Firespell (The Dark Elite 1)

“Geeks ’r’ us?” I repeated.

“She uses a bag with a pirate symbol on it,” Veronica said. “What kind of Disney fantasy is she living?”

Oh, right, I thought. That’s why I hated these girls. “And yet,” I pointed out, “you hung out with me today. And you know Scout and I are friends.”

“All evidence to the contrary,” Scout muttered.

“We were giving you the benefit of the doubt,” Veronica said.

Scout made a sarcastic sound. “No, Lively, you felt guilty.”

“Ladies,” Barnaby said, standing up to reveal the unicorn-print T-shirt she’d matched with a pleated skirt. “I don’t think Lily wants to be fought over. This is beneath all of you.”

I forced a nod in agreement—although it wasn’t that horrible to be fought over.

“Uh-huh,” Veronica said, then looked at me. “We did the nice thing, Parker. You’re new to St. Sophia’s, so we offered to help you out. We gave you a warning, and because you handled our little game in the basement, we gave you a chance.”

“So very thoughtful,” Scout bit out, “to make her a charity case.”

Veronica ignored her. “Fine. You want to be honest? Let’s be honest. Friends matter, Parker. And if you’re not friends with the right people, the fact that you went to St. Sophia’s won’t make a damn bit of difference. Even St. Sophia’s has its misfits, after all.” As if to punctuate her remark, she glanced over at Scout and Lesley, then glanced back at me, one eyebrow raised, willing me to get her point.

I’m not sure if she was better or worse for it, but the bitchiness of her comment aside, there was earnestness in her expression. Veronica believed what she was saying—really, truly believed it. Had Veronica been a misfit once?

Not that the answer was all that important right now. “If you’re saying that I have to dump one set of friends in order to keep another,” I told her, “I think you know what the answer’s going to be.”

“There are only two kinds of people in this world,” Veronica said. “Friends—and enemies.”

Was this girl for real? “I’m willing to take my chances.”

She snorted indignantly, then walked into Amie’s room. “Your loss,” she said, the door shutting with a decided click behind her.

The room was quiet for a moment.

I blew out a breath, then glanced over at Scout. Ever so calmly, without saying a word or making eye contact, she laid the rest of her cards flat on the table, stood up, marched into her room, and slammed the door.

The coffee table rattled.

I undraped the scarf from around my neck and dropped onto the couch.

Lesley crossed her legs and sat down on the floor, then began to order the deck of cards into a tidy pile. “Granted,” she said, “I’ve only known you for a couple of days, but that was not the smartest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Yeah, I know.”

She bobbed her head toward Scout’s closed door, which had begun to rattle with the bass of Veruca Salt’s “Seether.”

“How ballistic do you think she’s gonna be?” I asked, my gaze on the vibrating door.

“Intercontinental missile ballistic.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

Lesley placed her stack of cards gingerly on the tabletop, then looked over at me. “But you’re still going in there, right?”

I nodded. “As soon as I’m ready.”

“Anything you want in your eulogy?”

Lesley smiled tightly. I gathered up my scarf, rose from the couch, and headed for Scout’s door.

“Just tell my parents I loved them,” I said, and reached out my hand to knock.

13

Four minutes later, when Scout finally said, “Come in,” I opened the door. Scout was on her bed, legs crossed, a spread of books before her.

She lifted her gaze and arched an eyebrow at me. “Well. Look who we have here.”

I managed a half smile.

She closed a book, then uncrossed her legs and rose from the bed. After turning down the stereo to a lowish roar, she moved to her shelves and began straightening the items in her tiny museum. “You want to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Because I’m afraid, I silently thought. “I’m not avoiding you.”

She glanced over with skeptical eyes. “You ignored me all weekend. You’ve either been holed up in your room or hanging with the brat pack. And since I know there’s no love lost there . . .” She shrugged.

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re freaked out about the magic, aren’t you? I knew it. I knew it was going to freak you out.” She plucked one of the tiny, glittered houses from a shelf, raised it to eye level, and peered through the tiny window. “I shouldn’t have told you. Shouldn’t have gotten you wrapped up in it.” Shaking her head again, she put the house back onto the shelf and picked up the one beside it.

“You’d think I’d be used to this by now,” she said, suddenly turning around, the second house in her hand. “I mean, it’s not like this is the first time someone has walked away because I’m, you know, weird. You think my parents didn’t notice that I could do stuff?”

As if proving her point, she adjusted the house so that it sat in the palm of her outstretched hand, then whispered a series of staccato words.

The interior of the house began to glow.

“Look inside,” she quietly said.

“Inside?”

Carefully, she placed the illuminated house back on the shelf, then moved to the side so I could stand beside her. I stepped into the space she’d made, then leaned down and peeked into one of the tiny windows.

The house—this tiny, glittered, paper house on Scout’s bookshelf—now bustled with activity. Like a dollhouse come to life, holograms of tiny figures moved inside amongst tiny pieces of furniture, like a living snow globe. Furniture lined the walls; lamps glowed with the spark of whatever life she’d managed to breathe into it with the mere sound of her voice.

I stood up again and glanced at her, eyes wide. “You did that?”

Her gaze on the house, she nodded. “That’s my talent—I make magic from words. Like you said, from lists. Letters.” She paused. “I did it the first time when I was twelve. I mean, not that particular spell; that’s just an animation thing, hardly a page of text, and I condensed it a long time ago. That means I made it shorter,” she said at my raised brows. “Like zipping a computer file.”