Charmfall (25 page)

“Uncool!” I yelled out. “You shouldn’t use magic against people who don’t have it.” A little more grappling, and I managed to get my pinkie in a loop of ribbon. I pulled up the key and slipped it around my neck again

I glanced back. Two of Fayden’s minions—already on the ground floor—were heading toward me.

The pipe was just wide enough to run along, so I hauled butt across it—a pretty impressive feat in heels. As I ran, I began the chant. “It’s a circle of fear, a circle of control.”

I stopped right in the middle of the pipes, equal distance between the balcony walls and right in the middle of the circle. It was louder down here, the circle
whooshing
as it spun nearly drowning out Fayden’s yelling.

But not quite.

“She’s chanting a spell!” Fayden yelled out. “Stop her!”

I jumped from one pipe to another, barely avoiding the hands of a minion who reached for me. “You wanna wreak havoc? Then you have to pay the toll.”

“You little brat,” she said. “You have no idea how hard I’ve worked for this.”

And I don’t really care,
I silently thought.

Aloud, I kept repeating the incantation. “You take our power. You try to take our souls. But in this case, honey, it’s you who’s gotta go.”

Someone grabbed my ankle, but I kicked myself free. I pulled the key from around my neck and chanted the last bit of the spell.

“We’re breaking your circle, we’re tearing up your goal, and most of all we’re taking back the magic that you stole!”

I lobbed the key—and it landed right in the middle of the spinning wheel. Sparks suddenly flew across the room. I ducked and put my hands over my head as the wheel expanded into a spinning sphere, then exploded in a burst of light and sound and energy that made my hair stand on end. The windows exploded outward, and the pipes creaked and groaned around us as energy shot the length of the pumping station.

After a moment, the room went silent.

I looked up. The wheel of light was gone, leaving a dull blue haze in the room. Neither Fayden nor her minions were anywhere in sight.

Time to make a run for it.

I left the key behind, hopped over the pipe, and hit the ground. I pulled off my shoes and ran toward the stairs, my party heels dangling from my fingers. I took the stairs two at a time, the metal treads biting into my bare feet as I ran. But I didn’t care. I just wanted to get out of the building and away from Fayden. I made it to the balcony, ten feet from the door, when she stood up in front of me.

There was a cut on her cheek from where she’d fallen to the floor. She looked mad, and I could feel her energy swell as she gathered it up for a strike.

It took me a minute to remember that I had magic of my own—or I was supposed to, anyway.

I opened myself up to the power in the room, and there was plenty of it. And for a glorious second, I could feel the firespell gathering in my bones.

But only for a second. The more firespell Fayden tried to make, the less I could gather up. It was like there was only a certain amount of power in the room, and she was pulling it all toward her.

“Oh, this is going to be bad,” I muttered.

“Yes,” she said, an evil grin on her face. “It is. And you deserve it. You ruined what I made. You did this—destroyed something I built. And for what? Because you didn’t believe in me? Because you didn’t agree with me?”

I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me, or just thinking about the things she really wanted to say to Jeremiah.

Either way, this was going to be bad. I tried to pull in a little more firespell of my own, just to reduce the amount she had to work with. It wasn’t going to do much good, I knew, but what else could I do?

“When all this falls apart,” she said, “it will be your fault.”

She wound up her arm to throw the firespell at me, and I closed my eyes, bracing for impact . . . when I heard the roar of a wolf.

My eyes shot open. Fayden was on the ground, a giant silver wolf atop her, little bits of glass in his fur.

It was Jason. He’d come through the window . . . to save me.

He fought with Fayden, but she couldn’t get enough traction to throw the firespell. They rolled around and tumbled a bit, and as they did, the power in the room filled up again.

I closed my eyes for a second, blocking out the burst of joy from seeing Jason again, and concentrated on gathering up power.

She slapped at his hide, and he whined a little.

“Jason,” I yelled out, when I was as primed as I was going to be. “On three. One, two, three!”

Jason leapt away, and Fayden sat halfway up to stare at me.

“Your turn,” I said, and I let the firespell go, sending the entire burst of it directly toward her. Her image wavered as the air warped, and then she fell back and hit the ground with a thud.

Just in time, the other Adepts rushed in through the door, but I had eyes only for the wolf at the other end of the balcony, chartreuse eyes shining. He looked at me, but he didn’t come any closer.

“Thank you,” I said, but he disappeared out the door.

My heart broke again. Did he hate me so much that he couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with me, even after saving me from Fayden?

It was heartbreaking that he’d left, but I tried not to think about it. I did not want to cry in front of a room of Adepts and minions.

Scout jogged over to check me out. “You’re okay?”

“I’m fine. The spell worked. The spool exploded. There are still minions down there, I think.” To confirm, I looked over the rail. They were definitely still down there, waking up groggily after being hit full-on with the impact of the exploding magic.

“Is she wearing spandex?” Paul asked, tilting his head as he stared down at Fayden.

“Yep. She most definitely is.” I looked at Daniel. “She wanted to start some kind of magical socialism, where the amount of everyone’s magic was controlled. But mostly I think she was just angry at Jeremiah.”

“What a weirdo,” Paul said.

“And an unconscious weirdo,” Scout said, putting an arm around my shoulders. “And that’s what really counts.”

One victory at a time, I thought.

*  *  *

We had our magic back. Of course, so did all the Reapers in the city. But it was hardly worth the trouble of going back to fight if we didn’t at least stop to celebrate. Scout helped me clean up, and she, Michael, and I headed back to the Field Museum. Daniel promised to get the pumping station cleaned up—and to explain to the cops exactly how Fayden had managed to blow the windows out.

The lights were down and the music was up when we walked back into the party. The place looked phenomenal. Fancy and spooky at the same time, and impressive either way.

Michael didn’t waste any time pulling Scout onto the dance floor. She looked back at me, worry in her eyes, but I waved her off. Just because I wasn’t going to have a fantastic time didn’t mean they shouldn’t. Besides—my ex-boyfriend had just saved my life. That was something, right?

Nicu, having gotten us safely to the tunnels, didn’t squander his favor. He and Veronica were dancing together in the middle of the room. And although the room was filled with people who looked very happy and very smitten—at least for tonight—there was no mistaking the emotion in their eyes. They looked kind of perfect together, and he even looked kind of normal. Just like a guy at a dance, except for the fact that with one good look in his eyes you could see he wasn’t a normal teenager. There was too much knowledge there. He looked like he had an old soul, if that made sense.

I, on the other hand, had a young soul. And a thirsty one. I decided I could use some punch.

I walked around the dance floor to the table with drinks and snacks. There were a few girls nearby, mostly the ones who hadn’t come with dates.

I poured a cup of the punch—but sniffed before drinking it. There was no telling what kind of illegal stuff a bunch of rich sixteen-year-olds would sneak into the Sneak punch bowl. But it smelled like fruit punch and ginger ale. Classic punch ingredients. Not great, but not awful.

“Is there any more of that?”

I glanced back.

Jason Shepherd, the disappearing werewolf, stood behind me in a black tuxedo—black bow tie and everything.

He looked so handsome—and I was so surprised to see him there—I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I also nearly dropped my cup.

“I’ll maybe just have a drink of yours,” he said, gently taking the cup from my hands and finishing it off in a single gulp.

Words returned. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, putting the cup down on the table. “I’m sorry I ran off. I had to get dressed.”

“You look . . . very nice,” I carefully said.

“And you look gorgeous, Lily Parker. But we have unfinished business.” While the rest of the dateless girls looked on, Jason took my hand and led me out the door and into the hallway. He pulled me into a quiet alcove, then looked down at me, his blue eyes intent.

“You scared me,” he said. “I wasn’t sure who to trust. You’re new to this and you have this bravery that the rest of us don’t have. You have different ideas about what’s right and what’s wrong. And that’s a difficult thing to get used to. Do you think you can forgive me for running away?”

His lips were so close to mine—just hovering there, like a butterfly just out of reach.

“I think you should kiss me,” I whispered, and he did.

I felt that kiss all the way from my lips to my toes and back again. His arms were around me, his hands hot against my back, a sharp contrast to the chill in the air. That heat seemed like proof that he was something
else
. Something not like me or Scout or the rest of the Adepts. No better, no worse. Just very, very different.

“I want to try again,” he said.

The statement scared me out of my wits, my heart beating like a bass drum in my chest.

“What if you change your mind?” I asked. “What if you disagree with something I do, and you run away because of it? How am I supposed to trust that?”

He put his forehead on mine. “I will always come back, Lily Parker. Because that’s who you are to me.”

My heart burst with something unimaginably good, and I took his hand, ready to begin.

Click here for more books in this series

Read on for an excerpt from the first title in the Dark Elite series by Chloe Neill,

FIRESPELL

Available now!

1

T
hey were gathered around a conference table in a high-rise, eight men and women, no one under the age of sixty-five, all of them wealthy beyond measure. And they were here, in the middle of Manhattan, to decide my fate.

I was not quite sixteen and only one month out of my sophomore year of high school. My parents, philosophy professors, had been offered a two-year-long academic sabbatical at a university in Munich, Germany. That’s right—two years out of the country, which only really mattered because they decided I’d be better off staying in the United States.

They’d passed along that little nugget one Saturday in June. I’d been preparing to head to my best friend Ashley’s house when my parents came into my room and sat down on my bed.

“Lily,” Mom said, “we need to talk.”

I don’t think I’m ruining the surprise by pointing out that nothing good happens when someone starts a speech like that.

My first thought was that something horrible had happened to Ashley. Turned out she was fine; the trauma hit a little closer to home. My parents told me they’d been accepted into the sabbatical program, and that the chance to work in Germany for two years was an amazing opportunity for them.

Then they got quiet and exchanged one of those long, meaningful looks that really didn’t bode well for me. They said they didn’t want to drag me to Germany with them, that they’d be busy while they were there, and that they wanted me to stay in an American school to have the best chance of going to a great college here. So they’d decided that while they were away, I’d be staying in the States.

I was equal parts bummed and thrilled. Bummed, of course, because they’d be an ocean away while I passed all the big milestones—SAT prep, college visits, prom, completing my vinyl collection of every Smashing Pumpkins track ever released.

Thrilled, because I figured I’d get to stay with Ashley and her parents.

Unfortunately, I was only right about the first part.

My parents had decided it would be best for me to finish high school in Chicago, in a boarding school stuck in the middle of high-rise buildings and concrete—not in Sagamore, my hometown in Upstate New York; not in our tree-lined neighborhood, with my friends and the people and places I knew.

I protested with every argument I could think of.

Flash forward two weeks and 240 miles to the conference table where I sat in a button-up cardigan and pencil skirt I’d never have worn under normal circumstances, the members of the Board of Trustees of St. Sophia’s School for Girls staring back at me. They interviewed every girl who wanted to walk their hallowed halls—after all, heaven forbid they let in a girl who didn’t meet their standards. But that they traveled to New York to see me seemed a little out of the ordinary.

“I hope you’re aware,” said one of them, a silver-haired man with tiny round glasses, “that St. Sophia’s is a famed academic institution. The school itself has a long and storied history in Chicago, and the Ivy Leagues recruit from its halls.”

A woman with a pile of hair atop her head looked at me and said slowly, as if talking to a child, “You’ll have any secondary institution in this country or beyond at your feet, Lily, if you’re accepted at St. Sophia’s. If you become a St. Sophia’s girl.”

Okay, but what if I didn’t want to be a St. Sophia’s girl? What if I wanted to stay home in Sagamore with my friends, not a thousand miles away in some freezing Midwestern city, surrounded by private-school girls who dressed the same, talked the same, bragged about their money?