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Prophecy Girl
by Cecily White

Copyright © 2013 by Cecily White. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Prologue:

The End

Death is a lot like prom—loud, overdone, and although the guy you came with was cool, you never know who’ll end up taking you home.

Jack’s soul unwound itself from mine in hesitant, twitchy movements. The space it left behind felt cold and damp, how a cloud might feel before a snowfall.

“You couldn’t have stopped it, Amelie. He had to die. They all did. The prophecy says—”

I quit listening.

This wasn’t fair, not one bit of it. For five days Jack and I had been chased through hell and told to be heavenly. We’d been buried alive and ordered not to scream. And for what? A stupid, semi-apocalyptic prophecy?

I brushed a kiss across his forehead where my tears had fallen. I didn’t care about fairness, or prophecies, or wars. This war wasn’t mine anymore.

Jack was mine.

With a violent tremor, my fingers coaxed the sword out of his lifeless grip. Yeah…things were about to get ugly.

Chapter One:

The Beginning

(…five days earlier)

“I’m not going to the dance, so quit asking,” I announced, extending a hand to my best friend Lisa Anselmo. “Binoculars, please.”

Lisa yanked a pair of black, dual-tube goggles out of her backpack and handed them over with a calculated pout. Enough to tug the heartstrings, not enough to wreck the mascara.

“Amelie, it’s our senior year. We’ve been planning this forever.”

“You’ve been planning this—”

“We’ve been planning this,” she insisted. “Katie and I have our dresses and everything. Don’t you remember? We swore never to go to these things without each other.”

“That was second grade, Lisa.”

“Like that makes it okay to ditch a pinkie swear?”

Groaning, I stared through my goggles into the dimly lit, fish-scented night.

The evening had begun pretty normally. Well, normal for me, anyway. Out the window by midnight, encamped at New Orleans’ Commercial Street wharf by twelve thirty, scoping the area for demons by twelve thirty-three. Not that there were any demons to be found. Apart from an Irish setter who tried to hump Lisa’s leg, the only activity we’d seen was a drunken sorority girl stumbling along the water’s edge. She looked young. Nineteen, maybe twenty. Her green sequined minidress hung off one shoulder, dyed-blond hair in rumpled disarray. Obviously trashed.

Hmm. Why would a girl like that be wandering around here?

“Seriously, Amelie, a pinkie swear is a pinkie swear. It’s like BFF code. You of all people should know that.” Lisa glared at me, her frosted plum lips curled down at the corners. “And don’t give me any garbage about how you can’t get a date.”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t get a date,” I muttered, distracted. “I said I didn’t want a date. Now, can you zip it? We’re on a stakeout here.”

“What about Paul? He’d go with you.”

“Waterfall Paul? After the Jell-O shot incident? No, thanks.” I flipped the visor down to increase the power on my new night vision binoculars. (Okay, not mine, exactly. Borrowed. Certainly not stolen.)

“How about Zeke?”

“Beer-breath. And he wears skinny pants.”

“There’s always Matt,” she suggested hopefully. “He doesn’t drink.”

“Matt’s awesome. He’s also in love with you,” I reminded her.

Lisa flicked a handful of thick chestnut curls over her shoulder and gave a tolerant sigh. “I don’t understand why this is so hard. We’re Guardians.”

“We’re trainees.”

“Same diff. Every Guardian Channeler needs a Watcher. We’re supposed to bond with them, Ami. It’s like destiny or something. If our friendship means anything to you, you’ll do this for me.”

Uh, yeah. Like I would dignify that with a response. At this point, Lisa’s friendship was less of a choice than a fact of life. It worked out well—kind of symbiotic, actually. I beat up anyone who messed with her, and she made sure my homework got done. Fair trade, right? Honestly, if not for Lisa’s constant nagging, I’d probably still be crouched in our kindergarten sandbox eating glue and playing with Neferet demons.

“Are you even listening to me?” She prodded me annoyingly in the shoulder.

I swatted her away. “Look, if it means that much to you, I can ask Keller Eastman. I’ll probably get herpes from holding hands with him and die a miserable, humiliating death…but for you, Lisa, it’s worth it.”

“Amelie Lane Bennett.” She gave me that look—the one she reserves for small children and people who wear white after Labor Day. “You need to take this seriously. Guardian bond assignments go up at the end of the year. It doesn’t matter how pretty you are, or how well you fight, or even how perky your boobs have gotten since last summer.”

I frowned and shifted my ladies so they tucked benignly against the concrete wharf ledge. “Can we leave my boobs out of this?”

“I don’t know, can we? I mean, look at you! Stained sweats, holey T-shirt, no makeup. And…this.” She flicked a clump of sweaty red hair poking out the rubber band at my neck. “You have so much potential, Ami. Must you waste it?”

“Lisa!” I grumbled. “Focus! This is life and death we’re dealing with.”

“I know it’s life and death,” she insisted. “There’s nothing more crucial than this dance.”

“Oh, for the love of—”

“I’m just saying, your mom had a great bloodline, but there’s no guarantee you’ll carry it. And with your parents’ history…” She trailed off, too polite to finish the sentence. “You’re lucky they let you stay at St. Michael’s after your mom died. I mean, you could easily have wound up in residential. Or worse, the human sector. Would it kill you to play by the rules occasionally?”

“Would it kill you to mind your own beeswax?”

“Probably,” she admitted.

I tried to concentrate on the sorority girl, but Lisa’s accusation drilled into me. Loathsome though it was, she had a point.

When my parents, Bud and Charlotte Bennett, abandoned the Guardian Community seventeen years ago, they’d tried to pretend things were normal. Not easy, since my dad had been labeled a defector and my mom a traitor to our mission. I suspect they planned to lie to me indefinitely—you know, ignore the fact that our family was about as human as the Loch Ness Monster’s. They’d put me in a human preschool, hid the broadswords and spellbooks, let me have human friends…right up until the day I channeled our kindergarten class turtle into the demon realm.

Thus began my career at St. Michael’s Guardian Training Academy.

My parents enrolled me mid-year with the understanding that I would be properly trained, sheltered from harm, and, most importantly, they would never hear another word about “the war on demonkind.” That denial lasted two years—the exact amount of time it took Mom to get shredded by a demon at a holiday PTA event. Merry Christmas, right?

I suspect Bud still awakens each morning with the faint hope I’ll transform into some tree-hugging, dirt-loving hippie daughter he can be proud of. I, by contrast, awaken each morning with a nasty urge to kill things.

Demonic things.

Big black flappy things, little green squirmy things…We don’t talk about it. It’s one of many topics we don’t talk about.

I lowered the extra binocular lens and tipped up my night goggles.

“Lisa, this is the third night in a row we’ve staked out this location. And the third night you’ve spent driveling about Watchers and bonds and dances. I know it’s important to you but I need you to respect that this mission, sanctioned or not, is important to me. We’re technically at war here. Professor D’Arcy’s body was discovered not thirty feet from where we sit, and I, for one, am interested in finding out who killed him. Now, are you going to help me or not?”

She squinted her eyes, contemplative. I could practically see the thoughts processing in her head, the gravity of the situation weighing in. Finally, she spoke.

“What about Lyle? He still likes you. And he was at the top of class rankings last year. Any girl would be lucky to land him as a bondmate.”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

I gave a weary sigh. Seriously, the girl was like a dog with a giant wad of beef jerky. “Lis, I’d rather die a cat lady than go out with Lyle Purcell again.”

“There’s an idea. You could borrow Brutus for the gala,” she mused. “You might get a hairball off the goodnight kiss, but his kitty carrier would make a nice accessory.”

“You’re hilarious. Now shut up.”

I flipped the goggles back down and kept scanning the horizon. A good thing, too. Sorority Sally had collapsed, giggling, against a wrought iron bench, head lolled back and throat bared like the cover of a Gothic romance novel. I guess the greasy homeless dude napping two benches down must’ve had a thing for Gothic romances. As soon as he heard the giggle, he pried open a bloodshot eye, emptied his rum bottle, and hauled himself vertical. Streaks of dirt clung to his coat and his shoulder-length hair dripped with sweat as he staggered toward the girl.

“Hey, Lis, we’ve got a situation.”

“Vamp, were, or demon?”

“Vamp, I think.”

She pulled a wooden arrow out of the quiver and watched as I threaded it into my bow.

“Remember,” she cautioned, “you have to wait until human blood is spilled. Any unprovoked attack on a Crossworlder violates the Peace Tenets. Do you need thermal imaging for vamp confirmation?”

“Do we have thermal imaging?”

She rummaged in the backpack. “No.”

“Add it to the shopping list.”

Thermals or no, I was ninety-eight percent sure this was a vamp attack. Maybe ninety-seven. My hand drew back the bow as the dude crouched over Sorority Sally, a predatory look in his eye. His fingers tapped her cheek, tenderly at first, then harder. I could see his lips forming the words, Hey, baby. Want to party?

Yeesh. After a hundred thousand years of verbal evolution, could a guy not produce a better pick up line than that? I barely had time to stifle a groan before the girl’s eyes fluttered open. Faster than thought, her hands gripped his collar, her mouth in a vicious twist.

That’s when I released the arrow. The shaft wasn’t as tight or familiar as the weapons at school, but it flew straight enough.

“Bull’s-eye,” I said as it entered her shoulder.

I’m not even sure if the poor schmuck noticed, he was so wasted. She definitely noticed. Her eyes narrowed to angry slits as she turned in our direction, fangs bared. Served her right. Maybe next time she’d remember to flick some water on her face before she went hunting. Only vamps and zombies wouldn’t sweat in this humidity.

“Duh, why didn’t you just kill her?” Lisa asked, annoyed. “Two more seconds and it would have been justifiable vampicide.”

“Lis, for all we know, she volunteers weekends at the soup kitchen. Besides, it wasn’t a vampire who killed D’Arcy.”

“Yeah, well,” she sniffed, “it wasn’t a demon, either.”

I was about to ask what she meant when I noticed a stirring in the distance.

The blond girl had shooed her would-be snack on his way and was in the process of working the arrow out of her shoulder when something dropped from a tree about fifty feet away. It scuttled toward her, razor sharp talons scraping the pavement, a bubbling snarl at its lips.

“Oh, crud. New target. UV arrow.”

It took me less than two seconds to reload and take aim but by the time I did, the demon had already launched itself at the girl. Its skin was black and mottled, with coarse, oily hair along its shoulders—one part beetle, one part gorilla, three parts Sicilian mafioso.

“Uh, Lis? I need an ID.”

Lisa slipped on a second pair of night goggles and started paging through the ginormous Encyclopedia O’ Demons she’d brought along. Headmistress Smalley seriously needed to get that thing in an e-book format.

“Got it! Rangor demon, third level. Head shot only, everything else is armored. Left eye for the kill,” she summarized aloud. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Me, too.”

The Rangor slashed at Sorority Sally with manic glee. For a second, it looked like they might topple down the embankment into the Mississippi where I couldn’t get a clear shot, but the girl recovered enough to get her arms up. She rolled to the ground, tossing the beast over her head. Not as fast as some of the vamp videos we’d seen in training class, but way faster than I could have moved in that dress. Impressive.

“Hey, Guido,” I called.

Startled, the demon jumped to its feet (um, claws?) and ran toward us, gathering momentum. Arms raised, it let out a howl of fury. Its whole face seemed to fold open, rows upon rows of teeth bared in serrated ridges.

That’s when I sent off the second arrow.

The shaft pierced the beast’s left eye, spilling bright UV liquid down its face in a trickle of purple acid. A cry ripped through its throat. Inhuman. Screechy. Like the emergency brakes of a railway car. Lisa clamped her hands on her ears.

“Wow, this is super subtle,” she yelled over the ruckus. “Maybe next time you could take out an ad in the Times Picayune?”

In hard lurches, the demon writhed and twisted on the ground. Rangors weren’t known for their passive deaths, but really, it seemed to be taking longer than necessary. In the distance, horns honked and garbage trucks clanged, sure signs of human approach.

“We’re so gonna get busted.”

I sighed. Lisa was right. If a Guardian caught us, that would be one thing. But involving humans was a whole other enchilada.

“All right, give me a knife,” I ordered.

She handed me a hooked blade about the size of a banana and stood back.

It took less than twenty seconds to separate the crucial parts, at least enough to stop the twitching. By the time I finished, my arms were scratched, my hair was clumped with mucus, and the vampire had fled into the night.

“You’re welcome,” Lisa yelled after her. She humphed and turned back to me. “Omigod, did you see that? Ungrateful toads, every last one of them.”

“Tell me about it,” I said, wiping the demon goo off my arms. “You want to get the body or the weapons?”

“I’ll get the body. You’ll probably end up summoning a demon horde if you try to dismiss it. Remember Veronica’s sweet sixteen?” She smirked. “Priceless. I thought she’d never get her hair back to its normal color.”

I frowned. “It’s not my fault I have allergies.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it?” Lisa gestured to the boardwalk where the drunk human lay, passed out in a pool of vomit, not twenty yards from my pile o’ demon. “Amelie, how many times do I have to say this? Birthday parties are one thing, but it’s illegal for unbonded Channelers to mess around with Crossworld beings. Not without a Watcher present, and certainly not around humankind. Our handbook specifically says, The fist of eternal damnation shall fall heavily upon he who knowingly reveals the existence of the Guardians. Didn’t you read it?”

I had read it, actually. That handbook was where I got my best ideas.

“Well, technically, we didn’t channel anything. And that,” I said, pointing at the Rangor pieces, “is not a ‘fist of damnation.’ That’s just an obese demon. There’s no law against killing obese demons.”

“There is, actually,” Lisa noted, “for trainees. Which we aren’t going to be anymore, unless we get this mess cleaned up and get to class.”

I grudgingly gathered the weapons and spread some fallen leaves over the sticky, tar-like substance that had oozed out of the Rangor demon. Gulls flew in slow, lazy circles overhead, pastel light glinting off their wings.

Lisa called open the Crossworld channel. “Inergio.”

As soon as the word was spoken, yellow flickers appeared and a narrow gash of light tore through the air. Chill winds swirled around the rift, spits of black fire lapping at the demon body.

Lisa sank to her knees, out of breath. “I’m done. You’re up.”

“Exitus!”

Instantly, the flow of power shifted to me, a hard fist in the middle of my chest. Fingers of Crossworld poison trailed over my skin, reaching into me with claw-like insistence. Without a Watcher to drain it, my defenses were weak. Lisa had done most of the work, as usual, but I still couldn’t shake the unsettling sensation of drowning in darkness.

When there was nothing left but a few gloppy demon chunks, I collapsed next to her. “That sucked.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Maybe we should take tonight off.”

She rolled to her side just enough to shoot me a nasty look. “Maybe you should get a boyfriend.”

Chapter Two:

Play With Fire

The eastern sky had begun to lighten as we stumbled back through the French Quarter toward Lisa’s Prius. That was good news, at least. Third level subterraneans tended to dissolve in sunlight.

Cars were pouring into the Quarter now, the usual rustles and clangs echoing over the cobblestone streets. I tried not to think what would happen if someone had seen us disposing of the demon. Much as I joked, the secret nature of the Guardians’ existence was nothing to laugh at. Guardians and demons and Crossworlders had been around for thousands of years with only minimal security breaches (thank you, Anne Rice). It clenched my stomach imagining I might be the one to upset the delicate balance we’d struck with humanity.

“If you had a boyfriend,” Lisa said, shimmying around in the front seat until her white button-down and tartan plaid uniform skirt slid into place, “you wouldn’t need me for all your insane schemes.”

“I thought you liked my insane schemes.”

“I see value in them,” she qualified. “Doesn’t mean I don’t worry about you getting killed or expelled. I mean, for crying out loud, Amelie. This is our senior year. You can’t keep breaking rules and expect it to be okay. You’re an angel. You should act like it.”

Okay. I know what you’re thinking.

Angels don’t exist.

Flawless skin, perfect hair, flowing white robes, all topped off with an adorable set of fluffy pink wings. Yeah. If you see that wandering around, you’ve probably stumbled onto the set of a Victoria’s Secret catalog shoot. Prepare to get your butt kicked by security.

I’m a Guardian.

You know, the secret race of mortal warriors, fashioned from the flesh of the archangels and charged with protecting humankind from the Crossworld, blah, blah, blah. It may sound romantic and glorious, but I’ll let you in on a secret—being a Guardian sucks. It’s dangerous. It’s lonely. The retirement plan is for crap. And the worst part is, nobody appreciates us. I’ve been trounced by demons plenty of times in combat class, but do you think I’ve ever gotten a thank you note?

Nope. Nada. Zilch.

“Hey, Lis.” I fastened the hook on my skirt and plucked one last piece of Rangor out of my hair. “What did you mean D’Arcy wasn’t killed by demons?”

Lisa frowned, her face blank.

“Before, when you said—”

“Oh, right.” She nodded. “It’s just a rumor, but you know how my mom’s on the PTA? Well, she says Templeman and Lutz got hit this month, too. No one’s confirmed it, but they think it was one of the Gray Ones.”

I squinted, thoughtful. “Right. The Gray Ones. Obviously.”

“You have no idea who that is, do you?”

“Not a clue.”

She glared at me. “Seriously, Ami. Graymasons? Wraithmakers? None of this rings a bell? Were you even conscious for Meeks’ lecture series last spring?” She stomped the brake and hit the ignition…rather violently, I thought. “Fasten your seat belt.”

I snapped the belt over my waist and slurped my lukewarm coffee. “Are you talking about Lucifer’s bloodline? I thought they were extinct.”

“The bloodline’s recessive. It must have been dormant.”

“But what would a Graymason want with Templeman and Lutz? What would he want with anyGuardian? They only take human souls, right?”

“How should I know?” she said, annoyed. “And quit dripping on my upholstery. God made beverage containers for a reason, hello?”

“Sorry.” I righted my coffee cup.

To be fair, a Guardian getting killed wasn’t so unusual. I mean, every other day we heard reports of ultra-badass Enforcers getting eaten by subterraneans. But Professor Lutz? The man had been on faculty since bell-bottoms hit the fashion scene. Taunts about his comb-over hairdo and getting hit with spitballs at lunch should have been the worst he’d had to endure.

“Gray Ones, huh?” I asked, skeptical.

“That’s a secret, by the way, so don’t go asking around about it. Mom told me not to say anything. Especially not to you.”

“Why? I don’t gossip.”

She shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t want Bud to freak. I’m only telling you so when you hear it at school, you’ll know the Elders have it under control and you’ll stay out of it. Now, can we talk about something else?”

In silence, I slipped off my loafers and drew my knees up to my chest.

According to the ancient texts, Gray Ones were the soul-swallowing giants born of Lucifer’s Fallen, aka, the Anakim. We’d started calling them Graymasons a few thousand years ago because of the empty, pale husks they left of their victims. Not exactly people you’d want to mess with in a dark alley.

Dr. Gunderman once said they were the ones who’d originally cracked the mortal barriers and let the Inferni out—vampires and werecreatures and other unholy demon-hybrids. When Gabriel realized what Lucifer had created, he called the remaining archangels together to make a new race—the Guardians—a species forged of the same stuff as Lucifer’s children. Only we didn’t have to steal souls. We had souls of our own.

It took us generations to hunt down and kill them all. After a few thousand years, we’d assumed Lucifer’s line was extinct. There’d been no “giant” sightings, no deaths by soul-suckage, no seers forecasting the rise of a Gray army. The only thing left for us to do was keep the demons down, the cracks sealed, and the Inferni in check.

I did my best to listen as Lisa launched into the ever-so-fascinating rundown of her classes. Within sixty seconds, my attention had shifted to the street outside.

Depressing isn’t normally a word I’d apply to my beloved home town but this morning, with the Crossworld taint still working its way through me, I couldn’t help feeling gloomy. Brittle oak and cypress trees lined the streetcar tracks. Old New Orleans houses, which any other day might have been quaint, seemed hunched in neglect. Humans scrambled around, totally oblivious to the hell that burned beneath them. They were like children, so addicted to their toys they’d probably never notice the mortal world collapsing.

“…just need to focus, Amelie, or you’ll screw things up for both of us. This year is too important and I, for one, do not want to be left behind. Got it?” Lisa’s concerned voice broke through my thoughts. She’d obviously been talking for a while, though I hadn’t heard a word of it.

“Totally,” I agreed. “You’re one hundred percent right.”

“You weren’t listening, were you?”

“Not really.”

With an indignant sniff, she pulled into a parking spot in front of our school and killed the engine.

Just as it had for over a hundred years, the main building of St. Michael’s rose like a monolithic wedding cake out of the intricate uptown landscape. Imperious white trim hung over the gray stone exterior, a line of Corinthian columns standing sentry along the front porch. The sun had begun to peek over a cluster of magnolias on the front lawn, and its reflection in the second story windows made the main building look like it was lit from the inside with orange fire.

Unstable as my student career had been, I dearly loved my school. It even smelled like magic…that faint aroma of gunpowder and leaves burning in the distance. It always confused me how Smalley managed to keep enrollment limited only to Guardian bloodlines. I don’t know, maybe she put some charm up that made people think about dead puppies every time they stepped on campus. That’s what I would have done, anyway, if I were headmistress.

“Do you want to go scope the new Watcher prospects before assembly? I heard we got a senior transfer,” Lisa said as we stepped out of the air-conditioned confines of her car.

“Tempting, but no,” I replied. “I think I’ll shove bamboo shoots up my toenails instead.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll give you the lowdown later.”

“Can’t wait.”

As we walked together through the wrought iron main gate, a crackling sensation broke over us, the school’s protective wards flexing to allow us entry. Without a backward glance, Lisa skipped off toward a crew of smartly dressed boys.

I hurried into the main building, eager to get out of the heat and away from the throng of “date prospects.” Lisa wasn’t usually so aggressive about the hook-ups. It made me wonder if I was being a bad friend, refusing to go to the formal with her. I mean, if she was willing to get dirty for me every night the past week, the least I could do was clean up one night for her, right?

Maybe.

The smell of old paint and new textbooks wrapped me in a welcoming hug as I stepped into the hall where the senior locker block stood. I’d nearly made it to my locker when a squeak-squeak of loafers sounded behind me. “Amelie!”

I quickened my pace. Please, not today.

“Hey, Bennett, wait up!”

In a choking cloud of Drakkar Noir, Lyle Purcell descended on me. His dark hair was slicked off his forehead in meticulous waves, khaki pants perfectly pressed, and shoes polished to a shine. Gag.

“Where were you last week?” He panted, out of breath. “Didn’t you get my messages?”

“Um, messages?” I opened my locker with a clang and began briskly shoving books into it.

“Yeah. Like, six of them. And two emails.”

“Nope, no messages. See ya later.” The locker door slammed behind me as I made a beeline for the exit.

That was a lie. I did get his messages. The truth was, I’d deleted them.

Let me say for the record, I hate lying, even to someone like Lyle. Rule bending? Petty theft? The occasional forced entry? Yes…yes…and if-they-didn’t-want-me-in-there-they-should-have-put-up-better-wards. Lying, however, is totally pointless unless you’re trying to get away with something…or if you have a darned good reason.

I, unfortunately, had a darned good reason.

Last May, at Lisa’s insistence, I’d agreed to go to dinner with Lyle. Huge mistake. What was supposed to be a fun, simple evening ended as a nightmare of Freddy Kruger proportions. He showed up late to get me, bought me Burger Barn take-out on the way back to his place, then spent three hours slobbering in my ear and trying to feel me up while I watched Top Chef reruns. For a solid week after, all I heard was rumors of how I couldn’t get enough of him. It was epic.

“Hold up. Is this because I hooked up with Veronica Manning over the summer?” He scuttled to the side, blocking my path. “I swear it was totally casual. She means nothing to me.”

“Lyle, I don’t care who you date.”

“Good, because I want you to know that thing with Skye was also a mistake. We both knew it as soon as it happened.”

I nodded. “Again with the not caring.”

“Right, so anyway, I thought if you didn’t have a date to the dance on Friday, you might want to go. With me.”

I poked at the warped binding of my Demonology text, avoiding his eyes. “Friday’s not good.”

“You sure? I rented a tux,” he said. “I can order a corsage if you want.”

“That’s not it. I have, uh, plans.” Lie number two.

“What kind of plans?”

“Family stuff.” Three. Crap. At this rate I’d reach my daily quota of venal sin by lunchtime. “All right, let’s just assume I have big, huge, personal, top-secret family plans I can’t discuss with anyone. Now quit asking about it.”

He squinted at me. “You’re lying, aren’t you? Your lips twitch when you lie.”

I frowned and tried not to look twitchy. “Okay, Lyle, listen. You’re a really nice guy—” Four. “—and I appreciate the offer—” Five. Dang it. “—but I don’t think it’s going to work out between us. We’re very different, you and I. There’s no…zing.”

His cocky smile faltered. “No zing?”

“That’s girl-code for ‘not interested,’” I said. “Now, if you don’t mind, you’re kind of in my personal bubble.”

Enough light filtered through the transom windows that I could see annoyance flare in Lyle’s eyes. Firm but gentle, he pushed me against the locker bank and leaned forward, arms flexed in hard barriers around me.

“Amelie, what’s your problem?” he whispered. “With your family’s track record, you’ll be lucky to get a Watcher assignment at all. I’ve got great placement scores. I’ve logged more demon kills than anyone else in our class. You should be begging me to bond with you.”

“And yet, I’m not. It’s a mystery,” I said. “Now get off me.”

He didn’t move. “You’re making a mistake.”

“I’ll survive.”

“Maybe. But I doubt your career will.”

Instantly, my skin prickled, and not in a good way.

It might have bugged me less if what he’d said weren’t true. My future as a Guardian depended on me bonding with a Watcher. If I couldn’t manage that by graduation, well, I might as well sign up for janitorial duty.

I’d lifted my fingers, ready to summon something small, dark, and vengeful that could make Lyle bleed in interesting ways, when Headmistress Smalley’s voice shrieked out of the PA system. “Amelie Bennett, report to my office, immediately.”

“What? Why?” I shouted at the air, indignant.

“Immediately.”

“But I didn’t do anything!”

A chorus of giggles rose from the cluster of students and my face flushed pink. “I’ll see you later, Bennett. Maybe Friday?” Lyle said.

“Dream on,” I snapped.

But he just backed away, one hand flipped up in an insufferable little salute.

I paused to kick the doorjamb and swear a little, then took the stairs to the main office two at a time. How could I possibly be in trouble so soon? There was no way Smalley could have found out about the wharf, was there? Vamp-girl didn’t know Lisa and I were trainees and we’d gotten the demon cleaned up before human authorities showed. So what was it? Had I triggered some campus alarm system when I started to channel against Lyle? Was I getting expelled?

Smalley’s door had just creaked open when I arrived at the main hallway. With tottering steps, the pudgy, orange-haired woman backed into the hallway, her arms filled with cardboard boxes. I grabbed the door to help her.

“Thank you, hon.” She blinked absently. “I’m afraid I forgot to deliver these to the attic last week. Would you be a dear and take them up for me?”

“Um.” Not that I minded doing tasks for Smalley—I probably had more experience with it than any other student given the amount of time I spent in detention—but she usually made an effort tolegitimately bust me before she put me to work.

“Ma’am, may I ask—”

“We had sensors installed in the senior hall last week,” she explained. “Incidentally, if you hadchanneled against Mr. Purcell, I would have had to suspend you.”

“Ah,” I said, and took the boxes from her. No sense pushing my luck. “You want these some place specific?”

“The bottom four go to Mr. D’Arcy’s substitute, the top two to supply storage.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As she waved me in the direction of D’Arcy’s old attic office, I began to understand why she hadn’t just brought them herself. It took me a good five minutes to get up the eighty or so steps to the fourth floor, then another two to locate the supply closet, all while balancing the boxes in a precarious tower. Normally, I wouldn’t have minded. But the morning’s adrenaline spike coupled with three nights of sleep deprivation had left me with an unholy urge to curl up in a corner and nap.

As I wrestled with the door, a heavy scent of mildew settled in my nasal passages. Yesterday’s thunderstorm had left a dull coating of mold and dust over the windowpanes and my allergies were going berserk. I lifted a knuckle to swipe at my nose.

“Ahh-choo!” Before I could stop it, a high-pitched sneeze erupted out of my mouth, along with about thirty rohms of raw Crossworld power.

My cargo clattered to the floor in a flurry of sparks. Narrow shoots of flame seared through the cardboard like bullets through bread as I sneezed again and again, streaks of light in an otherwise dim cave.

“Oh, shiitake mushrooms,” I muttered.

Scarlet fires sparked up everywhere, funnels of smoke curling into the air like mini tornadoes. I dug through my backpack for something to smother the fire, but came up empty. Dang, why didn’t I bring a flame-retardant sweater?

“Crud!” I swore. “Monkeycrud!”

“I’m no expert,” an amused voice said from behind me, “but ‘monkeycrud’ doesn’t sound like an official Guardian command.”

I whirled, heart hammering.

A guy, maybe three years older than me, lounged in the doorway, arms laced across his chest in an easy slouch. He was tall, at least six-three, and dressed in the typical staff uniform— pressed black button-down, black slacks, and tough-soled boots. A leather weapons belt draped in a double loop across his hips, with two glyph-carved swords and a few slim daggers tucked at the sides. Despite his school garb, the guy looked way too young to be a trainer. And waaaay too hot. His tousled blond hair glinted in a soft halo around his face, and with the flames reflected in his charcoal eyes, I’d swear I was staring at the downtown sky at sunset.

Zing. Major zing.

“Looks like you could use a hand,” he observed. “Or maybe a bucket.”

“A bucket?”

“Of water. I hear that’s what they use on fire.” The guy smirked. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

I blinked at him, momentarily speechless. He hadn’t said anything insulting, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being mocked. I managed to snap myself out of the hormonal trance long enough to glare at him. “Look, can you go get a fire extinguisher? Or do something…useful?”

“Sure.” He kept lounging in the doorway. “Take a deep breath.”

Okay, not to be rude but what kind of idiot, when faced with a room full of paper and flames, instructs the arsonist to take a deep breath? “Are you insane?”

“Never diagnosed,” the guy said. “How’s that deep breath going?”

My cheeks flushed with heat as I huffed in and out. “Satisfied? Now go get me a fire extinguisher.”

“Not yet,” he said. “I want you to try the ‘sine lucé’ command. It’s a forty-rohm energy draw. Hefty for a newbie, but you should be able to manage it without a bonded Watcher.” He flicked a glance at the growing fires. “Quickly, if you don’t mind.”

My eyes narrowed. “You want me to channel.”

“Yes.”

“A mid-level command.”

“Correct.”

“In an un-warded room with no Watcher.”

He smiled again, and I had a nasty flash-forward to the ten o’clock newscast—scenes of carnage as the New Orleans Fire Department broke down Smalley’s door, drenching the school in foam.

I shrugged. “It’s your funeral.” With another deep breath, I held up my palms, faced the fire, and gave the command. “Sine lucé.”

I was fully prepared for it to fail. Anything over twenty rohms usually did with me, unless I could time it to a mold spore outbreak, in which case it succeeded in surprisingly destructive ways. So when I felt a firm yet controlled tug at the back of my chest, the zip of Crossworld power bouncing between the guy and me, I nearly fell over with shock.

It was like the stars had aligned just for this moment. A swirl of energy shot out of my fingertips, engulfing the flames in a soft white fog. Instantly, the fires went black…along with the hall lights, the office lights, and the torchiére lamps at the edge of the stairway. Before I knew it, we were plunged into utter darkness.

“O-kay,” I said, trying to recover the use of my toes. “That was new.”

“I’ll say,” he agreed, equally stunned. “You sure you haven’t done that before?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Huh.” He paused. “Sit tight for a sec.”

I heard him fumble at the wall, then the shallow clang of metal on metal sounded as he opened a circuit panel. After another click, the lights came back on and I stood.

The damage wasn’t nearly as bad as it’d looked when everything was aflame. In fact, apart from a few singed box tops and a ream of charred paper, there wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed with five minutes and a roll of wet paper towels.

“What did I tell you?” Mr. Fantastic reappeared in the doorway, dark eyes alight with amusement. “Much cleaner than a fire extinguisher, and no need for an incident report.”

My jaw dropped. No incident report? Well, that settled it. If I wasn’t in love with him before, Idefinitely was now. The knots of panic in my belly slowly unwound themselves.

“I don’t know what to say. Thanks, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“No, I’m sure. Thank you,” I said. “I’m already on probation. If this got back to Smalley…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Probation? On the first day of school? What’d you do?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.” I waved his question away. “I’ll clean this up, I promise. Just let me know what was damaged. I can pay for it out of my allowance.”

The guy’s lips curved into a grin that sent tingles down my legs. “How about we call this a training session. On the house, so long as you keep it contained next time. Deal?”

“Deal,” I breathed, and stuck out my hand. “Wow. Thank you. Seriously, I owe you one.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Then he took my hand. And quit smiling.

I should have known right then I was in trouble. As soon as our fingers touched, an electric shock zipped through me, ice and fire and everything in between. I couldn’t let go. I didn’t want to. Every nerve ending ignited as he tightened his grip but all I could think was, Yes. More. Closer. Like if he didn’t kiss me in the next six seconds I might shatter into pieces.

I shuddered when he finally broke contact. Faint threads of yellow light swirled near his chest like a glittery swarm of fireflies. As I stared at them, my heart began to thud.

“What’s that?”

He glanced down and, for a second, I swear he looked as rattled as I felt. His fingers fumbled as he drew a pair of wire-rimmed glasses out of his pocket and slipped them on. It was like watching the light come on in a dark room. As soon as he looked at me his eyes sparked, first with recognition, then with something else.

“You.” He frowned. “Please tell me you’re not Amelie Bennett.”

“I’m not Amelie Bennett,” I repeated after an uncomfortable silence.

His breath came out in a whoosh of relieved laughter. “Thank goodness. That could have been really awkward.”

“Yeah, totally.” I tried to mimic his laughter but only succeeded in sounding like a choked goat.

This was just weird. My brain clamored to make sense of the past few minutes. The light strands. That burst of power. The only times I’d seen anything similar was in bonding ceremonies or battle footage, and neither of those seemed applicable. You had to have serious experience to draw that kind of residual. I’d never even met this guy before. No way could it be bond-related.

Before I could think of anything that wouldn’t add to my sin tally, the light-strings curled into a tight fist, their tails whipping like a nest of wild snakes. They twitched angrily for a second, then dissipated in a puff, as if they’d never existed at all.

Around me, the world seemed to clarify, and I was suddenly aware of warmth on my skin where he’d touched me. But it wasn’t the kind of warmth that came after a channel. It was different. More ordinary. The kind of effortless human magic I’d always wanted but never thought myself capable of.

“Okay, not that I’m admitting to anything,” I said, poking at my arm where the light had vanished, “but if I was Amelie Bennett and happened to be lying to you about it right now, would I be looking at expulsion, suspension, or just some friendly detention time? Hypothetically, of course.”

The guy stared at me for a long second before he sighed, carefully removing his glasses. “Well,” he said. “Monkeycrud.”