Hexbound
Page 2
It was days before she could sleep without nightmares, nearly a week before she was mostly back to her old self. But I still saw shadows from her time in the sanctuary—those moments when she disappeared into herself, when her mind was pulled back into the empty spot the Reapers had created.
Regardless, she was here now. We’d gotten her back.
Not everyone was so lucky. Sometimes we discovered too late that a Reaper had been befriending someone, too late for Adepts, friends, family, coaches, or teachers to pull him or her back from the brink.
Sometimes, fighting the good fight meant losing a battle or two.
That was a hard lesson at almost-sixteen.
“Lils, any thoughts about running away and joining a circus?”
I smiled over at Scout. “Are we talking pink poodles and clowns stuffed into a car, or creepy freak show?”
Scout snorted. “Since it’s us, probably freak show. We could travel around the country from city to city, putting up one of those giant red-and-white-striped tents and sleeping in a silver trailer shaped like a bullet.” She slid me a knowing glance. “You could bring along your own personal freak show.”
This time, it wasn’t just the sun that heated my cheeks. “He’s not my freak show.”
“He’d like to be.”
“Whatever. And he’s not a freak show.” I glanced around to make sure we were alone. “He’s a werewolf.”
“Close enough. The point is, he’d be your werewolf if you let him.”
It was the “letting him” that was the hard part. Jason Shepherd, the resident werewolf of Enclave Three, was definitely interested. He was sixteen years old and, like Michael Garcia, another Adept with a massive crush on Scout, was a student at Montclare Academy, St. Sophia’s brother school. I’d learned Jason had been born in Naperville, a suburb west of Chicago, listened to whatever music happened to be on the radio at the time, and was a devoted White Sox fan. He didn’t like football and loved pepperoni pizza. And, of course, there was the werewolf thing.
I guess I was interested back, but spending nights fighting evil didn’t exactly make it easy to get to know a boy.
“It’s too soon,” I told her, trying to make my voice sound as casual as possible. “Besides, you’re the one who warned me away from him.”
“I did do that,” she quietly said. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Problem was, she wouldn’t tell me why she thought that might happen. She kept saying I needed to hear it from him, and that wasn’t exactly the kind of thing that made a girl feel comfortable about a boy.
“There’s always something,” I whispered. As if on cue, a grim-looking cloud passed over the sun, a dark streak in the sky that sang of impending rain. The breeze blew colder, raising goose bumps on my arms.
Scout and I exchanged a glance. “Inside?” I asked.
She nodded, then pointed at her shoes. “The glue’s not waterproof.”
Decision made, we gathered up our books and walked back across the campus’s side lawn and around to the main building. The school—a former convent—was dark and gothic-looking, a weird contrast to the rest of the glass-and-steel architecture in this part of downtown Chicago.
That was what I was thinking when I happened to glance across the street . . . and saw him.
Sebastian Born.
He stood on the sidewalk in jeans and a dark polo shirt, his hands tucked into his pockets. His blue eyes gleamed, but not like Jason’s eyes gleamed. Jason’s eyes were spring-bright. Sebastian’s were darker. Deeper. Colder.
And those eyes were focused on me.
The Reapers obviously knew Scout attended St. Sophia’s, since they’d kidnapped her from her room. And another Reaper, Alex, had seen all of us one day in the concrete thorn garden behind the school. But that didn’t make me any less weirded out by the fact that Sebastian was standing across the street, perfectly still, gaze on yours truly.
“Lily?”
At the sound of my name, I looked back at Scout. Frowning, she moved toward me. “What is it?”
“I think I just saw Sebastian. He was right . . .” By the time I’d pointed to the spot on the sidewalk where he’d stood, he was gone. “There,” I finished, wondering if I’d actually seen him, or if I’d just seen some tourist with the same dark hair and blue eyes and I’d imagined it was him.
I wasn’t crazy about either idea.
“Sebastian? Out here? Are you sure?”
“I thought so. I mean, I thought he was right there—but maybe not.”
Scout put her hands on her hips and frowned as she scanned the street. “There’s no sign of him now. I can text Daniel”—he was the newish leader of Enclave Three—“and let him know something’s up.”
Gaze scanning the street, I shook my head. “That’s okay. Maybe I imagined it. It was only for a second—maybe I just saw someone who looks like him.”
“Simplest explanation is usually the truth,” she said, then put an arm around my shoulders. “No more sunshine for you. You’ve been indoors so much, I think the sun actually makes you crazy.”
“Maybe so,” I absently said. But I had to wonder—was I losing it, or were the Reapers watching us?
I had a dark-haired, blue-eyed boy on my mind.
This was a bad idea for two reasons.
First, I was in European-history class, and said dark-haired boy wasn’t a king or soldier or historical figure of any type.
Regardless, she was here now. We’d gotten her back.
Not everyone was so lucky. Sometimes we discovered too late that a Reaper had been befriending someone, too late for Adepts, friends, family, coaches, or teachers to pull him or her back from the brink.
Sometimes, fighting the good fight meant losing a battle or two.
That was a hard lesson at almost-sixteen.
“Lils, any thoughts about running away and joining a circus?”
I smiled over at Scout. “Are we talking pink poodles and clowns stuffed into a car, or creepy freak show?”
Scout snorted. “Since it’s us, probably freak show. We could travel around the country from city to city, putting up one of those giant red-and-white-striped tents and sleeping in a silver trailer shaped like a bullet.” She slid me a knowing glance. “You could bring along your own personal freak show.”
This time, it wasn’t just the sun that heated my cheeks. “He’s not my freak show.”
“He’d like to be.”
“Whatever. And he’s not a freak show.” I glanced around to make sure we were alone. “He’s a werewolf.”
“Close enough. The point is, he’d be your werewolf if you let him.”
It was the “letting him” that was the hard part. Jason Shepherd, the resident werewolf of Enclave Three, was definitely interested. He was sixteen years old and, like Michael Garcia, another Adept with a massive crush on Scout, was a student at Montclare Academy, St. Sophia’s brother school. I’d learned Jason had been born in Naperville, a suburb west of Chicago, listened to whatever music happened to be on the radio at the time, and was a devoted White Sox fan. He didn’t like football and loved pepperoni pizza. And, of course, there was the werewolf thing.
I guess I was interested back, but spending nights fighting evil didn’t exactly make it easy to get to know a boy.
“It’s too soon,” I told her, trying to make my voice sound as casual as possible. “Besides, you’re the one who warned me away from him.”
“I did do that,” she quietly said. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Problem was, she wouldn’t tell me why she thought that might happen. She kept saying I needed to hear it from him, and that wasn’t exactly the kind of thing that made a girl feel comfortable about a boy.
“There’s always something,” I whispered. As if on cue, a grim-looking cloud passed over the sun, a dark streak in the sky that sang of impending rain. The breeze blew colder, raising goose bumps on my arms.
Scout and I exchanged a glance. “Inside?” I asked.
She nodded, then pointed at her shoes. “The glue’s not waterproof.”
Decision made, we gathered up our books and walked back across the campus’s side lawn and around to the main building. The school—a former convent—was dark and gothic-looking, a weird contrast to the rest of the glass-and-steel architecture in this part of downtown Chicago.
That was what I was thinking when I happened to glance across the street . . . and saw him.
Sebastian Born.
He stood on the sidewalk in jeans and a dark polo shirt, his hands tucked into his pockets. His blue eyes gleamed, but not like Jason’s eyes gleamed. Jason’s eyes were spring-bright. Sebastian’s were darker. Deeper. Colder.
And those eyes were focused on me.
The Reapers obviously knew Scout attended St. Sophia’s, since they’d kidnapped her from her room. And another Reaper, Alex, had seen all of us one day in the concrete thorn garden behind the school. But that didn’t make me any less weirded out by the fact that Sebastian was standing across the street, perfectly still, gaze on yours truly.
“Lily?”
At the sound of my name, I looked back at Scout. Frowning, she moved toward me. “What is it?”
“I think I just saw Sebastian. He was right . . .” By the time I’d pointed to the spot on the sidewalk where he’d stood, he was gone. “There,” I finished, wondering if I’d actually seen him, or if I’d just seen some tourist with the same dark hair and blue eyes and I’d imagined it was him.
I wasn’t crazy about either idea.
“Sebastian? Out here? Are you sure?”
“I thought so. I mean, I thought he was right there—but maybe not.”
Scout put her hands on her hips and frowned as she scanned the street. “There’s no sign of him now. I can text Daniel”—he was the newish leader of Enclave Three—“and let him know something’s up.”
Gaze scanning the street, I shook my head. “That’s okay. Maybe I imagined it. It was only for a second—maybe I just saw someone who looks like him.”
“Simplest explanation is usually the truth,” she said, then put an arm around my shoulders. “No more sunshine for you. You’ve been indoors so much, I think the sun actually makes you crazy.”
“Maybe so,” I absently said. But I had to wonder—was I losing it, or were the Reapers watching us?
I had a dark-haired, blue-eyed boy on my mind.
This was a bad idea for two reasons.
First, I was in European-history class, and said dark-haired boy wasn’t a king or soldier or historical figure of any type.
