I rolled my eyes. “How are you going to cover her? You can’t even see her when she’s . . . you know. Astral.”
“I can sense her,” he insisted.
“Really?”
“Yeah, we’ve”—he cleared his throat loudly, his cheeks reddening—“you know, tested it out.”
Cece giggled, then tried to cover it by reaching for her mug and taking a long, noisy gulp of whatever she was drinking.
“I don’t think I even want to know what you mean by that,” I said, shaking my head. “Anyway, what were you planning to do? Turn into fog? How’s that going to help?”
Joshua fixed me with a level stare. “I can do way more than turn into fog.”
“What exactly can you do?” Tyler asked. “No disrespect, dude. I’m just curious. No one’s ever explained it to me before. The shifters at Summerhaven kept to themselves.”
“And they don’t here?” Sophie asked.
Tyler leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Uh, last time I checked, Joshua was sitting right there.”
“Because he’s got good taste,” Cece said, smiling coyly. “Anyway, Josh, tell them what you told me. About the shifting.”
Joshua nodded. “Basically, a shifter has two options, distortion or camouflage. Distortion is what you call the fog. It’s not all that different from what micro-telekinetics can do—manipulating matter. Body cells, in our case. And then with camouflage, it’s just an issue of manipulating the cells to blend into your surroundings. Simple, really,” he added with a shrug. “Like a chameleon.”
“I wish you could show them,” Cece said. “You know, just something really quick.”
Joshua glanced around furtively and then nodded. “Blink and you’ll miss it. Camouflage, okay?”
We all nodded. And then . . . for a split second, Joshua was gone, blending into the background, as if his chair were suddenly empty. And then, just as quickly, he was back again.
“Did you all catch that?” Joshua asked, grinning now. “If I’d stayed shifted longer, you probably would have noticed that something wasn’t right. But from ten, fifteen feet away? The illusion is seamless.”
“Okay, that was so cool!” Sophie said.
“I know, right?” Cece was beaming now.
Even Tyler looked impressed. “Way cool, dude.”
“Thank you, thank you very much,” Joshua quipped.
“Hey, what’d we miss?” Marissa shouted down the length of the table.
“We’ll tell you later!” I shouted back, but she wasn’t listening now—Max was nuzzling her neck, making her giggle softly as she made a halfhearted attempt to push him away. My gaze slid over to Kate, who was turned sideways in her seat, still making googly eyes at Jack. Then there were Cece and Joshua, obviously a couple now. I wasn’t sure, but I thought they might be holding hands under the table.
And Sophie and Tyler . . . I didn’t know what the heck was going on with those two. They were both acting really weird around each other, and Sophie had been very careful not to mention him once over the weekend, which was odd in and of itself. Bitching about Tyler was part of our repertoire now. At least, it always had been.
Somehow, I felt suddenly alone. I tried to push aside the thought, telling myself that I was crazy—that I was just feeling sorry for myself. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling, even with—
That thought cut off abruptly as I gripped the edge of the table, my vision tunneling, the familiar hum in my ears drowning out the café’s din.
I was in a ballet studio. There were floor-to-ceiling mirrors along one wall, a long wooden barre on the opposite one. In the room’s corner, a gray-haired woman sat behind an enormous grand piano, playing what sounded like a slow waltz.
I looked around, trying to orient myself, to figure out why I was there. And then I saw Whitney, third from the end. She was wearing a black sleeveless leotard and pink tights, her blond hair pulled back severely in a bun. The sunlight streaming in through the long, rectangular windows told me that it was daytime, but there were no clues to mark the season. No holiday decorations, I noted. No calendar on the wall.
I turned my attention back to Whitney, who looked markedly pale and thin as she slowly lifted one leg up toward her ear. I could sense her struggle, her jaw clenched tightly as sweat poured down the sides of her face. And then her standing leg buckled. She collapsed to the floor, the back of her head striking it with a sickening thud.
Chaos ensued as girls in leotards surrounded her, looking terrified. An older woman—the dance teacher, maybe—knelt by her side, checking her pulse. “Is she breathing?” someone asked.
“Yes, but it’s shallow. Someone call 911!”
One girl nodded and ran toward the door.
“Does anyone know if she’s eaten anything today?” the older woman asked.
“I . . . I don’t think so,” a tall, dark-haired girl answered. “She just had some coffee at lunch.”
And then, just like that, I was back in the café. Tyler was standing beside me, a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Hey, that’s one way to get my attention,” he said. “You okay? I thought you were going to fall out of your chair.”
I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Yeah, I’m . . . I just had vision, that’s all.”
“How bad?” Cece asked.
“Pretty bad,” I muttered.
Cece stood up, pushing aside her empty mug. “Let’s get you back to the dorm, then. You look really pale.”
I started to protest, but decided against it. I really did feel queasy. Instead, I nodded, reaching for my bag as Tyler helped me to my feet.
“Who’s walking back with us?” Cece asked, glancing around the table.
Every single one of my friends clambered to their feet, pushing aside plates and mugs and gathering their belongings. Suddenly, I didn’t feel alone at all. I wasn’t, and I never would be.
Not at Winterhaven.
“Want to try this one more time?” Matthew asked.
I nodded, wiping the sweat from my brow with the hem of my T-shirt. “Yeah, once more. Tyler, you okay?”
“Couldn’t be better,” he said, rising from the chapel’s pew.
I had to admit he was being a good sport, allowing me to wale on him repeatedly as he played the role of vampire in today’s training session. “You sure?” I asked, noticing that he was moving much more slowly now.
He raised his shirt, exposing the broad expanse of his chest—which now sported a faint purplish blue bruise over his heart. “Hey, I look hot in purple, right?”
“Sorry about that,” I said with a wince. I wasn’t using my stake—just my closed fist, and a little too much brute force by the looks of it. “I’ll take it easy on you this time.”
“Nah, you gotta stake ’em hard, remember?”
“I remember.” Did I ever.
“Okay, back to our starting positions,” Matthew ordered. He had precisely choreographed our every move, and it was Tyler’s job to respond differently each time, changing up the variables. Of course, considering the fact that Matthew couldn’t really throw his dagger into Tyler’s eye any more than I could stake him, we just had to hope that our practiced movements would create the desired effect—namely, a destroyed vampire.
Once Matthew gave the signal, we went through the motions again—Tyler turned, ducked this time, and then wheeled around, coming up behind us. Matthew made a quick half turn on the balls of his feet, lifted one arm, and mimed throwing the baselard at its target. As soon as Tyler reacted, Matthew caught him in a headlock, holding him upright and immobilized while I executed the deathblow to his heart.