"Anyway, even if Archer was insane enough to have a thing for
Sophie, after the All Hallow's Eve Ball, he won't even think about looking at another girl."
"Why?"
"I've decided to give myself to him."
Oh, gross. Who says stuff like that? Why didn't she just say "delicate flower" or "carnal treasure" or something equally stupid?
But Anna, of course, squealed. "Omigod, that is so romantic!"
Elodie giggled, which was a weird sound coming from her. Girls like
Elodie should cackle. "I know, right?"
I'd definitely heard enough, so I tiptoed away and softly opened the door to my room.
Jenna was, as usual, curled up on her bed, one of her hot-pink throws pulled over her. She was doing this a lot now, pretending to be asleep so that
I wouldn't talk to her. Normally I just gave her what she wanted and didn't attempt a conversation. But tonight I sat on the edge of her bed hard enough to bounce her a little. "Guess what I just overheard?" I singsonged.
She pulled down one corner of the blanket, and one eye blinked owlishly at me. "What?"
I repeated the conversation between Anna and Elodie, finishing up with, "Can you believe that? 'Give myself to him'? Ugh. What's wrong with just saying sex, you know?"
I was rewarded with a tiny smile. "That is pretty stupid," Jenna said.
"Totally stupid," I agreed.
"Did they say anything about Chaston?"
Surprised, I said, "Uh . . . no. Not that I heard, at least. But you heard what Mrs. Casnoff said at dinner a few nights ago. Chaston's fine and resting in the Riviera or some other glamorous place with her parents. She'll be back next year."
"I just can't believe they're gossiping about boys when one of their coven is dead, and another one nearly died just three weeks ago."
"Yeah, well, they're shallow jerks. Not exactly news, that."
"Yeah."
I stripped out of my clothes and pulled on a Hecate-issue blue tank top and a pair of pajama pants my mom had sent me last week. They were white cotton covered with tiny blue witches riding brooms. I think they were her way of saying she was sorry for the fight; I was sorry too, and had called her to tell her so. It felt nice to be on good terms with her again.
"Wow, I really bruised your shoulders," Jenna said, sitting up.
I glanced down. "Oh . . . right. No big deal. They don't even hurt."
They did still hurt a little.
Jenna's eyes were bright, and I think she was trying not to cry. "I'm still really sorry about that, Soph. I was just so freaked out and hurt, and . . . and sometimes I lose control."
Icy fear ran down my spine, but I tried to ignore it. Jenna was my friend. Yes, she'd vamped out on me, but she'd snapped out of it immediately.
But you're her friend. Chaston definitely wasn't. And who knows about Holly?
Nope. Not going there.
Instead I said with mock confusion, "Lose control of what? Your bladder? Because you might want to get that checked out. I'm so not loaning you any sheets."
"You're such a freak." She giggled.
"Takes one to know one!"
For the next couple of hours, we chatted and attempted to study for
Magical Evolution. By lights out, Jenna seemed almost like her old self again.
"Night, Jenna," I said when the lights finally blinked off.
"Night, Soph."
I stared at the slanting ceiling, my head full of thoughts: Archer, Elodie and Anna, Jenna, that conversation with Cal by the pond. I fell asleep wondering if Archer knew he was about to become the proud recipient of
Elodie's virginity.
I didn't know what time it was when I awoke to find the girl in green standing at the foot of my bed. My heart in my mouth, I was sure I had to be dreaming, that there was no way this could be real.
Then she gave a exasperated sigh and, in a British accent, said, "Sophia Mercer. What trouble you've been."
I sat up in bed, blinking.
It was the girl I'd been seeing since I'd started at Hecate, but she didn't look anything like a ghost; she looked very much flesh and blood.
"Well?" she asked, raising one perfect eyebrow. "Are you coming or not?"
I glanced over at Jenna. All I could make out was a dark lump. By the sound of her steady, even breathing, I knew she was still asleep.
The girl followed my gaze. "Oh, don't worry about her," she said with a dismissive wave. "She won't wake up and sound the alarm. No one will;
I've taken care of that."
Before I could ask what she meant, she turned and swept out the door.
I sat frozen until she reappeared in the doorway and said, "Oh, for
Christ's sake, Sophia, let's go!"
Now, I knew that following a ghost was a Very Bad Idea. Everything in my body said that. My skin felt clammy and my stomach was in knots.
But I found myself pushing off my covers, grabbing my Hecate blazer off the back of my chair, and catching up to her at the top of the stairs.
"Good," she said. "We have a lot of work to do and not much time."
"Who are you?" I whispered.
She flashed me that irritated look again. "I told you, you don't have to whisper. No one can hear us."
She stopped on the stairs and threw her head back, shouting, "Casnoff! Vandy! Sophia Mercer is out of bed and up to mischief with a ghooooooooooost!"
I instinctively crouched down. "Shhhh!"
But just as she'd promised, there was no sign that anyone had heard her. The only sound was the muffled ticking of the grandfather clock in the main foyer and my own hard breathing.
"See?" she said, turning to me with a bright smile. "Taken care of.
Now come along."
She ran down the last few steps, and before I knew it, we were outside on the front lawn. The night was cool and damp, and the grass squished unpleasantly under my feet. I looked down to make sure I was only standing on grass and noticed that my feet seemed a weird shade of green. Then I noticed I could see my shadow even though there was no moon.
I whirled around to look back at Hecate and gasped. The whole house was encased in a huge opalescent bubble that glimmered with dull green light. The bubble was in constant motion, undulating and shooting off pale green sparks. I had never seen anything like it; never even read about a spell like that.
"Impressive, isn't it?" the girl said smugly. "It's a basic sleeping spell that renders the victims totally insensible to the world for at least four hours.
I just . . . enlarged it."
I didn't like the way she said "victims."
"Are they . . . are they okay?"
"Oh, perfectly safe," she answered. "Just sleeping. Like in a fairy tale."
"But . . . Mrs. Casnoff has spells all over the place. No one could just come in and do a spell that big."
"I can!" the girl said. Then she grabbed my hand. Hers was as solid and real as mine. I was sure Mrs. Casnoff had said ghosts couldn't touch us.
But before I could ask, the girl started pulling me away from the house.
"Wait. I can't go anywhere with you until I know who you are and what you're doing here. Why have you been following me?"
She sighed. "Oh, Sophia, I had hoped you were a little more perceptive. Isn't it obvious who I am?"
I studied her knee-length flowered dress and bright green cardigan.
Her hair was shoulder length, curly, and held back from her face with bobby pins. Glancing down, I saw that she was wearing heinous brown shoes. I felt a little sorry for her: ghost or no, no one should have to go through eternity in ugly shoes.
But then I looked into her eyes. They were large and wide set, and even though the green light was reflected in them, I could tell that they were blue.
My eyes.
British, from the forties, and had my eyes.
"Alice?" I asked, my heart in my throat.