I don’t know why I’m freaking out on him now. I can see it happening like I’m a bystander, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it. He's mocked me and called me princess one too many times.
“It’s not your hair color that makes you spoiled and superficial,” he says before going in for the jugular. “That’s your shallow, entitled parents’ fault.”
Rage blasts through me, threatening to splinter me apart if I don’t relieve some of the pressure. My hands fly forward as a roar claws its way up my throat. I see Asher’s eyes widen in shock, but the power is already flowing out of me, and I can’t stop it. Not that I want to.
Air responds to my unspoken command, forming an icy blast that pushes from my hands in Asher’s direction. Suddenly, he’s on the floor several yards away and a strange sense of déjà vu socks me in the stomach. I’m still in the prison gymnasium, staring at Asher as he groans on the glossy wood flooring, but all I can see is that human boy, dead on the dancefloor.
My view fades back to reality when Lark saunters over and nudges her cousin with her right foot. He groans and rolls from his side to his back, staring up at her.
“You know you deserved that, right?” she asks, a satisfied grin pulling up one side of her mouth.
Without waiting for him to answer, she skips over to me and links an arm through mine. My emotions are all over the place, but the one that is trying to swallow me up is guilt. I lost control—again.
Maybe me being locked away in here isn’t such a bad thing.
“Hey, don’t do that.”
“What?” I ask, looking at Lark with tears stinging my eyes.
“Don’t beat yourself up. Asher said terrible things to you, things that would practically guarantee a strong reaction from you. He asked for it, Rory. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”
“But…I could have hurt him. Or worse.”
“Nah,” she said, shaking her head as she pulls me away. “He’s made of stronger stuff than that. Aren’t you, Ash?”
She tossed that last bit over her shoulder, and I look back to see him slowly following us. He doesn’t look seriously hurt, but he is rubbing a palm across his chest like it might be a little sore.
That’s probably where the blast of my power hit him.
My eyes move up from his hand to his face to find him staring at me. Not with anger, but something more like…wonder. Like he’s seeing something strange and fantastic for the very first time.
Uh oh. I don’t know what this means, but I’m betting it’s nothing good.
Chapter Eighteen
“I don’t know why you’re getting yourself so worked up about it. Look at him. He’s fine.”
I keep my eyes firmly locked on my dinner plate, refusing to follow Lark’s suggestion and look across the mess hall at Asher. I don’t need to see him. I know he’s okay—at least, physically. It’s the fear and the revulsion in his eyes I don’t want to see.
Or even that weird look of awe he’d worn earlier. I don’t want to see that either. I’m supposed to be gliding under the radar here.
I pick up the drumstick from my plate and take a bite. I can’t contain my smile as I think of Mom and her enthusiastic reaction every time fried chicken is served for dinner…which is often, since it’s her favorite. Growing up in the human foster care system, she didn’t have much to eat and had never even tasted meat until she went to the academy. Even though that was a lifetime ago, she still has a healthy appreciation for the stuff.
My eyes drift closed as I take a bite, savoring the salty, crispy goodness almost as much as my mother. When my eyes reopen, I find myself locked in a stare-down with Asher York. The chicken slips from my fingers and lands in a pile of mashed potatoes with a splat. I don’t look down. I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from the blue-eyed, dark-haired boy.
There’s no fear on his face. No revulsion. No wide-eyed look of awe or appreciation. His face is nearly inscrutable, but even from across the room I can see the glint of suspicion in his eyes. Suspicion mixed with determination, like I’m a mystery he will solve. No doubt about it.
I finally force my gaze to drop and Lark chuckles from beside me. I shoot her a dark look and she laughs even harder.
“You two are so cute,” she teases.
I huff and meet her eyes. “There is no us two, and besides, I thought you warned me to stay away from him?”
“That was when I thought he’d chew you up and spit you out like yesterday’s lasagna,” she says, smirking at her own imagery. “I thought I was protecting a soft, sweet girl from my cousin’s nasty disposition. But you’re not soft, Rory Finley.” She points her fork at me as her dark gaze penetrates mine. “And you can take care of yourself.”
“Thanks,” I reply, my voice soft with gratitude.
“Anyway,” she continues, shaking off the intense moment, “you are obviously attracted to him.”
“No, I’m—”
“Obviously,” she repeats, cutting off my denial with a pointed look. “And I think he likes you.”
A laugh bursts from my lips. “I think you meant hates.”
She’s shaking her head before I even finish. “Have you seen him pay attention to any other girl here? Other than me? It’s as if none of them exist. And believe me, they’ve tried to get him to notice them—Zephyrs and Sylphs alike.”
“So he’s talked to me. Every word has been a weapon meant to destroy me.”
Not here to meet a boy, I add silently as Lark’s words wake something inside me. Something that feels a little too close to hope.
“Maybe that’s how it started,” she says, leaning in closer. “He made some pretty big assumptions about you from the get-go, assumptions that were wrong. Asher doesn’t like to be wrong. So every altercation he has with you has been an attempt to prove he was right, that you’re a spoiled princess who looks down on us from her high throne.”
“But I’m not,” I reply, flinching a little at the half-truth.
I’m not spoiled and I don’t look down on them. But I am a princess. Literally.
“Exactly,” she says. “Everything he assumed about you is wrong, and every time you fail to rise to his bait, it intrigues him even more—even if he refuses to admit it.”
“You’ve talked to him about me?” I gasp.
“Yeah,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “I tried to get him to stop all the insulting confrontations. I told him you’re my friend and he needs to back off.”
“What did he say to that?” I ask.
“He denied being interested in you, at all,” she answers, one corner of her mouth lifting into a smirk.
“Why is that funny?”
“Because I never accused him of being interested in you. I find it very telling that his mind jumped straight to that when all I said was that he was being a dick.”
My eyes drift back to the boy in question, but he’s not staring at me anymore. His downcast eyes stare at a piece of paper before him, the pencil in his hand drawing long strokes across it.
Could this beautiful, damaged boy actually have feelings for me? Ones that aren’t completely negative?
Not here to—
I cut the admonishing thought off with a shake of my head. Who am I kidding? I may not be here to meet a boy, but I did. And he’s beautiful. And complex. And more intriguing than any boy I’ve ever met before.
I press a hand against my chest, feeling the accelerated, rat-tat-tat of my heart pounding against my sternum. My skin is warm and a little sweaty as I admit to myself that if Asher York asked me to be his, I’m not so sure I’d turn him down.
But letting him get too close could possibly be the worst mistake I’ll ever make.
No, this is all nonsense. I have to stop letting Lark put silly ideas in my head.
There is no room in my life for a bitter, cynical boy I met in prison.
I’m not even supposed to be here.
I’ve almost tamped down the thrill that shot through me at the thought
of Asher wanting me when Jax stalks into the mess hall. He heads in our direction, his face set in a mask of fury as he locks eyes with me.
“What?” I ask when he stops next to our table. When he doesn’t immediately respond, I add, “Jax?”
“Officer Woodrow,” he huffs, and some of the tension loosens from his body for just a moment before he stiffens again. “Headmaster would like to see you. Now.”
My eyes widen as my eyebrows shoot up. “Why?”
“Let’s go,” is all he says, then turns and stomps away.
“You’d better go,” Lark whispers. “Headmaster doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
I rise from my chair and tell her I’ll be all right. She looks worried, and if I were anyone else maybe she’d be right to be. But I’m me, and this bracelet on my wrist isn’t inhibiting my power in the least. If Echo Oberon tries anything, he’s going to regret it.
And I’ll be gone before he recovers.
Asher catches my eye as I pass by his table. I don’t know why I do it, but I give him a reassuring smile to let him know I’m okay. He frowns in return and I huff out a sigh.
Lark has to be wrong. That boy can’t stand the sight of me.
I hurry to catch up to Jax, whose long-legged stride is quickly carrying him further and further away from me. Once I’m even with him, I tug his sleeve. He takes the hint and slows down a bit.
“Did he say why he wants to see me?” I whisper.
“Headmaster does not explain himself,” he grunts. “But if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it has something to do with that brilliant display of power you put on during elemental practice today.”
“How do you know about that?” I ask, confused. “And how does he?”
Jax stops, and turns toward me. Both hands move up to grip my shoulders as he looks from left to right before locking eyes with me.
“You have to be more careful, Rory,” he hisses, keeping his voice as quiet as possible. “Echo has eyes and ears everywhere.”
He releases me and walks away. I stare after him for a dazed moment before hurrying to catch up once more.
My mind is racing a mile a minute. Jax warning me. Jax calling his boss “Echo” instead of the usual “Headmaster.” A chill races through me at the thought of being spied on by the creepy head of this place.
“Just try to be respectful,” he murmurs once I’m walking by his side. “Don’t give him any information he can use against you. Make up an excuse about how your anger fueled your power and that you don’t know why or how.”
We stop in front of the headmaster’s office and I stare at Jax in disbelief. He’s warning me to play it cool like he knows the truth. He gives me an encouraging nod before moving to stand guard beside the door.
“Come in, Miss Finley.”
As those gruff words sound from inside the office, Jax and his weird behavior fly right out of my head. I need to focus and keep my guard up. Whatever his reasons for saying them, Jax’s warnings were correct. I can't give Echo any ammunition to use against me.
I walk through the door with my head held high. When I reach his desk, Echo motions for me to sit, and I lower myself gingerly into the chair.
He doesn’t speak, or even look at me. His eyes are glued to a monitor on his desk, his face lit up with excitement. I remain perfectly still, waiting for him to acknowledge me. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of letting his stall tactics make me nervous or uncomfortable.
When his eyes finally move to me, they are bright with a sort of malicious pleasure.
“You gave quite the display during your last class.”
His words are a statement, not a question, so I hold my silence. No way am I volunteering any information or reacting in any way.
“Cool as a cucumber, I see. I wonder if you get that from your mother.”
The tiniest spark of fear ignites in my gut at his words. I attempt to keep my expression neutral, but something in his eyes tells me I’ve failed.
“Or perhaps it comes from you father,” he continues. “Who did you say your parents were?”
“I don’t know,” I reply.
“Ah, yes. An orphan, right?”
I give him a single nod. He narrows his eyes, then grabs the monitor on his desk and spins it toward me. The screen shows a black and white image of the gymnasium. Echo must hit a button or something, because as I watch, the video begins to play.
The room is filled with students, and I immediately spot myself and Asher in the upper right corner of the screen. The camera pans in, zooming in to focus on the two of us just before I throw my hands up and blast him with a bolt of air. Of course, I can’t see the air on the screen, but I do see Asher lift off his feet and fly backwards before bouncing against the hard floor.
“Care to explain this?” Echo asks, pulling my attention from the video.
I shrug, saying, “My power is weak, compared to his. He was putting on a show, acting like I had somehow managed to take him down so he could laugh about it later.”
I don’t know where that nugget of genius came from, but I mentally patted myself on the back. Better Echo think I’m weak than know I have that kind of power at all—even if he thinks it only comes out when I’m angry.
“Weak, huh?” he asks, narrowing his steely gaze at me.
He’s not buying this for a second, but I keep the expression of naïve innocence on my face.
“I never said I was weak,” I say sweetly, “just that I’m weaker than Asher York. But of course, you know that. Everyone knows hybrids are stronger than the rest of us.”
It’s risky, bringing up the power of Sylph-Zephyr hybrids. Not only is it a sore spot for older Fae like Echo, it also makes most people think of my mother, the first and most powerful hybrid in existence.
He grunts in disapproval just like I expect him to.
“While I beg to disagree that the mongrels are stronger than most pure-blooded Sylphs,” he says, and I barely suppress a gasp at his vulgar choice of words as he continues, “I can believe that he may be stronger than you. Perhaps you’d like a tutor. Someone with great power who can help you strengthen your control over the elements and show the hybrid who is the superior being.”
“A tutor?”
I focus on those words while I try to calm my ire at the others. I can’t attack him for being a pompous bigot. I have to keep my cover at all costs.
“Yes, of course, Rory.” The way my name rolls off his tongue gives me the heebie-jeebies, but not as much as his next words. “I’d be willing to work with you, personally, should you decide to take me up on the offer.”
“No!” I all but shout, then clear my throat and apologize. “Sorry. I mean, no thank you, sir. Having your attention that way would no doubt make the attempts to humiliate me even worse. I think I should handle this on my own, if you don’t mind.”
He stares at me in silence for several beats before giving me a gruff nod, saying, “Of course.”
Though he doesn’t argue, there’s a glint in his eyes that tells me this isn’t over. My muscles tighten with tension as I wait for him to continue. Or dismiss me. Or do anything besides staring at me with narrowed, suspicious eyes.
“Perhaps I shall look into the mystery of your heritage,” he says after a full minute of silence, “and see what I can find out.”
“That’s not necessary, sir,” I reply, somehow managing to keep the fear out of my voice. “You shouldn’t trouble yourself over me.”
“Oh, the little Sylph thinks she gives the orders here?”
His tone sounds pleasant, but I can hear the condescending undertones. He’s toying with me.
“No, of course not, Headmaster,” I say, praying there’s no sarcasm in my voice as I use his ridiculous title. “I just wanted to save you from wasting your time. No one has ever been able to find my parents and I’ll be out of here in less than six months.”
I study his expression, hoping to gauge his reaction to my belief that I’m getting out of h
ere, but he remains completely blank-faced. He gazes at me for several more moments as tension coils tighter and tighter in my gut.
Something about him has all kinds of alarms going off in my head. I just can’t figure out what it is.
“Let me know if you change your mind…on either offer,” he says, breaking the silence.
I take his words as a dismissal and barely nod out a response before hopping to my feet and darting from his office. I know my hasty exit reeks of cowardice, but I don’t care.
I have to get away from him.
And I have to try to stay out of his notice from now on. I can’t have him trying to dig up my history and finding out who I really am.
I have to avoid him, at all costs.
Chapter Nineteen
“What happened? Are you okay?”
As soon as I step foot inside the common room, Lark rushes over and links her arm through mine. She leads me to an empty couch, pulling me down beside her.
“I’m fine,” I murmur.
“You don’t sound fine,” she replies. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“There’s not much to tell,” I hedge. “Headmaster wanted to talk to me about what happened in the gym today. Apparently, there are cameras in there.”
“There are cameras everywhere,” she says. “They’re moved every day, and they are Glamoured so we can’t see them and Headmaster can spy on us whenever he wants. Prison life.”
Her last words are punctuated by an exaggerated eye roll that almost makes me chuckle. Almost.
My eyes dart around the room, looking for signs of surveillance equipment. I don’t see anything that looks suspicious or out of place, so if there are cameras here, they’re well-hidden. But then again, I’m not really trying.
I take a few deep breaths and clear my mind. If I concentrate, I can see past anyone’s Glamour. Well, anyone’s besides my sister Robbie’s. But she’s a whole different story from the Fae here.
My eyes rove across the room, moving slowly as I mentally peel back any layers of magic that may be present. I intentionally keep my breathing shallow as camera after camera comes into view. I don’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t this.
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