Chapter 2 #4
“Hey, it’s okay. You just need to relax and enjoy the vibe.”
Enjoy the vibe? I don’t think so.
I was so stupid not to go straight back to Tate and Kendra.
“I’m sorry, this was a mistake,” I say, and try to brush past him toward the exit. But he blocks me and grabs hold of my arm. Hard.
“Let go,” I say, and yank free.
He puts his hands in the air. There’s a touch of glassiness to his eyes that I didn’t notice before. He seemed sober, but was I wrong?
“I just thought you might be down.”
“Well, you thought wrong,” I snap.
His glassy gaze gets a hard edge that gives me a shiver of unease. He takes an aggressive step forward, forcing me back.
“Did I?” he asks. “Because you were giving me all the signals. And showing up dressed like that—”
His gaze slides over me from head to toe in a way that makes me feel gross. I want to wrap my cloak around me to shield myself. The corner of his mouth hitches up in the same cockeyed smile I thought was cute fifteen minutes ago, but now I think it’s anything but.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.”
“Excuse me?” I say, anger starting to override fear or embarrassment.
I may be inexperienced in a lot of areas, but I’m not a pushover. If this guy even knew the ways I could take him out, he’d be peeing himself right now. Instead, he’s looking down on me with a condescending smile like he’s the one with power.
He’s wrong.
When he reaches for me again, I’m ready. I duck under his arm and land a quick jab to his gut. He gasps for air as I shoot toward the exit.
I’m about to enter the smoke cloud in front of the door when Carter gets a handful of my cloak and yanks. I stumble back, the clasp around my neck choking me.
Surprisingly strong arms band around me from behind, then Carter’s hot breath fans across my cheek.
“That was dirty,” he growls, a drop of his spit hitting my cheek. “We weren’t finished yet.”
A wave of revulsion hits me the same time panic lights me up inside.
I know how to get out of his hold. I’ve been taking self-defense and kickboxing since I was old enough to walk.
I just need to drop my weight at the same time I deliver a backward elbow strike to his gut to loosen his hold enough to escape.
I’ve done it a million times in class, but I’ve never had to actually use it in the real world.
I start the maneuver to break free, and it works just like it’s supposed to, but the moment I’m free a scream pierces the air.
The jack-o’-lanterns lining the walls erupt at once, bursting into violent purple and magenta flames that crackle and spit like living things. Sparks rain from their jagged mouths. The carved grins twist as the fire swallows them whole.
I freeze, knowing that without meaning to my magic has ignited the pumpkins.
True terror hits me as I watch my worst fear come to life.
I’ve used my magic in public.
A purple spark from one of the flaming pumpkins hits a girl and her hair lights on fire.
The guy next to her immediately grabs a blanket and smothers it, but I don’t have time to be relieved.
Pandemonium breaks loose. Partygoers start screaming and running for the exit, pushing and shoving each other to escape the blaze.
I should be too, but how can I flee when I’m the one who started the fire?
Someone runs straight into me and we both hit the floor. The wind gets knocked out of me and I lie stunned on the ground. The burly blond who slammed into me scrambles to his feet and, in his rush to flee, steps on my thigh.
Pain radiates through my leg as I struggle to my feet.
There’s only one exit to the room and it bottlenecks quickly. I don’t know what’s happened to Carter, and I certainly don’t care. If anyone is going to get hurt in this room, I want it to be him, but he was probably the first one out the door.
The slimeball.
The purple and magenta flames have spread to the thick curtains on either side of the floor-to-ceiling window and are licking their way up. A couple guys try to put it out, but their attempts are fanning the fire, helping it spread rather than smothering it.
My self-preservation wars with the need to do the right thing.
I almost turn around and flee with everyone else, but the house is packed. If the fire isn’t contained, people aren’t just going to get hurt, they’re going to die.
Pulling up the hood of my cloak, I peek around to make sure no one is looking.
Everyone is trying to escape the flames. A few brave ones are attempting to put them out. The important part is that no one is paying attention to me.
Smoke from the fire is mixing with the fog machine, making it difficult to see and hard to breathe. Panic claws at my throat, but I shove it down.
Those purple and magenta flames are magical, which means they’ll obey me—
at least in theory—but only if I can get myself centered.
In an effort to protect me, my parents didn’t let me train with my magic. They feared it would draw the wrong kind of attention. Now I’m at a disadvantage, because when I do lose control, it’s that much harder to rein it in.
I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to block it all out—the shrieks of panicked partygoers, the acrid smoke burning my lungs, the hungry crackle of fire devouring everything in its path. I reach for that buried part of me I keep locked away, hidden from the world and even from myself.
The moment I reach for it, it surges toward me, like it’s been dying for me to call it forth.
A new round of fearful shouts fills the air, and even with my eyes closed I know the flames have flared, swelling all at once in reaction to my magic bursting to the surface.
Exactly the opposite of what I want.
Gritting my teeth, I pull at the magic, trying to suck it back the best I can.
Frustration shoots through my veins. If I’d been allowed to practice, I’d know what to do. Now I only have instinct to guide me, and that might not be enough.
I imagine smothering the flames, dousing them completely and then cutting off their source, which in this case is me.
Male shouts filter through my concentration and my eyes pop open.
Immediately, I start choking on the smoke-fog mixture. Someone has thrown open a window and is frantically batting at the smoke.
But the fire is out. Not a single purple or magenta flame to be seen.
I’ve done it.
In the distance, a fire engine siren blares, and the relief I just felt turns to dread.
I have to leave, right now, before anyone notices me.
I run out of the room. The dance music that was pumping through the house has been turned off, and shouts of “fire” come from the ground floor below.
Partygoers are running, and sometimes stumbling, down the stairs, desperate to make it outside.
I let myself get caught up in the crowd, clinging to the banister as I descend so I don’t trip and get trampled.
When I reach the first floor, I don’t wait to look for Kendra and Tate.
That probably makes me a bad friend. They’re likely frantically searching for me.
But the fire is out and everyone is going to be okay.
In order for me to be safe, I need to get as far away from this frat house as possible, and as quickly as I can.
The jack-o’-lanterns weren’t even illuminated with real flame. People are going to wonder how they caught on fire at all, let alone with purple and magenta flames that spark.
That’s not normal. Not natural.
It’s magical, and even if the humans don’t figure out what’s going on, there are other creatures hiding in plain sight in this school who will recognize tonight’s disaster for what it is. And if they somehow figure out I’m to blame, I’ll be exposed.
I can’t be associated with this incident at all. If I am, at best my parents will force us to move—fleeing in the night without a single goodbye, like we have so many other times.
At worst, the monster we’ve been running from my entire life will finally catch me.
The lawn of the frat house is a mess. Girls are crying, some guys too. I catch a conversation here and there, and my stomach drops when I hear someone mention the color of the flames and how they came out of nowhere.
I head away from the house as fast as I can without running, trying not to draw attention.
I’m two houses away when the fire engine pulls up in front of the frat.
I don’t pause to watch the firemen run into the house, but instead pull my phone out to type a quick message to Tate and Kendra.
They’ve already left me several concerned texts.
I tell them I’m fine and that I got out of the house okay and will meet them back at their place.
I need to get changed and get home before news of this incident reaches my parents.
Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I take off running, full speed this time, wishing it were only this easy to flee my problems—and the new ones I might have just created.