Jealousy

That perked my ears right up. “Sorcery?”

Babbage inclined his head. He leaned a hip against one of the tables, easily and obviously not resting any weight on it. “Surely you’ve noticed that a djamphir’s weapons are not all physical. We are in the process of rediscovering djamphir arts and processes that were lost when we were almost extinguished as a species.”

I almost hopped from foot to foot. “Are you talking, like, what kind of sorcery? Witchcraft? Ceremonial magic? Hexes, or—”

The interest in his sharp dark eyes mounted a few notches. “Djamphir sorceries are largely sympathetic and combat-based. They share some commonalities with standard European witchcraft. Asian and Middle Eastern djamphir, few as they are, have inherited some notable sorceries and resistances that we haven’t been able to study much, mostly because they are few and secretive. They are also fighting a war on both fronts, with the nosferatu and the Maharaj.”

I was getting answers, but they were too slow. Babbage was good about answering though. He never looked at me like I was a moron. “What are the Maharaj? I’ve heard of them, but—”

“You’ll hear more about them in the fourth—or is it fifth?—semester of Paranormal Biology. The short answer is, djamphir are the products of unions between vampires or djamphir and human women. The Maharaj are a clan of descendants of human women and beings referred to as jinni.”

“I thought everyone knew that,” someone said.

I rolled up the target tighter. Didn’t look away from Babbage’s face. Sometimes a trace of irritation flickered over his chiseled features. Like now.

“If one has been raised djamphir, of course one knows.” He was a master of putting faint but deadly sarcasm into a few little words. “Those who are saved might not, and curiosity is a sign of intelligence.”

Saved. As in, snatched from the suckers and brought into the Order. Like me.

The silence was so thick you could cut it with a spoon. I suppressed the urge to cough or smile nervously, looking down at the target as I twisted it tighter and tighter. A paper cone, like the waxed kind you put snow cones in.

I hadn’t had a snow cone in ages. Dad used to love the raspberry-flavored ones. A bony hand squeezed my heart.

Uncomfortable silence filled the room. I finally looked away, at the chipped concrete floor. Babbage cleared his throat. “Apparently, human women are quite irresistible.”

A ripple of male laughter stung the air. The target crumpled in my fist.

“I think that’s enough for right now, though,” he continued smoothly. “Now it’s time for target shooting. Milady, if you’ll check everyone into their lanes and disburse the ammo, we’ll have practice for the rest of the session.”

I swallowed hard and started handing out ammo, going through the checklist with every kid. Leon’s eyes were open and dark, and he regarded me as if I’d just done something extraordinary.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

As soon as I stepped out into the hall, I knew it was going to be something I wouldn’t like. Leon stiffened, his head coming up. There was Kir, red hair combed back and That Expression on his sharp face. Even his freckles looked serious. I’d given up wondering how a freckle-faced teenager could look so much like a disapproving granny.

There went my half hour or so to catch up before Aspect Mastery. Great. I was going to be tanking on quizzes next week like mad.

“Come with, okay?” I said as Kir approached. The students separated to give him room— I’d noticed that about the Council members. Everyone seemed to know they got space while walking down the hall. “I have Aspect Mastery in a half hour.”

“I don’t think—” Leon began, but I stepped away from him, walking to meet Kir. The two of them didn’t like each other much. I mean, I was totally on Leon’s side, but last time they’d almost had a dustup. I didn’t want to find out what would happen if Leon could make the redheaded granny lose his temper.

“Milady.” Kir, in jeans and a white button-down, looked easy and classic. He didn’t glance over my shoulder, but his entire body shouted that he was aware of Leon, glowering from behind me.

That was the Schola Prima. Love and happiness everywhere.

I hitched my bag up on my shoulder. “Let me guess. Council meeting.”

Kir shrugged. His eyelashes were coppery. For a moment he looked like he wanted to say something, his mouth opening and the lines of his face softening. Then he shut up, shook his head slightly, turned on his heel, and set off down the hall.

If Bruce came to pick me up I could look forward to some small talk. He was approachable in a way the others weren’t. Hiro was generally the nicest and didn’t blink no matter how many questions I asked—even if his answers were more like riddles. Kir, though, didn’t say a word. He spent the meetings looking at me with a puzzled expression, like I was a dog sitting up and talking instead of barking on the floor where I belonged.

He set a quick pace, too, and I struggled to keep up. Kept my head down and stretched my legs. At least while he was clearing traffic and I was hurrying, I didn’t have to really think. It was like tagging along after Dad.

Not really.

Leon brought up the rear, drifting in my wake. He didn’t even look out of breath. We arrived at the carved door in a shorter time than I’d thought possible. It opened, and Kir stepped aside. “Milady.”

I stepped on through, into the shabby sitting room. It wasn’t until the doors had clicked shut behind me that I realized Kir hadn’t followed. I stood there for a second, my bag strap sliding down my shoulder, and when the doors on the other side of the room ghosted open I was as ready as I was going to get.

Some part of me was expecting this. I smelled spice and perfume, and the flash of red jerked me up short like a watchdog on a chain.

Anna, framed in the door, stared at me. I stared back.

She looked a bit thinner, but what would make someone else haggard was only glamorous on her. It was the first time I’d seen her in anything other than an old-time dress. She was in fashionably frayed designer jeans and a scrap of red silk that had to be a top more expensive than any sane person would pay for. She was pale, bare arms and cleavage in a peeping-out red lace bra. I’m no bodybuilder, but Dad would have taken one look at Anna’s arms and pronounced them “weedy.” It wasn’t his most damning adjective, but it was close.

She was actually even smiling, heart-shaped face open and bright. “Well, hello there, stranger!”

I swear to God, she chirped at me.

A brief uneasiness filled me. I thought of stepping backward, decided it was better to show no fear. It was an article of faith with both Gran and Dad that showing fear was a good way to madden an already unpredictable person or animal.

“Hey. Kir said there was—”

“I asked him to bring you a little early. Girl time, you know.” She strolled into the room casually, dropped down on one of the leather couches. It didn’t even creak, receiving her the way it would a queen. “It gets so, well, tedious. Just boys hanging around.”

Something about the way she said it told me she didn’t find it boring at all. No, it sounded like she was expected to perfunctorily bemoan it, while looking at her nails and smirking that pleased little half-smile.

I stood there, not wanting to come any further into the room. Had no idea what I was going to say next, but my mouth up and took care of that for me. “Where’re your bodyguards? I never see them with you.” And they all wear red shirts, don’t they? I’ll bet they do. And tight jeans.

“Oh, them.” She waved a hand. “They’re around. I don’t need them in here with a fellow svetocha, of course. They watch from in Shadow when I don’t want to be bothered.”