Bound

Book 3: Torn

by Erica O'Rourke

Genres: YA Fantasy; YA Paranormal

Synopsis

I beat you. Twice. No magic, and I still beat you. And that was when I didn't know what I was doing. I smiled, cold as the winter sky outside. "Imagine what I'm capable of now." Mo Fitzgerald has made her choice: A life in Chicago. A future with Colin. To leave behind the enigmatic Luc and the world of the Arcs. But every decision she's made, from avenging her best friend's death to protecting the people she loves, has come at a terrible price. As her father returns from prison and the Seraphim regroup, war breaks out in both her worlds. And Mo isn't the only one with secrets to hide and choices to make. The more she struggles to keep her magic and mortal lives separate, the deadlier the consequences. In the end, Mo must risk everything – her life, her heart, her future--or lose it all. Praise for Erica O'Rourke's Torn O'Rourke's heroine is refreshing: determined, spunky, and unpredictable." – Library Journal "Fast-paced action, a mysterious underworld and a dark, exciting quest for vengeance. O'Rourke had me hanging on every word." – RT Book Reviews "A beautifully written dramatic story of loss, destiny, sacrifice, and love." –SciFiChick.com

Release date: June 26, 2012

Publisher: Kensington

Print pages: 368

Sample

The problem with terrible ideas is that the people who have them don’t recognize how truly awful they are until it’s too late. After all, nobody deliberately chooses the worst possible course of action. They have great plans and good intentions. They’re caught up in the thrill of the moment, seeing the world as they wish it to be, blind to any hint of trouble. You can warn someone that they’re running headlong into disaster, beg them to stop, plant yourself in their path. But in the end, people have to make their own choice.

Even if it’s a terrible one.

My father’s coming home party was a perfect example of good intentions gone awry.

“This is ridiculous,” I said to Colin. “Who throws a huge party for someone fresh out of prison?”

My mom, that’s who. I’d tried to talk her out of it—I felt less than celebratory at the prospect of my dad’s return—but she’d insisted. Then I’d argued that a small family gathering at the house might be more appropriate. But for once, my mother wasn’t concerned with propriety.

So I was stuck at my uncle’s bar with everyone we’d ever known, waiting for my dad to walk in the door for the first time in twelve years.

Around me, the crowd was growing impatient, their small talk taking on an irritable note. I should have been setting out bowls of peanuts and pretzels, but instead I slumped against the back wall and watched a game of darts. “You know she’s hoping for one of those big reunion scenes. Like we’re all going to hug and cry and be a happy family again.”

Colin’s hand found mine and squeezed, but his eyes swept across the sea of people, searching even in the dim light of the bar. “Just hang in there a little bit longer.”

“I don’t know why I even agreed to come,” I said.

“Because it’s important to your mother,” my uncle said, appearing beside us. Irritation flickered across his face at the sight of my fingers linked with Colin’s. “Be grateful I told her you had to work, or you’d have been off to Indiana along with her. They’ll be arriving any moment, so start practicing your smile.”

I bared my teeth. “How’s this?”

“I’ll not have you spoil her day, Mo. She’s waited a long time for this.”

“Longer than she needed to, right?”

Billy’s eyes narrowed, and beside me, Colin made a low noise of warning. “Don’t bait the bear,” he was telling me, and any other day I would have listened. But tonight, my nerves were stretched to breaking.

Ignoring the ripple of tension along Colin’s arm, I lifted my chin and stared at my uncle. A moment passed, and finally Billy made a show of looking around the room. “Make sure everyone has something to toast with, and then you’re free for the night. I’ll need you back on Monday.”

With that, he was off to mingle. I leaned my head against Colin’s shoulder and he murmured, “The sooner we get The Slice up and running, the better. I don’t like you working for Billy.”

I wasn’t a fan of the arrangement, either, but I had no choice. As long as I worked for my uncle, Colin was safe. He didn’t know about the deal we’d struck, and he definitely wasn’t aware my job was more than wiping down tables and carting empties to the recycling bins out back. He assumed, like almost everyone else in my life, that I was working at the bar until my mom’s restaurant was rebuilt, at which point life would go back to normal.

I had learned the hard way that normal was not an option anymore.

I went up on tiptoe, brushed a kiss over his lips. His hand tightened on my waist for an instant before he edged away.

“What? Everyone knows we’re together.” I sank back down, trying not to feel hurt.

“I’m not crazy about having an audience.”

I glanced around. There were a few people eyeing us—not many, but enough to make Colin uncomfortable. “Fine. But we’re not staying here all night.”

He grinned and ducked his head, his breath warm against my ear. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

I made the rounds of the bar, my back aching from carrying a full tray back and forth. The whole time, I could feel Colin watching me, an anchor in a stormy sea, and I clung to the sensation. But gradually, I became aware of another one, a prickling awareness that made me rub my arms to ward off a chill, despite the overheated room.

Around me, voices faded to a murmur. I spun, looking for Colin, but the crowd hid him from view. The magic stirred—anticipation and stress and dread waking up the force inside me. Something was happening.

Luc? He had a knack for showing up at the worst possible moment, and I couldn’t imagine a worse one than tonight. The connection between us had lain dormant for nearly three months, a welcome break while I got acclimated to my new life and the constant presence of the magic inside me. I’d always known he would come back. I’d just hoped to have things under control before he turned my world inside out again.

My hands clutched the empty tray to my chest like a shield. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling along the lines for the vibrating tension that would indicate an Arc was here. But the lines were quiet, their power held in abeyance. There was no sign of Luc or anyone else in the room working a spell— even a concealment. I opened my eyes and searched for a familiar green gaze and sharp cheekbones, but they weren’t there. Better that way, I told myself.

People stood three deep in front of the oak counter running along the side of the room. Behind them I could see the backs of the regulars hunched over their drinks, and Charlie, my favorite bartender. He was pulling beers and gauging who’d hit their limit, working his way down the line in a steady rhythm. He seemed to pop in and out of view as the people milled in front of him.

It was a familiar sight, but something seemed off-kilter. Like a puzzle in a kid’s magazine, where you compared two pictures of the same scene and circled the differences. What was the difference? The bar. Charlie. The customers. The party. What was out of place?

A gap opened in the crowd, giving me a clear view of the bar for only an instant. But it was enough.

The regulars all faced Charlie or the front door. From my spot at the rear of the bar, only the backs of their heads were visible. Except for one guy, facing the opposite direction.

Facing me.

For a split second, I could see him as clearly as if I’d taken his picture—eyebrows raised mockingly, mouth twisted in a caustic smile—and then the shutter closed as the crowd filled the gap again.

Not Luc.

Suddenly, I wished it was.

Anton Renard. Leader of the Seraphim. A renegade Arc who wanted me dead.

The feeling was mutual.

I forced myself to walk toward him, but when I reached the barstool, he was gone, and the lines were silent as the grave.

“Problem?” Colin asked from behind me. He rested his hands on my shoulders, the weight reassuring.

I drew in a shaking breath, turning to him. “I thought I saw Anton. Here.”

His expression hardened. “You’re sure?”

“No.” If it was Anton, I would have felt the spell he’d used to hide himself as it resonated along the lines. Either I was mistaken, or he’d managed to blend convincingly into a Flat bar on the South Side of Chicago. But the Anton I knew was too arrogant for blending.

Something had triggered the magic’s fretfulness, but maybe it was my own unhappiness. Three months ago, I’d willingly given myself over to the magic—taken it inside of me, bound myself to the source of the Arcs’ power—and discovered that it wasn’t just a supernatural energy source, but a sentient being. Alive. Since then, our connection had strengthened. We couldn’t carry on a conversation, but I was getting better at interpreting its moods, and it responded to mine: a pleasant hum beneath my skin when I was content, a tremor every time I crossed the threshold of Morgan’s. I didn’t know which one of us was responsible for the disturbance I felt now.

From the front of Morgan’s, someone called, “They’re here! Where’s Mo?”

Colin took my hand, tugging me toward the narrow front doors as they opened. The crowd drew a collective breath as my mom stepped inside, cheeks flushed with cold and excitement. And I forgot all about half-seen faces, because immediately behind her, blinking at the noise of the crowd’s shouts of “surprise” and “welcome home,” was my father.

I hadn’t seen him in five years.

From behind a wall of people, I studied him carefully. He was still my dad, sharp greenish-brown eyes framed with heavy black glasses. His dark red hair, curling at the collar, needed a trim, and his narrow face managed to look surprised, even though the expression was a beat too slow to be genuine. But there were lines at the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and his hair was streaked with gray. His posture was a little more stooped, as if he were trying to withdraw into himself. He looped one arm around my mother, drawing her close as people lined up to greet him.

Billy spotted me trying to fade into the crowd and grasped my elbow. “Don’t you dare ruin this,” he muttered, and towed me into the circle surrounding my parents. His voice suddenly brimmed with good cheer. “Jack! Welcome home! Look what I’ve brought you—a sight for sore eyes, don’t you think?”

He stepped back, releasing me. The expectation of the crowd, waiting for our tearful reunion, weighed on me like the air before a storm.

After a moment, my father let go of my mom and took a tentative step toward me, spreading his arms wide. “There’s my girl,” he said, his voice cracking in the suddenly quiet room. “There’s my Mo.”

I wanted to turn away, punish him for all the pain he’d caused us. I wasn’t going to let him back in, and there was no reason to pretend otherwise.

Until I saw my mom blinking back tears, a wobbly smile on her lips. All her hopes for our family crystallized in a single moment, and my reaction would either let them grow or shatter them on the worn oak floorboards. I licked my lips and swallowed the dust clogging my throat.

“Hi, Dad.” I wound the apron string around my fingers until it cut off the circulation, untwisted it again. “It’s ... good to have you home.”

He was across the room in three strides, wrapping me in the same bear hug he used to give me when I was five, and for a second I let myself believe Mom was right. Tonight could be a fresh start, a chance for us to be a family again. His return might not be such a terrible thing after all.

And then, still squeezing me tightly, my father whispered one word to me. “Liar.”

An hour later, there was still a knot of well-wishers surrounding my father, but my own goodwill was used up. I sat down at the bar, accepted a Diet Coke from Charlie, and poked at the maraschino cherries he’d garnished it with. Colin leaned against the railing, scrutinizing every face despite his casual stance.

“See anyone?” I asked.

“Nobody that shouldn’t be here,” he said, and laced his fingers with mine. “You look beat.”

“I thought he’d be nicer,” I said without thinking.

Colin’s mouth twitched. “He probably thought the same thing about you. The guy’s been in prison for twelve years, Mo. Nice doesn’t last long there.”

“He went to prison for Billy. Added an extra seven years to his sentence to keep us safe. That’s nice, right?”

“Not nice. Desperate. He’d do whatever was necessary to protect his family.” He finished the beer he’d nursed all night, set it back on the bar with a crack. “Don’t confuse nice with good.”

“You think he’s a good guy?” Colin saw my family a lot more clearly than I did. If he thought my dad deserved another chance, maybe I could bend a little.

“I think he’s on his way over.”

The crowd had thinned out, but my dad took his time crossing the room, his attention riveted on us. Colin started to draw away, but I held fast.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me, Mo?” my father asked. Without waiting for my response, he said, “You’re Colin Donnelly.”

“It’s good to meet you, sir.”

“Annie’s told me a lot about you. Says you’ve done a good job keeping my daughter out of trouble.”

I bristled at the words, but Colin’s voice was cool. “I try my best. You know Mo.”

My father’s jaw clenched as he caught the implication—he didn’t know me at all. “The good news is, now that I’m home, things will settle down. I don’t think we’ll need your help for much longer. Annie says you’re a carpenter?”

He was getting rid of Colin? “But ...” I started to protest, but Colin’s hand brushed mine, reassuring.

“With all due respect, sir, I work for Billy.” Now the words held an edge.

My dad looked disappointed. “I figured you’d say that.”

My mom joined us, worry creasing her brow, and my dad settled an arm around her waist. She brightened instantly. “It’s a nice party, don’t you think? Everyone’s so happy to see you.”

He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “You did great. Never saw it coming.”

Looked like I wasn’t the only liar in the family. I coughed, and he frowned at me. “Don’t spoil her fun,” his look telegraphed. “Can I bail, please?” I asked. “I’m wiped out.”

“Honey, it’s your dad’s party!”

“Yeah, with your friends. Not mine.” Like I would have invited any of my friends to this. “Look, I helped set up, and I did the big welcome. Why do I have to stay?”

“Oh, Annie, let her go.” Billy approached us, a tumbler of whiskey in hand, doing his best impression of the doting uncle. “What fun is she going to have with a bunch of old people? Besides, we’ve things to discuss.”

Her mouth thinned, and she glanced at my father, who shrugged. “It’s fine. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up.”

“I suppose.” She gave me a quick hug. “We’ll be home in a bit.”

While Colin went to warm up the truck, I popped into the back room and clocked out. The sudden quiet was a relief, and I took a minute to steady myself. I’d survived. While I was still reeling from my dad’s greeting, the other guests had swarmed in to welcome him, and I’d slipped off to the side. Other than the brief exchange between my dad and Colin, I’d managed to steer clear of my family for the night. It could have been worse.

It could have been much worse. It could have been Anton on that barstool instead of a random stranger.

I’d worked so hard to keep my real life separate from my magical one. If Anton had shown up, it would have meant only one thing: He and the Seraphim, his genocidal cult, were back. Anton and his followers wanted to release the magic from the ley lines that carried it safely through the world. But doing so would be lethal to weaker Arcs and any Flats—ordinary people—who came in contact with untempered magic. They called it The Ascendency, when members of the Seraphim would destroy the Arcs’ society and rise to their rightful place. They’d been the ones to order Verity’s death last summer, and they’d been after me ever since. We’d defeated them a few months ago, but I knew they would regroup. I just didn’t know when.

But Anton never passed up an opportunity to attack me. I’d had no word from the Arcs that I was in danger. The ley lines around Morgan’s had been quiet all night. For now, at least, I was safe.

I bent over, trying to untie my apron.

The string was so badly knotted, I was going to have to cut it off or try to wriggle out. Behind me, the door opened and the noise from the party swelled, grating on my nerves.

“The stupid string won’t come undone,” I told Colin. “Can you help me get this off?” I turned, tugging at the white canvas hem.

It wasn’t Colin.

“Nothing I’d like better,” said Luc, stepping inside and shutting the door with a wave.

I gaped at him. He looked ordinary—or at least, as ordinary as it was possible for Luc to appear. Dark jeans, dark green shirt, black leather coat, cut close to display his lean swimmer’s build. It wasn’t his clothing that set him apart. It was the eyes, the smirk, the way he walked into a room and instantly, effortlessly took command, like it was his due.

Which he probably figured it was.

“What are you—” I sighed as the pieces fell into place. “Some people actually say hello, you know. They don’t lurk in corners.”

He looked offended. “Neither do I.”

“You’ve been watching me all night. It’s a little creepy.”

“Just walked in the front door.” He crossed the room, took my hands in his ice-cold ones. Up close, I could see water beading on the surface of his coat. “City’s a hell of a lot less charming in the winter, by the way.”

I pulled away, crossed my arms over my chest. “I felt you. Earlier tonight. The magic knew you were here.”

“Magic doesn’t know anything.” He blew on his hands, enveloping them in a red-tinged glow. Show-off. As my words sank in, his brow furrowed. “Wasn’t me. What happened?”

I hadn’t seen Luc for months—since our last run-in with the Seraphim; since I had once again fixed the Arcs’ magic; since he’d left me for dead, then risked his own life to save me. All winter, he’d left me in peace, our only contact the small gifts he left in my locker or my coat pocket. Messages without words. A clutch of sweet olive blossoms, a single praline in a white cardboard box, a tiny silver fleur de lis, a glass vial of brick red dust. Each time, my heart stuttered, simultaneously pleased and nervous. I’d try to put him out of my mind, tuck the reminders of him away in a dresser drawer, but every so often he would slip back into my thoughts, and I’d study the odd little collection. And then I’d put them back, annoyed with myself all over again.

Luc had made no secret of the fact he was going to pursue me, but so far he’d given me space and freedom. The two things I could never get in Chicago. Telling him about what I’d seen—or thought I’d seen—would change everything between us. Again.

I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

I wasn’t sure I was strong enough.

Waving a hand like it was nothing, I said, “I thought I felt something, and I assumed it was you.”

“Someone worked a spell? Here?”

“I don’t think so.” I chose my words carefully, not wanting to give too much away. There was power in a secret. I might not want it, but I wasn’t going to hand it over unthinkingly, either. “I can feel it in the lines when someone does magic. I can see it, if I try hard enough. Like now, when you warmed up your hands. There’s a ley line on the west side of the building. I sensed it responding when you drew on it to cast the spell. But this was different. It was inside me, like it came from the source of the magic, not the lines.” I tugged at my apron again, regretting I’d ever brought it up. “It was nothing, Luc. Probably just stress.”

“You’re positive?” He searched my expression, and at the same time I felt the connection between us strengthen, as if he were trying to get a magical read on me.

The familiar contact jolted me, a reminder of how we’d once been, and I responded without thinking. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure about anything.”

“That so?” His eyes glinted.

I couldn’t change the subject fast enough. “Why are you here, anyway? Did the Quartoren send you?”

God, that was the last thing I needed tonight. A summons from the Quartoren, leaders of the Arcs. Unlike the Seraphim, they didn’t want me dead—but they weren’t my biggest fans, either.

“This is all me,” he said with a shrug. “Big night, with your daddy coming home. Figured I’d check in, see if you needed a hand. Or a fast getaway.”

“You’re sweet.” I’d forgotten how kind he could be, small acts that revealed more about him than he liked to admit.

“That’s the last thing I am.” There were circles under his eyes, worry lines etched into his forehead, and he turned away, tracing a rectangle in the air. A door of flame, open to nothingness, took shape. “If the magic acts up again, call for me. You remember how?”

“Like I could forget?” Reflexively, I touched my wrist, felt the connection that bound me to Luc, a magical reminder that my life and his would always be intertwined. “There’s more, isn’t there? This wasn’t just a social visit.”

“There’s always more. But tonight was about me missing you. Even if the feeling ain’t mutual.”

As he stepped closer, our connection began to hum. I held perfectly still as he brushed a finger over the snarled mass of apron strings at my waist. The air quivered as the spell curled around the knot, and he caught the apron midfall.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the fabric from him and crumpling it in my hands.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he murmured, and vanished through the door.

Outside, the air was clear and biting, the sky tinted with the orange glow of the city lights. I buried my nose in my scarf and ran for the truck.

“Everything okay?” Colin asked as I climbed in. “You look rattled.”

I took a deep breath, bracing myself. For an instant, I considered not telling him, but dismissed the idea. Bad enough there was already one huge secret between us. Two seemed like a habit.

“Luc stopped by,” I said, and watched for his reaction.

There. A quick curling of his fingers, a muscle tightening in his jaw. When he spoke, though, his voice was unchanged. “Problem?”

“He knew about the party. I think he was offering moral support.”

Colin made a skeptical noise. “What did he say about Anton?”

“I didn’t mention it. Once I tell him, he’s got an excuse to come back whenever he wants.” I curled up against him, relaxing for the first time that night. His canvas coat was rough against my cheek. “We survived the party. That’s something.”

“You’re going to have to talk to your dad eventually,” Colin said. “You’ve got six months before you leave for New York. That’s a long time to avoid someone who lives in the same house.”

“He’s up to something,” I said, trying to shift his attention from my college plans. “Did you hear Billy? They have to talk business? The man’s been out of prison for less than a day, and he’s already back working for the Mob.”

“Maybe it’s about reopening The Slice,” he said. I wanted to believe him, but he didn’t sound like he believed it himself.

The yellow beams of the headlights illuminated the half-finished shell of my mom’s restaurant. The framing was in place, plywood covering where the windows would be installed soon. A tattered sheet of weatherproofing twisted like a wraith in the night air.

“How much longer till it’s open again?”

“Depends on the weather. Couple months, we hope.”

“It means a lot to my mom that you’re helping with the rebuilding. She’s kind of crazy about you.”

“Yeah?” His eyes crinkled with amusement.

“It might be the only thing we agree on.”

He dipped his head, his mouth finding mine. I curled my fingers around his shoulders, pulling him closer, crowding out thoughts of my family and unexpected faces.

Eventually he eased back, voice husky. “Time to get you home.”

As we drove, he said, “Do you think it was Anton?”

“I barely saw him. But if he was there, he wasn’t using magic, and that’s not really his style.”

Inside me, the magic had settled into a soothing, pleasant hum. Whatever had riled it earlier was gone. The magic wasn’t centered in me, but I was perfectly attuned to it—every cell in my body picked up on its movements and inclinations, the way it flowed to and from the lines. Sometimes it focused its attention elsewhere, and sometimes it zeroed in on me, reacting to my experiences like they were its own, like a willful shadow. Gradually, I was refining my understanding of its feelings, like a child learning the nuances of emotions. Not just happiness, but delight or quiet pleasure. Not just sadness, but grief or annoyance.

The one thing I didn’t need to be told was that the true nature of the magic was a secret.

If the Quartoren were to find out—or worse, the Seraphim—it would be a disaster. They’d try to take control, to grab as much power for themselves as they could. They’d be completely indifferent to the fact that the magic was a living being, only see it as a tool to be bent to their will. Even Luc was dangerous. As the Heir, his obligation was to his House. The magic and I weren’t even a close second. The only person I’d trusted enough to tell was Colin, whose only concern was whether the bond was dangerous to me.

I couldn’t keep the truth about the magic hidden forever. Someone—Luc, or one of the Quartoren’s scholar-scientists—would figure it out. But for now, it wasn’t my secret to tell, and it was safer to stay quiet. I’d learned too well the dangers of acting on impulse.

“Do you want to come in?” I asked when we’d pulled up in front of my family’s orange brick bungalow. “They won’t be home for a while longer.”

He pointed to the car across the street. One of my uncle’s men, there for protection. Ironic, since Billy was the greatest threat facing me right now. “I don’t like an audience.”

“I don’t care what they think. Or what my family says.”

“We have six months before you leave, Mo. Do you really want to have a knock-down, drag-out with your family over this?”

“Absolutely.” We had a lot longer than he realized, because I wasn’t going to New York. I just hadn’t found a way to tell him yet. “We never talk about it. My leaving.”

“What’s to talk about? You’re going to New York. I’m staying here.” He touched my cheek. “Six months. Don’t wish them away, Mo.”

I didn’t believe in wishes, but I didn’t need to. I’d fix this myself.

You knew things were bad when school looked like a welcome alternative to home. But by Monday morning, I’d fended off as many of my mom’s attempts at family togetherness as I possibly could. I’d walked in on my parents kissing so many times, my retinas would be scarred for life. When they weren’t making out, they were talking about my dad’s job—or rather, his lack of one. Nobody was interested in hiring an accountant who’d done time for embezzlement. Nobody except my uncle.

It was a relief to walk into St. Brigid’s, despite knowing I was the center of attention. My dad’s return had put the spotlight on my family once again, but I had plenty of practice ignoring the whispers and smirks. The trickiest part of the day to navigate, as always, was lunch. The social scene in the cafeteria was an ever-shifting landscape. It was smarter to map out the terrain before committing to one location. There were land mines and bogs and deserts of pariahs. I wasn’t looking to be an island, but I didn’t have much interest in the heavily trafficked areas, either. Safer to sit somewhere with a view of the action and an easy escape route.

I’d lost my taste for running away, but it never hurt to have options. And it was always better to know what was coming. Forewarned is forearmed, as my uncle always said.

So when I saw Jill McAllister making her way toward my table, her cronies snickering and gawking, I pushed away my limp Caesar salad and prepared for a showdown. The back of my neck buzzed slightly. Jill always put me on guard, and by now the magic was clued in, too. I ignored the now-familiar sensation and concentrated on the problem at hand. Jill, beautiful and pouty and spoiled rotten. She was wearing the same St. Brigid’s uniform as the rest of us—navy plaid skirt, white blouse, blue V-neck with the school crest embroidered on it—but the studs in her ears were real diamonds, not cubic zirconium, and her shoes probably cost more than I made in a month’s worth of tips.

At first, she didn’t sit down. She loomed over me—the expensive heels were also impossibly high—until I looked up, casually rubbing my nape.

“Did you want something, Jill?”

“You’re sitting by yourself.” She dropped into the chair next to mine with an uncharacteristic thump. I fought the urge to scoot away.

“I was.” And enjoying it.

“We never talk, Mo.” She leaned an elbow on the table, propped her chin in her hands. “Why is that?”

Because you’re a bitch. “What would we talk about?”

“You know,” she said, glassy eyed. She shoved playfully at my arm. “Stuff. School. Boys. Like that cute guy.”

“Colin?” I asked absently. The buzzing sensation spread across my scalp. Jill didn’t usually provoke this kind of reaction. I scanned the room, looking for the source as she droned on.

There. Traces of magic, like glittering sunlight, swirled around Constance Grey, my best friend’s little sister, at a table with a bunch of fresh. . .