Page 90 of Heart of Mischief

She looked back up at his face, which always towered so far above hers. “What?”

“You think I can’t tell?” His dark, thick eyebrows climbed his forehead. “I can always tell, Charlotte. Especially when it comes to you.”

“That makes no sense,” she said. “You’re a mare. You feel everyone’s fear equally.”

“Usually, yes.”

“What do you mean,usually? Are there exceptions?”

“There are exceptions to everything.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “But even without my mare powers, I know you. I know when you’re afraid.”

Charlie blew air threw her lips. “Don’t be ridiculous. You only know me as much asanyonewho’s known a girl for a grand total of, like, six days.”

His green eyes were steady on hers. “I know that you haven’t let your guard down since the moment you stepped off that bus,” he said. “I know that you study every squirrel that runs past like a mouse watching for hawks. I know that every time a stick cracks behind you, your hand goes straight to the Valkyrie knife in your pocket.” He took a step closer, slowly running his pointer finger along the outline of the knife. His touch half on the fabric covering the knife and half on the part covering her thigh. Thin fabric. Too thin. She inhaled sharply, not daring to look away. “I know you far better than you’d like to admit, Charlotte Hudson.”

She swallowed.

Just as fast as he’d drawn close, he stepped away, abruptly dropping the husky edge that had crept into his voice. “But you don’t need to be afraid,” he said. “I promised your father I would protect you, and I’m going to keep that promise.”

“Right,” she said, head spinning at the sudden change in tone. “Ishould…” She gestured vaguely toward the tent where Lou could already be heard inside referencing Linnea’swildly impressive assets.

“Of course.” Elias stepped aside and swept out a hand, like a gallant gentleman waiting for his date to walk into the ballroom. “I’ll see you at the Gut.”

“Right,” she repeated. Then she hurried past, hoping her face didn’t betray just how confused she truly was.

At 12:30 on the dot, the students of Silver Shores descended upon the Gut like ants flooding a dropped ice-cream cone.

The Gut—or “Gutter’s Bay,” as it was called—was an inlet of calm, fresh water tucked into the shore of Lake Michigan. It wasn’t technically part of the forest preserve, but it wasn’t private property, either. It was a kind of no-man’s-land, an oasis of sand and rocks lined with towering pine trees. The mouth of the bay was so small—only ten feet across—that it almost looked like a lake in and of itself.

Charlie tromped silently through the darkness with Lou and Abigail, smothering giggles and trying not to trip over anything. Mason, Elias, and co. were up ahead, leading the march. After fifteen minutes or so, when the kids were sure the chaperones wouldn’t hear, they finally switched on their flashlights and started to whisper. It was only another ten minutes to Gutter’s Bay from there.

When they finally broke through the trees and out onto the beach, students charged down the sand, eager to dig up kegs and open plastic tables. But Elias and Mason had frozen right at the tree line. And when Charlie, Lou, and Abigail stepped out of the trees, craning their necks for a look at the Gut, they realized why. They pulled up short, eyes wide.

Charlie had never been to the Gut before. She’d seen pictures from years past, always dark and somewhat blurry, thanks to the photographer’s lack of sobriety. Those photos didn’t do the Gut justice. They couldn’t. Even if they’d been taken right at golden hourby the best, most sober photographer in the world, they wouldn’t be able to capture what the bay really looked like. Because this place…

Itteemedwith magic.

Charlie sensed it the moment she stepped out of the trees. The overwhelming presence of magic. A current that ran throughout the entire bay, the winds of a storm that no one could feel but her, and—if the look on their faces was any indication—Mason and Elias, too.

First, and most obviously, the Gut teemed with Asgardian creatures. Ever since Charlie had eaten the eyaerberry, she’d never failed to marvel at the beauty of Asgard. But this… this was something else entirely.

Golden reindeer galloped along the shoreline. Neon blue birds fluttered about the treetops. Clusters of purple älvor hung over the middle of the bay. Will-o’-the-wisps floated their green lanterns in and out of the tree line, low voices muttering, “This is right; this is wrong,” over and over, like the background to an eerie, undead choir. Out in the water, glowing fish drifted about like phosphorescence in the middle of the ocean. And just off the shoreline—the telltale slicked-back hair and shining eyes of mermaids peeking up over the edges of tall, smooth rocks.

It was one of the most beautiful things Charlie had ever seen.

And only five people at the party could see it.

“Wow,” Abigail whispered.

Charlie gave her a surprised look. “Damn, Abs. I was starting to think you were immune to the charms of Asgardian magic.”

“Of course not,” Abigail huffed. “Just because I usually have more important things on my mind doesn’t mean I don’t find all of this”—she waved a hand vaguely—“beautiful.”

“Right,” Lou said. “Because SAT scores arewaymore important than the existence of literalmagic.”

“Different priorities.” Abigail shrugged.

“Whatever. Right now,mytop priority is that the pong table is almost ready.” Lou pointed to the wobbly plastic buffet being set up in the sand in front of the old dock. She grabbed Mason’s wrist and tugged him down the beach. “Let’s go. We’ve got a trophy to win.”