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My head was spinning and my patience had finally worn thin. “Whatever,” I threw out, then stood up and pushed back my chair. “I’ll just ask them myself.”
My hand was on the office doorknob before she spoke again.
“Is it worth the risk?”
I wet my lips.
“Your trust has been shaken, Lily. I realize that.” I glanced back at her. “But if you search your soul, your memories, and you decide that your parents love you, perhaps you’ll be willing to give them the benefit of the doubt on this one. You might realize that if they didn’t give you all the details of their work, of their lives together, they had a very good reason for it. That the consequences of your knowing might not be worth the risks you’d be creating. The risk to you. The risk to your parents.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “And when do I get the benefit of the doubt?”
She smiled, slowly. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
When I was back in the suite, I checked in on Scout. She was snoring peacefully in Lesley’s room, and Lesley was curled up on a sleeping bag at the foot of the bed. I quietly closed the door and slipped into my room, then closed and locked it behind me. I grabbed my cell phone from the top of my bookshelf, sat down on my bed, and dialed.
It took two tries for my phone to actually make a connection to my parents. The third time, my mom answered.
“Lily?” There was a pause, maybe while my mom scanned a clock. “Are you okay?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again, tears suddenly welling in my eyes. I wanted to yell at her, scream at her . . . and tell her that I loved her. I wanted to rail against her and my dad for not telling me the truth, whatever it was, for holding back so much from me. I wanted to tell her about my classes, about Scout, about the brat pack, about Jason, about firespell. About the fact that I had magic, power that flowed from my hands.
But maybe Foley was right. Maybe it was dangerous. Maybe their safety—our safety—was somehow dependent on my pretending to be an average high school kid.
Maybe there were more important considerations than Lily Parker getting a chance to throw a tantrum.
“I’m fine,” I finally said. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
Smith kept his promise to keep in touch, but it was still two days before Scout got paged again. We walked together into the tunnels, headed for the enclave, the mood very different than the last time we’d taken that walk. Nevertheless, Enclave Three was still quiet when we entered.
Everyone was there. Michael, Jason, Paul, and the twins chatted together. Katie and Smith stood at the edge of the room, unhappy expressions on their faces.
“What’s going on?” Scout asked when we reached the knot of JV Adepts.
Jamie and Jill shrugged simultaneously. “No clue.”
Smith, a supersnug long-sleeved plaid shirt and skinny jeans all but pasted to his thin frame, opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the door creaked open. Our gazes snapped to the doorway.
A guy stepped inside. Tall, blondish, and well built, he had blue eyes, a dimpled chin, and strong features. He wore a snug U of C T-shirt and dark jeans over brown boots.
“Yowsers,” Jill muttered.
“Good evening, Adepts.”
“Yo,” Scout said, her head tilted to the side, curiosity in her expression.
He shut the door behind him, then pressed his hand to the door. For a second, it pulsed with light, then faded again.
“I think he just warded the door,” Scout whispered, awe in her voice. “I’ve never seen that before. He has got to teach me how to do that. It rocked.”
“I thought I rocked?” I whispered.
“Oh, you do,” she assured me, patting me on the arm. “This is a totally different kind of rockage.”
The blond walked to Katie and Smith and shook their hands. They looked none too excited to meet him; Smith’s lip was actually curled in disgust. When they’d said their hellos, Katie and Smith stepped aside. The blond stepped toward us.
“I’m Daniel Sterling,” he said. “And I’m your new team captain.”
That must have meant something to the rest of the Adepts, who exchanged knowing glances.
“New team captain?” Paul asked.
Daniel looked at Paul, hands on his hips. “Your handlers and mine have become aware of a certain lack of . . . cohesiveness within this enclave. I am here to remedy that lack of cohesiveness.” He slid a narrowed glance to Katie and Smith, who looked down, rebuked.
Scout and I exchanged a grin.
Daniel glanced at each of us in turn. “We’re a team,” he said after a minute. “High school or college, human or”—he paused, glancing at Jason—“other. All of us, together. Indivisibly.”
The Adepts smiled. I appreciated their enthusiasm.
“It has also come to my attention that there’s a new Adept amongst you.” Daniel moved until he stood directly in front of me, then stared down, one eyebrow arched. “Lily Parker?”
“All day long,” I answered.
He managed to stifle a grin, then slid his hands into his jeans pockets. “I understand that you were hit by firespell a few days ago, that a darkening subsequently appeared, and that you then discovered you had some power magic?”
I nodded.
“I further understand that you encouraged these Adepts to enter the sanctuary and retrieve Scout, and that you discovered, while you were there, that you had firespell abilities. I understand that all of you were able to escape largely unharmed?”
My cheeks warmed, and I nodded. Scout gave me a pat on the back.
“Go, you,” she whispered.
“That was a completely inappropriate course of action.”
That wiped the smile off my face, and put a big grin on Smith’s and Katie’s.
“This organization works because we have a hierarchy, a chain of authority responsible both for the assignments given to Junior Varsity members and for taking responsibility when those assignments are unsuccessful. You had no right to encourage these Adepts into danger against the express wishes of their Varsity squad. Do you understand that?”
I nodded sheepishly, eyes on the floor, humiliation bubbling in my chest. Nobody liked a dressing-down.
“On the other hand,” he said, turning back to Katie and Smith, “you were willing to sacrifice one of the most powerful members of your squad because you were unwilling to take a chance on her extraction. That reeks of cowardice. And cowardice is not why we’re here.
