by Lily Velez
Connor kept his blasé expression in check as the player was carried off the field by two teammates, but there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Jack materialized beside him, and the two exchanged a look. Jack’s was disapproving. Connor’s was along the lines of something else entirely, as if to say, “Does it look like I give a damn?”
I didn’t have much time to think about it because the game was already underway again. The tension between the teams was electric now, and when the new play began, the field became complete and utter chaos as many things happened at once. Xavier kept passing the ball from player to player in a dizzying round of keep away that was trying their opponent’s patience. As this was going on, several Xavier boys went for rivals they’d had bad blood with since the game first started, picking them off one-by-one until there were numerous different arguments exploding like firecrackers all around the field. But all of this was just a distraction, because the team’s true motive became apparent when half a dozen boys in Xavier’s blue and silver jerseys suddenly beelined for Jack.
Jack, who’d stolen possession of the ball seconds earlier, only had enough time to register their approach before they smashed into him like a moving concrete wall. A referee peeled the boys off Jack one by one and checked him for injuries. The hit had to have been bone-breaking. There was no way Jack would walk away from it without at least a concussion.
The boys in the bleachers were in an uproar, outraged that Xavier would have the audacity to bring down their captain. Connor was already in the guilty parties’ faces, and though I couldn’t hear the words leaving his mouth over the cacophony of his classmates, I’m pretty sure his colorful phrases would’ve made all the school mothers clutch their pearls.
The referee helped Jack to his feet, securing an arm around him as he led him toward the St. Andrew’s benches, Jack slightly limping the whole way. Before they cleared the field, though, absolute pandemonium broke out. I didn’t know who threw the first punch (my bet was on Connor), but the scene before me quickly devolved into a mess of right hooks, shoves, and insults. All the adults on duty rushed headlong into the mayhem, disentangling blue jerseys from crimson ones or staunching the flow of St. Andrew’s students to the field.
Jack, meanwhile, was clearly in too much pain to help quell the revolt. He continued limping toward the bench, and then he continued on right past it, straying to the side of the bleachers. Once there, he leaned down and pressed his fingertips to his ankle, massaging it slightly, a grimace on his face. He stayed like that for a few seconds. When he straightened, he rotated his foot in circles and then tested his weight on it. There was still discomfort on his face, but at least he could stand on the foot now.
For a moment, he leaned back against the side of the bleachers and closed his eyes. The tired look hadn’t left his eyes, nor had the dark patches under them. It looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. I couldn’t imagine what it’d felt like for him to receive the news about his grandfather, especially if they were close. Add to that whatever gossip his family had to endure thanks to Rosalyn’s Bay affair with superstitions.
How small-minded and ridiculous to call a family cursed just because fate had dealt them a bad hand of cards a few times. Based on that logic, I guessed I was practically cursed too. Losing your mother, being uprooted from the only life you knew, moving thousands of miles away from friends to live with a father who was completely foreign to you. Yeah, that definitely checked a few boxes. Really, though, who didn’t have misfortunes in life?
Jack detached from the side of the bleachers and disappeared behind the structure. He probably needed a few moments to himself before rejoining his teammates, who were still going at it on the field. I started to turn to make my way back inside the school, figuring my dad’s faculty meeting had to be over by now.
But then one of the benched Xavier players, who I was pretty sure hadn’t been there a moment ago and who for whatever reasons hadn’t joined the big fight, rose and strode in Jack’s direction, the set of his shoulders filled with purpose. As he rounded the edge of the bleachers to follow after Jack, he slid something out from an inside pocket of his team jacket. I only caught what it was because of the brief glint of light off silver.
A knife.
4
I never ran so fast in my life.
I was on the other side of the field in seconds. While I’d thought to recruit a referee or coach or teacher for help, one glimpse at the commotion on the field told me it’d be a challenge. For one, they probably wouldn’t hear me over the roaring din of arguing boys. More importantly, it would waste too much time. Jack needed help now. Arriving even a second late could undoubtedly end badly.
I obviously wouldn’t be able to physically stop the rogue Xavier player myself, but I was hoping my presence would be enough to deter him. With a witness on the scene, maybe he’d lose his nerve and back down from his demented plan.
Seriously, all this over a rugby game?
“Spare me the pleasantries,” the rogue player was saying when I finally stepped behind the bleachers. “There’s a price on your head, and I intend on collecting it.”
It was like a whole new world back here. All the central beams and cross bars made it seem like I was traipsing through the skeletons of uncompleted skyscrapers. I quietly crept over discarded bags of potato chips (or ‘crisps’, as they called them here), cigarette butts, and broken wooden pallets, wrinkling my nose against the stench emanating from a row of portable toilets to my right. I could still hear the clamor from the rugby field, but it wasn’t as overpowering, as if someone had lowered the volume on the entire scene.
“I’m not going anywhere until the situation with my grandfather is resolved.” Jack. His voice was melodic. He spoke in a faint but beautiful lilt, the words gracefully sliding up and down like boats riding the ocean waves.
I was only a few yards away from them now. I drew closer and hid behind a beam to continue listening.
“There’s nothing you can do for Maurice.”
“You know I don’t believe that.”
“I couldn’t care less what you believe,” Rogue said, tightening his grip on the knife. The blade was saw-toothed, and the handle was fashioned out of a carnivorous animal’s jawbone. “Your time’s up whether you like it or not. Surely you’ve made peace with your fate by now, as have your brothers. Unless…” He tilted his head in an animalistic way, studying Jack for a moment. Then a sneer split across his face. “That’s it, isn’t it? They don’t know. You haven’t told them what you’ve done. Oh, this is delicious.”
Jack’s eyes hardened, a shadow passing over his face.
“I wonder, Jack. Who will be their keeper when you’re Underneath? I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” He rushed forward in a blur of movement, quicker than a king cobra’s strike, the knife coming down fast in an arc of silver. Jack shot out his arms and caught the boy’s wrist. The point of the knife was no more than an inch or two from his face.
I wasn’t sure what got into me. Before I’d even made up my mind to do something, my body was already springing into action. I charged at Rogue and threw my weight into his side to knock him off balance. The impact jolted my skeleton. Every bone in my body felt like a Xylophone bar that had just been struck hard by a mallet. It probably would’ve hurt less to ram into a statue made of stone.
“What’s this?” Rogue turned my way, upper lip curling as he made a sound like a quick growl. For the briefest moment, I could’ve sworn his eyes were as red as rubies, but it had to be a trick of the light. He paused to study me. The way his gaze raked my body put frost in my veins. “Well, now, you look like a tasty thing.”
“Step back, or I’ll call the police!” I yanked my phone from my pocket and shoved it in his direction lest he think I was bluffing. Granted, given Rosalyn Bay’s notoriously spotty cell signals, it would probably take me half a dozen attempts to actually connect with the police, but I was counting on him not considering that.
Jack used the distraction to tackle the boy from behind. They both crashed to the ground in a loud thud and struggled against each other for possession of the knife. One of the sharp canines of the jawbone handle dug into Jack’s palm, drawing blood. Grinning like a maniac, Rogue applied more pressure and the tooth sank deeper into Jack’s skin. Jack cried out in pain, and Rogue seized the opportunity to shove Jack onto his back and come on top of him.
My eyes darted around me, looking for a weapon. I ran to the discarded wooden pallets and pulled at one of the slats to break it off. It took a few tries, but the board finally cracked at the middle and came free. I shot back to the boys, angled the board over my shoulder like a batter preparing for the pitch, and then I swung at Rogue’s head with all my might.
My weapon shattered on impact into dozens of splintery shards, as if I’d hit a brick wall. I stared dumbfoundedly at the remaining piece in my grip. It was no bigger than a stake.
“You’re going to regret that,” Rogue snarled. Forgetting Jack, he leapt to his feet and lunged for me with the knife.
Just as his hands were about to fall on me, the stake flew out of my grip as if an invisible force had yanked it free. It drove its point into the boy’s neck. He roared, rearing back to yank the stake free. I looked wide-eyed between my now empty hand and the stake, flabbergasted. How had that happened?
I wasn’t about to stick around to find out. I raced past Rogue to get to Jack, whose hand was upraised toward us as if he’d been trying to reach for something. There was what looked to be a burn scar peeking out from under his black, terry cloth wristband, but I didn’t see it for long because his hand fell flat to the earth as I approached.
He was still on the ground, one arm curled protectively around his midsection. I sank to my knees beside him. He was covered in dirt and cuts, some of which were mildly deep lashes.
“Jack, are you all right?” It felt strangely intimate to use his name when we hadn’t as of yet been properly introduced. I touched his shoulder, and a peculiar, warm buzz filled my fingertips.
His eyes skated right past me, though, and grew in size. “Watch out!”
I twisted around just in time to see Rogue storming for us, his knife at the ready. He was too close. There was no time to get to my feet and stop him. With only seconds left, I threw up an arm to block my face.
And then a blinding white light exploded in front of me.
I flinched, thinking at first a shotgun had gone off. My palm was scorching hot for a string of seconds, but the sensation quickly abated. I looked at my palm, but there was no injury to explain the heat I’d felt. When I lowered my arm, Jack and I were alone. Rogue had completely vanished. In his wake, plumes of quickly fading smoke as black as ink drifted in the air.
What…?
“Where did he go?” I leapt to my feet and spun in wild circles, trying to spot him. There was no way he could’ve disappeared that quickly. My heart rattled in my rib cage like a trapped bird flapping its wings in a riot. He had to be hiding behind one of the beams, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. But as much as my eyes darted around to catch him, he was nowhere to be found. It was as if he’d just evaporated.
There was a moan behind me. I startled, and then I realized it was only Jack. He was sitting up, wincing at his injuries. I returned to him, kneeling in the dirt.
With immediate danger out of the way, I couldn’t help but take in this close-up view of him. His eyes were the color of fine cognac hit by sunlight. He had a light sprinkle of freckles on his face, two of which were under his left eye in an almost perfectly vertical line like dots on a domino. There was also a very masculine smell about him, a combination of wood, forests, and newly turned earth. I kept going back to those eyes, though. Framed by long, dark lashes, they were deep and soulful, like the eyes of someone who’d lived many lives, who’d seen far too much. It was easy to see how someone could get lost in them, could drown in the hypnotic velvetiness of them.
It wasn’t until he spoke that I snapped out of my thoughts.
“How did you do that?” he asked. His tone was one of awe, and he looked utterly confused.
That made two of us. I shook my head. “How did I do what?”
His eyes searched my face, as if trying to place me. “Who are you?”
I guessed he hadn’t heard about me yet. Thomas had said Jack had been out of school for some weeks, so it was likely he’d missed the memo. “I’m Professor Monroe’s daughter. Scarlet. I go here now.”
His eyes were calculating as he registered my response. Then it was like his thoughts snagged on something. “Wait. Your name is Scarlet?”
“Uhm, yeah.” Maybe he had heard of me then.
Except the look he now fixed on me was one of total disbelief. In fact, he outright gawked at me, which only made me feel ridiculously self-conscious. Maybe I hadn’t been what he was expecting. My face grew hot at the thought.
Jack, meanwhile, had seemingly forgotten how to speak. His gaze was fastened to me with no signs of giving way. I could tell his mind was somewhere far away, trying to make sense of something. What, I didn’t know. He looked dazed, though, and I started to worry he’d won himself a concussion during that last play after all.
“Jack? Jack!” A coach nudged me out of the way, his eyes growing large at the blood on Jack’s hand. “What are you doing back here? We need to have your injuries looked at.”
I rose and backed away. “There was another boy—”
“It was nothing,” Jack cut me off, apparently not wanting anyone to know about the attack.
The coach looked me over, finally realizing who I was. “Another boy? Where?”
Jack caught my gaze and gave a quick shake of his head. He didn’t want me to share what had happened. The question was why? That Xavier boy could’ve killed him. And me. He needed to be apprehended.
Even so, I hesitated. Jack clearly had his reasons for remaining tight-lipped. Rationally, it didn’t make any sense, and I was nothing if not a rational person. But a well of feeling deep in my gut told me to trust his judgment nonetheless, crazy as it was.
“On the field, I mean,” I told the coach after a few brief seconds. “There were some other boys who were injured too, I think.”
The man frowned, probably thinking I was a bit soft in the head. “Right.” He turned his back on me to help his star player to his feet. “Come on, Jack. The medic’s waiting.”
As the coach led him away, Jack glanced over his shoulder at me. His eyes remained stuck on me the whole way, and they were still looking for answers.
5
The next morning, I crossed the asphalt to the charter bus idling in the St. Andrew’s parking lot. Professor Byrne, who taught history, was whisking his students away to the countryside this morning for a hands-on lesson. As I waited in line to board the bus, my eyes strayed to one of the school’s colossal oak trees. Beneath its amber canopy, two boys loitered.
My heart missed a beat. The taller boy was Jack. He was stuffing a textbook into the messenger bag at his side while he spoke to his companion. At first, I thought it was Connor. They had the same dirty blond hair. Then, when the boy happened to glance to the side, I realized it couldn’t be him. This boy’s hair was longer, reaching the tops of his ears in a shaggy style befitting a surfer.
How did you do that?
Jack’s question had stayed with me long after the rugby game. How had I done what exactly? And what was with the way he’d acted once I’d told him my name? Though honestly, the answers to those questions were the least of my worries. I’d hardly gotten any sleep last night, my evening instead fraught with nightmares about red-eyed boys approaching me with strange-looking knives. How had the rogue Xavier player disappeared so quickly? And why had he wanted to hurt Jack in the first place? Nevermind his feral behavior or that strange light and exploding noise. It was enough to make my head spin.
I was so lost in my thoughts I didn’t realize I was staring. Until Jack’s frie
nd turned and met my eyes full on, as if he’d felt the weight of my gaze. Jack was now looking my way too.
“Are you getting on?” a voice behind me asked.
I faced forward. I was next in line and there was a gap of a few yards between me and the bus. Wonderful. How long had I been standing there like an idiot with my eyes trained on Jack? Cheeks burning, I hurried onto the bus.
I didn’t want to spend too long deciding on a seat. The sooner I picked one, the sooner I could escape all the attentive gazes aimed at me. Hopefully, it’d only take a few more days for the novelty of a new female student to wear off.
A boy with hair as black and shiny as polished obsidian watched me with an open, friendly face. He was sitting by himself.
I approached him. “Is this seat taken?”
He threw a quick glimpse out his window, presumably to check if whatever friend he was saving the seat for was in the dwindling line outside. Then he gestured to the empty space as if to say, “It’s all yours.”
“Thanks.” I sank down, heaving a long breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “I’m Scarlet, by the way.”
“I know,” he said, smiling. “Liam Collins-Misaki.” He offered his hand.
I shook it. “Does everyone here introduce themselves so properly?”
He laughed softly at that. His dark eyes were warm and expressive, crinkling at the corners. “You know, I never really noticed that, but you’re right. I suppose it’s instilled in us from a young age. How are you enjoying St. Andrew’s so far?” His was a sing-song accent with stretched vowels and slightly rolled R’s.
I groaned in response to his question.
“Extraordinarily well, I see,” he said, laughing again. “We haven’t entirely put you off, though, have we?”
His laughter tugged the edges of my mouth into a soft smile. “I just haven’t fully processed it yet, I don’t think. It’s been an eventful twenty-four hours. I may have to get back to you on that.”