I bite my lips and shake my head. She can’t possibly know what it’s like to be this terrified.
“You know I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I know,” I say. That’s not my main concern, though. I’m more worried about letting Gretchen down, about discovering that I can’t do this and that I’m not fit for my destiny.
“Besides,” she says, patting me on the knee as she slides her glasses back into place, “satyrs are cowards. They run more than they fight.”
She climbs out of the car before I can argue more. Obviously she has confidence in me; otherwise she would have sent me home instead of bringing me to the fight. And her confidence gives me some too.
I follow her out onto the sidewalk, snapping the Kevlar cuffs onto my wrists as I go. “Tell me what to do.”
“It’s at the other end of this path,” she explains, nodding down the walkway. “You stand at this end, blocking its escape, and I’ll come at it from the other side.”
“Okay.” I nod, trying to give myself courage. “I can do that.”
Gretchen gives me an encouraging smack on the shoulder before taking off around the building at a run. I stand at the end of the walkway, feet spread and knees bent. I’m not sure what I expect to happen, but I want to be prepared.
It all happens so quickly.
A figure moves to the end of the path, silhouetted against the late-afternoon sun. At first I think it’s Gretchen. Until I see the tail.
He turns, looks my direction, and starts running. Right at me. I tense my muscles, ready to block his escape route.
But instead of trying to escape past me, he launches into the air, knocking me off my feet and pinning me to the ground. The breath whooshes out of me and I can’t even scream for help.
“I’m sorry,” he says, giving me an apologetic look. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”
Like what? I shake my head vigorously. I don’t understand.
Then I see it—a dagger clutched in his fist.
“No,” I gasp.
“I—”
His weight is jerked off me as Gretchen tackles him. I suck in deeper and deeper breaths, trying to get my wind back.
“What the Hades are you doing?” she demands, practically snarling in the satyr’s face. “You guys usually run.”
“I know, I know,” he says, his face crumpling like he might actually cry. “I didn’t want to do it, but—”
“But what?” Gretchen shouts, shoving against his shoulders.
“The bounty,” he wails. “I couldn’t resist the bounty.”
She leans very close to his face. “What. Bounty?”
“Word is going around,” he explains, “that any creature who brings back a huntress will earn freedom from the abyss.”
Gretchen jerks back.
A bounty on our heads? I suddenly remember basilisk lady saying something about me earning her freedom. At the time I was too freaked out to process it, but this must be what she meant.
“Who ordered it?” Gretchen asks.
“I don’t know,” the satyr whines. “I swear. It might just be a rumor for all I know.”
“Rumor or not,” she says, smiling as her fangs descend, “you’re not going to be the one to find out.”
One second she’s biting him in the big furry ear, the next he’s gone.
“This is not good,” she says.
“Maybe it is just a rumor,” I suggest hopefully.
She pushes to her feet and brushes the gravel dust off the knees of her cargo pants. “Considering all the craziness hitting the fan right now,” she says, reaching down to pull me up without waiting for me to ask for help, “I’m going to have to go with
“Yeah,” I say as I follow her to the car. “Probably not.”
She guns her engine and takes off before I can buckle my seatbelt. Definitely not good.
Chapter 13
I’m sorry, Miss Sharpe,” the assistant principal says, “but all the other first-period science classes are full.”
“There has to be something else,” I say, verging on desperate. “Like an art class or maybe choir.”
I can’t sing, but anything would be better than being stuck in first period with Nick every day. I’ve skipped two more classes, forging Ursula’s signature on notes to clear things with the front office. But any more misses and the administration is going to start poking its nose into our business.
They probably won’t like the idea that I’ve been living alone for almost two weeks, or that before that my only guardian was a woman who found me on the street. Authorities tend to frown on things they can’t file into a neat little box.
Avoiding Nick isn’t worth the kind of trouble that would bring. The best solution is for me to transfer out of Mrs. Knightly’s class.
“What about shop?” I ask. “I would totally rock Woodshop.”
The assistant principal shakes his head. “You need a science class.” He leans forward, resting his forearms on his desk. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to stay in biology.”
“Yeah, fine,” I say, shoving out of the brown Naugahyde chair and snatching my backpack off the grimy linoleum floor. “Thanks.”
As I weave through the halls of students, heading for Mrs. Knightly’s class, I tell myself to grow up. Avoiding Nick is a weak move, and I’m stronger than that. I won’t let him affect my life any more than he already has. It’s not like me to run away from a problem. I turn and fight instead.
But as I walk into class and see him sitting there in the desk behind mine, my courage fades.
I’m not scared of him, not exactly. I just don’t understand him. I don’t understand why he’s immune to my hypnoeyes, why he won’t back off from pursuing me, why he keeps showing up when I’m in the middle of a monster fight. And it’s not as if I can ask him any of those things.
I can’t run from the unknown forever.
Straightening my shoulders, I march into the room and drop into my seat. I ignore the fact that the hair at the back of my neck prickles to attention. I ignore the fact that I can practically feel his eyes on me. I ignore everything but the process of getting my notebook out of my backpack, pulling my textbook out from under my chair, and opening it to the page indicated on the board.
I’m tense, waiting for him to say something. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
The bell rings and he hasn’t said a word. There’s no indication that he’s even noticed that I’m here. Or that I was gone the last three days.
When Mrs. Knightly closes the door and moves to the whiteboard, I think I’m home free.
“Nice to see you again, Miss Sharpe,” she says. “I do hope your teeth are feeling better.”
“Uh,” I stammer, remembering that my notes said something about dentist appointments. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I trust you can find someone to catch you up on what you’ve missed.”
“I—”
“I’ll help her,” Nick says.
“Thank you,” she says, turning her attention to the board. “Now, if you’ll look at the diagram . . .”
“You’re welcome,” Nick whispers over my shoulder.
