“No, jeez, no. Have some respect. Seriously, though. The Reapers, or so they say, don’t know who’s done this, either. But they have a theory.”
“Which is?”
No sense beating around the bush. “They think it’s you.”
The smile that spread across her face wasn’t the fear I’d expected. “They think I’m good.”
“They think the answers are in your Grimoire.”
That made her pale a little bit, which I thought was good. I’d rather have her a little bit afraid than a little bit too cocky—and not as careful as she should be.
She pushed off the railing. “I’m not giving up my Grimoire,” she said. “If they think that’s going to happen, they are crazy or stupid. Or both.” She looked at me. “We have to figure out this blackout thing. We have to.”
“I know,” I said.
Unfortunately, I bet that was going to be the hard part.
* * *
When compared to a meeting with a Reaper beside a bridge that had vaulted itself out of the Chicago River, classes were dull. We’d also skipped lunch for the meet, which meant we were both starving. Hunger didn’t make European history any more exciting.
It was early in the week at St. Sophia’s School for Perpetually Rich Girls, which meant the options in the cafeteria weren’t quite as nasty as they’d get. Dinner on Thursday or Friday meant you’d be served up a stew of anything that didn’t get eaten earlier in the week. The cafeteria crew called it “slurry.” I called it disgusting.
Tonight they were serving burgers—the meaty kind for Scout and black bean for me. I was a vegetarian, so I made up for the lack of meat with veggies and sugar.
The brat pack seemed excited about something, but it wasn’t like I was going to go over and see what was up. They were at their usual table in the cafeteria beside a huge window that looked out over the yard. It was brat pack kingdom over there, and I wasn’t about to trespass.
Scout and I took seats at the end of a table on the other side of the room. We replayed my conversation with Sebastian, and she kept asking questions about what he did or didn’t say as she tried to fish clues from our conversation.
But one question stood out.
“Are you going to tell Jason you’re friends with Sebastian?”
I stopped in the middle of a bite of a burger. “We’re not friends.”
“Maybe not,” she said, squeezing so much mustard and ketchup onto the remaining half of her burger that it oozed out the sides. “But I still think he’d want to know.”
“Would you tell him if you were me? I mean, it’s completely innocent, but I don’t think Jason—or any of the rest of the Adepts—would think it’s a good idea.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea?”
“I’m not talking to Sebastian because I want us to be buds, because I want to date him, or because I think he and the rest of the Reapers are right about anything. He’s more like . . . a secret source. He gives me information, and if that information is useful, I’m going to use it. I’m not going to ignore him just because the Adepts aren’t comfortable with it.”
“And if Sebastian’s using you?”
“He could only use me if I was giving him information. Which I’m not.”
“Well, be careful he doesn’t try to turn your friendship—or whatever it is—into a way to get access to information . . . and the Enclave.”
“I’d never do that.”
“Yeah, but I also bet you never thought you’d be talking to Sebastian on the street or making nice with his cousin. Things change. People change. Just keep an eye out.”
“I will. And I’ll think about whether I should tell Jason.”
Scout’s phone beeped, so she pulled it out and glanced at the screen. “You better think pretty fast,” she said, then showed me her phone.
We were meeting at the Enclave tonight.
7
The situation was dire. We had a trig test, our magic was gone, and we had a party to prep and a secret meeting with a vampire to arrange. I had no parents for parents’ night, and no dress for the dance. I also had a worried werewolf and a spellbinding best friend who was now target number one for the city’s bad guys.
Pretty stressful stuff.
A lot of that stuff affected Michael and Jason, which I assumed was why we found them sitting at the table in the Enclave . . . preparing their fantasy basketball lineups.
“Is this seriously the best thing you guys have to do with your time?” Scout asked, tossing her messenger bag onto the table.
“No, no,” Michael said, stabbing a finger at the table and completely ignoring Scout. “You can’t put Topher at point guard. He was out half of last year because of his knee. That’s ridiculous.”
“I can put him wherever I want,” Jason said, writing something out on a piece of paper. “I drafted him. You’re just complaining because you couldn’t get him.”
Michael pointed at his chest with a pencil. “I didn’t want him. I am smarter than that, and I know he’s not going to last through the season. I took Guzman because I wanted Guzman.”
So he said, but he didn’t exactly sound that confident.
I sat down next to Jason. “Basketball? Really?”
He grinned over at me. “We finished our draft over the weekend, so we’re comparing our lineups.”
“Guzman?” Scout asked. “I can’t believe you picked Guzman.”
This time, Michael looked upset. “You think it was a bad pick?”
Scout snorted a laugh. “Like I know. I have no idea who Guzman is. Or the”—she looked over at the paper—“Lack-ers. Pretty crappy name for a team.”
“That’s Lakers, Scout. Lakers,” Jason said.
“Whatever.” She yawned. “If you two gentlemen are done, can we get this show on the road?”
“Let’s do,” Daniel said, and the rest of the Adepts joined us at the table. “First things first—any updates from the field?”
I looked at Scout, who nodded. “The Reapers have lost their magic,” I said.
The room got really quiet, and my heart pounded so hard I wondered if everyone could hear it.
“What do you mean, they lost their magic?” Daniel asked. “How did you learn that?”
“She—we saw a Reaper near the door at St. Sophia’s,” Scout blurted out.