"What?"
I swallowed, suddenly nervous. I really didn't want to hear Archer wax poetic about Elodie, but I was also genuinely curious.
"Jenna said that you used to be, like, a card-carrying member of the
We Hate Elodie club. What gives?"
He looked away and started picking up random things without really seeing them. "She changed," he said quietly. "After Holly died--you know about Holly?"
I nodded. "Jenna's roommate. Elodie, Chaston, and Anna filled me in."
He ran a hand through his dark hair. "Yeah. They're still really hung up on blaming Jenna. Anyway, Elodie and Holly had been really close when they started here, and Holly and I had been betrothed--"
"Hold up," I said, raising a hand. "Betrothed?"
He looked confused. "Yeah. All witches are betrothed to an available warlock on their thirteenth birthday. A year after they come into their powers."
He frowned. "Are you okay?" he asked. I'm sure I was making a pretty strange face. At thirteen I was thinking about allowing a boy's tongue into my mouth. Getting engaged would've been pretty far beyond me.
"Fine," I mumbled. "That's just weird to think about. It's so . . . Jane
Austen."
"It's not that bad."
"Right. Arranged marriages for teenagers are a good thing."
He shook his head. "We don't get married as teenagers, just betrothed.
And the witch always has the right to refuse or accept the betrothal and change her mind later. But the match is usually a good one, based on complementary powers, personalities. Stuff like that."
"Whatever. I can't even imagine having a fiance."
"You probably have one, you know."
I stared at him. "Excuse me?"
"Your dad is a really important guy. I'm sure he made a match for you when you were thirteen."
I didn't even want to get into that. The thought that there was some warlock out there who was planning on making me his missus one day was too much to handle. What if he was here at Hecate? What if I knew the guy?
Oh God, what if it was that kid with bad breath who sat right behind me in
Magical Evolution?
I made a mental note to ask my mom about all of this as soon as I decided to speak to her again.
"Okay," I said to Archer. "Just . . . go on with your story."
"I don't think anyone realized how much Holly's death got to Elodie.
So we started talking over the summer, about Hecate and Holly, and one thing led to another . . ."
"And you can spare me the gory details," I said with a smile even as something painful twisted in my chest a little. So he really liked her. I'd been harboring this secret fantasy that he was only pretending to like her so that he could publicly dump her in the most embarrassing way possible, preferably on national television.
"Look," he said, "I'll get Elodie and her friends to lay off you, okay?
And seriously, try to give her another chance. I swear she has hidden depths."
Without really thinking, I shot back, "I said spare me the gory details."
For a second I'm not sure I even realized what I'd just said. And then it sank in and I damned my sarcastic mouth straight to hell. Face on fire, I glanced over at Archer.
He was staring at me in shock.
And then he burst out laughing.
I started giggling too, and before long we were both sitting on the dirt floor wiping tears from our eyes. It had been a long time since I'd really laughed with someone, or made a dirty joke, for that matter, and I couldn't believe how good it felt. For a little bit I forgot that I was apparently made of evil, and that I was being stalked by a ghost.
It was nice.
"I knew I liked you, Mercer," he said when we'd finally stopped cackling, and I was glad I could blame my suddenly red cheeks on the laughter.
"But wait," I said, leaning on one of the shelves, trying to catch my breath. "If everybody gets betrothed at thirteen, isn't she already set to marry somebody else?"
He nodded. "But I told you, it's a voluntary thing. A betrothal can always be renegotiated. I mean, I'm considered something of a catch."
"And so modest too," I replied, tossing my pen at him.
He caught it with ease.
From above us, the door gave its death scream, and we both leaped to our feet guiltily, like we'd been making out or something.
Suddenly the image of me and Archer kissing against one of the shelves flooded my brain, and I felt the blush in my cheeks spread to the rest of my body. Without meaning to, I glanced at his lips. When I raised my eyes to his, he was looking at me with an expression that was totally inscrutable. But just like the look he'd given me on the stairs the first night, this one left me feeling breathless. I was actually glad when the Vandy shouted, "Mercer! Cross!"
Her harsh grating voice was the auditory equivalent of a cold shower, and the tension of the moment vanished. My lusty thoughts were pretty much gone by the time we were out of the cellar.
"Same time, same place, Wednesday," the Vandy said as we practically sprinted for the main staircase.
Naturally, Elodie was waiting for Archer in the second-floor lounge.
She was sitting on the grubby blue couch. A nearby lamp cast a soft golden glow on her flawless skin, and picked up the ruby highlights in her hair.
I turned to Archer, but he was staring at Elodie like . . . well, like I was staring at him.
I didn't even bother saying good night. I just jogged up the stairs to my room.
Jenna wasn't there, and after all that cellar grossness, I was in definite need of a shower. I grabbed a towel out of my trunk and a tank top and pajama bottoms out of my dresser.
Our floor was fairly deserted. Boys and girls didn't have to separate until nine, and it was just now seven, so I figured everybody was hanging out in the drawing rooms downstairs.
My mind still on Archer (and the general suckiness of having an unrequited crush on someone dating a goddess), I made my way to the bathroom and opened the door. The room was shrouded in heavy steam, and
I could barely see in front of me. As I stepped forward, warm water sloshed around my feet. I could hear the sound of running bathwater.
"Hello?" I called.
There was no answer, so my first thought was that someone had left a faucet on as a joke. Mrs. Casnoff would not be amused. Hot water isn't great for two-hundred-year-old floors.
Then the steam began to part, flowing through the open door behind me.
And I saw why the faucet was still on.
It took a long time for my eyes to accept what they were seeing. At first I thought maybe Chaston was just asleep in the tub and that the water was tinted pink from bath salts or something. Then I realized her eyes weren't closed, but sort of half-mast, almost like she was drunk. And the water was pink from her blood.
I noticed the tiny puncture wounds just below her jaw, and longer, more vicious-looking slashes on both her wrists, which were dripping blood onto the floor.
Without even thinking, I rushed to her side, mumbling a healing spell.
It wasn't a very good one, I knew. The most I'd ever been able to get it to do was heal a skinned knee, but I thought it was worth a try. As I watched, the small holes on her neck seemed to pucker briefly, only to sag back open. I made a sound like a sob. God, why was my magic so shitty?
Chaston's eyes fluttered for a moment, and she opened her mouth like she was trying to say something.
I ran for the doorway. "Mrs. Casnoff! Anyone! Help!"
Several heads appeared in doorways.
"Oh God," I heard someone whimper. "Not again."
Mrs. Casnoff appeared at the top of the stairs in a robe, her hair in a long braid down her back. As soon as she saw where I was, her face paled.
And for some reason, seeing her look so scared was what broke me. My knees started shaking and I felt my throat tighten with tears. "It's . . . it's