Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Izzy
The police officer enters the interrogation room, and I stiffen in my chair.
He closes the door softly behind him and walks the few steps toward me.
I study him, wishing like hell that I could get a read on him, but he’s as expressive as a rock with a mustache.
An older cop, he must have enough experience to know better than to give anything away to his suspects.
Normally it’d be kind of interesting to see a cop this awesome at his job. But it’s not so cool when I’m his suspect.
“Water?” he asks, his voice soft.
I nod, grateful.
He sets the cup down in front of me, and I sip from it eagerly.
My eyes lock onto his weathered hand that rests on the edge of the table.
Again, I can feel him evaluating me. Probably looking over my soot-covered skin and clothes, and noticing that there’s not a single piece of evidence that I breathed in smoke or was that close to blazing flames.
I should’ve died in those flames. Instead, I seem to have a mildly dry throat. Does he find that fact as strange as I do?
When he thumps an evidence bag down on the table between us, I jump, my gaze going to it.
The spires of the crown tent the plastic bag.
Just the sight of the strange crown makes my heart race.
How am I supposed to explain the appearance of the crown to this police officer when I can’t explain it to myself?
“At first,” he says, “I mostly wondered why you would burn down your high school. And how. But I have to admit, right now I’m mostly wild with curiosity about how you ended up in possession of a solid gold crown.”
My heart drops in my chest. He’ll assume I stole it. Everyone always assumes that foster kids are thieves.
“It’s a prank,” I say, my voice coming out smooth, surprising even myself. “Our friend Van is ridiculously wealthy and ridiculously committed to a theme. We’re all dressing up as Norse gods for Comic-Con coming up in San Diego this summer.”
Wow. That came out...easily. And Norse gods? The only thing I know about Norse gods is that Thor is a hottie with a hammer.
“And the fire?” he presses. He almost seems convinced by my Comic-Con story. “Was that a prank too?”
“I don’t know what happened,” I say. “One minute we were in Chem, and the next the building was going up in flames. I think there must have been faulty equipment. We were lucky to get out alive.”
“Everyone says you and your friends were in the thick of it.”
“Friends?” I’m not sure I’d call us friends.
In fact, Aiden and I were in the midst of a pretty intense argument when the lightning started. I frown, thinking that over. We were fighting when the lightning began to rage through the building. Like...exactly when the lightning started exploding around us.
Something tickles the back of my thoughts. Lightning inside isn’t possible. None of what we saw in that building was possible. And yet, I can’t seem to explain it away.
“Yes,” the officer continues, and there’s a strange note to his voice, “the four young men who--”
Someone knocks on the door, and the police officer gives me official side-eye before he goes to the door. But instead of just answering it, he slips outside.
Once again, I’m left alone to marinate in my worries.
I’m definitely getting kicked out of my home. There’s no way my foster mom is going to cope well with the possibility that I set the school on fire.
And there’s something weird going on. Really weird. Something more than just the real possibility that I might be arrested. Something that feels like a fantasy.
Which isn’t possible. Right?
The police officer pushes open the door, his pale eyes blazing with aggravation “Come on, Isabelle. You’re free to go.”
“I am?” I’m already on my feet so fast that I bump into the table.
“Take your…” He makes an exasperated gesture toward the ridiculous crown as words fail him. “They’ll have the rest of your stuff at the front desk.”
“Thank you!” I could hug him, I’m so thankful to be getting out of here, but instead I grave the bag with the crown and hold it against my chest. But wait, am I still in trouble? Maybe if they’ve realized we’re innocent, word won’t get back to my foster mom. Somehow. “Is this...it?”
He raises his hands in the air, his voice coming out high and irritated. “I just work here. But, apparently, the fact that we have a number of witnesses who say you’re guilty of starting the fire doesn’t matter. It’s not going to be jail for you.”
I swallow, hard. “So I’m free to go?”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Not exactly. It seems someone powerful has an alternative for you.”
“Someone powerful?”
Who could possibly care about getting me out of the situation? My thoughts run through every possibility, and turn up nothing. I can’t think of a single person powerful enough to get me out of here, that would also care about me in the first place.
And what the hell does he mean by “alternative”?
He shrugs. “That’s all I know.” But as I move to pass him by the door, he touches my arm. “Be careful.”
“Why?” My heart beats faster.
“That guy…” he trails off.
Who could possibly make this cop nervous?
“Just stay out of trouble,” he finishes, looking away from me.
“I’m trying,” I promise, feeling unsettled.
And I mean it. Before today, I never imagined my goals in life would include staying out of jail, but things have changed pretty rapidly. Now, I’ve added the damn goal to my list. To the very top of my list.
I sign my stuff out from the front desk and stuff the crown into my backpack. The lobby of the police building is quiet, and I wonder where the guys are. I wonder more than I want to. Did some strange man get them out of jail too?
They don’t need a mystery man to get them out. They have parents who care.
When I walk out onto the front steps, dusk is falling. I frown, trying to figure out where I am and how I’m going to get home. I’ve never been to the police station on this side of the country before.
“Well, good evening, Loki.” It’s a low warm voice near my ear.
I turn to find a man standing unsettlingly close to me, and I take an anxious step back. He’s tall, impossibly tall, and I can’t quite guess his age. His face is smooth, almost ageless, but his eyes have the kind of experience that I usually see in people far older-looking than him.
I’m not sure where he came from. I didn’t see him in the lobby a second ago, and he must have moved silently to be by my side.
“No greeting?” He crosses his arms over his chest, drawing attention to his impeccable suit, the kind of tailored gray suit that I don’t usually see around here. He smiles. “It’s good to see you again.”
Again? This guy definitely has a few marbles loose. Better to get away from him as fast as possible.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” I say, heading down the stairs, putting some space between the two of us.
“I’m the dean of Godfrey Academy,” he says. “And I certainly don’t think we’re strangers. I paid an inordinate amount of money to get you and your friends out of that pickle… to give you an alternative to jail. You humans do love your money.”
“We humans?” I stare, my stomach flipping.
“You know what I mean.” His intense blue eyes hold mine.
My mind jerks away from his words, not wanting to think too much about them right now. “Where are the guys I was with?”
“Their parents came to pick them up.”
I don’t know why, but my chest aches at his words. So, they got picked up. And they left me here. That isn’t really a surprise to me. I’m no one to them, no matter how much the last couple of days have confused things in my mind.
“Is there anyone to pick you up?” He looks around. “I understand the police did call your guardian.”
I stare, heart in my throat. So, my foster parents know. “Where are they?”
“I think we both know the answer to that.”
They didn’t come. Figures. My palms feel sweaty. As long as I still have a place to sleep when I get to their house.
“I’ll take you home,” he offers.
“No offense, but you are sketchy as hell,” I tell him. “I’ll walk.”
He laughs at that. “You’re not wrong, Loki. But you’re safe with me.”
“Why are you calling me that?”
“Sorry.” He flashes me a warm smile. “Spoilers. For now, let’s get you home.”
Home. The word makes me wet my lips nervously. If the police already called my foster mom, and she didn’t come to get me, then I can only assume the worst. Better to expect that anyway. Might as well steel my heart for rejection.
“I’ll wait,” I tell him, fishing in my purse for my cell phone. “Someone will come get me.”
“Of course.” He produces a brochure from behind his back that looks almost like a shiny college brochure. “This is the brochure for my university. I hope you and your friends will join us beginning with the summer session. Take a look.”
“University?” I stare at him in confusion.
“Your next step from here,” he says, sounding unbelievably confident. “It’s something of a, well, reform school. But it’s not like any other reform school you’ve ever heard of.”
Just those two words—reform school—make my stomach clench. “The police said someone...you…convinced them I was innocent.”
His smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. “I can unconvince them just as easily, Izzy. I want you at my school. And I do tend to get what I want.”
He shakes the brochure at me, and I reluctantly come up the steps to take it from him. “I was planning to go to our community college in the fall. It’s too late for me to apply to another college.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “We have a very flexible admissions policy for special young people like yourself.”
I snort at that. Special’s never been on the list of adjectives anyone would apply to me.
“Make sure you don’t delay in coming to my school, Izzy,” he says.
I wave at him over my shoulder as I turn, texting with my thumb, trying to figure out which one of the boys is most likely to pick me up without annoying me.
“After all, your sister is depending on you,” he adds.
I spin, but he’s already gone.