Chapter Seventy-Two Don’t Jean-Jerk Me Around
Even knowing what Remy was going to say—seeing it in his eyes—I don’t believe him at first. Still, I let him help me to my feet.
Ms. Aguilar is bearing down on me with a determined smile, and I just can’t take her bizarre brand of cheer right now. So I wipe a hand across my face to dry my tear-wet cheeks and announce, “I’m fine now,” to the entire room—most of whom have been watching me freak out.
Now that I’ve calmed down, I’m so pissed off at myself. I’ve spent all these years hiding any weakness, and then I end up completely losing my shit in front of the biggest dicks in the school.
Plus, Luis is looking at me like he thinks there’s something very, very wrong with me. I’m sure he’ll eventually want some kind of explanation about what just happened. Yet I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell him that seeing him dying is what set me off.
Still, he doesn’t protest when I turn on my heel and make a beeline away from Ms. Aguilar as fast as my feet can carry me.
No one does.
They just speed up right along with me.
We’re about halfway to the area we’ve claimed as ours when the Jean-Jerks step directly into our path—because the assholes have never seen a vulnerability they didn’t want to exploit.
“Never a good straitjacket around when you need one, huh, Clementine?” Jean-Paul starts with a smirk. “Does your mommy know—”
Jude doesn’t even wait for him to finish before shoving him out of the way. Then he puts himself between me and the Jean-Jerks as we move around them without so much as a word.
“Hey!” Jean-Luc snarls, leaping in front of us while Jean-Claude and Jean-Jacques flank him on either side. “You don’t fucking put your hands on him, Jude.”
They’re all in full fae mode now—eyes sparkling, skin shimmering, wings standing at attention, and I know it’s only a matter of time before they do something way more obnoxious—and way more dangerous—than making snarky comments about me. Everything about them says they’re spoiling for a fight.
“Maybe you should muzzle him, then,” he shoots back.
“Are you threatening me?” Jean-Paul asks as he slides over to stand next to Jean-Luc.
Jude tilts his head to the side, like he’s thinking about it.
But before he can answer, Jean-Luc calls, “Did you hear that, Poppy?” His gaze cuts over to Ms. Aguilar, who looks incredibly nervous as she gingerly approaches the group of us. “One of your students is threatening my boy here. He feels unsafe. Don’t you, Jean-Paul?”
“Very unsafe.”
“Come on, let’s go.” I slip my hand through Jude’s arm and try to tug him away. But he’s not willing to be moved.
I glance at Luis, Remy, and Mozart for help, only to realize they’re looking about as immovable as Jude. In fact, judging from the expression on Mozart’s face, I’m pretty sure she’s contemplating flame-broiling all four of them.
To head that off, I step directly in front of her. I know I’ve made the right decision when she huffs out, “Party pooper.”
Part of me wants to let her at them. After all, it’s not like the Jean-Jerks don’t deserve it. And it’s not like they’ll be missed by anyone here, besides each other. But there’s been enough death and maiming here today. I don’t really think there needs to be any more.
Plus, I’ve had enough beatdowns from the Jean-Jerks to know they don’t play fair. The last thing I want is for any more people that I care about to be hurt—either in an unfair fight now or in a very unfair fight with the even more dangerous fae mafia later.
“Oh, I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding, Jean-Luc,” Ms. Aguilar says. “Right, Jude?”
Jude doesn’t answer.
“Clementine, why don’t you and your friends head back to your area? And I’ll have Mr. Danson escort Jean-Luc and his friends back to theirs.”
Danson is walking toward us, his face as dark and stormy as the sky outside.
My friends don’t seem in any hurry to follow Ms. Aguilar’s directions—with or without Danson to enforce them. But once the Jean-Jerks eventually move toward the opposite side of the common room, Jude and Luis finally let me tug them along.
But when we get back to the others, the first thing Izzy says to me is, “Forget their fingers. One day very soon I’m going to cut out those assholes’ tongues.”
“Why not today?” Mozart asks as she flops back down on the sofa.
Jude grabs a bottle of water out of our allotted stash and cracks the top before handing it to me.
“Thanks,” I say, relieved that he hasn’t asked me any questions. But that relief is short-lived when our eyes meet and I realize he may not be asking any questions, but he’s definitely searching for answers.
Everyone is.
I know I owe them an explanation, but the truth is out of the question, and I have no idea what else to tell them.
Before I can say anything, though, Remy jumps to my rescue. “Sometimes when you see the future, you see shit you don’t like. It’s happened to me dozens of times. But I think we should focus on fixing that damn tapestry instead of whatever Clementine saw.” I’ve never been as grateful to another person in my life as I am to Remy at that moment.
But his rescue doesn’t stop Jude and Luis both from giving me looks that promise a reckoning later.
It also doesn’t mean the group doesn’t have questions—only now, they’re aimed at Remy instead of me. Thank God.
“You mentioned before that you were a time wizard,” Simon says. “But I thought they were really rare.”
“I think they are.” He shoots him a rueful look, and when he answers, his Cajun accent is thicker than usual. “Though, to be fair, I’ve been in prison nearly all of my life. I have no idea what’s actually rare and what’s not.”
I don’t know what to say to that, and judging from the looks on their faces, I don’t think anyone else does, either. I think being stuck on this island for my whole life is bad, but I can’t imagine what Remy’s been through. Born into the worst, most notorious prison in the paranormal world, only to finally escape and end up here.
“Fair enough,” Mozart finally says. “But just so you know, they are very rare. And yet we seem to have two in our friend group alone. Does anyone else find that weird?”
“I’m not a time wizard,” I tell them. “I don’t know what’s going on with me at the moment, but I am definitely not a witch of any kind. I’m a manticore—you’ve all seen it.”
“There’s no law that says you can’t be both,” Izzy says.
“Yeah, well, it makes no sense.”
“Except for the fact that you can see a whole lot of things you shouldn’t be able to,” Simon tells me quietly.
I don’t know what to say to that, because he’s not wrong. But I also don’t want to talk about it anymore, not when everything they say just gets me more freaked out.
Remy must sense it because he crouches down to look at the tapestry and does the most obvious subject change in the history of subject changes. “So tell me how this thing works, Jude. You wove it with people’s nightmares?”