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And then it happens again. A burst of icy warmth blooms between us. For a moment, a breath, I feel drawn to him. Tugged along an inescapable chain of familiarity and desire.
Suddenly he shoves off the locker and stalks away, leaving me confused and disoriented.
What the frick was that?
By the time Mack and Evelyn find me, I’ve collected myself enough to pick up the book I tossed. Properties of Elemental Magic.
I’ll never look at it the same.
“Oh, God, Summer,” Mack cries. Her mouth falls open as she takes in the look on my face. “What happened?”
“Inara happened,” I mutter. “She glamoured me and then did some trick and I saw . . .” I choke on the actual description as the image of the severed head pops in my mind. Bile stings my throat, my stomach clenching. “It looked so . . . real.”
“That’s one of her powers,” Mack reminds me. “She can make you see your worst fears. It’s a hundred times stronger than glamouring. But whatever you experienced, she couldn’t see it.”
She doesn’t know about Jane. I release a frayed breath, my need to barf decreasing to a tolerable level. I assumed . . . but knowing for sure gives me strength.
Mack toys with the belt buckle at her waist. “You can miss class, if you need to? I’m sure Rhaegar will understand.”
“Hell, no. Then she wins. And that will never, ever happen.”
Using Jane to intimidate me into leaving did the opposite; it pissed me off, and in doing so, gave me a reason to fight. A reason to stay.
I’ll never let a bully like Inara Winterspell win.
20
Never in a million years did I imagine I would be in a class full of beautiful immortal beings, staring at pictures of the Mall of America. An escalator pops onto the screen and Professor Lochlan turns to the class, her dark hooves clopping against the wood floor.
“Who can tell me what this is?” she asks. She’s a centaur, her sleek gray body dappled with white spots to match the lustrous white hair she wears in a french-braid. I haven’t stopped staring since I arrived thirty minutes ago . . . late, of course.
I shift on my feet next to Rhaegar’s desk. As his shadow, I have to be ready for emergencies. Things like retrieving his charger if his laptop has a low battery, or refilling his gold hydro-flask if he’s parched.
Important life and death stuff.
Just my luck, Inara and her sociopathic friends are in this class too. But with Rhaegar here, they mostly ignore me. The class is a mix of Seelie and Unseelie, and they’re just as divided on technology. The Unseelie use real books and notepads to write on; the Seelie have laptops and iPads to follow from and take notes.
I recall Mack saying the Seelie have adapted to our technology a lot faster than the Unseelie. Although the Unseelie crowd was more than happy to break out their cell phones earlier to record my humiliation.
The class is stumped. Rhaegar cuts a quick glance at me, and I mouth, escalator. So far, that’s been my most important job of all in this class: giving him answers.
I’m an expert in this course. The class, Understanding the Modern Mortal World, teaches the Evermore students all about our culture. That way, if and when they decide to travel to the Untouched Zone, they’ll be ready to blend in.
The thought makes me sick. Apparently it annoys Inara too, because she raises her hand and then speaks without waiting for the professor to call on her. “Why do we need to know what that contraption is called, exactly?”
Professor Lochlan regards her with a mixture of contempt and fear. “Do you not plan to visit the mortal world, Miss Winterspell?”
“Oh, I do,” she answers. “I just don’t plan on visiting the Mall of America.”
The room erupts in laughter. The only Fae not laughing, it seems, is the Winter Prince. I have my head tilted so I can make out his face in my periphery. So far, all he’s done is stare straight ahead. Ignoring everyone, including me.
Inara made sure to sit next to him. With last night’s memory still floating around my head, it was almost painful to watch her eyes light up as she glanced his way. Then watch that spark extinguish as he regarded her with apathy.
Doubling down, she’d offered her shadow, Reina, to take notes for him. When that didn’t work, she placed a hand on his thigh and started moving it up. Because, when all else fails, a mid-class hand-job might do the trick.
Gross.
For a moment, he seems caught in some internal struggle. Jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, muscles in his neck tight. Then our eyes lock—much to my absolute embarrassment—and he breaks free from whatever invisible force he fought against.
