by Cecily White
There was a vague sense of dread attached to being at school again. Don’t get me wrong, I was as excited as the next girl to get back to the supernatural grind. Still, the sight of my classmates dallying with each other—showing off their new cars or comparing tans or swapping stories of lake demons—left me a smidge depressed. I had no tan. I had no car. And Dad had been working all summer, so the closest I’d gotten to a lake demon was when I volunteered to help Mrs. Terwilliger clean her fish pond. And I use the term “volunteer” very loosely.
At least our assembly hall looked the same. Heavy blue curtains cloaked the stage, curved stairs cascading down either side. Gently arched, floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, while the opposite wall shrieked with the myriad of colors of our class banners. Somehow, it managed to be both bright and depressing, as well as ten degrees too cold. Like a cheerful mausoleum.
Underclassmen eagerly filed into the youngling section at the back while the seniors took our places up front. I barely noticed the squeals of excitement. My brain was so blissed-out reviewing every second I’d spent with Jack, a hellgate could have opened and I wouldn’t have blinked. I didn’t even see Matt Marino’s messenger bag sticking out from under his chair until my feet were hopelessly tangled in its straps.
With the speed of a seasoned Guardian, Matt caught me mid-plummet. “Yo, Ami! Falling for me already?”
I snatched my backpack from where it had landed and ruffled his untidy brown hair. “Nice moves, my delusional friend. If only you were as quick at combat practice.”
“Blasphemy,” Matt said, a dramatic hand at his chest. “Are you implying I’m not the fastest, most skilled Watcher on the planet?”
“I would never imply that, Matthew.” I winked at him. “See you at lunch?”
“Maybe. Depends on Lisa.”
“Ah, right. She broke up with you again, didn’t she?”
He flopped back in his chair, lanky legs hooked at the ankles. “She also reserved a tuxedo for me with a cummerbund matched to her formal dress. I sense ambivalence.”
“Very perceptive.”
Matt’s grin widened as I pushed my way past him into the social fray of our class.
About halfway down the row, Veronica Manning, queen bee, sat with her entourage, obsessively fluffing her shoulder-length curls. Keller Eastman, the only Watcher in history ever to fail study hall, sopped up adoration from a row of misguided sophomores in the back. A few senior boys clustered in groups to trade stories of their summer conquests, Lyle included. I did my best to ignore their sidelong glances as I scooted across the aisle to where the other Channelers sat.
“Hey, you.” I nudged my friend Katie Shaw on the shoulder. “Where were you yesterday?”
She looked at me blankly for a moment, then something registered in her eyes. “We were supposed to go jogging, weren’t we?”
“I circled the park like twenty times!”
“Sorry, I got distracted.” Her stubby, nail-bitten fingers clutched the smudged true-crime update she’d printed off the Guardian database. “Half of these unsolved mysteries sound like Inferni attacks. It’s ridiculous. I mean, do they think we can’t tell the difference between a demon kill and a vampire attack? Ugh! Tell me again why we have to protect them.”
“Because it is written, K.” I winked and patted her head. “Anything with a soul, right?”
“Yeah, if you believe they have souls.” She grunted. “Look, don’t let me off the hook with the jogging thing again. I’m sick of being at the bottom of the fitness rankings. It’s humiliating.”
With a sigh, I slumped into the seat next to her and extracted a well-worn copy of last month’s Guardian Times magazine from my bag.
There was a reason Katie didn’t get invited along on Lisa’s and my little hunts. Much as I loved her, I had to admit that, when it came to battle, the girl lacked. Seriously. She’d been chasing the dream of physical fitness since the day she got her braces off. But no matter how hard she tried, “satisfactory” always seemed to loom a good ten pounds away. Ditto with combat skills. And weapons. And ward drawing… Okay, let’s just say, if I ever had to go up against a demon horde, I’d want Lisa by my side and Katie back home baking me a batch of après-kill cookies.
I’d barely made it past the Guardian monthly feature, Ten Ways to Romance Your Watcher, when I spotted Lisa hurrying down the aisle with a giant smirk on her face. It made me nervous.
“Hey, Lis,” I said carefully as she plopped down in the chair next to me. “What’s up?”
“What’s up? WHAT’S UP?” she faux-whispered. “Skye told Kelsey, who ran into Taylor, who happened to mention to Shane that you got busted by Smalley for snogging Lyle outside homeroom this morning. And you’re asking me what’s up? Honestly, Ami, how could you not tell me?”
I stared at her blankly, trying to figure out how to answer. For half a second, I toyed with the idea of letting her think Lyle and I had rekindled our (ick!) “romance.” With a Graymason on the scene, professors dying, field exams around the corner, and the commencement gala fast approaching, the last thing I needed was Lisa micromanaging my nonexistent love-life.
“I’m your best friend, right?” She pouted. “So, I have to hear all the good gossip from Skye Benedict?”
I sighed. Forget it.
“Lyle’s an ass,” I said out loud. “I’d rather get groped by Creepy Daniel.”
On the off-chance I wasn’t kidding, Lisa scanned the room for our psychotic former trainer. After a moment, she gave up. “Fine, but if you didn’t kiss Lyle, then why are you so happy?”
I frowned. “Am I not allowed to be happy?”
“Not that happy. And don’t change the subject. We’re talking about you and Lyle.”
“Speaking of ex-boyfriends,” I changed the subject again, “Matt asked about you. I think you should get back with him.”
She cast a measured glance at our longtime friend. “I can’t. You saw his class rank last year, and he almost failed his practicals. Plus, I can’t look at him the same since I ran into Mrs. Marino at our family reunion. It’s not comforting to learn you’ve made out with your cousin.”
“Third cousin once removed,” I argued. “It’s hardly incest.”
“Life is like a box of chocolates, Lisa,” Katie noted around a half-chewed carrot stick. “You never know what you’re going to get.”
Lisa narrowed her eyes, confused. “Did she just quote Forrest Gump at me?”
“It’s Matt’s fault,” I said. “She lost a bet and now anytime his name gets mentioned, she has sixty seconds to drop a relevant movie quote.”
“That’s insane.”
“Yup,” Katie piped in, “insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops.”
“Classic.” I high-fived her.
Lisa glared at us for a second then shook her head. “You’re both nuts. My point is, dating one’s cousin can’t be good for the bloodlines. Besides, I’ve already picked out the next Mr. Anselmo.”
With a flick of her finger, she directed our attention to the end of the row where a good-looking boy had just entered. He stood about six feet tall, with silky black hair and murky aqua-green eyes that glittered like the country club kiddie pool. Even the drab white button-down of our school uniform looked good on him.
“His name is Alec Charbonnet,” Lisa said. “He’s a senior, just transferred in. I heard his dad’s a political, or something. He totally wants me.”
“Charbonnet?” Katie pursed her lips. “Do you mean the guy with the pretty eyes?”
“Yeah, why?”
“That’s Chancellor Thibault’s son.” Katie dropped her voice to an octave reserved for hot guys and medical conditions, then snatched the Guardian Times magazine out of my hands. “They did a spot on him last month. Check this out.”
Lisa and I craned to see as she flipped to the society pages.
“There.” She pointed to a small photo of Alec and his father on the front steps of the Atlanta Guardian Consula
te. The picture was blurry, but apparently you don’t need focus to convey sex-appeal.
“‘At the Guardian embassy banquet in New York last month’,” she read, “‘angelblood wunderkind Alexander Charbonnet, adopted son of Chancellor Robert Thibault, made a splash when he drowned a mid-level Oaxachta demon in the champagne fountain.’ He’s supposed to be some kind of Watcher prodigy. Unbonded, as far as I know.”
“That’s so hot.” Lisa gave the boy a coy wave. “Do you think Matt’ll mind if I go out with him?”
Katie pulled out her iPod. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“You need to get out more,” Lisa muttered, but Katie had already stuffed in the ear buds.
Despite my Jack-addled brain, I had trouble taking my eyes off Alec. He was cute, definitely, but that wasn’t why I stared. Something about him seemed to radiate energy, like a thin coating of light over his skin. It bugged me.
“Hey, Alec,” Lisa called, ignoring Matt’s sullen glare. “Sit with us at lunch, okay?”
Alec opened his mouth to respond but the microphone cut him off with a piercing squeal. “Later,” he mouthed to her.
I managed to drag my attention off him as all heads turned to the front for the faculty procession. To say that our faculty was “a force to be reckoned with” wasn’t exactly accurate. They were more like “a force to be tolerated and sometimes mocked.”
Dr. Gunderman, tall and lanky, his nose hooked like an over-educated hawk, led the procession with long, important strides. I’d always liked Gunderman, and not just because he reminded me of Gumby. He often seemed to sense when I was about to get in trouble, and he usually let me do it anyway. I respected that. Professor Meeks waddled close behind, his balding head and ruddy complexion barely visible behind the enormous potted houseplant he hugged to his chest. I had no idea what the plant was all about, but he seemed rather fond of it.
A few feet behind Meeks, Ms. Hansen glided down the aisle, perfectly balanced in her platform heels, like a petite Sports Illustrated model. I hated her. Granted, she was easy to hate. Early twenties, maybe. Barbie doll body. Exotic, heart-shaped face. Sheets of flowing raven-black hair…all wrapped up in that saccharin sweetness you only find in church-ladies and Girl Scout moms. It was enough to make a girl sprint to the nearest shopping mall for a free makeover.
I let my eyes trail after their black polyester robes, half expecting to see a cadre of guards on their tails. If Graymasons were as unstoppable as the stories said, we’d need an army to fight even one of them, right?
But I didn’t see an army. All I saw was the usual staff.
A massive, platinum-haired trainer named Marcus strode after Hansen, heavily armed with two curved swords at his hips, runes and glyphs etched along each blade. Like one of those Viking dudes with the horned helmets and women named Brunhilda on each arm.
The most ghoulish of the crew, Creepy Daniel, followed with his customary scowl, equally bedecked in gleaming weaponry. Knowing Daniel, he probably had a slew of concealed daggers and a spare set of nunchucks in there, too. He used to be normal, I swear. But since his bondmate died a few years ago protecting a nest of vampires from some rogue bloodhunters (long story, don’t ask), he’d gotten progressively weirder. Sometimes, we’d see him crouched in the middle of the quad, swinging his sword at the air and cursing the angels for no apparent reason. Creepy, right?
I watched a few other trainers file in, most of them so rickety they could barely take down a stray hedgehog, let alone a Graymason. It made no sense. Even if Lisa’s rumor was false and this was just a series of fatal demon attacks, I still would have expected some show of strength. After all, three faculty members were dead. Hardly business as usual for the start of the school year.
Jack was the last to enter and the easiest to spot. Amidst the gray-haired instructors and middle-aged trainers, he stood out like a Greek god in an Eskimo village.
“You’re getting all glowy again,” Lisa whispered, her hand against my forehead. “Do you feel okay?”
Without lifting my gaze, I asked, “What do you know about D’Arcy’s replacement?”
“Who?” Her eyes followed mine and she let out a short breath. “Oh, for pity’s sake, Amelie. That’s Lutz’s replacement.”
“No, I’m talking about the young guy. The super hot one—”
“With all the scars and the Guild tattoos, who looks like an ad for bad boy college soccer? Yeah, that’s our interim examiner.” She scowled. “That’s the jerk who’ll make or break our careers this year.”
With the grace of an athlete, Jack took the steps two at a time, sliding into a seat in the front row of the dais. My heart launched its resonant thump-thump-thump as Lisa’s words sank in.
Jerk.
Did I accidentally call the finest male specimen on the planet a jerk? To his face? On the eve of his rendering judgment that could kill my career?
“But…I thought he was the R.G.”
“He’s both. Mom says he’s also covering for Fiori as senior trainer until they can get somebody else.”
“Fiori’s dead?”
“Retired, as of last week,” Lisa explained. “I would retire, too, if it were me. Working in this place is like being the drummer in Spinal Tap.” She mimed an explosion. “Seriously, Ami. I know you’ve got an issue with rules, but I’m begging you. Don’t. That guy is a disaster. I heard he blew off the Elders’ bond assignment at graduation even though it meant a year on probation. He’s total bad news.” Lisa began digging around the bottom of her purse for a breath mint.
Bad news. I couldn’t argue that. From forty feet away, I felt the heat of his glare ripping into me, sparklers igniting on my skin.
“Hey, Lisa,” I whispered. “I think I’ve got a problem.”
“Uh-huh. What else is new?”
“No, I mean, I think I’m supposed to—” I stopped. Supposed to what? Bond with him? There was no way I could explain the magnetic draw I felt, not without sounding like a total idiot.
I watched Jack slump back in his chair, his fingertips forming a prayer-shaped cage in front of him. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the room, like he was making notes. It was artful, how he took everything in. Filed it. Cataloged it. Along one arm, a curved tangle of black lines peeked out from under his shirt cuff. It twined along the fleshy part of his wrist in a circular pattern, like vines growing up the path of his veins. I couldn’t see details, but I recognized them instantly.
Enforcement Guild glyphs.
My mom had those same tattoos. Technically, they’d been removed when she left the Guardians, but puffy, pale scars had remained. A distant memory sparked in my head of Mom singing me lullabies at bedtime. I used to trace those marks out on her forearms—memorize them—so I could copy them onto my own arms later with the black Sharpie I’d stashed under my pillow. They’d swirled and curved like bracelets around her wrists, intricate and beautiful, each one matched to a glyph on the skin of her Watcher.
In almost meditative silence, my finger rose to my wrist, etching out the marks I saw on Jack’s arm. A gentle slope like a tilted S and a sideways V with a tiny eye in the middle—the glyphs for fortitude and insight. My flesh hummed beneath them.
When I looked up, Lisa was staring at me in frozen-eyed disapproval.
“Ami,” she warned.
I gave an innocent shrug, but didn’t say anything.
Rain had started to fall outside. Trees and azalea bushes smeared into a complex watercolor beyond the glass. I sank a little deeper into the cushions. If the Elders had sent an Enforcement agent to St. Michael’s, even a newbie like Jack, then maybe this Graymason rumor wasn’t total crap. At the very least, it made me curious.
When the flock of faculty was finally seated, the double doors squeaked open again and we all rose in a show of respect.
Headmistress Smalley shuffled in, too-tight sandals clip-clopping across the floorboards to the podium. Her amber eyes glimmered under the spotlight and her smile seemed to t
ake up half of her face. Even the black academic robes, which should have flowed in soft waves, clung to her rounded form. She looked like a friendly sausage.
“Good morning,” she greeted us warmly. “I am Headmistress Judy Smalley, and it is my great pleasure to welcome you all back to St. Michael’s Guardian Training Academy.”
Polite applause swept through the hall, punctuated by the soft hiss of students settling into their chairs.
I was tempted to tune her out since I’d heard this welcome speech a zillion times before. It was always the same. Watchers and Channelers: two halves of a whole. We couldn’t tap the Crossworld without them to drain us and they couldn’t survive the mortal world without us to heal them. It was a neat reciprocal setup. Of course, it came with a price.
Once, my mom’s bondmate visited our house. It happened late one night, long after she’d left the Guardians. He was nothing remarkable. (Although I can’t imagine what a seven-year-old would find remarkable about any grown-up who wasn’t Big Bird.) What I did remember was the effect he’d had on my mom. As soon as she saw him her whole body exhaled—not like what happened when she looked at my dad. More desperate. As if some part of her had been locked in a dark cell, holding its breath for years.
I didn’t pretend to understand it. All I knew was that the bond was intense, it tied us to each other forever, and, if focused properly, could enable us to take out a small city block.
I looked at our headmistress. A thin yet tangible light curled out from her chest as she gazed across the dais at Henry McFarland, our bookish campus Archivist. Henry wasn’t much to look at, with grayish hair, brown eyes, and the telltale wrinkles of pre-retirement. The best I could say about him was if you ever needed something translated or defined he could do it. He beamed back at Smalley like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. At first glance, it certainly looked like they were bonded—the crackle of power, their glow of connection—but I knew better.
They’d been assigned as bondmates at their own graduation eons ago. Before they could complete the ritual, Henry was infected by a demon virus and deemed unfit for battle by the Elders. He hadn’t gone vampiric. In fact, he’d made a full recovery. But because there was demon DNA somewhere in him, he and Smalley were forbidden from finishing their bond. Or marrying. Or starting a family. Of course, the Elders couldn’t stop them from getting jobs at the same school, taking up residence on the same street, and spending every waking moment together.