Hex Hall (7 page)

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

I gaped at the towering chocolate cake, easily three feet tal, 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 realy in the mood to socialize either. Then I spotted a smal 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 al 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 hal. 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 actualy 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 realy 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 al that? He's a vampire?"

"Yup," Jenna confirmed. "One of them turned him while he was dying in Greece. The Council actualy held him prisoner for a realy 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 al 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 wil blink out eventualy, and witches and shifters don't live any longer than regular people.

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

"Who's that?"

Jenna roled her eyes and groaned. "Ugh. Ms. Vanderlyden.

Or the Vandy as we al cal her. Not to her face," she quickly added.

"Do that and you'l 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 folow the rules and stuff. She's also totaly 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 hel. 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 actualy being serious.

"There's also a groundskeeper," Jenna added. "Calahan, but we al cal 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 realy 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 wel 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 realy my type."

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

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

"Oh," was al I could say to that. I'd never had a gay friend.

Then again, I'd never realy had a lot of friends.

Stil looking at Archer, I said, "Yeah, wel, I attempted to kil him earlier."

After Jenna recovered from the sweet tea that nearly shot out of her nose, I filed 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 al 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 realy 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 Holy were . . . realy close, and he was in a bad place after she died. A couple of people said they heard him teling Casnoff that he hated what he was, wanted to be normal, stuff like that."

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

"You could say that."

I clearly wasn't going to get any more out of Jenna about
that
, so I said, "Wel, apparently he didn't go through the Removal.

He's stil got powers."

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

I threw a rol at her, but before she could retaliate, Mrs.

Casnoff rose from her seat. She raised her hands over her head and the room fel quiet so quickly, you would have thought she'd just cast a silencing spel.

"Students," she drawled. "Dinner is now concluded. If this is not your first night at Hecate, please exit the dining hal. 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 hal 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 balroom 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 al this crap before," he insisted.

The shifter teacher, Mr. Ferguson, rose to his feet.

"Language!" he belowed.

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'l see."

And then everything went black.

A
s 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 tels 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 smeled (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 filing 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 potentialy 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 wel."

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 Hal 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 tel 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 al of you children now find yourselves. And now"--Mrs. Casnoff's voice rang out--"a demonstration."

"Here we go," Archer murmured.

Once again, a smal 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 overals and a plaid shirt, and a brown hat was puled low over his eyes. A scythe dangled from his right hand. For a moment he was totaly 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 vilage in England caled Lower Quinton.

He kept to himself and earned one pitiful shiling an hour as a hedge cutter for a local farmer. In addition to that, he performed simple spels for the people of Lower Quinton: potions for gout, the occasional love spel . . . simple harmless things. But then, in 1945, the vilage had a bad harvest." As she spoke, more figures began to materialize behind the man. There were four of them in al: 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.