Wayward Son - Rainbow Rowell Page 0,92
was a drag! And I left as soon as I realized you weren’t there.”
Ginger looks tearful. She’s got a ring of red above her top lip, and it takes me a second to realize she’s drinking beetroot juice. “I thought they were going to let me level up,” she moans. “And they didn’t even invite me to their after-party!”
“They couldn’t have invited you,” Agatha says, rubbing the girl’s arm. “You’re too good. You would have seen what they’re really about, and made them all feel like hypocrites.”
Ginger hangs her head. “I guess.…”
“Don’t talk to Josh anymore,” Agatha says, “even if he calls.”
I’m fairly certain he won’t.
Ginger sniffs. “I’ll think about it.”
I look around the living room. “Where’s Snow?”
“He walked down to the beach a while ago,” Bunce says.
“I’ll go get him,” I say. “We need to go.”
“Freshen up his…” She flaps her elbows. “If he needs it.”
I nod, touching my wand. It’s under my shirt, tucked inside the waistband of my (cheap, horrible) jeans. I’m lucky to still have it. And my mobile. Everything else is gone.
None of us have called home yet. But we’ll have to talk to our parents eventually about what happened—about the Next Blood, at least. Lamb said there were more of them. And Agatha thinks they really do have a lab in the desert.
It’s telling that not one of us suggested we go and find it. Not even Simon.
He slept all the way to San Diego. I think he had internal injuries after the battle. Bunce thinks she’s fixed him, but we’re taking him to see Dr. Wellbelove as soon as we get home, just in case.
PENELOPE
Agatha’s friend Ginger is crying because she missed her chance to become a douchebag vampire, and Agatha’s being nicer than I’ve ever seen her be to anyone. Is this why she doesn’t reply to my texts? Because they’re not idiotic enough?
I find Shepard on the balcony. You can see the ocean from out here. He’s looking down at his phone.
“Writing this up for your blog?”
“Nah,” he says. “I’ll do that when I get home. I can’t type on my phone.”
“Ha-bloody-ha,” I say, glancing down at his screen. He’s looking up bus tickets. To Las Vegas. “Shepard, no! By no means!”
“I’ve got to get my truck, Penelope.”
“The vampires have your truck!”
“It’s in short-term parking,” he says. “I’m paying forty-three dollars a night.”
“There are other trucks, Shepard.”
“Yes.” He shrugs. “But none that I’m entitled to drive.”
I see them when he shrugs—two fang marks under the collar of his jacket. Just as Baz said.
“Hey,” I say, fishing my amethyst out of my bra. (Very happy to have it back outside my digestive tract. Sweet Circe, that was an unpleasant task.) “Let me see that bite.”
“I’m all right,” he says. “Save your magic.”
“You can’t save magic,” I say. “It’s not like spare change.”
“It’s not?” There’s that infuriating light in his eyes.
“No. Come on. We should have done this yesterday.”
He scoots his chair closer to mine, and I pull back his collar. There are two scabbed-over puncture wounds and bruises from the vampire’s non-fang teeth. I can’t help but shudder. “Are you worried that they might have…”
“Turned me?” He finishes my question. “No. I haven’t felt especially bloodthirsty. And … and anyway, no, I’m not worried.”
I hold my gem over his wound and say, “Good as new!”
When I pull my hand away, the scabs are still there. I frown. “Shepard … are you immune to magic?”
“No,” he says, running his fingers over the wound like he’s curious. “Not immune.”
I sit back. “Baz said that a vampire bit you, and it made the vampire sick.”
He looks out towards the water. “Maybe the vampire was allergic.”
“Shepard. I thought you believed in straight answers.”
He looks over at me like he’s hurting somewhere, and it has nothing to do with a vampire bite. “I do.”
I sit back a little farther. “What are you?”
He turns himself completely towards me. “Penelope, I’m exactly what I look like. I’m a Talker, a Bleeder, a Normal.”
“And…”
“And I am also slightly … a little bit…” He swallows. “Cursed.”
I wasn’t expecting him to say that. I don’t even know what that means. “You’re cursed?”
He rubs his eyes under his glasses. “Yeah, I … Josh the tech-bro vampire couldn’t claim my soul because, technically speaking, it belongs to someone else.”
“Who?”
“Nobody you’d know. I hope. A demon. Demon-type. I’d tell you his name, but then he might show up. I…” He looks embarrassed. Caught out. He slowly takes off his jean jacket.…
His arms are covered with