Scout rolled her eyes and started down the hall again. “One of these days, you’re going to respect me.”
“Oh, I totally respect you. It’s your wardrobe I have issues with.”
Issues or not, I did a pretty good job of dodging the chunk of granola bar that came my way.
We stood there for a moment, horrified, our mouths gaping, but unable to look away.
It was a Thursday lunch in the St. Sophia’s cafeteria.
It was also the near end of what had been a long and unfortunately creative week in the St. Sophia’s kitchen: meatloaf with wasabi mustard sauce; vegetable mix with parsnips, whatever those were; and roasted potatoes—the funky purple ones.
Unfortunately, the end of the week meant leftovers. And, unfortunately, leftovers at St. Sophia’s meant “stew.”
The stew was one of the first things Scout had warned me about (yes—even before the Reapers and soul-sucking). This wasn’t your average stew—the stuff your mom made on a snowy weekend in February. It was a soupy mix of whatever didn’t get eaten during the week. Today, that meant parsnips and funky potatoes and chunky bits of meatloaf.
I was a vegetarian, but even I hadn’t been spared. There was a veggie version of the “stew” that included beans and rice and some kind of polygon-shaped green thing that didn’t look all that edible.
And the worst thing? It was only Thursday. Over the weekend, it was actually going to get worse. We had three-day-old Sunday stew to look forward to.
I pointed to a green thing. “What do you think that is?”
“It looks like okra. I think the stew is supposed to be gumboey.”
I curled my lip. “I’m not sure I’m up for brave food today.” I grabbed a piece of crusty bread and a bowl of fruit salad. Compared to my other options, I figured they were pretty safe. And speaking of bravery, I should probably get started on my drawing of the building.
“Hey, I’m going to head outside after class. I need to get my drawing in.”
“You still thinking about drawing the SRF building?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure what it’ll accomplish, but it’s the least I can do. I know I have to stay low-key in terms of investigating my parents, but I still have to do something , right?”
Scout shrugged. “I think that’s up to you, Lils. You’re not even sixteen. You’re entitled to believe your parents told you the truth about themselves and their work—that they told you everything you needed to know. I don’t think you have any obligation to play Nancy Drew for the Parker family, you know?”
“That’s pretty great advice.”
“I have my moments.”
“Hmm. Well, anyway, did you want to head outside with me?” I bobbed my head toward the window and the strip of blue fall sky I could see through it. “It looks pretty nice out there. Might be fun to get some fresh air.”
She shook her head. “Nah, that’s okay. I need to get some work done.”
“Schoolwork? Did I miss something in class?”
Crimson crossed her cheeks. “No. I’m just working on something.”
The words sounded casual, but the tone definitely didn’t. I didn’t want to push her, but I wondered if this was going to be another one of those locked-door nights for Scout. If so, what was she doing in there? Not that it was any of my business . . . until she decided to tell me, anyway.
“No problem,” I said. “I’ll see you before dinner.”
“Go for it. And if you decide to break into the SRF building to figure out the goods on your parents, take your cell phone. You never know when you’re going to need it.”
A few minutes later, I stood on the front steps of St. Sophia’s, my sketch pad and pencils in my bag, ready to walk to the Portman Electric Company building and begin my investigation. I mean, my sketch.
But that didn’t make my feet move any faster. I felt weird about going there—not just because I was trying to be sneaky, but because I recognized I might learn things I didn’t want to know.
What if my parents were involved in something illegal? Something unethical? Something that shamed them so much they had to hide it from me? Foley certainly thought it was something that could get them in trouble. At the very least, it was something I wasn’t supposed to know about . . . or talk about.
Problem was, my imagination was doing a pretty good job of coming up with worst-case scenarios on its own. St. Sophia’s was practically next door to the SRF, and I’d seen the letter in which they tried to convince my parents to drop me off at St. Sophia’s. Plus, the SRF did some kind of medical research, and Foley had said my parents did genetic research.
And now . . . the Dark Elite had a medical facility?
That was the rock that sat heavy in my stomach, making me rethink all the memories of my time with my parents. After all, if they’d lied about their work, what else had they lied about?
I shook off the thought. That was just insecurity talking. They were my parents. They were good people. And more important, they loved me. They couldn’t be wrapped up with the Reapers.
Could they?
I know Foley told me to keep my mouth shut. I know I wasn’t supposed to ask questions, to put them at risk. But I had to figure out what was going on. There was too much on the line. That was why I kept putting one foot in front of the other, until I was outside the stone wall that separated St. Sophia’s from the rest of the world and walking down the sidewalk toward the SRF building . . . at least until someone stepped directly in front of me.
I looked up into blue eyes.
Sebastian.
He spoke before I could even think of words to say.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Get out of my way.”
Instead of answering, he took a step forward. This was the closest I’d been to him, and being closer just made the effect that much more powerful. Maybe it was because he was one of the bad guys, but there was something undeniably wicked about him.
But I’d seen enough wicked. I gave him a warning look. “Don’t take another step.”
“I swear I won’t hurt you,” he said. “And we both know that if I’d wanted to hurt you, I could have already done it.” Ever so slowly, he lifted both hands, as if to show he wasn’t holding a weapon. But as long as he had firespell, his weapons were his hands.
“Why are you following me?”
“I told you why. Because we need to talk.”
“We have nothing to talk about.”