I glanced around the corner, where the couple still sat, almost motionless except for his fingers raking at her hair. He leaned in like he meant to kiss her . . . but their lips didn’t touch. Instead, he whispered something to her, and as he did, white wisps of smoke began to slip from her mouth and nose.
No, not wisps . . . her soul. It was her energy, her essence, her life’s blood, that was seeping away, and this Reaper was using her for it. That explained her depression. Soon, she’d be little more than a shell of a girl with no hope, no energy, and no interest in anything.
Adults thought hormones made teenagers tired and moody. As if.
My heart pounded with fear, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. This guy—this teenager—was a slow killer, a drainer of energy and taker of things that didn’t belong to him.
He wasn’t even supposed to be doing this. He was too young. I’d been told only adults did the Reaping because they were the only ones who needed the magic. This guy still had all of his powers, so he shouldn’t have needed the extra energy.
But even if it didn’t match what I’d been told, I knew what I was seeing. I had to stop this, had to interrupt it. I couldn’t let him drain this girl right in front of me, right in the middle of Adept turf. My hands shook with fear, but I reminded myself that the scariest times were the only times bravery mattered. I firmed up my courage, stepped around the corner, and cleared my throat.
The guy looked up, his expression irritated as I interrupted him. And then his eyes narrowed and sharpened . . . and flashed red.
I didn’t know who he was, and I didn’t know exactly what the flash of color meant, but if he was willing to show off his magic, he must have known who I was.
A chill ran through me. But it was too late to turn back now. “Kind of the wrong gender to be at St. Sophia’s, aren’t you?”
“This is none of your business,” he growled. Lisbeth cast a bored glance in my direction, and then looked away again. She seem almost hypnotized, like she was in some sort of magic-induced stupor.
“Actually, it’s precisely my business. You’re too far from your sanctuary, and I’m not thrilled about that.” Sanctuaries were Reaper headquarters. Adepts had Enclaves.
His eyes flashed again, and this time he stood up. Lisbeth, her body limp, slumped on her seat when he moved. The boy took a step toward me. He was still five or six feet away, and I wasn’t sure if he was brave enough to stay right here, but I began to feel out my own power just in case.
I was either really relaxed or totally getting used to my magic, because I hardly felt the pull of power at all. But there was no mistaking his. His eyes flashed red again, and he took a menacing step toward me, one hand outstretched. Reddish light began to dance along his fingertips. “I’ll give you one chance to run away and forget that you saw anything.”
I glanced to the side to make sure Lesley was safely around the corner, and called my power up. I could usually feel the energy as I pulled it up through my feet . . . but this time there was nothing. Not even a tingle. Of course, I was standing in front of two non-Adepts and facing down a really angry Reaper alone. I chalked it up to nerves and kept up my bravado.
“The thing is, St. Sophia’s is my school, and I don’t appreciate bottom-feeders using our students like protein shakes. I’ll give you one chance to run for the gate. If you make it before my firespell hits you, you win.”
His eyes widened at the mention of firespell, and I could all but see the gears turning in his head. My powers had been triggered by a shot of firespell from Sebastian Born, a Reaper, so word had traveled about me and my power.
“Yeah, I’m that girl,” I admitted. “So take your magic and run.”
My voice was all bravery—but he wasn’t afraid. He held out his hands. Little bursts of red lightning now shot among his fingers.
“That really doesn’t look promising,” Lesley said, stepping out from around the corner.
“No,” I agreed. “It does not.” I moved over and back a little, giving my firespell a clean path. Hitting Lisbeth wasn’t going to help the situation.
“I think you have the order of things confused, you bratty little anarchist.” He used his magic like an exclamation mark, throwing out his hands—and a red snake of energy—in our direction.
Lesley screamed; I threw her to the ground as the magic flew above our heads, a hot streak of power. I glanced up and watched as it hit a metal garden angel a few yards away . . . and turned it to solid stone.
My chest turned cold with fear. Being turned to rock was not going to help me meet my graduation requirements.
“Stay here,” I whispered to Lesley, and stood up again. “That was rude.”
“You deserved it, troublemaker. Maybe you should spend a little less time planning parties and a little more time practicing.”
All right, I’d had enough. I focused my energy and thrust out my hand, waiting for the sheet of firespell to fly through the air.
But nothing happened.
My heart pounded, my palms suddenly sweating from fear. This wasn’t possible. I had firespell—I’d had it for months now. I’d done the same things I’d always done, prepared the throw the same way I always had.
Maybe I was just nervous—maybe fear had made me mess it up somehow. My heart pounded, and I tried frantically again, throwing out my arm and hoping firespell would burst from my hands and fly toward him. . . . Again, there was nothing.
My stomach spun, panic beginning to seep through and shut off my brain. I was too scared to think, and for a split second I had no idea what to do.
And then Lesley called my name. “Lily! He’s gonna do it again!”
I looked up from my hands to his. The magic was beginning to bubble around his hands again.
I shook off the fear and decided I was a fighter even if I didn’t have firespell. I’d made it nearly sixteen years without it, after all.
I grabbed my messenger bag—dumped when I’d hit the ground—and slung it at him. He threw up a shoulder to block it, but it was heavy and landed on his arm with a thud. He stumbled backward a few feet, giving me enough time to reach out and grab Lesley’s suitcase.
I ran toward him, swung the suitcase, and nailed him in the head.
He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.
“What in God’s name is going on out here?”
I looked back.
Marceline Foley, the headmistress of St. Sophia’s, stood in the open doorway of the building where classes were held. She had a perfect bob of blond hair and always wore a suit. Today the suit was crimson red, and it matched the color in her cheeks. She looked furious.