Hexbound (The Dark Elite 2)

Foley waited for a moment. “I see,” she said. “Anything else?”

“Anything else? Isn’t that enough? I mean, I’ve confirmed they’re not doing philosophical research. Or not just doing philosophical research. They talked about DNA, so I guess that means genetic research.”I stopped. “They’ve been lying to me.”

“They’ve been protecting you.”

I shook my head. “They’re in Germany, but even if they were here right now, I’d feel so far away from them.”

“Lily.” Her voice was kind, but stern. “I am not privy to the details of your parents’ work. But I know that they’re doing important work.”

“What kind of important work?”

She looked away. A dark knot of fear began to curl in my belly, but I pushed it down. “They work for the SRF?”

“The SRF funds their research.”

“Why did the SRF give them advice about sending me here?”

“It suggests the SRF rendered advice about protecting you from the nature of their work or the circle of those who also engage in it.”

That knot tightened, and I had to force out the words. “Why would they do that?”

She gave me a flat look.

“Because it has something to do with the Dark Elite.”

Her lips pursed tight.

My legs shook so badly I had to lock my knees to stay upright. The Dark Elite were doing some kind of medical procedures. My parents were doing some kind of DNA experiments. Were they part of the Dark Elite?

“Do they know I have firespell?” I asked, and I could hear the panic in my voice. “Do they know I’m involved now?”

She sighed. “They receive regular updates about you and your safety.”

“And that’s all you’re going to tell me?”

“That’s all I can tell you. That’s all I’m allowed to tell you,” she added, as I started to protest. “Just as there are rules of engagement for you as an Adept, there are rules of engagement for me as—”

“As what?”

“As the headmistress of this school,” she primly said.

I shook my head and glanced over at one of the walls of books as tears began to slide down my cheeks. “This really sucks.”

“Ms. Parker—”

“No, I’m sorry, but it sucks. They’re my parents. I know less about them than half the people on this block in fricking Chicago, and the stuff I do know is all lies and secrets and half-truths.”

Her jaw clenched. “I believe it’s time for you to return to class, Ms. Parker, before you say things that you’ll regret and that will result in demerits and punishment.”

I opened my mouth, but she was up and out of her chair before I could say anything.

She tapped a finger onto the desktop. “Regardless of your concerns about your parents, you are at my institution. You will treat this institution and this office with respect, regardless of the circumstances that brought you here. Is that understood?”

I didn’t answer.

“Is. That. Understood?”

I nodded.

“Life, Ms. Parker, is very often unfair. Tragedies occur every second of every minute of every day. That your parents saw fit to protect you with certain omissions is not, in the big scheme of things, a substantial tragedy.” She looked away. “Return to class.”

I went back to the classroom building. But I walked slowly. And before I even made it out of the admin wing I ducked into one of the alcoves and pulled out my phone. Sure, I was equal parts mad at my parents, worried for their safety, and sad about whatever it was they were doing—and that they’d lied to me about it—but mostly I felt very, very far away from them.

“ARE YOU OKAY?” I texted my dad.

I sat with the phone in my hands, staring at the screen, wondering why they weren’t answering. Were they hurt? In the middle of doing evil things . . . or debating whether to tell me the truth about those evil things?

Finally, I got a message back. “WE’RE GREAT. HOW ARE CLASSES?”

I gazed down at the screen, trying to figure out what to ask him, what to say, how to form the right question . . . but I had no clue what to say.

How do you ask your parents if they’re evil?

I closed my eyes and rested my head against the cool stone behind me. You didn’t ask, I finally realized. You held off until you knew the right thing to say, until the question couldn’t be delayed any longer. You held off so you weren’t creating unnecessary drama that was only going to cause trouble for everyone.

Tears brimming again, I set my thumbs to the keyboard. “BORING. TTYL.”

“LOVE YOU, LILS,” he sent back.

Nobody ever said growing up was easy.

14

Scout could see something was wrong when I walked into class. But it was Brit lit, and Whitfield, our teacher, watched us like a hawk. She took it as a personal insult if we weren’t as enthralled by Mr. Rochester as she was. So she skipped the notes and conversation, and instead pressed a hand to my back. A little reminder that she was there, I guess.

When we were done with class for the day, we headed back to the suite, but I still wasn’t ready to talk about it.

“SRF?” she asked, but I shook my head. I was still processing, and there were things I wasn’t yet ready to say aloud.

We did homework in her room until dinner, and she let me pretend that nothing had happened, that my afternoon hadn’t been filled with questions I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers to.

I took what Foley said about real tragedy to heart. I knew what she meant, totally got her point. But if my parents were members of the Dark Elite, how could things get worse than that? If they were helping some kind of medical work or research for the DE—if they were trying to help people who were hurting kids—how was I ever supposed to be okay with that?

I had no idea. So I kept it bottled up until I could figure out a plan, until I could figure out the questions to ask, or the emotions I was supposed to feel.

Eventually, we went to dinner. Like I predicted, you know what was worse than Thursday lunch at the St. Sophia’s cafeteria?

Friday dinner in the St. Sophia’s cafeteria.

We stood in line, trays in hand, for a good minute, just staring at the silver dish of purple and brown and white and orange mess, grimaces on our faces.

Without a word, Scout finally grabbed my tray, stacked hers on top of it, and slid them both back into the stacks at the end of the line. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t like to be a few inches taller with, like, crazy long legs, but there’s no way I hate myself enough to put that stuff in my body again.”