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But I have no choice. My body isn’t my own. Slowly, I pull out whatever this is . . .
It’s a head. A bloody, severed head inside my backpack. Red pig-tails. Freckles. Blood and other horrifying things drip from the neck. But worst of all—worst of all, I recognize the face.
Jane.
With a wail, I fling the head away and fall to my knees as a pang of grief splits open inside me. The pain is unreal. I gag, warm vomit tickling my throat. My thoughts ping-pong all over the place.
Do Aunt Vi and Z know yet? When did this happen? Why? How?
Laughter echoes around me. Cruel, cold, unending laughter. A few Unseelie whip out cell phones and shoot videos. Someone jumps in and takes a selfie with me.
I hardly notice them. I clutch my chest. Unable to breathe. To focus on my surroundings. My heart. My heart is tearing in half.
“What’s happening here?” a deep voice booms.
A male professor stands just outside the classroom, frowning at the whole affair. I point at where I tossed Jane’s head . . . except now there’s only a book. And the blood staining my hands and the floor has disappeared.
It was a . . . trick. A spiteful, brutal, callous trick.
The professor sees Inara and then his face goes slack with fear. Still, he seems about to help me, taking a step forward, despite Inara’s terrifying presence. Then his gaze slides to my right and he freezes. The blood in his face drains until his skin is the same hue as snow.
With a quick, apologetic glance at me, he disappears into his classroom.
Coward.
I follow his gaze, wondering who could be more intimidating than Inara, and my eyes snag on the Winter Prince. He’s leaned against a locker watching Inara, his gaze avoiding me completely. He wears his usual lazy smirk, the one that makes me want to throat-punch him. His blue-black hair is artfully messy and falls around his slender, pointed ears, the white collar of his tunic unbuttoned and open to the top of his chest.
He looks like he just fell out of bed. He probably did.
My skin tingles with fear as I remember last night. Does he know I trespassed inside his mind? explains the name, at least. Evermore. Because they will literally live ever-freaking-more, body hopping like the characters in a bad science fiction movie. The idea weirds me out.
Someone calls my name, bringing me back to reality.
Mrs. Hawthorn stares at me expectantly. “Are you with us now, Summer? Good. I asked what the second rule of power is. The rest of the class doesn’t know. Do you?”
Accordingly, my mind goes blank. I pinch my leg beneath my desk to refocus my thoughts. Who do I know that has power . . . ? Cal and his father immediately come to mind. I’d never wondered how, exactly, they came into such power.
They didn’t have magic. They had money, of course. But it was more than that . . .
“Influence?” I say.
She raises an eyebrow. “It that a question or an answer? If you want me to believe what you say, perhaps you should learn to influence me.”
Someone snickers, but she holds up a hand. “The delivery needs work, but Summer is right; influence is the second component of power. With enough magic, anyone can make someone do something. But if you can learn to influence them instead, to make them think your goal is what they desire most, you are one step closer to ultimate power. Strong magic and the skill of influence is a dangerous combination.”
“And the third component of power?” Reina asks, pencil poised over her notebook, ready to scribble down the answer and learn world domination. God help us all.
Mrs. Hawthorn’s lips curve into a grin that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “The first student who answers that correctly will receive an automatic A in this class. But”—she raises a hand in protest as the class tries to throw out answers—“answer carefully because you only get one opportunity.”
The voices go quiet as she adds the first two components of power—magic and influence—on the chalkboard. Number three goes just below.
As she has us open our books to chapter one, I stare at the empty number three spot, wondering what the third component could be.
If surviving the Fae requires power, then I should probably learn the answer. And, judging by the way Reina and her friend not-so-quietly whisper about me, I should find it soon.
19
“I’ve seen zombie movies with less gore,” Mack declares, her nose scrunched. “The darkling just munched on the poor Fae girl’s face like it was a deep-dish supreme pizza.”
