Still Scares the Hell Out of You
At first, his words don’t register. And when they finally do, it takes a few more beats for me to remember how to form my own words.
“Kill me?” I finally whisper back to him as my stomach
plummets and a chill works its way down my spine. Or I should say, I try to whisper because it’s pretty hard to keep my voice super low now that the squeak is back.
I would be embarrassed, but to be honest, I feel like I’ve got a lot to squeak about. It’s been one hell of a morning, and the hits just keep on coming. “That’s ridiculous,” I tell him even as I wipe my suddenly damp palms against my skirt. “Why?”
“I don’t know yet.”
I take a deep breath, try to get my racing heart back under control as I struggle to think through the panic slamming through me. It takes a minute, but I finally get the anxiety to recede enough that I can answer, “It doesn’t make sense. I’m harmless.”
Especially at this school. I mean, I’m not a threat at a regular high school. I’m sure as hell not a threat at a school where a quarter of the residents can shoot fire and fly.
“There are a lot of words I’d use to describe you, Grace.
‘Harmless’ isn’t one of them.” He glances around the room, eyes narrowed, whether in thought or warning, I can’t be sure. “And if I know that, so do they.”
“Jaxon.” I wrap my arms around my waist and rock back on my heels a little as I try to convince him to see reason. As I try to convince myself that his words don’t mean anything. “You can’t really believe that. You’re just upset at the near miss. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“I always think clearly.” He starts to say more, but then something over my shoulder draws his attention. His eyes narrow to slits that have my heart racing all over again.
I turn and follow his gaze, only to find him staring at the rope that ties to the chandelier so it can be lowered for cleaning. Or should I say what’s left of the rope, because even from here, I can see that it’s in two pieces.
“It broke,” I tell him, but there’s an uncertainty to my voice when I say the words. Because how often does one of those ropes actually break? “Sometimes ropes—”
Jaxon interrupts me with, “Your uncle’s here,” and a small shake of his head.
“So? I want to talk about this.” “Later.”
Before I can voice another objection, Uncle Finn closes in. “Grace, honey, I’m so sorry it took me this long to get to
you. I was out on the school grounds.” He pulls me into a hug and holds me tight.
Normally, I’d find it comforting—the way he feels and smells so much like my dad. But right now, all I can think about is the look in Jaxon’s eyes when he said someone was trying to kill me. His face was completely blank, completely
unreadable. But burning deep in his eyes, where most people don’t get close enough to look, was the most terrifying rage I’ve ever seen.
I don’t want to leave him alone with it, don’t want to let him stay trapped in his own head. But no matter how I pat Uncle Finn’s back and assure him I’m okay, my uncle doesn’t seem to be letting go any time soon.
“I can’t begin to tell you how horrified I am that this has happened to you,” he says when he finally pulls back. His blue eyes, so like Macy’s and my father’s, are sad and shadowed. “Once is unacceptable. Twice in two days…”
I guess I should count myself lucky he doesn’t know about me falling out of that tree a few days ago. Three near-death experiences in a week are a lot for anyone.
Then again, when I think of it like that, suddenly Jaxon doesn’t seem so paranoid. And maybe I don’t seem paranoid enough.
“Well, let’s get you out of here,” my uncle says. “We hadn’t planned on you going to class today anyway, but I would like to talk to you before you go back to your room.”
“Oh, sure.” I can’t imagine what there is to talk about—I mean, what is there to say except whew, close call—but if it will make him feel better, I’m all for it.
Except every instinct I have is screaming at me not to leave Jaxon, screaming that this isn’t the time to walk away from him, though I don’t know why. “But can I come by your office a little later? I have a couple of things I need to do first—”
“Jaxon’s already gone, Grace.” I whirl around to find that my uncle is right. Jaxon is gone. “And I want to talk to you
before you see him again anyway.”
I don’t know what that means, but I don’t like the sound of it. Any more than I like the fact that, once again, Jaxon took off without so much as a goodbye.
How does he do it? I wonder as I reluctantly follow my
uncle. How does he just disappear without my even hearing or sensing him moving? Is it a vampire thing? Or a Jaxon thing? I’m pretty sure it’s a Jaxon thing, but as I walk toward the dining hall doors, I realize every other member of the Order is gone, too. They all left, and I didn’t have a freaking clue.
Which only backs up what I was telling Jaxon before my uncle showed up. I’m just a harmless human—why on earth would anyone here think I’m dangerous enough to try to kill me?
I mean, Jaxon, sure. I’m surprised they aren’t lined up around the castle to take a shot at him—everything about the guy screams total, complete, absolute power. I’m pretty sure the only thing keeping him safe is that those same things also scream dangerous as fuck. I can’t imagine anyone here being foolish enough to challenge him—even Flint backed down right after the snowball fight.
Which is why dropping a chandelier on Jaxon makes sense. But dropping one on me? Come on. One bad spell, wolf attack, or even earthquake, and I’m a goner. Why go through the trouble of bringing an entire chandelier down on top of my head when a broken window nearly did me in all on its own?
Uncle Finn doesn’t say anything as we walk to his office and neither do I. I have to admit I am surprised, though,
when he turns down what has to be the least-ornate corridor in this entire place and then stops in front of the most boring-looking door. Doesn’t exactly jive with my idea of any headmaster’s office, let alone the headmaster of a school that’s taken on the responsibility of educating students from a wide range of paranormal backgrounds.
That impression is only reinforced when he opens his door and ushers me inside the most boring room in existence. Gray carpet, gray walls, gray chairs. The only spot of brightness in the room—if you can even call it that—is the heavy cherrywood desk loaded down with piles of papers, files, and an open laptop.
Basically, it looks like every other principal’s office I’ve ever seen—except the window coverings are sturdier and the gray carpet is a little more plush.
He catches me staring and grins. “Surprised?” “A little bit. I thought it would be more…” “More?” His brows go up.
“Just more. No offense, Uncle Finn, but this has to be the most utilitarian room I’ve ever seen. I guess I expected a witch to have more flair.”
“Good thing I’m not a witch, then, huh?”
“What?” My mind boggles. “I thought— Macy said— I don’t
—”
“Relax, Grace,” my uncle says with a laugh. “I was just trying to lighten the mood. Macy told me she spilled all the tea.”
“No offense, but it’s kind of hard to keep the tea in the pot when I have fang marks in my neck.”
“Touché.” He inclines his head, gestures to one of the
plain gray chairs in front of the desk as he walks around to the back of it. “Have a seat.
“I am sorry you had to find out that way,” he continues when we’re both seated. “It’s not what I wanted for you.”
He looks so miserable, I want to tell him it’s okay, except it really isn’t. “Why didn’t you tell me? Or my dad? Why didn’t he ever admit that he was a—” I break off, still having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that my dad was a real-life witch. Or at least he’d been born one.
“I believe the word you’re looking for is warlock,” my uncle tells me, filling in the word I’m having such a hard time saying—and believing—with a sympathetic smile. “And yes, your father was a warlock—and very powerful at one point.”
“Before he gave it up for my mother.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.” My uncle makes a face, kind of wobbles his head back and forth. “No warlock gives up his power willingly, but some, like your father, are willing to risk everything for the greater good.”
That’s not how Macy described it, which makes me wonder just what my cousin doesn’t know about my father. And what my uncle does. “What—what do you mean?” I ask as my heart skips a beat. “What did he do?’
For a second, my uncle looks far away, but his eyes clear at my question. “It’s a long story,” he tells me. “One for another day, considering you’ve got more than enough going on for this morning.”
“Pretty sure I have enough going on for a lot of mornings,” I answer. “For all the mornings, really.”
“Yeah, you do.” He sighs. “That’s actually what I want to
talk to you about. You’ve had quite a first week, young lady.” Talk about an understatement. I wait for him to say more, wait for the other shoe to drop even though it feels like a hundred have already fallen, but time passes and he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just kind of steeples his hands in front of his chin and stares at me across the desk. I don’t know if he’s doing it because he’s waiting for me to break or if he’s just trying to figure out the right way to say whatever he wants to say. I figure it must be the latter, because I haven’t done anything wrong. I have no secrets to spill, especially not compared to the man who runs a school for
monsters.
The prolonged silence does give me time to think, though. About all the wrong things. Including the fact that in the last week, what little control I’ve had over my life has disappeared completely.
I mean, seriously. Death by chandelier has to be one of the most random and bizarre deaths on the planet. The whole thing seems ridiculous, no matter what Jaxon says. But losing my parents the way I did—having them go from happy and alive to cold and dead in the space from one minute to the next—has taught me just how easy it is for life to be extinguished.
As simple as the blink of your eye, the snap of your fingers, making the wrong turn at the wrong time…
I squeeze my eyes shut as the images flood back, desperate to stem them before they fill my head. Before they overwhelm me and bury me in the grief I’m only just learning how to crawl out of.
The pain must show on my face, because suddenly my
uncle is breaking the silence to ask, “Are you sure you’re okay, Grace? That chandelier was huge—and terrifying.”
It was huge and terrifying, and I’m not sure how my life has gone so completely out of control. Five weeks ago, Heather and I were shopping for homecoming dresses and complaining about AP English. Now I’m an orphan living with half an encyclopedia of supernatural creatures and dodging death on the regular. At this rate, my only hope is that the universe doesn’t hold a Final Destination–type grudge.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, because physically I am. There’s not even a scratch on me—or at least, not a new one. “Just a little shaken up.”
“Give me a break, kid. I’m traumatized, and I wasn’t even
there. I can’t believe you’re only a little shaken up.” He reaches for the hand I have resting on the desk and pats it a little awkwardly. I know he’s trying to be comforting, but his eyes are filled with worry as they search my face.
I do my best to make sure there’s nothing for him to find there, and I must succeed because, eventually, he shakes his head and leans back in his chair. “You’re just like your mother, you know that? She always faced whatever life handed her head-on, too. No tears, no hysterics, just cool, calm resolve.”
His casual mention of my mom now—when I’m missing her so much—destroys me, has me squeezing my hands into fists and digging my nails into my palms in an effort to keep it together.
It helps that Uncle Finn doesn’t stay there, dwelling on my mom’s incredible ability to take everything in stride— something I haven’t inherited, no matter what my uncle
thinks. Instead, he pulls something up on the computer and prints it out.
“You really sure you’re okay? You don’t want Marise to check you out?” he asks for what feels like the millionth time.
No freaking way. I know Macy said she bit me so that she could mend my artery, but that doesn’t mean I’m anxious to let her near my throat again—or any other part of my anatomy, for that matter. “I swear I’m fine. It’s Jaxon you should be concerned about. He shielded me from the glass.” “I’ve already requested that Marise check him out,” he tells me. “And I’ll call him in later to thank him for saving my
favorite niece from harm.”
“Only niece,” I remind him, falling into the game we’ve played my entire life. It’s a tiny bit of normalcy in this day that is anything but normal, and I grab on to it with both hands.
“Only and favorite,” he tells me. “One doesn’t discount the
other.”
“Okay, favorite uncle. I guess it doesn’t.”
“Exactly!” His slightly strained smile turns into a delighted grin. But it doesn’t last long as silence once again descends between us.
This time I can’t stop myself from fidgeting—not because I’m nervous but because I want to get out of here and get to Jaxon. He looked like he was on edge earlier, and I just want to make sure nothing bad happens—to him or anyone else.
But Uncle Finn obviously takes my fidgeting for something else entirely, because he rubs a hand over his hair with a heavy sigh. Then says, “So now that the cat is out of the
bag…”
“Don’t you mean the werewolf?” I ask with a raised brow. “Or do you have cat shifters up here, too?”
He laughs. “Nope, just the wolves and dragons for now.” “Just.” My tone is ripe with irony.
“You must have a lot of questions.”
A lot? Nah. Just two or three million. Starting with the question I asked earlier that he chose not to answer. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could have told me when you asked me to move to Alaska, when you came for the funerals.”
“I figured you were pretty overwhelmed then, and the last thing you needed was for me to try to convince you that vampires and witches are real.”
It’s a fair point. But still… “And after I got here?”
He blows out a long breath. “I figured I would ease you in slowly. That first night, I had planned to let you know that things were different here than you might expect, but you had the most miserable altitude sickness. Then everything else happened, and it just seemed easier to leave you in the dark for a while. Especially when Dr. Wainwright told me that after talking to Dr. Blake, she thought we should let you get used to Alaska, and the huge change in your life, before you had to face the fact that everything you’d ever heard about the supernatural world was actually real.”
“Everything?” It’s my turn to lift my brows.
“Maybe not everything. But a lot of it, certainly.”
What he says makes sense, I guess, but I’m still skeptical
—especially since I haven’t even had a chance to meet Dr. Wainwright yet. But how could anyone actually think they could hide the fact that this school is filled with things that
go bump in the night?
I mean, when I think of Flint jumping out of a tree to save me or Macy doing a glamour right in front of me or the shifters walking around in nothing but a pair of jeans or Jaxon…doing whatever Jaxon does, it seems impossible to imagine I wouldn’t catch on. Sure, I was thinking aliens instead of vampires, but I still knew something was very, very wrong.
My skepticism must show on my face, because my uncle kind of grimaces. “Yeah. In hindsight, it was a bad plan all around. It’s not exactly easy to hide the fact that vampires and dragons are real when we’re in the middle of a giant turf war.”
“Turf war?” I ask, because Macy has already alluded to the same thing. I thought she was talking about high school clique BS, but now that I know we’re talking about different supernatural species…her warning makes a lot more sense.
And seems a lot scarier.
He shakes his head. “That’s for another day. I’m pretty sure you’ve had as much as you can handle today—I know I have. Which leads me to the reason I’ve really called you in here.”
It’s pretty much the most awkward change of subject ever, and I almost call him on it because I know there is more to the story than he’s telling me. A lot more. I’m also sure there are a lot more stories that I don’t have a clue about, let alone the information that fleshes them out. But I don’t think arguing with him is the way to get him to talk.
So instead of demanding answers to all my many, many questions, I bite my tongue and wait to hear what Uncle Finn
has to say.
“I was thinking, a lot of really horrible stuff has happened to you since you got here.”
“Not much has actually happened to me,” I remind him. “Jaxon has saved me a bunch of times.”
“I know Jaxon has been there for you, but we can’t always count on him to be around. As you’ve seen the last few days, things happen here that don’t at other schools. The earthquake was a freak accident, and I’m sure the chandelier incident was too. But it got me thinking: what if someone loses control of their powers when Jaxon, Flint, or Macy aren’t around to get you out of the way? What if you get seriously hurt? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”
“Do you think that’s what happened? Someone lost control of their powers?”
“We’re not sure yet, but that’s the assumption we’re working with right now. Maybe a witch was experimenting with her abilities and—bam. While we haven’t had a chandelier fall before, we have had crystals fly across the room, among other things.”
That’s actually the best news I’ve heard all day. It means Jaxon was probably overreacting. No one’s trying to kill me—just someone had a mishap with their powers, and I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s a lot less frightening than thinking someone is out to get me.
“Anyway,” my uncle says, returning to steepling his fingers. “That’s why I want to send you back to San Diego.”
