of here.”
Will put on the black beret as we exited the building. I clutched my scissors. If I found out I was being hunted by some crazy Black Ops artists' colony or a technologically advanced prostitution ring that needed art students with mental problems, I was going to go down fighting.
Will looked down at his tablet as we reached the now heavily populated sidewalk. “The rumors are so right. This Layer is rich with illegal goods.”
“Layer?”
He gave me an odd glance. “Yeah. You know, five layers of the world?” He scrolled his tablet. “It says Docile Dust is only supposed to subdue and inhibit, not cause memory loss.”
“You are magical.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, as if I was the slow one.
“How do you bring people back from the dead?”
He blinked. “You do an organ enchantment.”
Painful relief slipped through me. “You know how.”
He shrugged. “The basics. Resurrection experts are a dime a dozen, though, so I’ve never studied it.” His eyebrows creased. “Wait, how old are you?”
“Seventeen. Take me to one. I'll pay you.” I'd do anything. Whatever had just happened in the art classroom would be completely worth it, if I got Christian back.
“You're feral ,” he said as if just realizing a secret of vast import.
I yanked the scissors into a threatening position. That word had been tossed around the night Christian had died too.
Will held up his free hand. “Whoa. My family supports feral rights.” His eyes went wide, and I followed his gaze to the students giving me a wide berth. They were staring at me and pulling out cell phones. No one was looking at Will.
“Put those down,” Will hissed. “You aren't even close to being cloaked.”
I shoved the scissors into my bag mechanically and swallowed as I took in the expressions on the horrified and disgusted faces around me. So this, then, was what rock bottom felt like.
I turned abruptly and started walking. Maybe I could outrun the pain.
“What is he doing here?” Behind me, Will's voice was so full of astonishment, that I turned to see what had caused it.
A man dressed in pinstripes and glasses was running toward the doors of the school. He carried a clear aura of authority, even while sprinting, but no one looked at him as he passed. He reminded me of Mr. Verisetti in an indefinable way.
I balanced on the balls of my feet, ready to run. “Is that your Dad?”
Will held secrets that I wanted, but he was also a part of Mr. Verisetti's world—the world that had killed Christian.
Will looked down at his suit. “No. Pinstripes are all the rage right now,” he muttered, blushing.
On the street, a black SUV shot past us, did a quick U-turn and screeched to the curb. Will immediately pushed me out of the center of the gawking crowd and into a crush of kids waiting for a bus. Everyone was looking at me, and no one was noticing the very obvious black ops vehicle or the boy with the beret at my side. Three men rapidly exited the SUV.
Another man exited more slowly, menace trailing him. All of the men wore black, with black sunglasses and soulless expressions on their faces.
Frozen. I was frozen. Frozen physically and emotionally.
“We have to go.” Will pushed me into the crowd. “Now.”
“Hey, watch it!” a boy said, as I tripped over him, my body completely unresponsive.
The thin man who had exited last yelled to the others, who were striding up the walk toward the school. “Find Verisetti. Put traces on everything.”
Will pulled me behind a low wall of bushes that dotted the edges of the school grounds. I tripped over him, already off-balance, and my bag dumped to the ground.
I mechanically started scooping things back inside. “Who are they?” I asked woodenly. They weren't quite the same as the men who had killed Christian. Those men had seemed far more wild and far less organized, but the feeling of personal danger was the same.
Will tucked my art notebook into my bag, then grabbed the
Will put on the black beret as we exited the building. I clutched my scissors. If I found out I was being hunted by some crazy Black Ops artists' colony or a technologically advanced prostitution ring that needed art students with mental problems, I was going to go down fighting.
Will looked down at his tablet as we reached the now heavily populated sidewalk. “The rumors are so right. This Layer is rich with illegal goods.”
“Layer?”
He gave me an odd glance. “Yeah. You know, five layers of the world?” He scrolled his tablet. “It says Docile Dust is only supposed to subdue and inhibit, not cause memory loss.”
“You are magical.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, as if I was the slow one.
“How do you bring people back from the dead?”
He blinked. “You do an organ enchantment.”
Painful relief slipped through me. “You know how.”
He shrugged. “The basics. Resurrection experts are a dime a dozen, though, so I’ve never studied it.” His eyebrows creased. “Wait, how old are you?”
“Seventeen. Take me to one. I'll pay you.” I'd do anything. Whatever had just happened in the art classroom would be completely worth it, if I got Christian back.
“You're feral ,” he said as if just realizing a secret of vast import.
I yanked the scissors into a threatening position. That word had been tossed around the night Christian had died too.
Will held up his free hand. “Whoa. My family supports feral rights.” His eyes went wide, and I followed his gaze to the students giving me a wide berth. They were staring at me and pulling out cell phones. No one was looking at Will.
“Put those down,” Will hissed. “You aren't even close to being cloaked.”
I shoved the scissors into my bag mechanically and swallowed as I took in the expressions on the horrified and disgusted faces around me. So this, then, was what rock bottom felt like.
I turned abruptly and started walking. Maybe I could outrun the pain.
“What is he doing here?” Behind me, Will's voice was so full of astonishment, that I turned to see what had caused it.
A man dressed in pinstripes and glasses was running toward the doors of the school. He carried a clear aura of authority, even while sprinting, but no one looked at him as he passed. He reminded me of Mr. Verisetti in an indefinable way.
I balanced on the balls of my feet, ready to run. “Is that your Dad?”
Will held secrets that I wanted, but he was also a part of Mr. Verisetti's world—the world that had killed Christian.
Will looked down at his suit. “No. Pinstripes are all the rage right now,” he muttered, blushing.
On the street, a black SUV shot past us, did a quick U-turn and screeched to the curb. Will immediately pushed me out of the center of the gawking crowd and into a crush of kids waiting for a bus. Everyone was looking at me, and no one was noticing the very obvious black ops vehicle or the boy with the beret at my side. Three men rapidly exited the SUV.
Another man exited more slowly, menace trailing him. All of the men wore black, with black sunglasses and soulless expressions on their faces.
Frozen. I was frozen. Frozen physically and emotionally.
“We have to go.” Will pushed me into the crowd. “Now.”
“Hey, watch it!” a boy said, as I tripped over him, my body completely unresponsive.
The thin man who had exited last yelled to the others, who were striding up the walk toward the school. “Find Verisetti. Put traces on everything.”
Will pulled me behind a low wall of bushes that dotted the edges of the school grounds. I tripped over him, already off-balance, and my bag dumped to the ground.
I mechanically started scooping things back inside. “Who are they?” I asked woodenly. They weren't quite the same as the men who had killed Christian. Those men had seemed far more wild and far less organized, but the feeling of personal danger was the same.
Will tucked my art notebook into my bag, then grabbed the
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