The Iron Witch (3 page)

Xan
was different.

Donna wriggled out of the black sweater, feeling suddenly overheated and awkward as she handed it back to Xan. Her eyes wandered to the digital clock by the side of the unmade bed.
His
bed. “Crap. I really have to go. Navin will be looking for me.”

“Navin?” His eyebrows shot up. “Ah, the boyfriend.” He made it a statement.

“No, just a friend.” She shrugged. “My best friend, actually.”

“Oh.” Xan rubbed a hand across his face. “Can I call you? I think we have a lot more to talk about … ” Just for a moment, he sounded uncertain of himself. It gave Donna the courage to take a chance.

“Sure.” She reeled off her number and he punched buttons on his cell phone.

When Xan stepped toward her, though, she found herself wanting to run. J
ust who the hell
was
Alexander Grayson
? But she forced herself to stand her ground. Xan reached out a hand, and she held her breath as he gently moved back a strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes, tucking it behind her ear.

Warmth spread through her body as she attempted a smile. Donna realized, for the first time, that she had to look up to meet his eyes. He was tall.
Taller than Nav
, she thought, and immediately felt disloyal.

Xan’s hand dropped to her shoulder as they watched each other. And then his retreating fingers brushed her arm, right where the edge of her black glove met the white skin of her elbow.

There was a sudden
spark
, like static electricity—only a lot stronger.

Donna jerked away from Xan’s touch as an aching filled her hands and arms. It was like a cramp, but an impossible sensation that attacked bone rather than muscle. She remembered the pain of her childhood—multiple “operations” on her disfigured arms as Maker worked on her with metal and magic, and the expression on Aunt Paige’s face when she visited after each procedure.

“What the hell was that?” Xan was looking at her as if she was something both precious and dangerous. His voice was pitched low, and his eyes flashed in the dimly lit room. He rubbed his hands together as though they were cold and glanced at the half-open door.

Donna swallowed. “What was
what
?” The ache in her bones was now more like a tingling sensation that spread throughout her arms. She needed to get out of here. Whatever had just happened between them, she would think about it later, when she didn’t have to breathe under the intensity of Xan’s gaze.

He scowled. “You felt it too. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it.”

Donna took a step toward the door. “It was just an electric shock. No big deal.”

For a moment, she wondered if he was actually going to try to stop her from leaving. Her heart pounded and she resisted the temptation to rub her arm.

But Alexander Grayson just stood and watched her, almost as though he might be able to look
into
her if he tried hard enough.

Donna walked quickly toward the door, glancing back only once as she let herself out. She headed downstairs in search of Navin.

Navin, predictably, was furious with her. “Where have you been? I’ve been searching everywhere for you. I called your phone, like, a hundred times.”

Donna couldn’t help thinking he sounded like a parent who’d lost his child at the shopping mall, but she managed to keep her smile under wraps. “Don’t exaggerate,” she replied, checking the missed calls on her cell as she tucked herself into her coat. Her eyebrows lifted when she saw just how many phone calls she’d missed. “Oh. You did call a few times, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did!” Navin practically exploded. “I didn’t know what to think. I started to wonder if Melanie and her minions had gotten hold of you.”

His concern was touching but Donna felt strangely distant from him, as though everything was happening through a filter, like a blind had been drawn down over her emotions so she didn’t have to feel things so sharply.

“I’m sorry, Nav,” she said, “but what did you think Melanie would do to me? Looks like you have her eating out of the palm of your hand, anyway.” There was also the fact that Melanie Swan hadn’t messed with her directly since the infamous Incident. Donna tried to think of something else, yet the memory kept pushing its way up into her mind like a stubborn weed.

“Shut up, Underwood. Don’t try distracting me; you’re in big trouble.” Navin pointed to the dial on his watch. “
Shit
. And there’s going to be even bigger trouble for you if we don’t get home in the next half hour.”

Donna frowned. “It’s not like Aunt Paige is going to boil me alive … ”

“I wouldn’t be too sure. Last time you came home late with me, she threatened to hex me.”

“She was kidding!” Okay, so her aunt liked to cultivate a quirky alternative/New Age type of persona for those outside the Order, but sometimes Nav took it a bit too seriously. He was half-convinced that Paige was a modern witch—which wasn’t a million miles from the truth. Sort of.

“Look, I
said
I was sorry for worrying you.” Donna tried to steer the conversation away from her aunt.

Navin put a casual arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze; she knew all was forgiven. “What were you doing, anyway?”

“I was getting some air, up on the roof.”

“On the
roof
?”

She smiled. “Where better?”

He shook his head, smiling faintly. “You’re weird, you know that?”

Donna looked at him innocently as they headed toward the front door. “I thought that was why you hung out with me.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly why.” Navin rolled his eyes. “Come on, I called a cab already.”

She laughed and opened the front door, but hesitated when footsteps hurried down the long hallway behind them.

“Donna, hold up a sec!”

Turning around slowly, Donna saw Xan holding out her silver scarf. Her hand went to her throat; she’d been missing it for a while.
Had it fallen off when they were on the roof?

Xan pushed too-long bangs out of his eyes. “You dropped this.”

Navin looked between the two of them, an expression on his face that Donna had never seen before. She felt her cheeks warm and hated that she suddenly felt
guilty
. It wasn’t like she’d done anything wrong.

She snatched her scarf from Xan with a mumbled acknowledgement, hoping nobody noticed how her hands were trembling. That bone-deep, weary ache had returned, making her wish she could just wrap her arms around her body and wait for the pain to pass. The sensation—like her bones were grinding together—brought sudden tears to her eyes. Blinking them away and trying to look like nothing was wrong, Donna wound the scarf around her neck with stiff fingers.

Xan smiled. “That looks good with your coat.”

“Um … thanks.” She shuffled her feet and decided she would have to introduce the guys. She touched Navin’s hand. “Nav, this is Xan—Alexander Grayson,” she began. “We met upstairs. Xan, this is my friend Navin Sharma.”

They sized each other up, the way that guys seem to do so well. Then Navin reached out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.” His voice sounded anything but.
What on
earth
’s gotten into him,
Donna wondered, although she was grateful to see him at least making an effort.

Xan shook Nav’s hand. “Likewise. I hope you had a good time?”

“Yeah, it was cool. Thanks.”

The beat from the music pumping out of the living room vibrated through the soles of Donna’s sneakers. Nobody said anything as Xan switched his attention back to her. He was watching her with that strange, curious expression, as if she were a new species he’d just discovered. She wanted to tell him it was rude to stare, but there was no way she’d do that in front of Nav.

There was a crash from the main room and Xan cringed. “Bastards! Now what have they broken?”

Navin’s gaze slid over to Donna and their eyes met. His eyebrows were raised, and she almost giggled.
Saved by some clumsy kids
, she thought.

“Sorry,” Xan said. He ran a hand through his hair again. “I’d better see what those morons are up to.”

Donna nodded. “Okay, thanks again.”

Xan walked back in the direction of the ominous clattering sounds. “I’ll call you,” he threw over his shoulder.

Donna wanted to disappear into the alcohol pooled on the carpet.
What did he have to say that for? Men were such idiots.

She glanced at Navin and was relieved to see that he didn’t seem to have a reaction. Maybe he hadn’t heard. Yeah, she could hope …

They let themselves out of the house. Donna toed an empty bottle out of the way and glanced across the street. She eyed the darkness; did something move? Then a skinny shadow ducked behind a wall and she almost gasped. Her mouth was suddenly dry and she stopped walking.

“What’s up?” Navin had his hand on the heavy iron gate at the end of the front walk, ready to step out onto the sidewalk.

“Wait.” Donna grabbed his arm; she squeezed too tightly, and winced.

Navin frowned and made a big show of rubbing his arm. He studied her face for a moment. “Donna, what is it?”

She scanned the street, swallowing past the lump in her throat. Her heart was pounding.
There! There it was again
. A small silhouette moved with uncanny grace, sliding between shadows as it climbed over the wall into the next yard.

“Did you see that? Something just went over that wall, I
saw
it.” She was whispering and she knew she must sound crazy, but she couldn’t help it. Whatever she’d just seen slipping through the shadows was a lot more sinister than a super-big cat.

“There’s nothing there, Donna.” Navin fixed her with a strange look. “Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?”

“Shut up, you know I haven’t.”

“Actually, I have no way of knowing that, considering how you decided to spend most of the evening wandering around on the roof.” He raised an eyebrow, something Donna had always wished she could do. The single-eyebrow raise was, sadly, not something she had ever been able to master. Not even with Nav’s expert tutoring.

“Oh, just forget it.” Donna let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Maybe I really
am
going nuts.”

“
Going
nuts? I’m sorry to inform you that it’s far too late for that, Underwood.”

Donna resisted the temptation to demonstrate just how strong she really was. But she couldn’t hold back a sigh of relief when their cab pulled up. At least Navin was teasing her again—the tension that had formed between them when Xan was around seemed to have lifted. She looked over her shoulder as she climbed into the back seat, knowing she wouldn’t feel happy until they’d gotten out of there.

She was almost certain that something had been watching them from across the street. The crawling sensation in her stomach stayed with her all the way home.

Donna Underwood’s Journal:

Whenever I think of “the Incident” at Ironbridge High School—the one everyone remembers but pretends they don’t—I get a horrible feeling in my stomach. Like nerves, but a lot worse. More painful. I feel ashamed of my behavior, and yet I was also standing up for myself, which can’t be a completely bad thing. Right?

I just wish people would forget for real—like, have their minds magically wiped or something—rather than have to pretend it didn’t happen. Events that can’t be explained rationally are best left alone. But kids like Melanie Swan don’t easily forget being made to look stupid in front of their friends.

All I wanted—all I’d ever wanted—was to get through my days at school quietly. It was bad enough being different because of wearing the gloves the whole time; just standing out that way makes you feel uncomfortable. Some students thought I was trying to make a “fashion statement” and made snide remarks about it when they thought I couldn’t hear. Melanie, though, didn’t care whether I could hear or not. Sometimes she would just ask me to my face, “What’s up with your hands, Underwood? Trying to stop biting your nails?” Or, “How do you manage to hold a pen with those things on?” And I would blush and hate myself for it, turning away and hiding behind Navin. I tried to ignore her—managed it pretty well for almost two years.

But once people figured out the gloves weren’t just for show—that I was given special permission to wear them because of something that had happened to me—Melanie’s curiosity got the better of her. To be fair to her, she wasn’t the only one, but there’s always a ringleader with these things. I was excused from some sports activities and she hated that (she was probably born with pom-poms attached to her hands). She just couldn’t stand it that I was treated differently.

Anyway, Navin wasn’t at school that day for whatever reason, and I was rummaging in my locker trying to find a textbook I was sure I’d shoved in there the day before. Melanie came up behind me and pushed me so that I stumbled, banging my head on the locker.

So, I was trying to pull myself back out of my locker when I felt two pairs of hands grabbing me on either side, holding me in position so I couldn’t get out and stand up straight. And then someone else grabbed my right hand and started pulling off my glove.

I still remember the rush of adrenaline that filled me. It was like a heat wave that started in my pounding heart, spread throughout my body, and made my head buzz with caged energy. I wanted their hands off me. I didn’t want anyone to see my hands and arms.

I heard Melanie’s voice—“Look, there’s something here!” And that was it. I just lost it. I wrenched my right hand free, for a moment not even caring if the glove came off, and gripped the edges of the locker with both hands. I pushed, using all the strength in my arms and hands—pushed myself upright with such force that I threw off whoever had been holding me.

And then I stood facing Melanie Swan, and a pretty big group of friends and curious bystanders. Someone said, “Look at her locker,” in an awed voice, and I swung around to look along with everyone else.

The door was open, but where I’d gripped the sides of it, you could see clear handprints indented into the metal. It was like paper that had been crumpled up without a second thought, the steel edges collapsing in on themselves.

“What kind of a freak are you, Underwood?” Melanie asked, staring at me. Her perfect blue eyes were filled with disdain and—I was pleased to note—fear. “I always knew there was something weird about you.”

“Leave me alone,” was all I could think to say. My hands were shaking pretty badly, but I managed to close the door of my half-crushed locker, knowing there wasn’t a chance in hell it would shut properly and not even caring. I just wanted an excuse to turn away from the expressions on all of those faces. The door hung at a slight angle, looking drunken and forlorn in the row of upright lockers.

But Melanie still hadn’t got enough of me. I glanced around desperately, hoping for a miracle in the form of a passing teacher, but it didn’t seem I was in luck that day.

She put one pale, perfectly manicured hand in the center of my chest and pushed me against the locker door. Her fingernails matched my crimson gloves. “Stay out of my way, freak.”

I don’t know if it was her calling me “freak” again, or if it was the slow and exaggerated way she pushed me. I don’t know if I was still buzzing with adrenaline. Whatever it was, something inside of me snapped.

I stepped as close to her as I could get without treading on her delicate toes. “You’ve got it the wrong way around. You stay the hell out of my way.”

I turned to the locker, drew back my fist, and punched it as hard as I could.

With an ear-splitting shriek of metal, the whole door collapsed inwards, wrecking the locker beyond any hope of repair. There was a collective gasp from the small audience and I was gratified to see Melanie back up a few steps, eyes wide and staring.

I took a few paces toward her. “That’s what you’ll get if you bother me again.” I turned on my heel and walked away on shaking legs, not caring that people parted before me like the Red Sea. Not caring that they were shocked and afraid.

At that moment, all I gave a damn about was that I had won.