And those eyes were focused on me.
The Reapers obviously knew Scout attended St. Sophia’s, since they’d kidnapped her from her room. And another Reaper, Alex, had seen all of us one day in the concrete thorn garden behind the school. But that didn’t make me any less weirded out by the fact that Sebastian was standing across the street, perfectly still, gaze on yours truly.
“Lily?”
At the sound of my name, I looked back at Scout. Frowning, she moved toward me. “What is it?”
“I think I just saw Sebastian. He was right . . .” By the time I’d pointed to the spot on the sidewalk where he’d stood, he was gone. “There,” I finished, wondering if I’d actually seen him, or if I’d just seen some tourist with the same dark hair and blue eyes and I’d imagined it was him.
I wasn’t crazy about either idea.
“Sebastian? Out here? Are you sure?”
“I thought so. I mean, I thought he was right there—but maybe not.”
Scout put her hands on her hips and frowned as she scanned the street. “There’s no sign of him now. I can text Daniel”—he was the newish leader of Enclave Three—“and let him know something’s up.”
Gaze scanning the street, I shook my head. “That’s okay. Maybe I imagined it. It was only for a second—maybe I just saw someone who looks like him.”
“Simplest explanation is usually the truth,” she said, then put an arm around my shoulders. “No more sunshine for you. You’ve been indoors so much, I think the sun actually makes you crazy.”
“Maybe so,” I absently said. But I had to wonder—was I losing it, or were the Reapers watching us?
I had a dark-haired, blue-eyed boy on my mind.
This was a bad idea for two reasons.
First, I was in European-history class, and said dark-haired boy wasn’t a king or soldier or historical figure of any type.
Second, the boy I’d been talking to was definitely not dark-haired.
The boy, of course, was Sebastian. And the obsession? I don’t know. I’m sure he was on my mind in part because I’d (maybe?) just seen him. But it also felt like we had unfinished business. In a couple of glances and whispered instructions, Sebastian had taught me how to use firespell—that it wasn’t about controlling the power, but trusting the power enough to let it control me. It was about letting the power move, instead of trying to move the power.
But why had he helped me? He was a Reaper, and I was an Adept, and at the time we’d been trying to rescue Scout and escape the Reaper sanctuary. There was no reason for him to help me, which made the act that much stranger . . . and meaningful?
“Ms. Parker.”
I mean, not only had he helped me, but he’d helped me in the middle of a battle against him and his Reaper friends. Was there a chance he was really . . . good?
“Ms. Parker.”
Finally hearing my name, I slammed my elbow on the top of my desk as I bolted upright and glanced up at Mr. Forrest, our civics teacher. “Yes? Sorry?”
The classroom burst into snickers, most of it from the three members of St. Sophia’s resident brat pack: Veronica, Mary Katherine, and Amie. Veronica was the queen bee, a blond Gossip Girl wannabe currently wearing a pair of thousand-dollar designer ballet flats and at least a couple of pounds of gold around her neck. Veronica and I had tried being friends one Sunday afternoon after I’d first seen my Darkening—a mark on my lower back that pegged me as an Adept. I had been in denial about my new magic, and in the middle of a misunderstanding with Scout, so I’d offered Veronica a shot as best friend.
She didn’t make the grade.
M.K. was the haughtiest of the crew. Today she was dressed like a goth-prep mash-up—a navy shirt and cardigan over her plaid skirt; knee-high navy socks; and black platform heels with lots of straps. Her long hair was tied in long braids with navy ribbon, and her lips were outlined in dark lipstick.
Amie was the quiet one—the type who seemed to go along to get along. She was also a roommate, sharing a suite with Scout, me, and a cello-playing, mostly quiet girl named Lesley Barnaby.
“Is class a little too difficult for you today, Parker?” M.K. snickered.
“Since you were apparently absorbed in your own thoughts,” Forrest said, “anything you’d like to share with the class?”
“Um, I was just”—I glanced up at the scribbled text that filled the whiteboard at the front of the room and tried to make sense of it—“I was just . . . thinking about federalism.”
More snickering, probably deserved. I swear I was smart, even if I was still adjusting to the run-all-night, study-all-day schedule.