by Claudia Gray
“Never,” Balthazar said. He wasn’t sure exactly what her parents would be able to sue him for but devoutly hoped never to learn.
Zaslow looked more relieved than frustrated. “Listen—I want you to go in and talk with the counselor for a while. She’s ready for you, and she’ll be dealing with Skye for the next few weeks. I just need to be able to write this up to the satisfaction of Skye’s parents, and to clear your record so you won’t have any trouble getting hired in this state again.”
How quickly could he get that over with? An hour, Balthazar figured. Skye was smart enough to get home immediately and stay there until he came for her. “Okay. Sounds like a good idea.”
“And I meant what I said,” Zaslow said, leaning forward over her desk. “We don’t need a situation on our hands, and we don’t need gossip. Stay away from Skye Tierney.”
“I will,” he replied, thinking only of how quickly he could get to her again.
Chapter Twenty-four
IT’S BEEN SUGGESTED THAT YOUR RELATIONSHIP with Mr. More may be inappropriate for that of a teacher and student.
Principal Zaslow had been so calm when she spoke—kindly, even—but Skye still felt like she wanted to throw up. Balthazar was only the second guy she’d ever been with, and to have the principal asking questions about it like it was something gross or dirty—it popped the happy bubble she’d been in since Friday night, and all those feelings of being trapped on every side were rushing back.
Skye’s phone rang as she crossed the quad, gravel crunching under her feet. Had to be her parents—though her phone didn’t recognize the number. Maybe they were calling from some office phone in the capitol building. “Hello?”
“Why, hello there,” Redgrave said. “Am I calling at a bad time?”
She froze in her tracks. “How did you get this number?”
“You put it in the public information on your Facebook profile. Which is an enormously stupid thing to do, by the way. Everyone knows there are all sorts of predators on the internet.” Even over the phone, it was obvious he was smiling. “So, I was wondering if you’d come to any final answer for me.”
“I told you I don’t want to have anything to do with you.” Her voice shook, and she wished it didn’t.
“But now that you know what’s at stake—what your alternatives really are—I was hoping you’d have changed your mind. We could have such wild times together.”
“Both alternatives have me as your slave. No thanks.”
Redgrave made a tsk-tsk sound with his tongue. “As you say—it’s going to happen one way or the other. You’ve chosen the other. So be it. See you soon, my dear.”
The call disconnected. Skye stuffed her phone in her bag and dashed toward the nearest bathroom. She definitely needed to rinse her face off with cold water; she might need a little while to cry alone in a stall.
See you soon. She could just imagine the leer on Redgrave’s face as he said it. Never had she needed Balthazar’s presence so badly. Forget the protection he offered—she only wanted him to wrap his arms around her and comfort her. But she couldn’t go to him now. For at least a couple of hours, she’d have to brave it on her own.
As she walked into the bathroom, she was breaking down her options: Okay, I can take the bus home. Once I get inside my house, I’m safe. Mom and Dad are probably coming home early—and, hey, I can use this, make it seem like all the gossip is why I want to leave school. Why I have to. So Balthazar and I can still get out of here in a few days—
Then Skye realized that somebody else was in the bathroom with her: Madison, who was touching up her blush in the mirrors.
“Oh,” Madison said, her voice a flat parody of its usual enthusiasm. “Hey, Skye.”
“It was you,” she replied. There was nobody else it could have been. “You told Principal Zaslow that I was—was seeing Mr. More.”
Madison turned toward her, a fake sympathetic look on her face. “I was only thinking of your well-being. He shouldn’t take advantage of you. It’s so wrong. Khadijah and I were talking earlier about how he’s probably, like, brainwashed you or something.”
“You were only thinking of my well-being.” Skye’s voice was shaking again, but now from anger instead of terror. Anger felt better. She embraced it. “So you decided to spread your little stories throughout the entire school. Because you were thinking of me.”
“It’s better to let it all out.” Madison shrugged, cooler than ever as she turned to continue fixing her makeup. “Secrecy just makes it seem like you should be ashamed, when he’s the one who did something wrong.”
Flushes from the other area of the bathroom told Skye they weren’t alone—and if everybody didn’t already know thanks to Madison, they all would soon. Her last day or two at Darby Glen High would be her absolute worst.
Eyes narrowing, Skye said, “You were jealous.”
Madison glared at her. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know you always talked about Mr. More and tried to get him to notice you and took stuff over to his house. You’re angry because you think he likes me instead of you. How pathetic can you be?”
“You’re one to talk,” Madison retorted. “I saw you this morning on your walk of shame.”
“You didn’t see anything!” It was a lie, but Skye didn’t care. It felt good to yell. “You don’t know anything! You’re just a jealous, small-minded loser.”
Madison folded her arms. “And you’re just the slut who slept with a substitute teacher.”
“Don’t mind her, Skye?” Britnee Fong walked out to wash her hands. She smiled at Skye as she went to the sink. “Madison’s just freaking out? You know, because you were the last person at this school who didn’t think she was a total jerk? And now you’re onto her, too? And also, Madison, slut is a sex-shaming word? Plus antifeminist? So maybe don’t say that?”
“I don’t have to take this from the school whore and the fat pig.” Madison threw her blusher in her purse and stalked out of the bathroom.
Skye and Britnee stood staring at each other for a long minute. At first there was no sound but the water pouring from the faucet, unattended. Then Britnee said, “Do you need a ride home or something?”
“I’m okay,” Skye said. “I can catch the bus. But—thank you.”
Britnee shrugged, obviously unable to think of anything else to say, and went back to washing her hands. Skye got out of there without even rinsing off her face.
That was the longest bus ride home she’d ever taken. Skye leaned her forehead against the window, stared at the royal-blue plastic seat in front of her and tiredly wondered which part of her school day was the worst.
Finding out Madison wasn’t even a real friend? Bad.
Finding out Britnee was actually an okay person? Bad and good at the same time, but definitely embarrassing, considering how many times she’d snickered at Madison’s mean jokes at Britnee’s expense.
Having Principal Zaslow ask her about her sex life? Extra super bad.
Getting a phone call from Redgrave telling her that her time was up? Yeah. That one was the worst.
She ran as hard and fast as she could from the bus stop to her house, and her hands shook as she worked the keys, but within seconds she was inside, her back to the front door she’d just slammed. Skye breathed out in relief. At least Balthazar and Bianca had made sure this place was safe for her. If she hadn’t been able to have one safe fortress, one place she knew nobody could harm her, she thought she would have self-destructed weeks ago.
Skye went to the kitchen, ate a couple of restorative cookies, and went upstairs. Almost without realizing it, she went into her closet and looked at the suitcases she had stored on a high shelf. Balthazar wanted her to stay so she could lead some TV-commercial version of the ideal life that he seemed to believe in. Skye knew better than that; maybe it was too easy to romanticize life after you’d stopped living it. Logic told her that while her life might not be better if she fled Darby Glen now, odds wer
e it would at least be longer, and at this point, that seemed like more than enough reason to go.
But Mom and Dad—losing her within a year of losing Dakota—what would that do to them?
For the first time in months, tears of grief welled in her eyes. She’d thought she had cried for her brother so much in the months right after his death that she never would again, but the wound could still open up, raw and painful as ever. Probably it always would. Skye flopped onto her bed and opened the bottom drawer of her bedstand; there, in the very back, were the photos of Dakota she’d stowed there last summer. It had been too painful to look at them then, but she could never, ever have thrown them away.
The picture she’d grabbed showed the two of them together, white-water rafting a couple of years ago. He was always the true adventurer. She was always the wannabe.
Dakota was probably the one person in Darby Glen to whom she could ever have told the whole truth about Balthazar. Sure, he would have flipped out—but he always had an open mind, and stood by her no matter what. He never tried to fit people or relationships into tiny, neat little boxes. More than anybody else Skye had ever met, Dakota had been truly free.
He died doing what he loved, her mother had always said, and for the first time, the thought didn’t make Skye want to scream. Dakota had taken his own wild chances. If he’d known he would hurt them all so badly and lose his own life, no, he would never have gone off-roading. But he hadn’t known. He had just been rushing out into life’s adventure, arms flung wide.
“I’m having my adventure now,” she whispered to the image of his smiling face. “And it’s a whole lot scarier than yours. But I’m going to have better luck. I know I will, because you’ll be looking out for me.”
Downstairs, she heard the front door open and shut, and two sets of footsteps coming toward her room. Skye rolled her eyes. Mom and Dad, finally on the scene, when she least needed them to be. “I hope you guys didn’t freak out,” she called. “The principal was totally off base, I swear. It’s nothing.”
“Oh, it’s something,” said Redgrave as he pushed open her bedroom door.
Skye screamed and flung herself backward, but there was nowhere to run. Charity was with him, and two other vampires, three, four—oh, God, how many were there? “How did you get in?” she cried.
“Once our dear Miss More joined us, and finally learned what was keeping us from paying you another call, she was kind enough to tell us that certain charms can repel the wraiths. Apparently her last, brief stay at Evernight Academy was highly instructive.” Redgrave lifted a chain from around his neck, from which dangled a copper key. “The wraiths loathe certain metals. Won’t come near a surplus of them. So we came with a surplus. But don’t worry, we’ll be leaving shortly. And you’ll be leaving with us.”
He stepped closer, and once again she felt that shroud descend over her—the one that wouldn’t let her move except as he wished. Skye could only stand still as Redgrave stroked her hair and said, “I did warn you, my dear. You’ve made your choice. And now it begins.” He leaned so close that his lips nearly brushed her cheek. “You’re mine.”
Chapter Twenty-five
BALTHAZAR DITCHED THE COUNSELING SESSION as fast as he could while appearing cooperative; the last thing he needed was for Zaslow to decide he should be questioned some more. As soon as he walked out, he heard the final school bell, and the hallways and quad were instantly flooded with students. He hurried through them as quickly as he could, heading toward his car. Reaching Skye as soon as possible was his only goal.
Even as he reached into his pocket, though, he noticed that several of the students—mostly the girls, but several of the guys, too—were looking at him in ill-disguised fascination, or whispering about him as they passed by. In the clamor of school letting out, he wasn’t sure what they were saying, but he had an idea … and was pretty sure Madison Findley got it started.
Gossip wasn’t his biggest problem at the moment. He picked up his cell to see that he had a message from Skye, sent a while ago: Redgrave called me. He was talking like whatever it is he’s going to do, he’s going to do it soon. Tomorrow, maybe. Let me know as soon as you’re free.
Quickly he texted Skye, I’m out of there. Are you all right? I’m headed your way.
Just as he pressed Send, someone stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Balthazar looked up to see Madison Findley standing there, all innocence, made-up and smelling strongly of perfume. “Mr. More?” she breathlessly said. “I just wanted to let you know—what people are saying—well, I for one totally believe in you.”
He gave her a look that showed more of his true power—more of his nearly four hundred years on earth—than he normally showed any mortal. She couldn’t have understood what that really meant, but her face paled slightly. “What are people saying, Madison?” Balthazar leaned slightly closer, the predator in him close to the surface. “Since you seem to know.”
“I didn’t mean to—well—it’s not my place to say,” she finally managed to get out.
Did she think she was fooling anyone with that act? He said only, “I’m leaving now, Madison. Excuse me.” Then he stepped past her, giving her distance, as if she were a pile of trash to be avoided.
When he looked down at his phone again on the edge of the parking lot, he saw that Skye hadn’t responded.
It had been a whole two to three minutes, at most.
Skye wouldn’t fail to answer instantly today unless—unless something was preventing her from answering.
Or someone.
Balthazar swung into his car and gunned the motor. If any students got in his way while he drove out, he’d just fulfill Nola Haladki’s dream and run a few over.
As he tore through the streets of Darby Glen, tires squealing on the asphalt, Balthazar kept glancing at his phone, as if somehow he’d missed its chime. It never blinked. No messages.
At one stoplight, he hastily typed, Skye? Did you get my last message? Are you OK?
She didn’t reply to that one either.
Balthazar drove even faster, almost blind to the road or anything else—which is why it shouldn’t have been so surprising when he zipped into an intersection at the same moment another car did.
For one split second it rushed toward him—this looming mass of metal—and then the shattering power of impact. The world turned into the sound of tearing steel, and glittering shards of broken glass.
After that, for several long moments, it was hard to say exactly what happened when. Balthazar knew that his car flipped and rolled. He knew that he was suspended upside down by his seat belt for a few seconds that still lasted too long. Although he could taste blood in his mouth, the wreck had done nothing very severe to his resilient vampire body.
But the other driver—
Jesus Christ, Balthazar thought, coming back to himself as he struggled to open the door with it upside down. I wanted to get to Skye, but I didn’t want to hurt some innocent person. Or kill them—please, not that.
He managed to push his way out onto the days-old snow, which had turned black from dirt and soot along the roadway. The intersection wasn’t a busy one, at least; only the two cars were damaged, though both of them appeared to be nearly totaled. Each of them was now a twisted, smoldering hulk on the side of the road. His Ancient Civilizations text lay in the dead center of the intersection, open to an illustration of the pyramids. The only structure nearby was a junky bar farther down the road that looked as if it had a shady clientele; though most bars wouldn’t have been open yet at this hour, neon signs in the window proclaimed different beer brands as the best. Nobody had ventured out to see what the ruckus was, though; the wreck must have been distant enough not to be heard inside.
All of this flooded into Balthazar’s mind unfiltered, slightly disjointed. He must have struck his head—not badly, but enough to shake him for a second. As he struggled to his feet, he saw someone walking toward him—the other driver, it had to be, thank God she was okay—<
br />
Then he saw who it was.
“Constantia,” Balthazar said. He realized that he hadn’t had a stop sign at the intersection; he’d done nothing wrong to cause the wreck. “You rammed me.”
“It looked like the only way to get you to stop. I had to do some wild driving just to catch up with you.” She smiled at him, maddeningly confident despite the bloody scratches across her cheek, or the splinters of dashboard glass scattered across her jeans and olive-green coat. “In a hurry?”
“Where’s Redgrave?”
Constantia’s smile became even more smug. “Where you’d most like to be, I think.”
That meant, with Skye.
His car was beyond driving, now or ever again. He’d have to run the rest of the way. But he was within a mile of her house—it wouldn’t take long. “Get out of my way,” he said.
“I think it’s past time for me to be in your way,” Constantia said.
Balthazar reached inside his jacket—no, he’d lost the stake at the Valentine’s Dance. So he’d have to improvise. He snapped a short branch off a nearby tree, never dropping eye contact with Constantia. “It’s past time for us to settle this.”
She laughed at him. “Think about it, would you? You’re so desperate to reach Skye in time. Well, it’s too late for that. Redgrave has her. What you need to know is what’s going to happen next. I’m willing to tell you.”
Did he believe her? To his horror, he did. At times like this, Constantia didn’t bluff. “Are you saying you’ll help me?”
“And all it will cost you is one drink.” She nodded toward the bar. “C’mon, Balthazar. For old times’ sake.”
As if the old times had been any better than these. But if Constantia was telling the truth—and he suspected she was—getting more information was probably the best thing he could do. “Five minutes,” he said. “Tops.”