School Spirits
Page 7

CHAPTER 8
The football field was right behind the gym, just down the hill. In addition to the running track circling it, the field also boasted several sets of rickety-looking bleachers. I jogged down the steps to the track, my breath coming out in small white clouds. My cheeks were still so hot, I was surprised they didn't steam in the cold air.
The sun was bright overhead, and I realized with a start that it was only around nine in the morning. Not even lunch and I'd already nearly killed someone. What had Torin said about me going to a regular school? That I was a tiger and they were kittens? I didn't feel much like a tiger, and that Ben kid hadn't looked like a kitten, but still. He was the one going to the nurse's office, and I was the one being punished.
Not that this was real punishment, I guess. Running, I could do.
The track around the football field wasn't even a real track. It was more like a well-worn path, the packed dirt showing through the brown, dry grass. Glad I'd chosen sneakers instead of boots (although I was pretty quick in those, too), I set off.
The February air knifed through my lungs, every breath burning. But with each thump of my sneakers against the track, I started to feel a little more...okay, so "normal" probably isn't the greatest word, but less crappy at least. Mom always said that exercise was the best cure for everything. Finn and I knew a mission hadn't gone well when Mom came back to the compound and spent a few hours on the training field.
Man, what I wouldn't have given for that field now. A couple of laps around a lame high school track was one thing, but kicking the heck out of a dummy or flinging some throwing stars would've felt a lot more satisfying.
Picking up my speed, I rounded the corner, and suddenly felt like someone was watching me. I glanced up, and sure enough, there was a guy in the bleachers. I only caught a few details as I jogged past-wavy black hair, sunglasses, something weird about his jacket-and when he lifted one hand to wave at me, I ignored him.
He was still there when I went around the second time, but now he was standing up, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders up against the cold. "Weirdo," I muttered. Okay, so maybe the girl who had just laid out a guy with a dodgeball had no room to talk, but still. Even I knew it wasn't socially acceptable to stare at people.
I pulled my hoodie up and kept running, faster now, and when I made the lap the third time, the bleachers were empty. Awesome. Maybe Watcher Dude had found some other girl to creep on.
Lowering my eyes back to the track, I wondered just how many laps I was supposed to do. The coach had just said "some." Was that a set number that everyone else who went to high school already knew? Did that mean I had to run until the end of P.E.? And would I even be able to hear the bell out-
Suddenly, a pair of shiny black shoes came into view directly in front of me. Watcher Dude was standing in the middle of the track. He didn't move as I darted to the side, my sneakers skidding on the dirt as I slowed down.
Breathing hard, I whirled around to face him. "The heck?" I panted.
He took off his sunglasses, and as he hooked them in the collar of his shirt, I noticed that the arms were bright aqua. His eyes were nearly the same shade of blue as he squinted at me. "Is someone trying to murder you?"
"What?"
Shrugging, he put his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The other boys I'd seen at Mary Evans High were wearing pullover fleeces or North Face jackets, like Adam. This guy was wearing a navy peacoat, and there was a gray scarf twisted into a complicated knot at his throat.
"I've just never seen anyone run that...determinedly," he said. "So I assumed someone must be chasing you." With an exaggerated lean, he peered down the track. "But that doesn't seem to be the case. So why were you running?"
"Coach Lewis told me to."
His eyebrows went up. "Ah. So you're being punished for something. Coach Lewis is not the most creative man when it comes to discipline. So let's see..."
Looking me up and down, the boy began to circle me. Okay, staring was one thing, but circling? Yeah, that was totally not cool. I moved around with him. "What are you doing?"
"You've definitely got that whole tough chick thing going on. Talking back, maybe? Shouting a four-letter word when you lost a relay race?"
"It's none of your business," I snapped, even as I glanced down and realized he was wearing pin-striped pants. I didn't even know those still existed. "Why aren't you in P.E.?"
He finally stopped circling and reached into the pocket of his coat. Pulling out an inhaler, he waggled it at me. "Asthma. But rather than just give me another elective, the fascists who run this school make me come to P.E. every day and sit out."
"So why don't you sit out in the gym?"
Grinning, the boy slid the inhaler back into his pocket. "I figured if all I was going to do was sit there, I could at least offer commentary on the athletic prowess of my classmates. Coach Lewis, sadly, did not agree. So now I'm banished to the wilds of the football field. Much like you."
He slid his sunglasses back on. "And now you know my deep dark secret, so it seems only fair that you share yours with me. Oh, I'm Dex, by the way," he added. "Just in case you feel weird sharing deep dark secrets with strangers."
Maybe it was his grin, which was a nice change from the glares/looks of horror I'd gotten in the gym, but I found myself giving a little smile in return. "Izzy. And there, uh, was a dodgeball incident."
"Perhaps the most intriguing phrase I've heard uttered in some time," Dex said, rocking back on his heels. "I'm obviously going to need you to elaborate."
"This jackass hit a girl too hard with one of the balls. So I...hit him back."
Dex ducked his head, regarding me over the top of his sunglasses. "Aaaand?"
"And maybe I threw it a little too hard and...dislocated his shoulder."
"Whoa, for real?" Dex asked, and for just a second, the act-or whatever it was-slipped, and he just seemed like a normal teenage boy.
A normal teenage boy wearing a cravat, but whatever.
"It was an accident," I said hurriedly, but Dex shook his head.
"Which girl and which jackass?"
"Romy Hayden and Ben...something. I don't remember."
"You knocked out Ben McCrary?" he asked, eyes wide.
"It was an accident," I said again. "I threw the ball harder than I meant to."
Dex burst into laughter. "Oh my God, that is the greatest thing I've heard all week. You are my new hero."
Squinting at me, he leaned in and said, "Seriously, I might actually be in love with you now. Would it be awkward if we made out?"
Head spinning, I stepped back. I thought of my cousin, Sophie, and her boyfriend, Archer. The way they were always zinging one-liners back and forth. I should have a one-liner. Instead, I said, "Yes, it would be."
I waited for his smile to falter, for a little bit of that light to fade from his eyes. But if anything, he looked more delighted. "Well, then we'll just have to hold off until we know each other better."
Wait, did that mean he actually wanted to make out with me?
"And not only did you assault Ben McCrary-"
"I didn't assault him," I muttered, but Dex ignored that.
"You did it in defense of Romy Hayden, who is one of the least useless people at this school. I'm not joking. You are my favorite person today."
From somewhere in the distance, I heard the electronic whine of the bell, and Dex frowned. "Sadly, our time together has come to an end. Unless you have Algebra Two next?"
I shook my head, thinking back to the schedule I'd shoved into my back pocket. "European history."
"Ah, you're a sophomore. I'm a junior, so ships in the night are we," Dex said, heaving a sigh. "In that case, I'll see you on the bus tomorrow."
I blinked. "You ride my bus?"
"You didn't notice me this morning? I'm wounded."
I'd been too busy worrying about how I was going to navigate Mary Evans High to notice anyone, even a six-foot-tall boy wearing pinstripes.
"Not much of a morning person," I finally said.
Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Dex smiled again. "Fair enough. I'll save you a seat tomorrow. Until then, Isabella."
"Isolde," I corrected, and his smile widened.
"Even better." He reached out to shake my hand.
Our palms touched, and a jolt went through me. He didn't seem to feel it as he gave my hand two firm shakes before dropping it. "Try not to kill anyone else today!" he called as he began walking backward down the track.
I was still reeling, so it took everything I had to muster up a weak smile in reply. Once he'd turned around and started walking like a normal person, I glanced down at my hand.
My skin still tingled, like a low electric current was running through me. It was faint, and I'd certainly felt stronger, but it was unmistakable. Magic.
Dex was Prodigium.
CHAPTER 9
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. I guess after you've beaten someone up with a dodgeball and flirted with a monster, most anything else will seem pretty tame.
I wasn't quite ready for another run-in with Dex, so rather than take the bus home, I decided to walk. It was a few miles, and by the time I got home, my calves ached, but the walk gave me time to think. What kind of Prodigium was Dex? Warlock seemed like the most reasonable explanation-I hadn't spotted a bloodstone on him, and without one of those, vampires become barbecue in the sunlight-and there hadn't been that weird animal smell that seemed to cling to shape-shifters. Wings were pretty conspicuous, so unless he was hiding them underneath that peacoat, I didn't think he was Fae. But I'd been around lots of witches and warlocks, and I'd always been able to sense their power once I got within a few feet of them. I'd never had to touch one to feel their magic.
As I unlocked the front door, I tried to think of who I could ask about this. I knew I should tell Mom, but I'd never had trouble identifying a Prodigium before, and it wasn't something I was ready to own up to. Besides, this was meant to be my case. My chance to prove myself.
I wondered what Finley would say if she were here. Probably something like, "Stab him with silver and see if it kills him."
So that left me with only one option.
The house was quiet and dark when I stepped into the foyer, and Mom's car wasn't in the driveway. Still, I found myself walking softly as I made my way to the third bedroom. I hadn't been in there since we'd moved in, and when I opened the door, it was like being punched in the stomach.
Finley's things were in here. By which I meant her pillow and a photograph she'd had stuck to the mirror in our bedroom. It showed us when I was around six, Finn eight or nine. We were in the training yard, two little redheaded girls with our arms around each other's shoulders. It was a sweet picture (if you ignored the fact that I was holding a miniature crossbow and Finn's fingers were wrapped around the hilt of a sword), and I wished I remembered the day it had been taken.
There was also her belt, the one I'd found that night, slung around one of the bedposts. I wanted to go over to it, to hold it in my hands. Instead, I walked past the bed and over to the mirror that hung on the wall. It was, as usual, covered with a heavy piece of canvas. When I pulled it back, Torin was there, hip propped against the bed behind me.