsed this weird three-way-talking thing they had going on. I imagined them sitting in a circle in their dorm room, brushing their hair and saying, "Okay, so I'll say we feel bad, and then you'll say that your hot boyfriend thinks she's pathetic."

"So can we start over?" Chaston asked. "Friends?"

They were all smiling hopefully at me, even Elodie. I should have known right then and there that this could not end well, but I stupidly smiled back and said, "Yeah. Friends."

"Great!" Chaston and Anna squealed in unison. Elodie sort of muttered it a split second afterward.

"Okay," Chaston said as we approached the green-house. "So as your friends, we thought we should give you a heads up about Defense."

"The Vandy teaches it, and she's awful," Elodie said.

"Right, the scrunchie lady."

Simultaneous eye roll. Were these girls synchronized swimmers in their spare time?

"Yes," Anna sighed. "That stupid scrunchie."

"Jen . . . um, I heard someone call it her portable portal to hell."

All three of them laughed at that. "She wishes," Anna snorted.

"The Vandy was a pretty decent dark witch," Elodie explained, "but she got a little big for her britches, as they say down here. She worked for the Council. Tried to make a play for running Hecate, and . . . well, it's a long story. But it ended with her getting sent to the Council for the

Removal."

"And," Anna added in a conspiratorial whisper, "part of her punishment was that she had to come to Hecate but not as a headmistress.

Just a regular teacher. She's supposed to be an example to others. That's why she's such a bitch."

"She'll definitely pick on you because you're new," Chaston said.

"But," Elodie cut in, "she's super vain. So if you get in trouble, compliment her on her tattoos."

"Tattoos?" I asked. Up close, the greenhouse was even bigger than I'd thought. What the hell had they grown in it? Redwoods?

"She has these really pretty purple tattoos all over her arms. They're magical symbols of some kind, like runes or something," Elodie continued.

"She's really proud of them. Say you like them, and you're in for life with the

Vandy."

We walked through the front door of the greenhouse, Chaston's arm still in mine. The room was huge, and felt especially big because only about fifty people were in there. Defense wasn't split up by age for some reason, so

I noticed a couple of very freaked-out-looking twelve-year-olds. It was bright, obviously, but not hot. There was cool air flowing all around me, so I figured this building had the same spell going on as the main house.

In a lot of ways it was like a normal high school gym: wooden floors, blue exercise mats, weights. But I couldn't help noticing that some things were most definitely not normal.

Like several iron manacles bolted to the wall. And a full-size gallows erected at the back of the room.

Elodie immediately ran off to find Archer, who, it turns out, was not as skinny as I'd thought. The boys' uniforms were basically the same as the girls', and his blue T-shirt clung to a chest that was a lot more defined than I would have guessed. I tried not to look, and I definitely tried to stamp down the little icy spark of jealousy that shot through me when he lowered his lips to Elodie's for a quick kiss.

A tall redhead waved at me. "Hi, Sophie!"

I waved back, wondering who the heck . . . Oh, right. Red hair. Beth the werewolf. I liked her lots better when she wasn't drooling on me. She gestured for me to come stand by her, but before I could, a loud nasal voice broke through the chatter.

"All right, people!"

The Vandy moved through the crowd, wearing the same uniform we were. I immediately noticed the tattoos. They were a deep vibrant purple that looked even brighter against her pale flabby skin.

The ever-present scrunchie held back her brown hair. She had small piggish dark eyes that scanned the crowd, and even from a distance, I could see this weird eager look on her face. Like she was hoping someone would defy her so that she could squash them like a bug.

Put simply, she freaked me the hell out.

"Listen up!" she barked in a thin voice. Like Mrs. Casnoff, she had a

Southern accent, but hers sounded harsh instead of smooth and melodic. "I'm sure your other teachers will tell you that your classes in Magical History or

Classifications of Vampires, or, what, Personal Grooming of Werewolves"--I noticed a few boys, including Justin, bristle, but the Vandy continued--"are more important than this one. But tell me this: how much are those classes going to help you when you're under attack from a human? Or a Brannick?

Or, worst of all, an Eye? You think books are going to save you when

L'Occhio di Dio comes calling?"

I guess we didn't look sufficiently impressed, because she seemed to puff up with anger. Her finger practically pierced the clipboard in front of her as she pointed to something.

"Mercer! Sophia!" she shouted.

I hissed a very bad word under my breath, but I raised my hand. "Um .

. . here. Me."

"Come forward!"

I did. She yanked me by my arm until I was standing next to her.

"Now, Miss Mercer, it says here on the chart that this is your first year at

Hecate, correct?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Uh . . . yes, ma'am."

"So apparently you did a love spell that got you sent to Hecate. Was it for you, or were you just trying to make some human your friend, Miss

Mercer?"

I heard snickers from the crowd, and I knew my face was flaming red.

Stupid pale skin.

Apparently, it was a rhetorical question, because the Vandy didn't wait for an answer. She turned and knelt down beside a large canvas bag.

When she straightened up, she was holding a wooden stake.

"How would you defend yourself against this, Miss Mercer?"

"I'm a witch," I said automatically, and again I heard the crowd murmur and giggle. I wondered if Archer was laughing, but then decided I really didn't want to know.

"You're a witch?" the Vandy repeated. "So, what? A large pointy piece of wood slamming into your heart won't kill you?"

Stupid, stupid, stupid. "I, uh, I guess it would, yeah."

The Vandy smiled, and it was one of the most disturbing smiles I've ever seen. Clearly I was the bug for today.

Turning away from me, she looked though the crowd until she saw someone who made her eyes narrow. "Mr. Cross!"

Oh God, I thought weakly. Oh please, please, no . . .

Archer made his way to the front and stood on the other side of the

Vandy, crossing his arms over his chest. The sunlight coming in through the windows glinted off his hair, which wasn't black after all, but the same deep dark brown as his eyes.

Then the Vandy turned to me and put the stake in my hand.

I don't know what kind of stakes vampire killers normally use, but this one was pretty crappy. It was made of some cheap yellow wood that felt prickly against my palm. It also felt totally wrong in my grip, and I let it just sort of dangle at my side. But the Vandy grabbed my elbow and positioned my arm so that I was holding it up as if I were ready to jam it through

Archer's chest.

I looked up at him, and saw that he was struggling not to laugh. His eyes were nearly watering, and his lips were twitching.

My hand tightened on the stake. Maybe shoving it into his heart wasn't such a bad idea.

"Mr. Cross," the Vandy said, still smiling sweetly, "kindly disarm

Miss Mercer using Skill Nine."

Instantly, all levity vanished from his face. "You've got to be kidding."

"Either you demonstrate it or I will."

For a second I thought he was still going to refuse, but then he looked back at me and muttered, "Fine."

"Excellent!" the Vandy trilled. "Now, Miss Mercer, attack Mr. Cross."

I stared at her. I had never so much as wielded a flyswatter in my life, and this woman expected me to just lunge at a guy with a pointy wooden stick?

The Vandy's smile hardened. "Any day now."

I wish I could say that I suddenly discovered my inner warrior princess and expertly leaped at Archer, weapon hoisted high, teeth bared.

That would have been cool.

Instead I raised the stake to about shoulder height and took two, maybe three shuffling steps forward.

Then viselike fingers clenched my throat, the stake was wrenched from my hand, and a sharp stabbing pain shot up my right thigh as I landed on the ground with a thump that knocked the breath out of me.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, once I landed, something hard and heavy--his knee, I thought--hit me right in the sternum. You know, just in case there was one last breath left in my lungs. The point of the stake scraped the sensitive skin just under my chin. I looked up, wheezing, into

Archer's face.

He was off of me in a heartbeat, but all I could do was roll onto my side, draw my knees up to my chest, and wait for oxygen to reenter my body.

"Very good!" I heard the Vandy say from somewhere far off. I was literally seeing stars, and every ragged breath I took felt like I was trying to breathe through broken glass.

On the upside, my crush on Archer was totally gone. Over. Once a boy has slammed his kneecap into your rib cage, I think any romantic feelings should naturally go the way of the ghost.

Then I felt hands under my arms, lifting me to my feet. "I'm sorry,"

Archer murmured, but I just glared at him. My throat still felt thick and swollen, and I didn't want to try to push any words through it.

Much less all the words I wanted to say to him.

"Now," the Vandy was saying brightly, "Mr. Cross showed excellent technique there, although I would have definitely stayed on the opponent's chest longer."

Archer nodded very slightly at me when she said that, and I wondered if he was trying to say that's why he'd done it; I would have been worse off if it had been the Vandy. I really didn't care. I was still pissed.

"And now, Mr. Cross, Skill Four," the Vandy chirped.

But this time Archer shook his head. "No."

"Mr. Cross," the Vandy said sharply, but Archer just tossed the stake at her feet. I waited for the disemboweling or the caning or, at the very least, the writing up, but once again, the Vandy just smiled her tight smile. She picked up the stake and handed it to me.

I was certain I was going to throw up. Wasn't there some other newbie she could torture? I glanced around and caught a few sympathetic looks, but everyone else just seemed relieved it wasn't them about to get squashed.

"Very well. Watch and learn, people. Skill Four. Come at me, Miss

Mercer."

I just stood there staring at her.

She pursed her lips in irritation, and then, without warning, her hand shot out to grab me. But I was ready this time, and angry and hurt. Without thinking, I pulled my leg up and thrust it out.

Hard.

I saw my sneaker-clad foot slam into her chest as if that foot belonged to someone else. It couldn't possibly have been mine. I'd never kicked anyone in my life; I certainly wouldn't kick a teacher.

But I had. I had kicked the Vandy in the chest, and she went sprawling onto the blue mat, not far from the very spot where I had sprawled earlier.

I heard the other students draw in a collective breath. I mean, really.

All fifty of them seemed to gasp at the same time.

It was right about then that the enormity of what I'd done hit me.

I knelt down and offered her my hand. "Oh my God! I . . . I didn't mean . . ."

She threw off my hand and got to her feet, nostrils flaring. I was so very, very screwed.

"Miss Mercer," she said, breathing heavily, making me think of a bull, "is there any reason you can think of that I shouldn't give you detention for the next month?"

My mouth moved, but nothing came out.

Then, like a godsend, I remembered Elodie's advice. "I like your tattoos!" I blurted out.

I only thought the class had gasped before. Now the sound they made was like the air escaping from a balloon.

The Vandy tilted her head at me and narrowed her tiny eyes. "You what?"

"I . . . I like your tattoos. Your ink. Your, um, tats. They're really cool."

I'd never seen anyone have an aneurysm before, but I was afraid that was exactly what the Vandy was about to do. Frantic, I looked out at the crowd of students until I met Elodie's eyes. She was grinning, and I realized that I had just made a truly horrible mistake.

"I hope you weren't planning on having any free time here at Hecate, Miss Mercer," the Vandy sneered. "Detention. Cellar duty. Rest of the semester."

The semester? I shook my head. Who had ever heard of detention that lasted eighteen weeks? That was insane! And cellar duty? What was that?

"Oh, come on," I heard someone say, and I looked up to see Archer glaring at the Vandy. "She didn't know, okay? She wasn't raised like us."

The Vandy shoved a lock of hair off her forehead. "Really, Mr. Cross?

So you think Miss Mercer's punishment is unfair?"

He didn't answer, but she nodded as though he had. "Fine. Share it, then."

Elodie squawked, and I took some satisfaction in that.

"Now, both of you get out of my gym and report to Mrs. Casnoff," the

Vandy said, rubbing her chest.

Archer was out the door almost before the words left the Vandy's mouth, but I was still feeling a little stunned, not to mention hurt. I limped toward the exit, ignoring Elodie and Chaston's glares.

Archer was already way ahead of me and walking so fast that I could hardly catch up.

"You like her 'ink'?" he all but snarled when I was finally next to him.

"Like she doesn't have enough reasons to hate you."

"I'm sorry, but are you pissed at me? Me? I'm the one who had your knee practically crushing my spine, buddy, so let's check the attitude."

He stopped so suddenly that I actually walked three steps past him and had to turn around.

"If the Vandy had pulled that maneuver, you'd be at the infirmary right now. Sorry for trying to save your ass. Again."

"I don't need anyone saving my ass," I shot back, my face hot.

"Right," he drawled before walking toward the house. But then something he'd said struck me.

"What do you mean she has enough reasons to hate me?"

He clearly wasn't going to stop walking, so I had to jog to catch up.

"Your dad's the one who gave her those 'tats.'"

I grabbed his elbow, my fingers slipping on his sweaty skin. "Wait.

What?"

"Those marks mean she's gone through the Removal. They're a symbol of her screwup, not a point of pride with her. Why would you . . ."

He trailed off, probably because I was glaring at him.

"Elodie," he muttered.

"Yeah," I fired back. "Your girlfriend and her friends were really helpful in filling me in on the Vandy this morning."

He sighed and rubbed the nape of his neck, which had the effect of pulling his T-shirt even tighter across his chest. Not that I cared. "Look, Elodie . . . she's--"

"So do not care," I said, holding up my hand. "Now, what did you mean when you said my dad gave her those tattoos?"

Archer looked at me incredulously. "Whoa."

"What?"

"You seriously don't know?"

I'd never been able to actually feel my blood pressure rising before, but it certainly was now. It felt kind of the way magic used to feel, only with more homicidal rage thrown in.

"Don't. Know. What?" I managed to say.

"Your dad is the head of the Council. As in, the guy who sent us all here."

After that little tidbit of information, I did something I have never done in my entire life.

I had a full-on drama queen meltdown.

By which I mean I burst into tears. And not tragically beautiful, elegant tears either. No, I had the big messy ones involving a red face and snot.

I usually make it a point not to cry in front of people, especially hot boys that I'd been totally crushing on before they'd tried to choke me.

But for some reason, hearing that there was yet another thing I didn't know just sent me right on over the edge.

Archer, to his credit, didn't look exactly horrified by my sobbing, and he even reached out like he might grab hold of my shoulders. Or possibly smack me.

But before he could either comfort me or commit further acts of violence upon my person, I spun away from him and made my drama queen moment complete by running away.

It wasn't pretty.

But by that point I was beyond caring. I just ran, my chest burning, my throat aching from a combination of Archer's chokehold and tears.

My feet pounded against the thick grass with dull thumps, and all I could think was what an idiot I was.

Don't know about blocking spells.

Don't know about tattoos.

Don't know about big, stupid, evil Italian Eyes.

Don't know about Dad.

Don't know anything about being a witch.

Don't know, don't know, don't know.

I wasn't sure exactly how far I'd run, but by the time I got to the pond at the back of the school, my legs were shaking and my side ached. I had to sit down. Luckily, there was a little stone bench right next to the edge of the water. I was so out of breath between the running and the crying that I totally overlooked the moss creeping over the seat and flopped down. It was hot from the sun, and I winced a little.

I sat there, my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, listening to my breath saw in and out of my lungs. Sweat dripped from my forehead to my thighs, and I started to feel a little dizzy.

I was just so . . . pissed. Okay, so Mom had been freaked out by Dad being a warlock. Fair enough. But why couldn't she at least have let me talk to the guy? It would have been nice to get a little heads up about the Vandy.

You know, just a friendly "Oh, and by the way, your gym teacher hates me a lot, and so, by extension, hates you! Best o' luck!"

I groaned and lay across the bench, only to come shooting back into a sitting position when the hot stone touched my bare arm.

Without really thinking, I laid my hand on the bench and thought, Comfy.

A tiny silver spark flew from my index finger, and immediately the bench under me began to stretch and undulate until it morphed itself into a pretty, lush, velvet chaise lounge covered in hot-pink zebra stripes. Clearly, Jenna was rubbing off on me.

I settled back onto my newly comfy resting spot, a pleasant buzz humming through me. I hadn't done magic since coming to Hecate, and I'd forgotten how good even the littlest spells could make me feel. I couldn't create something out of nothing--very few witches could, and that was some seriously dark magic anyway--but I could change things into different versions of themselves.

So I put a hand on my chest and smiled as my gym uniform rippled and receded until I was wearing a white tank top and khaki shorts. Then I pointed a finger at the water's edge and watched as a stream spiraled upward from the surface of the lake, spinning into a cylinder until I had a glass of iced tea hovering in the air in front of me.

I was feeling pretty satisfied with myself, and more than a little magic drunk, as I leaned back against the chaise lounge and took a sip of tea. I may be a loser, but hey, at least I'm a loser who can do magic, right?

I sat there with my sweaty arm over my eyes for several minutes, listening to the birds, the gentle lap of the water against the shore, and for those few moments I was able to forget that I was in some serious trouble when I got back to the school.

Lowering my arm, I turned my head to look at the pond.

There, just across the water, was a girl standing on the opposite shore.

The pond was pretty narrow, so I could see her clearly: it was the ghost in green I'd seen my first day at Hecate. And just like on that first day, she was staring right at me.

It was beyond creepy, to say the least. Not sure what to do, I raised my hand and lamely waved hello.

The girl raised her hand in reply. And then she vanished. There was no gradual fading away like I'd seen with Isabelle's ghost. Just one minute she was there, then she was gone.

"Curiouser and curiouser," I said, my voice just a little too loud in the quiet, and creeping me out even more.

My good mood had started to fade as the spell buzz wore off, and I looked down to see that my cute and much cooler outfit had dissolved back into my gym uniform. That was weird. My spells usually lasted a lot longer than that. The lounge beneath me was starting to feel a little harder too, and I figured it was only about five more minutes before I was sitting on hot mossy stone again.

My thoughts turned back to my parents and their apparent penchant for being big ol' liars. But even as I tried to work up righteous anger at them for getting me into this mess, I knew that wasn't what had my ugly gym shorts in a twist.

It was that my worst fear seemed to be coming true. It's one thing to be different around people who you're really, well, different from. It's a whole other problem to be an outcast in a group of outcasts.

I sighed and lay down on the lounge, which now had moss creeping up one side. I closed my eyes.

"Sophia Alice Mercer, a freak among freaks," I mumbled.

"Pardon?"

I opened my eyes to see a figure hovering above me. The sun was directly behind her, turning her into a black shadow, but the shape of her hair made Mrs. Casnoff easily identifiable.

"Am I in trouble?" I asked without getting up.

It was probably a hallucination brought on by the heat, but I was pretty sure I saw her smile as she leaned down to place a hand under my shoulder and maneuver me into a sitting position.

"According to Mr. Cross, you have cellar duty for the rest of the semester, so yes, I would say you are in a great deal of trouble. But that is

Ms. Vanderlyden's concern, not mine."

She looked down at my hot-pink lounge, and her mouth twisted into a little pucker of disgust. She placed her hand on the back of the chair and my spell fell away in a shower of pink sparkles until my lounge became a perfectly respectable light blue love seat covered in big pink cabbage roses.

"Better," she said crisply, sitting down beside me.

"Now, Sophia, would you care to tell me why you're here by the pond instead of reporting to your next class?"

"I'm experiencing some teenage angst, Mrs. Casnoff," I answered. "I need to, like, write in my journal or something."

She snorted delicately. "Sarcasm is an unattractive quality in young ladies, Sophia. Now, I'm not here to indulge whatever pity party you have decided to hold for yourself, so I would prefer it if you told me the truth."

I looked over at her, perfectly turned out in her ivory wool suit (again with the wool in the heat! What was wrong with these people?), and sighed.

My own mom, who was super cool, barely got me. What help could this fading steel magnolia with her shellacked hair be?

But then I just shrugged and spilled it. "I don't know anything about being a witch. Everyone else here grew up in this world, and I didn't, and that sucks."

Her mouth did that puckering thing, and I thought she was about to bust me for saying "sucks," but instead she said, "Mr. Cross told me that you didn't know your father is the current head of the Council."

"Yeah."

She picked a small piece of lint off her suit and said, "I'm hardly privy to your father's reasons for doing things, but I'm sure he had a reason for keeping his position from you. And besides, your presence here is very . . . sensitive, Sophia."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She didn't answer for a long time; instead she stared out at the lake.

Finally she turned to me and covered my hand with hers. Despite the heat, her skin felt cool and dry, slightly papery, and as I looked into her face, I realized that she was older than I'd originally thought, with tons of fine lines radiating from her eyes.

"Follow me to my office, Sophia. There are some things we need to discuss."

Her office was on the first floor, off the sitting room with the spindly chairs. I noticed as we walked through this time that the spindly chairs had been replaced with prettier, much sturdier-looking wingback chairs, and the vaguely moldy-looking couches had been reupholstered in a cheery white-

and-yellow-stripe fabric.

"When did you get new furniture?" I asked.

She glanced over her shoulder. "We didn't. It's a perception spell."

"Excuse me?"

"One of Jessica Prentiss's ideas. The furnishings of the house reflect the beholder's mind. That way we can gauge your comfort level with the school by what you see."

"So I imagined the gross furniture?"

"In a way, yes."

"What about the outside of the house? No offense, or anything, but it still looks pretty rank."

Mrs. Casnoff gave a low laugh. "No, the spell is only used in the public rooms of the house: the lounge areas, the classrooms, and so forth.

Hecate must maintain some of its brooding air, don't you think?"

I turned in the doorway of Mrs. Casnoff's office and looked again at the sitting room. Now I could see the way the couches, chairs, even the curtains shimmered and wavered slightly, like heat rising off a road.

Weird.

I'd thought Mrs. Casnoff would have the biggest, grandest room in the house. You know, something filled with ancient books, with heavy oak furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows.

Instead she led me into a small windowless room. It smelled strongly of her lavender perfume, and another stronger, bitter smell. After a moment I realized it was tea. A small electric kettle was bubbling away on the edge of the desk, which wasn't the wooden monstrosity I'd imagined, but simply a small table.

There were books, but they were stacked in vertical rows around three of the four walls. I tried to make out the titles on the spines, but those that weren't too faded to read were in languages I didn't know.

The only thing in Mrs. Casnoff's office that was even remotely like I'd expected was her chair. It was less of a chair, really, and more like a throne: a tall, heavy chair covered in purple velvet.

The chair on the other side of the desk was lower by a good five inches, and as I sat in it, I immediately felt about six years old.

Which, I guessed, was the point.

"Tea?" she asked after primly arranging herself on her purple throne.

"Sure."

A few more moments passed in silence as she poured me a cup of thick red tea. Without asking, she added milk and sugar.

I took a sip. It tasted exactly like the tea my mom made for me on rainy winter days: days we'd spent curled up on the couch, reading or talking. The familiar taste was comforting, and I felt myself relax slightly.

Which, again, had probably been the point.

I looked up at her. "How did you--"

Mrs. Casnoff just waved her hand. "I'm a witch, Sophia."

I scowled. Being manipulated has always been one of my least favorite things. Right up there with snakes. And Britney Spears.

"So you know a spell that makes tea taste like . . . tea?"

Mrs. Casnoff took a sip from her cup, and I got the impression she was trying to hold back a laugh. "Actually, it's a little more than that." She gestured to the kettle. "Open it."

I leaned forward and did just that.

It was empty.

"Your favorite drink is your mother's Irish breakfast tea. Had it been lemonade, you would have found that in your cup. Had it been hot chocolate, you would have had that. It's a basic comfort spell that's very useful for putting people at ease. As you were before your naturally suspicious nature kicked in."

Wow. She was good. I had never even attempted an all-purpose spell before.

But not like I was going to let her know I was impressed.

"What if my favorite drink had been beer? Would you have given me a frosty mug of that?"

She lifted her shoulders in something that was far too elegant to be called a shrug. "There, I may have been somewhat stymied."

Pulling a leather portfolio out of a stack of folders on her desk, she settled back into her throne.

"Tell me, Sophia," Mrs. Casnoff said, "what exactly do you know about your family?"

She was leaning back in her chair, one ankle crossed over the other, looking as casual as was possible for her.

"Not much," I said warily. "My mom's from Tennessee, and both her parents died in a car accident when she was twenty--"

"That is not the side of your family I was referring to," Mrs. Casnoff said. "What do you know of your father's people?"

Now she wasn't even trying to disguise her eagerness. I suddenly felt like something very important depended on my next answer.

"All I know is that my father is a warlock named James Atherton.

Mom met him in England, and he said he grew up there, but she wasn't sure if that was true."

With a sigh, Mrs. Casnoff put down her cup and began rummaging through the leather portfolio. She slid her glasses down from their usual spot on top of her head as she muttered, "Let's see, I just saw . . . Ah yes, here it is."

She reached into the portfolio, then suddenly stopped and looked up at me.

"Sophia, it is imperative that what we discuss in this room remains in this room. Your father asked me to share this with you when I thought the time was appropriate, and I feel that time has come."

I just nodded. I mean, what can you say to a speech like that?

Apparently that worked for her, and she handed me a black-and-white picture. A young woman stared back at me. She looked maybe a few years older than me, and from the style of her clothes, I could guess that the picture had been taken some time in the 1960s. Her dress was dark, and it fluttered around her calves as though a gentle breeze had just caught it. Her hair was light, probably blond or red.

Just behind her, I could make out the front porch of Hecate Hall. The shutters had been white back then.

She was smiling, but the smile looked tight, forced.

Her eyes. Large, widely spaced, and very light.

And very familiar.

The only other eyes I'd even seen like that had been my father's, in the only picture I had of him.

"Who--" My voice broke a little. "Who is this?"

I looked up at Mrs. Casnoff to find her watching me closely. "That," she said, pouring herself another cup of tea, "is your grandmother, Lucy

Barrow Atherton."

My grandmother. For the longest moment I felt like I couldn't breathe.

I just stared at the face, trying desperately to find myself in it.

I couldn't find anything. Her cheekbones were sharp and high, and my face is slightly rounded. Her nose was too long to resemble mine, and her lips too thin.

I looked into her face, which despite the smile, looked so sad.

"She was here?" I asked.

Mrs. Casnoff placed her glasses on top of her head and nodded. "Lucy actually grew up here at Hecate, back before it was Hecate, of course. I believe that picture was taken shortly after your father was born."

"Did you . . . did you know her?"

Mrs. Casnoff shook her head. "I'm afraid that was before my time. But most Prodigium know of her, of course. Her story was a very unique one."

For sixteen years I had wondered who I really was, where I came from. And here was the answer right in front of me. "Why?"

"I told you the story of the origins of Prodigium your first day here.

Do you remember?"

It was like two weeks ago, I thought. Of course I remember. But I decided to store the sarcasm, and said, "Right. Angels. War with God."

"Yes. However, in your case, your family did not gain its powers until

1939, when your great-grandmother Alice was sixteen."

"I thought you had to be born a witch. Mom said that only vampires start out as human."

Mrs. Casnoff nodded. "Usually that is the case. However, there is always the odd human who attempts to change their fate. They find a spell book or a special incantation, some way to imbue themselves with the divine, the mystical. Very few survive the process. Your great-grandmother was one of the few."

Not knowing what to say, I took a long drink of my tea. It was cold, and the sugar had settled at the bottom, making it syrupy.

"How?" I finally asked.

Mrs. Casnoff sighed. "There, I am sadly at a loss. If Alice ever spoke in depth to anyone about her experiences, it was never recorded. I only know what I've picked up here and there. Apparently, she had gotten mixed up with a particularly nasty witch who was attempting to enhance her own powers through the aid of black magic, magic that has been outlawed by the

Council since the seventeenth century. No one is exactly sure how Alice was involved with this woman--a Mrs. Thorne, I believe her name was--or even if she knew what the woman was. Somehow the spell that was meant for

Mrs. Thorne transformed Alice instead."

"Wait, but you said Mrs. Thorne was using black magic for this spell, right?"

Mrs. Casnoff nodded. "Yes. Truly terrible stuff, too. Alice was very lucky she wasn't killed during the transformation. Mrs. Thorne was not as fortunate."

I suddenly felt like I'd swallowed a tray of ice cubes, but even as my stomach froze, beads of sweat broke out on my forehead.

"So my . . . my great-grandmother was made into a witch by black magic? As in, the worst, most dangerous kind of magic ever?"

Again, Mrs. Casnoff nodded. She was still looking at me very closely.

"Your great-grandmother was an aberration, Sophia. I'm sorry. I know that's a very ugly word, but there's no way around it."

"How"--my voice came out as a croak, and I cleared my throat--"what happened to her?"

Mrs. Casnoff sighed. "She was eventually found by a member of the

Council in London. She'd been committed to an asylum, ranting and raving about witches and demons. The Council member brought her and your grandmother Lucy to Hecate."

"My grandmother?" I looked down at the photo in my hands.

"Yes. Alice was pregnant when she was found. They waited until your grandmother was born to bring them both here."

She poured herself another cup of tea. I got the feeling that she didn't really want to say anything else, but I had to ask. "So what happened then?"

Mrs. Casnoff stirred her tea with the sort of concentration usually reserved for brain surgery. "Alice did not adjust well to her transformation," she answered without looking at me. "After three months here at Hecate, she somehow contrived to escape. Again, no one is sure how, but Alice had some very powerful magic at her disposal. And then . . ." Mrs. Casnoff paused to take a sip of tea.

"And then?" I repeated.

Finally she lifted her eyes to mine. "She was murdered. L'Occhio di

Dio."

"How did we know it was--"

"They're very distinctive in their disposal of us," she replied briskly.

"In any case, Lucy, who had been left behind, stayed here at Hecate so the

Council could observe her."

"What, like a science experiment?" I didn't mean to sound so angry, but I was beyond freaked out.

"Alice's power had been off the charts. She was literally the strongest

Prodigium that had ever been recorded. It was vital that the Council know if that level of magic had been passed down to her daughter, who was, after all, half human."

"Had it?"

"Yes. And that power was also passed to your father." Her eyes met mine. "And to you."

After our little meeting, Mrs. Casnoff gave me the rest of the afternoon off to, as she put it, "reflect on what you've learned." However, I didn't feel like doing much reflecting. I marched straight to the third floor. In the small alcove off my hallway, there was a bank of bright red telephones that students could use. They were dusty with non-use since most of the

Prodigium at Hecate didn't need telephones to communicate with their families. Vampires could use telepathy, but it wasn't like Jenna was calling home. The shapeshifters had some sort of pack mentality thing going on, and the faeries used the wind or a flying insect to deliver messages. I'd seen

Nausicca murmuring to a dragonfly just that morning.

As for witches and warlocks, there were supposedly a bunch of different spells you could use to talk to people--everything from making your words appear in writing on a wall, to making a cat channel your voice.

But I didn't know any of those spells, and even if I had, they were only useful for communicating to other witches. Since Mom was human, human communication it was.

I picked up the phone, grimacing at the gritty feel of it in my sweaty hand.

A few seconds later, Mom picked up.

"My dad is the head of the Council," I said before she could even finish her hello.

I heard her sigh. "Oh, Sophie, I wanted to tell you."

"But you didn't," I said, and I was surprised to feel my throat constricting.

"Soph . . ."

"You didn't tell me anything." My eyes stung and my voice sounded thick. "You didn't tell me who my dad was, you didn't tell me that I'm apparently the most powerful witch, you know, ever. You didn't tell me that

Dad is the one who . . . who sentenced me to go here."

"He didn't have a choice," Mom said, her voice tired. "If his daughter were exempt from punishment, how would that have made him look to other Prodigium?"

I wiped my cheek with the heel of my hand. "Well, I certainly wouldn't want him to look bad," I said.

"Honey, let me call your dad, and we can get this--"

"Why didn't you tell me that people want to kill me?"

Mom gasped a little. "Who told you that?" she demanded, and now she sounded even angrier than I was.

"Mrs. Casnoff," I answered. Right after she'd dropped the bomb about my powers, Mrs. Casnoff had told me one of the reasons that my dad had sent me to Hecate--to keep me safe.

"You can't blame him," she had said. "L'Occhio di Dio killed Lucy as well, in 1974, and your father has had numerous attempts made on his life.

For the first fifteen years of your life, your father was able to keep your existence a secret. But now . . . It was only a matter of time before L'Occhio di Dio discovered your existence, and you would have been defenseless in the regular world."

"What . . . what about those Irish people?" I'd croaked.

Mrs. Casnoff's eyes had slid away from mine. "The Brannicks are not a concern at this time," was all she had said. I knew she was lying, but I'd been too shell-shocked to call her on it.

"Is it true?" I asked Mom now. "Did Dad put me here because I'm in danger?"

"I want you to put Mrs. Casnoff on the phone right now," Mom said, not answering my question. There was a lot of anger in her voice, but there was fear too.

"Is it true?" I repeated.

When she didn't answer, I shouted, "Is it true?"

A door somewhere in the hall opened, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Taylor sticking her head out of her room. When she saw me, she just shook her head slightly and closed her door.

"Soph," Mom was saying, "look, we'll . . . we'll talk about this when you're home for winter break, okay? This is not something I want to get into over the phone."

"So it is true," I said, crying.

There was such a long silence on the other end that I wondered if she'd hung up. Then she gave a long sigh and said, "We can talk about this later."

I slammed down the receiver. The phone made a jangly sound of protest.

I slid down the wall to the floor and drew my knees in so I could rest my head on them.

For a long time I stayed that way, breathing slowly in and out, trying to stop the steady flow of tears. There was a little part of me that felt weirdly guilty, like I should be super pumped about being a kick-ass witch or something. But I wasn't. I felt more than happy to leave the glowing skin and floating hair and smiting to Elodie and those girls. I could just run a little tea shop or something, where I could sell books about astrology and chakras.

That would be fun. I could maybe wear a floaty purple muu--

I lifted my head and cut off my mental rant. That weird goose-bump feeling was back.

I looked up and saw the girl from the lake standing at the end of the hall. Up close I could see that she was about my age. She was frowning at me, and I noticed that her green dress was flapping around her calves as though a wind were blowing.

Before I could open my mouth to ask her who she was, she turned abruptly on her heels and walked off. I listened for her shoes on the wooden steps, but there was no sound.

Now the goose bumps weren't just on my neck, but everywhere. It probably seems weird to go to a school populated by monsters and still be afraid of ghosts, but this whole thing was getting ridiculous. This was the third time that I'd seen this girl, and every time she seemed to be studying me. But why?

I slowly stood up and walked down the hall.

I paused before rounding the corner, afraid she might be standing there, waiting for me.

What's she going to do, Sophie? I thought. Yell "Boo"? Walk through you? She's a ghost, for God's sake.

But I was still holding my breath as I hurried around the corner.

And ran into something very solid.

I tried to scream, but it came out more of a breathy "Urrrgh!"

Hands reached out to steady me. "Whoa," Jenna said with a little laugh.

"Oh. Hi," I said, out of breath from the collision, and overcome with relief.

"Are you okay?" She studied my face with a look of concern.

"It's been a long day."

She smiled a little. "I'm sure. I heard about what happened with the

Vandy."

I groaned. What with the family secrets and assassins and ghosts, I'd forgotten all about my more imminent danger.

"It's my own fault. I never should have listened to Elodie."

"No, you shouldn't have," Jenna said, twirling her pink streak. "Is it true you have cellar duty for the rest of the semester?"

"Yeah. What is that, by the way?"

"It's awful," she replied flatly. "The Council stores all its reject magical artifacts here, and they're all just jumbled up in the cellar. People who get cellar duty have to try to catalogue all that junk."

"Try?"

"Well, it's all crap, but it's magic crap, so it moves around.

Cataloguing it is pointless because it doesn't stay in the same place."

"Great," I muttered.

"Careful, Sophie. The Leech is looking kind of hungry."

I looked over Jenna's shoulder and saw Chaston standing at the end of the hall. I'd never seen her without Elodie and Anna, and the effect was a little jarring.

Chaston sneered at us, but it looked more like an impression of Elodie than a genuine expression.

"Shut up, Chaston," I said irritably.

"Witch: It's what's for dinner," she said with a nasty laugh before disappearing into her room.

Next to me, Jenna looked even paler than normal. It could have been a trick of the light, but for just a second I thought her eyes flashed red.

"The Leech," she murmured. "That's new."

"Hey," I said, giving her a little shake. "Don't let them get to you.

Especially not that one. She's not worth it."

Jenna nodded. "You're right," she said, but she was still looking at

Chaston's door. "So, you coming to Classifications of Shapeshifters?"

I shook my head. "Casnoff gave me the day off," I said.

Thankfully, Jenna didn't ask why. "Cool. See you at dinner, then."

After Jenna left, I thought about going to my room to read or lie down, but instead I went downstairs and into the library. Like the rest of the house, the room now looked a lot less shabby to me. The chairs looked less like fungi ready to swallow me, and much comfier.

I only had to scan the shelves for a little while before I found what I was looking for.

The book was black, with a cracked spine. There was no title, but a large golden eye was stamped on the front.

I sat down in one of the chairs and pulled my legs underneath me, opening to the middle of the book. There were several glossy pages of pictures, most of them reproductions of paintings, although there were a few grainy photographs of a crumbling castle in Italy that was supposed to be the headquarters of L'Occhio di Dio. I flipped through the pages, stopping when

I came to the same picture I'd seen in Mom's book. It was as horrible as I remembered: the witch on her back, her eyes wild with fright, and the dark-

haired man crouched over her holding a silver knife. The Eye tattooed over his heart.

I turned away from the pictures to skim the text.

Formed in 1129, the society began in France as an offshoot of the

Knights Templar. Originally a group of holy knights charged with ridding the world of demons,the group soon relocated to Italy, where they took on the official title, L'Occhio di Dio--The Eye of God. The group soon became well known for their brutal acts against all manner of Prodigium, but they were also known to attack any human who aided Prodigium. Over time they morphed from holy warriors into something more akin to a terrorist organization. Highly secretive, L'Occhio di Dio is an elite group of assassins with only one goal--the total destruction of all Prodigium.

"Well, that's nice," I murmured to myself.

I flipped through more pages. The rest of the book seemed to be a history of the group's leaders and their most notable Prodigium victims. I scanned the list of names, but I didn't see Alice Barrow on there. Maybe

Mrs. Casnoff had been wrong and she wasn't that big a deal after all.

I was about to put the book back on the shelf when a black-and-white illustration caught my eye and sent chills through me. It showed a witch lying on a bed, her head lolling to the side, her eyes blank. There were two somber men in black standing behind her, looking down at the body. Their shirts were opened just enough so that I could see the tattoos over their hearts. One was holding a long thin stick with a pointed end, almost like an ice pick. The other man held a jar of suspicious-looking black liquid. I glanced down at the caption under the picture.

Although the removal of the heart is the most common means of execution employed by The Eye, the group has been known to drain the blood of Prodigium. Whether this is done to implicate vampires or some other reason is not known.

I shivered as I stared at that blank-eyed witch. There weren't any holes in her neck, like they'd found on Holly, but the men had clearly drained her blood somehow.

But that was impossible. We were on an island, and there were more protection spells around this place than I could count. Surely there was no way a member of The Eye could get in undetected.

I flipped back through the book, looking for any chapters about The

Eye getting past protective spells, but everything I read said that The Eye didn't use magic, just brute force.

Later, after I'd snuck the book up to my room, I showed the picture to

Jenna.

I thought she'd be interested, but instead she barely looked at it before turning away and climbing into her bed. "L'Occhio di Dio doesn't kill like that," she said as she turned out the lights. "They're never secretive, or anything. They want people to know it was them."

"How do you know that?" I asked.

She just lay there, and I thought she wasn't going to answer me.

Then, out of the darkness, she said, "Because I've seen them."

Two days later I started cellar duty.

I should say upfront that I have never been in a cellar in my life. In fact, I can see no reason why anyone should ever go into a cellar unless there is wine involved.

This cellar seemed particularly unwelcoming. For one thing, the floor was just hard-packed dirt, which . . . ew. The air was cool despite the heat outside, and it smelled musty and damp. Add to that the high ceiling with its bare lightbulbs, the one tiny window that looked out on the compost pile behind the school, and the endless shelves of dusty junk, and I suddenly understood why a full semester of cellar duty sucked so bad. Not only that, but the Vandy had decided to be especially evil and give it to us three nights a week, right after dinner. So while everyone else was hanging out in their room, or working on one of Lord Byron's epic essays, Archer and I would be cataloguing a bunch of crap the Council thought was too important to throw away but not important enough to store at Council headquarters in London.

Jenna had tried to cheer me up that morning, saying, "At least you have it with a hot guy."

"Archer isn't hot anymore," I'd fired back. "He tried to kill me, and his girlfriend is Satan."

But I have to admit that as we stood beside each other on the cellar steps and listened to the Vandy ramble on about what we were supposed to do down there, I couldn't help but sneak sideways glances at him and notice that, homicidal tendencies and evil girlfriends aside, he was still hot. As usual, his tie was loose and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. He was watching the Vandy with this bored, vaguely amused look, arms crossed over his chest.

That pose did most excellent things for his chest and arms. How unfair was it that Elodie of all people got that as a boyfriend? I mean, where is the justice when--

"Miss Mercer!" the Vandy barked, and I jumped high enough to nearly lose my balance.

I clutched the banister next to me, and Archer caught my other elbow.

Then he winked, and I immediately turned my attention back to the

Vandy like she was the most fascinating person I'd ever seen.

"Do you need me to repeat anything, Miss Mercer?" she sneered.

"N-no. I got it," I stammered.

She stared at me for a minute. I think she was trying to come up with a witty put-down. But the Vandy, like most mean people, was dumb, so in the end, she just sort of growled and pushed between me and Archer to stalk up the stairs.

"One hour!" she called over her shoulder.

The ancient door didn't so much creak as scream in pain as she pushed it closed.

To my horror, I heard a loud click.

"Did she just lock us in?" I asked Archer, my voice sounding way higher than I'd intended.

"Yep," he replied, jogging down the steps to pick up one of the clipboards the Vandy had left precariously perched on a row of jars.

"But that's . . . isn't that illegal?"

He smiled but didn't look up from his clipboard. "You've really gotta let go of charming human issues like legality, Mercer."

He looked up all of a sudden, his eyes wide. "Oh! Just remembered something."

He put the clipboard down and fished in his pocket for a second.

"Here," he said, walking over to me and pressing something light into my open hand.

I looked down.

It was a wad of Kleenex.

"You're a jackass." I tossed the tissues at his feet and stomped past him. My face was flaming.

"No wonder Elodie's your girlfriend," I muttered as I picked up the clipboard. I made a big show of flipping through the pages. There were twenty in all, with about fifty items listed on each. My eyes skimmed over some of them, noting things like "Noose: Rebecca Nurse" and "Severed

Hand: A. Voldari."

I ripped off the top ten pages and handed them to Archer, along with a pen.

"You take this half," I said, not meeting his eyes. Then I walked over to the shelf farthest from him, the one right under the little window.

He didn't move for a moment, and I could tell there was something he wanted to say, but in the end he just sighed and walked over to the opposite side of the room.

For about fifteen minutes we worked in total silence. Even though the

Vandy had spent forever explaining the job to us, it was actually pretty easy, if ridiculously tedious, work. We had to look at the items on the shelves and then find them on the sheets of paper and write down which shelf they were on and what slot on that shelf they were in. The only thing that made it difficult was that none of the items were labeled, so it was sometimes hard to figure out what they were. Like, on Shelf G, Slot 5, there was a scrap of red cloth that could've been "Piece of Cover, Grimoire: C. Catellan" or

"Fragment of Ceremonial Robe: S. Cristakos."

Or it could have been neither of those things and something on

Archer's list. It would've gone faster if we'd worked together, but I was still pissed off about the Kleenex thing.

I squatted down and picked up a tattered leather drum. My eyes scanned the list, but I wasn't really seeing anything. I knew I shouldn't have cried in front of him, but I couldn't believe he'd be enough of a jerk to make fun of me for it. Not like we were best buddies or anything, but that first night I felt like we'd bonded a little.

Apparently not.

"It was a joke," he said suddenly. I whirled around to find him crouched behind me.

"Whatever." I turned back to the shelf.

"What did you mean about me and Elodie?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes as I stood up and walked to Shelf H. "Is it really that hard to figure out? I mean, she got quite a big laugh at my expense the other day, so it's only appropriate that you, as her boyfriend, would also enjoy mocking me. It's so sweet when couples can share hobbies."

"Hey," he snapped. "Elodie's little stunt got me in here too, remember? I tried to help you out."

"So did not ask you to," I replied, pretending to intently study what at first appeared to be a bunch of leaves floating in a jar of amber liquid.

Then I realized they weren't leaves but tiny faerie corpses.

Suppressing the urge to fling it away from me and make some sort of

"NEEEEUUUUUNGGGHH!" sound, I rifled through my pages, looking for something that read "Small Dead Faeries."

"Well, don't worry," Archer snapped, flipping through his own pages.

"It won't happen again."

We were quiet for a moment, both of us looking at our lists.

"Have you seen anything that could be part of an altar cloth?" he asked at last.

"Check Shelf G, Slot 5," I replied.

Then out of nowhere, he said, "She's not that bad, you know. Elodie.

You just have to get to know her."

"Is that what happened with the two of you?"

"What?"

I swallowed, suddenly nervous. I really didn't want to hear Archer wax poetic about Elodie, but I was also genuinely curious.

"Jenna said that you used to be, like, a card-carrying member of the

We Hate Elodie club. What gives?"

He looked away and started picking up random things without really seeing them. "She changed," he said quietly. "After Holly died--you know about Holly?"

I nodded. "Jenna's roommate. Elodie, Chaston, and Anna filled me in."

He ran a hand through his dark hair. "Yeah. They're still really hung up on blaming Jenna. Anyway, Elodie and Holly had been really close when they started here, and Holly and I had been betrothed--"

"Hold up," I said, raising a hand. "Betrothed?"

He looked confused. "Yeah. All witches are betrothed to an available warlock on their thirteenth birthday. A year after they come into their powers."

He frowned. "Are you okay?" he asked. I'm sure I was making a pretty strange face. At thirteen I was thinking about allowing a boy's tongue into my mouth. Getting engaged would've been pretty far beyond me.

"Fine," I mumbled. "That's just weird to think about. It's so . . . Jane

Austen."

"It's not that bad."

"Right. Arranged marriages for teenagers are a good thing."

He shook his head. "We don't get married as teenagers, just betrothed.

And the witch always has the right to refuse or accept the betrothal and change her mind later. But the match is usually a good one, based on complementary powers, personalities. Stuff like that."

"Whatever. I can't even imagine having a fiance."

"You probably have one, you know."

I stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Your dad is a really important guy. I'm sure he made a match for you when you were thirteen."

I didn't even want to get into that. The thought that there was some warlock out there who was planning on making me his missus one day was too much to handle. What if he was here at Hecate? What if I knew the guy?

Oh God, what if it was that kid with bad breath who sat right behind me in

Magical Evolution?

I made a mental note to ask my mom about all of this as soon as I decided to speak to her again.

"Okay," I said to Archer. "Just . . . go on with your story."

"I don't think anyone realized how much Holly's death got to Elodie.

So we started talking over the summer, about Hecate and Holly, and one thing led to another . . ."

"And you can spare me the gory details," I said with a smile even as something painful twisted in my chest a little. So he really liked her. I'd been harboring this secret fantasy that he was only pretending to like her so that he could publicly dump her in the most embarrassing way possible, preferably on national television.

"Look," he said, "I'll get Elodie and her friends to lay off you, okay?

And seriously, try to give her another chance. I swear she has hidden depths."

Without really thinking, I shot back, "I said spare me the gory details."

For a second I'm not sure I even realized what I'd just said. And then it sank in and I damned my sarcastic mouth straight to hell. Face on fire, I glanced over at Archer.

He was staring at me in shock.

And then he burst out laughing.

I started giggling too, and before long we were both sitting on the dirt floor wiping tears from our eyes. It had been a long time since I'd really laughed with someone, or made a dirty joke, for that matter, and I couldn't believe how good it felt. For a little bit I forgot that I was apparently made of evil, and that I was being stalked by a ghost.

It was nice.

"I knew I liked you, Mercer," he said when we'd finally stopped cackling, and I was glad I could blame my suddenly red cheeks on the laughter.

"But wait," I said, leaning on one of the shelves, trying to catch my breath. "If everybody gets betrothed at thirteen, isn't she already set to marry somebody else?"

He nodded. "But I told you, it's a voluntary thing. A betrothal can always be renegotiated. I mean, I'm considered something of a catch."

"And so modest too," I replied, tossing my pen at him.

He caught it with ease.

From above us, the door gave its death scream, and we both leaped to our feet guiltily, like we'd been making out or something.

Suddenly the image of me and Archer kissing against one of the shelves flooded my brain, and I felt the blush in my cheeks spread to the rest of my body. Without meaning to, I glanced at his lips. When I raised my eyes to his, he was looking at me with an expression that was totally inscrutable. But just like the look he'd given me on the stairs the first night, this one left me feeling breathless. I was actually glad when the Vandy shouted, "Mercer! Cross!"

Her harsh grating voice was the auditory equivalent of a cold shower, and the tension of the moment vanished. My lusty thoughts were pretty much gone by the time we were out of the cellar.

"Same time, same place, Wednesday," the Vandy said as we practically sprinted for the main staircase.

Naturally, Elodie was waiting for Archer in the second-floor lounge.

She was sitting on the grubby blue couch. A nearby lamp cast a soft golden glow on her flawless skin, and picked up the ruby highlights in her hair.

I turned to Archer, but he was staring at Elodie like . . . well, like I was staring at him.

I didn't even bother saying good night. I just jogged up the stairs to my room.

Jenna wasn't there, and after all that cellar grossness, I was in definite need of a shower. I grabbed a towel out of my trunk and a tank top and pajama bottoms out of my dresser.

Our floor was fairly deserted. Boys and girls didn't have to separate until nine, and it was just now seven, so I figured everybody was hanging out in the drawing rooms downstairs.

My mind still on Archer (and the general suckiness of having an unrequited crush on someone dating a goddess), I made my way to the bathroom and opened the door. The room was shrouded in heavy steam, and

I could barely see in front of me. As I stepped forward, warm water sloshed around my feet. I could hear the sound of running bathwater.

"Hello?" I called.

There was no answer, so my first thought was that someone had left a faucet on as a joke. Mrs. Casnoff would not be amused. Hot water isn't great for two-hundred-year-old floors.

Then the steam began to part, flowing through the open door behind me.

And I saw why the faucet was still on.

It took a long time for my eyes to accept what they were seeing. At first I thought maybe Chaston was just asleep in the tub and that the water was tinted pink from bath salts or something. Then I realized her eyes weren't closed, but sort of half-mast, almost like she was drunk. And the water was pink from her blood.

I noticed the tiny puncture wounds just below her jaw, and longer, more vicious-looking slashes on both her wrists, which were dripping blood onto the floor.

Without even thinking, I rushed to her side, mumbling a healing spell.

It wasn't a very good one, I knew. The most I'd ever been able to get it to do was heal a skinned knee, but I thought it was worth a try. As I watched, the small holes on her neck seemed to pucker briefly, only to sag back open. I made a sound like a sob. God, why was my magic so shitty?

Chaston's eyes fluttered for a moment, and she opened her mouth like she was trying to say something.

I ran for the doorway. "Mrs. Casnoff! Anyone! Help!"

Several heads appeared in doorways.

"Oh God," I heard someone whimper. "Not again."

Mrs. Casnoff appeared at the top of the stairs in a robe, her hair in a long braid down her back. As soon as she saw where I was, her face paled.

And for some reason, seeing her look so scared was what broke me. My knees started shaking and I felt my throat tighten with tears. "It's . . . it's

Chaston," I managed to get out. "She . . . There's blood . . ."

Mrs. Casnoff grabbed me and looked into the bathroom. Her hands tightened on my shoulders. She leaned down and stared into my face.

"Sophia, I need you to go get Cal as quickly as you can. Do you know where his quarters are?"

My brain felt like a scrambled egg, like in those old drug commercials. "The groundskeeper?" I asked stupidly. What could Mrs.