tunnel far beneath Chicago. It looked like a meeting hall, the walls covered in paintings made up of tiny, mosaic tiles, the ceilings girded with thick, wooden beams. It had the same kind of look as the convent—big scale, careful work, earthy materials. The room was empty of furniture—completely empty except for the seven kids who’d turned to stare at the door when it opened. There were three girls and four guys, including Michael and Jason.
Jason of the deadly blue eyes and currently frigid stare.
The room went completely silent, all fourteen of those eyes on us as we stepped into the room.
Scout squeezed my hand supportively.
Silently, they moved around and formed a semicircle facing us, as if containing a threat. I shuffled a little closer to Scout and surveyed the judges.
Jamie and Jill were the obvious twins, both tallish and lanky, with long auburn hair and blue eyes. Paul was tall, lean, coffee-skinned and very cute, his hair a short mop of tiny, spiral curls.
The guy and girl in the middle, who looked older than the rest of them—early college, maybe—
stepped forward, fury on their faces. I guessed these were Katie and Smith. Katie was cheerleader cute, with a bob of shoulder-length brown hair, green eyes, a long T-shirt, and ballet flats paired with jeans. Smith— shaggy brown hair pasted to his forehead emo-style—wore a dingy, plaid shirt. He was the rebel type, I assumed.
“Green,” he bit out, “you’d better have a damn good reason for calling us in and, more important, for bringing aregular in here.”
Okay, so pasty hair was clearly not impressed with me.
Scout crossed her arms, preparing for battle. “A,” she said, “this is Lily Parker, the girl who took a hit of firespell to save us and wound up in a paper nightgown in the LaSalle Street Clinic because of it. Ring any bells?”
I actually took a hit because I’d tripped, but since the Adepts’ expressions softened after she passed along that little factoid, I kept the truth to myself.
“B,” Scout continued, “I have a damn good reason. We need to show you something.”
Katie spoke up. “You could have showed us something without her being here.”
“I can’t show you what I need to show you without her being here.” Her explanation was met with silence, but she kept going. “You have to know that I wouldn’t have brought her here if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Trust me—it’s necessary. The Reapers have already seen her, and they already think she’s associated with us. They get ambitious and come knocking on our door tonight, and she’s in even more trouble. She’s here as a favor to us.”
Katie and Smith glanced at each other, and then she whispered something to him.
“Five minutes,” Smith finally said. “You have five minutes.”
Scout didn’t need it; it took two seconds for her to drop the bomb. “I think she might be one of us.”
Silence, until Katie made a snorty, skeptical sound. “One of us? Why in God’s name would you think she’s one of us? She’s a regular, and getting hit with a blast isn’t going to change that.”
“Really?” Scout asked. “You don’t think getting hit with a dose of firespell is going to have an effect? Given that we’re all bouncing around Chicago with magical gifts, that’s kind of a narrow-
minded perspective, isn’t it, Katie?”
Katie arched an arrogant brow at Scout. “You need to watch your step, Green.”
Michael stepped forward, hands raised in peace. “Hey, if there’s something we need to figure out here, the fewer preconceptions, the better. Scout, if you have something you need us to see,
you’d better show it now.”
Scout glanced over at me, nodded her head decidedly, then spun her finger in the air.
“Turn around,” she said. I glanced around the room, not entirely eager to pull up my shirt before an assemblage of people I didn’t know—and a boy I potentially wanted to know better. But it needed to be done, so I twisted around, pulled my shirt from the waist of my skirt, and lifted it just enough to show the mark across my lower back.
Their faces pinched in concentration and thought, the group of them moved around me to stare at my back.
“It’s a darkening,” Jason said, then lifted his killer blue eyes to mine. “Is it okay if I touch it?”
I swallowed, then nodded and gripped the hem of the shirt, still between my fingers, a little tighter. He stretched out his hand. His fingers just grazed my back, my skin tingling beneath his fingers. I stifled a shudder, but goose bumps arose on my arms. This wasn’t the time or the place for me to get giggly about Jason’s attentions, but that didn’t make the effect any less powerful. It felt like a tingle of electricity moving across my skin, like that first dip into a hot bath on a cold night—spine tingling.
“It’s definitely like ours,” Jason agreed, standing again. “Have you developed any powers?” he quietly asked me.
I shook my head.
“I have no idea how she got it,” Jason finally concluded, his brow furrowed. “But it’s like ours.
Or close enough, anyway.”
“Yeah,” Scout said, “but you nailed it—there’s something different about hers, isn’t there? The edges are fuzzier. Like a tattoo, but the ink bled.”
“What could that mean, Green?” Katie asked.
She shrugged. “I have no clue.”
“Research is your field,” Smith reminded her. “There’s nothing in theGrimoire ?”
“Not that I could find, and I checked the index for every entry I could think of.” I assumed theGrimoire was the giant leather-bound book she’d skimmed through before deciding to notify the elders.
Smith raised his gaze to me. “I understand that you’ve been provided with the basics about our enclave, our struggle, our gifts.”
I nodded.
“And you’re sure you haven’t . . . become aware of any powers since you were hit?”
“I’d remember,” I assured him.
“Maybe this is just a symbol of the fact that she was hit?” Jason suggested, frowning, head tilted as he gazed at my back. “Like, I don’t know, a stamp of the shot she took?”
“I really don’t know,” Scout said quietly.
Their conversations got quieter, like scientists mumbling as they considered a prime specimen. I stared at the wall at the other end of the room while they whispered behind me and tried to figure out who—or what—I’d become.
Eventually, Smith straightened and, like obedient pups, the rest of the group followed suit and spread out again. I pulled my shirt back down and turned to face them.
Smith shook his head. “All we know is that she’s marked. It might not be a darkening. Anything else is just speculation.”
“Speculation?” Paul asked. “She’s got a darkening, just like ours.”
“Not exactly like ours,” Katie reminded him.
I watched Michael struggle to keep his expression neutral. “Enough like ours,” he countered, “to make it evident that she’s like us. That she’s one of us.”
Katie shook her head. “You’re missing the point. She’s already told us she doesn’t have skills,
magic, power. Nothing but a fancy bruise.” As if to confirm that suspicion, she turned her green-
eyed gaze on me. “She’s not one of us.”
“A fancy bruise?” Scout repeated. “You’re kidding, right?”
Katie shrugged, the movement and her expression condescending. “I’m just saying.”
“Hey,” Smith said, apparently deciding to intervene. “Let it go. It’s better for her, anyway.
Hanging out down here isn’t fun and games. This job is dangerous, it’s hard, and it’s exhausting.
