Hex Hall (12 page)

"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. "Realy, 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 stil 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 al but snarled when I was finaly 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 practicaly crushing my spine, buddy, so let's check the attitude."

He stopped so suddenly that I actualy walked three steps past him and had to turn around.

"If the Vandy had puled 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 realy helpful in filing me in on the Vandy this morning."

He sighed and rubbed the nape of his neck, which had the effect of puling 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 actualy 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 al here."

A
fter that little tidbit of information, I did something I have never done in my entire life.

I had a ful-on drama queen meltdown.

By which I mean I burst into tears. And not tragicaly beautiful, elegant tears either. No, I had the big messy ones involving a red face and snot.

I usualy make it a point not to cry in front of people, especialy hot boys that I'd been totaly 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 dul thumps, and al I could think was what an idiot I was.

Don't know about blocking spels.

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 totaly 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 realy 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 spels 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 helo.

The girl raised her hand in reply. And then she vanished.

There was no gradual fading away like I'd seen with Isabele'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 spel 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 spels usualy 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 realy, wel,
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 halucination 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 celar 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 spel fel 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 tel 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 shelacked hair be?

But then I just shrugged and spiled 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 smal 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. Finaly 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 originaly thought, with tons of fine lines radiating from her eyes.

"Folow me to my office, Sophia. There are some things we need to discuss."

H
er 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-yelow-stripe fabric.

"When did you get new furniture?" I asked.

She glanced over her shoulder. "We didn't. It's a perception spel."

"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 stil looks pretty rank."