The bells on the door jingled, and she looked up—then scowled. “What are you doing here?”
“Would you believe a personal ad?” Asa said.
“No. Elizabeth pulled that trick last month. I wound up in the hospital for a few days as a result. Now I have a Taser and a much more selective policy about who gets to advertise in the paper.” Verlaine did not have a Taser. In fact she’d gotten no further than thinking it might be a good idea to have one around. But Asa didn’t know that.
He leaned against one of the counters and looked up at the endless musty volumes of back issues that lined the walls. “I wouldn’t have thought this place could afford to be ‘selective’ about much.”
Verlaine bit back her smile in time. “Yeah. Well. It’s not CNN. But this is Captive’s Sound.”
“This used to be a much more interesting publication.” Asa began strolling along the wall, trailing his long fingers over the ridges of the leather bindings. “Back in the day—even further back than these archives go, I’d imagine. When the printing press they worked on was one of the only ones in the New World, and more people knew the reason this paper was called the Guardian.”
She frowned. That wasn’t such an unusual name for a newspaper; usually it meant that the paper was a guardian of truth or liberty or something like that. What else could it mean?
And then she knew.
Slowly Verlaine said, “There’s also a reason this town is called Captive’s Sound, isn’t there?”
Asa drummed his hands against the wall in obvious excitement. “You got there much quicker than I thought you would. Nicely done!”
Once upon a time, the people here knew they were guarding something. But what’s captive in Captive’s Sound?
“So many secrets,” he said, strolling closer to her desk. His smile was brilliantly white against his tawny skin, and already she had begun to feel that strange heat. “So much waiting to be revealed. And I think you’d like to be the one who ripped the lid off.”
“Yeah, right.” Verlaine didn’t like how close he was getting, so she rolled her desk chair farther back. “Like anybody would pay attention to anything I said. Elizabeth took that away from me. Or didn’t you remember?”
It was hard to say exactly how Asa’s expression changed. His smile didn’t fade; his eyes never lost that black, mischievous fire. And yet she knew that he’d only halfway meant everything he’d said before—but what he said now was true. “I remember it well. I see it more plainly than anyone else does—even more than you, Verlaine.”
She could have slapped him. “Oh, you can see my life better than I can? You think there’s a better view than from the inside? Don’t even pretend you know what this is like.”
“Being forever alone? Forever unseen? I have no body of my own. No freedom. No chance my existence will ever change. I know what you endure far too well.”
Of course. Asa was a slave. Maybe that didn’t make him sympathetic, exactly—but it made him pitiable. Maybe he really did know what it felt like to be always on the outside looking in.
Asa’s hands were spread across the counter, and he leaned over it, just far enough for her to again feel the warmth of him glowing against her cheeks. “You’re so much stronger than anyone else knows. Nadia, Mateo—they try, don’t they? But they never understand the courage it takes for you to support and love them when they can’t love you as much in return. They never see how little the world cares for you, and how you dare to love the world back anyway. Nobody reads what you write, and yet you write. Nobody looks at you, and yet you dress yourself like a goddess every single day. Nobody wants you, and yet you keep wanting. You stay hungry. You keep your heart open. You never give up.”
She couldn’t look at him any longer. Her throat hurt, and her breaths were coming too quickly, but she’d be damned if she’d let a demon make her cry.
“Verlaine.” Asa’s voice was soft, and he was closer to her now, leaning over far enough that they could have touched. Even kissed. What would it feel like, to be kissed by him? Would it burn her to cinders? “There are stories you could tell that would force people to listen. Let me share with you this town’s real history. Let me tell you the truth about Elizabeth. Let the two of us try to find an answer together, without Nadia or Mateo or anyone else who can’t see the truth for themselves. Believe in me. Trust me. See me, as I see you.”
Slowly she put her hands on the folder in front of her, thick with old ad layouts and receipts. Her shaking fingers closed around the binding; it helped to have something to hang on to.
It helped even more to have something to swing.
Verlaine grabbed the folder and smashed it into Asa’s face as hard as she could. He staggered backward, all the way into the nearest wall of back volumes.
“Trust you,” she said as she came around the counter, still brandishing the folder in front of her like a weapon. “Believe in you. While you’re trying to manipulate me in the most obvious way possible. Excuse me, but no.”
“You should listen to what I’ve said.” His grin remained in place as he rubbed the side of his jaw, but when she came closer to him, he began backing away.
“I heard you out. And I didn’t hear anything worth my time.”
“Don’t tell me you weren’t affected. That’s a lie and we both know it. What you feel when you look at me—the way you parted your lips for a moment—”
“So what? You’re hot. Big deal. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re a demon.” Verlaine took another swing at him with the folder every few words, pushing him farther and farther toward the door. “A demon! And a liar, and Elizabeth’s partner in crime, and a total asshole.”
She shoved him out the door. The bells on the handle jingled again. And just like that, he seemed to have disappeared.
Inside she felt raw, torn apart. But Verlaine had become very good at putting her own pain aside. That was one of the few benefits of being on the outside looking in: You learned to take anything the world could throw at you.
“Well. Guess that showed him.” She smoothed the front of her sheath dress and went back to her desk to finish her homework. “Bet he’s not so smug anymore.”
If she could have seen Asa at that moment, she would have seen him laughing out loud in sheer delight.
How brilliant she was. How fierce. Asa enjoyed fighting with Verlaine more than he remembered enjoying time with anyone else.
He wanted to watch her from a distance, but he made himself pull back. If he paid any more attention to Verlaine Laughton, Asa thought he might actually become . . . fond of her. That would be disastrous. First of all, she was doomed. Bad long-term relationship prospects there.
Second, he couldn’t save her from whatever danger would come. While there was a bit of wiggle room for him to betray Elizabeth, he could never betray the One Beneath. Rescuing Verlaine from mortal danger would be utterly forbidden. If he broke that rule, he would be forced to endure the worst torments of hell for what would feel like centuries. No girl could be worth that, not even one so daring and delightful as Verlaine.
Even one that made him feel as if he would find it painful when she died.
Yet Asa lingered awhile, watching her anyway.
He was still in a good mood the next morning as he walked through the halls of Rodman High; even the sight of Elizabeth falling into step beside him couldn’t dim his smile. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “You just can’t wait to watch a documentary on Albert Einstein.”
“You know I have my reasons for coming here. How goes your task?”
“Let’s see.” Asa nodded toward the far end of the hall, where Nadia, Mateo, and Verlaine were all walking in.
They must have met up outside. Maybe they even came to school together. But even though the three of them walked side by side, even though they were smiling at one another, Asa could tell—there was a bit of a chill in the air that had nothing to do with autumn. Mateo didn’t have his arm around Nadia. Nadia couldn’t quite me
et Verlaine’s eyes. And Verlaine crossed her arms and scowled at both Asa and Elizabeth as the two groups passed.
“The suspicion is still subtle,” Elizabeth said. “They doubt themselves more than one another. But I can see that the seeds have been planted. What next, beast?”
“Watch and wait.” He imagined the elm trees that grew all over town, many of them so old they had pushed up the sidewalks in front of them and broken the paving stones into half a dozen planes and angles. The smallest seed could cause incredible damage, given time and the right conditions to grow.
She asked, “What did you tell them?”
“The most dangerous thing of all. The truth.”
I laid out three possible ways to destroy you. Any one of them might work. All I have to do is hope at least one of them sees it. The faster they’re driven apart, the faster they can stop focusing on one another and go after you. Your work and your undoing, and I managed it in just one night. You’ll be sorry you called me beast soon enough.
Asa glanced over his shoulder at them once more. Really he should have been watching all three of them for signs of discord. Instead he only had eyes for the way Verlaine’s long, silver hair flowed down her back.
Quietly he repeated, “Everything I said was true.”
13
ON THE LIBRARY’S TV SCREEN, BLACK-AND-WHITE IMAGES of Albert Einstein flickered. The overhead lights were out. That meant Mateo’s phone glowed too brightly—but since not even the substitute cared about what “chemistry class” was up to, that worked just fine.
“It’s Latin,” Nadia whispered as she squinted down at the picture on Mateo’s phone. “At least, I think so. I’ve never studied it.”
“Does Google Translate do Latin?” Mateo asked.
“I’ll check and see.” Nadia got to work on her own phone. “Even at full magnification, the words are kind of blurry. It would be better to see the real thing.”
“Oh, yeah, I can see it now. ‘Hi, I’m the unstable guy who brought a knife to school!’ Let’s not go there.”
She put her hand on Mateo’s arm; the pain behind that joke was all too clear. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay. You should see it. Just—after school, you know?”
Still, he looked shaken and tired. Nadia rubbed his arm more gently, leaned close enough to whisper in his ear. “Was it rough? Dealing with your grandmother? I know how hard that is for you.”
Mateo took a deep breath. “She wasn’t as bad as usual,” he said. “Which means she was awful. But maybe twenty percent less vindictive?”
“I say we call it a win.”
He grinned, then pointed at her phone screen. “We have a translation. Okay, according to the internet, this Latin script means something like ‘the road has three sections.’”
They met each other’s eyes in mutual bafflement. Nadia said, “I was expecting something more ominous.”
“It sounds more like directions from your GPS. ‘In three hundred yards, turn left at the fortress of doom.’”
She only barely managed to hold back a laugh. “Maybe the internet translation is wrong?”
“Probably. Do we know anybody who speaks Latin? My priest, maybe—”
“Excuse me?” One of the hall monitors stood in the doorway and spoke to their substitute. “I’m supposed to bring Nadia Caldani to Ms. Walsh’s office. I’ve got a note.”
Nadia had been dodging Ms. Walsh and ignoring her emails ever since the incident at the town hall meeting. Of course, the emails had been just vague enough for her to feasibly not answer—maybe we should talk, etc. But apparently Ms. Walsh could only be put off so long.
Mateo mouthed, What’s up?
Ms. Walsh, she mouthed back. Even Mateo couldn’t understand the fear every witch felt when there was a danger her secret had been inadvertently discovered.
She sighed and went with the hall monitor.
On the way, Nadia tried to remain calm. There was almost no chance that Ms. Walsh suspected her of witchcraft. After all, she could only know about witchcraft if she were a witch herself, and if she were, Nadia would have seen evidence of it by now. Wouldn’t she? For a moment she doubted herself, but she knew the odds as well as anyone. There were very few witches in the world, and while there had been a coven in Captive’s Sound, Elizabeth had apparently driven the coven deep underground.
Okay, this won’t be about witchcraft, Nadia thought. Then what?
Probably it was about her mother leaving, or college applications, or something similarly depressing. It was all Nadia could do not to groan as she walked into the main office.
Ms. Walsh had the smaller office, nearest the door, but the principal and assistant principal both had their offices in this same area. Different sports and drama schedules were posted all around, and a few other people milled around the waiting area—including someone who wasn’t a student.
“Well, look who’s here.” Verlaine’s uncle Gary opened his arms for a hug, like they’d been friends forever; Nadia hugged him back. Even though they’d only met a handful of times, one of those times had been when Verlaine was in the hospital and they were both scared to death; people got closer at moments like that. He had a broad smile outlined by a short, crisply trimmed beard; between that, his belly, and his usual good cheer, it was easy to imagine him playing Santa for little kids. “I know they can’t have brought you in for detention. Never. Never ever ever.”
Despite her tension, Nadia had to laugh. “Just meeting with the guidance counselor.”
“It’s that time of the year, isn’t it? Verlaine keeps rewriting her Yale essay—four times so far, I swear. I thought it was perfect the first time. Didn’t you?”
Nadia hadn’t even realized Verlaine wanted to go to Yale, or that her test scores might make that a possibility. Verlaine had never even shown her the essay, because she didn’t believe Nadia could care. “I’ll ask her if I can look at it. Maybe she just needs a fresh pair of eyes. You know?”
“Some perspective. Yes. Exactly.”
“I guess you probably need to talk to Ms. Walsh, too.” Nadia’s hopes rose. “It’s fine with me if you go first.”
“Oh, no. Just dropping this off.” He held up a brown bag and a Hello Kitty thermos Nadia recognized. “Verlaine forgot her lunch, and I know she calls the cafeteria the Hall of Trans Fats.”
“It’s pretty disgusting,” she agreed. So much for getting out of this.
Faye Walsh opened her office door, her smile betraying a little chagrin—Nadia had put off replying to the emails way too long. That alone had probably told her something was up. “Well, there you are,” she said. “Come on in. Let’s chat.”
Nadia gave her a searching look. She’d always paid attention to how Ms. Walsh dressed simply because she was so stylish; today she wore a deep-orange pencil skirt and silky white blouse with a patterned scarf at the neck—basically outshining every other faculty member, and most students, by a mile. But today Nadia wanted to look for what Ms. Walsh wasn’t wearing.
And it was exactly what Nadia expected: no rings, no bracelet, no charms strung on a chain around her neck. Every witch kept her raw materials close if she could, because that was the only way to ensure her ability to cast any spell at any moment. Back in ye olden times, that had sometimes meant carrying around a bag of stones and gems, but today it was easy to keep everything on hand as jewelry. If Ms. Walsh didn’t do that, then Ms. Walsh wasn’t a witch. She didn’t know about the Craft. Whatever she’d seen at the town hall meeting, she hadn’t glimpsed the truth.
Relieved, Nadia headed into the office to talk her way through whatever was coming—but then Ms. Walsh stepped past her, obviously dismayed. “Sir? Sir, are you all right?”
Uncle Gary stood at the counter, one hand to his throat in a gesture that had become all too familiar.
Ms. Walsh ran toward him, but not in time to keep him from falling onto the floor, sprawled out across the linoleum. “Call 9-1-1!” Nadia shouted. At l
east the paramedics could keep him alive.
He convulsed on the floor, gurgling and coughing, as streams of black liquid flowed from the corners of his gasping mouth. Nadia pulled off her cardigan and balled it under his head.
“Hang on,” she whispered. “You’ll be okay.” It was a lie. To judge by the desperate panic in his eyes, Uncle Gary knew it.
The black stuff pooled beneath his head, burning streaks across his face and neck until it flowed and sizzled against the floor. Her cardigan began to smolder at the edges. Nadia tried to tune out the screaming of the secretary or Ms. Walsh shouting directions for the ambulance into the phone; the important thing right now was to focus on him, give him a little comfort if possible.
When the office door opened, Nadia looked up in hopes of seeing the paramedics—but instead Elizabeth stood there, unruffled as ever. Nobody else in the office even seemed to notice she’d walked in; her glamours protected her.
“What are you doing to him?” Nadia wanted to just get up and shake the truth out of Elizabeth, but Uncle Gary had clasped her hand, and she wouldn’t leave him there. “Why?”
Elizabeth dropped to her knees just in front of Nadia, close enough that Nadia could see the soft dusting of freckles across her cheeks. The acrid smoke from the black stuff on the floor wreathed around her face. “You can have the truth. You know that. And you know the price.”
Join Elizabeth. Work with her. Learn from her, Asa’s voice whispered in her memory. You’ll learn enough to destroy her long before the One Beneath has a claim on your soul.
As before, Elizabeth dipped two fingers into the gunk and lifted her hand to her bared shoulder. By now Nadia could see how the burned lines on her skin began to form the symbol she’d found in the Book of Shadows, the one that had some connection to Mateo’s family. And those first lines—a regular burn would have begun to heal by now, but instead it seemed to have burned even farther into Elizabeth’s flesh, which was so red and raw that Nadia winced to look at it.
This sign shall mark His path. The road has three sections. What was that supposed to mean? Was it a way of keeping Asa in the world?