Firespell (The Dark Elite #1)(50)
Author: Chloe Neill

“Yeah,” Scout said. “It’s strong emotion, I think. You get freaked out, and the light goes on. You get more freaked out, and the light gets brighter. You saw it kind of dims and brightens?”

“It’s my heartbeat,” I said.

“Well,” she said, turning for the door, “I guess you have a little magic, after all.”

She glanced back and grinned. “Twist!”

In no mood for study hall, we found a quiet corner of the main building—far from the administrative wing and its treasonous folders—and camped out until it was over. We didn’t talk much. I sat cross-legged on the floor, my back against cold limestone, eyes on the mosaic- tiled ceiling above me. Thinking. Contemplating. Repeating one word, over and over and over again. One word—maybe the only word—momentous enough to push thoughts of my parents’ secret life out of my head.

Magic.

I had magic.

The ability to turn on lights, which maybe wasn’t such a huge deal, but it was magic, just the same.

Magic that must have been triggered somehow by the shot of firespell I’d taken a few days ago. I didn’t know how else to explain it, and that mark on my back seemed proof enough. I’d somehow become one of them—not because I’d been born into it, like Scout said, but because I’d been running in the wrong direction in the basement of St. Sophia’s one night.

Because I (apparently) had magic, and we were out and about instead of hunkered down in the file vault behind Foley’s office, I was focusing on staying calm, controlling my breathing, and trying not to flip whatever emotional switch had turned me into Thomas Edison.

When study hall was over, we merged into the crowd leaving the Great Hall and returned to the room, but the brat pack beat us back. I guessed they’d decided that torturing us was more fun than spending time in their own rooms. Regardless, we ignored them— bigger issues on our plates—and headed straight for Scout’s room.

“Okay,” she said, gesturing with her hands when the door was closed and locked behind us, and a towel stuffed beneath it. “I need to check the Grimoire and see what I can find, but so I know what I’m looking for, let’s see what you can do.”

We sat there in silence for a minute.

“What am I supposed to be doing?” I asked.

Scout frowned. “I don’t know. You’re the one with the light magic. Don’t you know?”

I gave her a flat stare.

“Right,” she said. “You didn’t even know you’d done it.”

There was a knock at Scout’s closed bedroom door. She glanced at the closed door, then at me. “Yes?”

There was a snicker on the other side. “Did you find anything interesting in that little folder?”

I nearly growled at the question. As if on cue, the room was suddenly flooded with light—bright light, brighter than the overhead fluorescents had any right to be.

“Jeez, dial it back, will ya?”

I pursed my lips and blew out rhythmic breaths, trying to calm myself down enough to dim the lights back below supernova.

“What?” M.K. asked from the other side of the door. “No response?”

Okay, I’d had enough of M.K. for the day. “Hey, Scary Katherine,” I said, “don’t make us tell Foley that you invaded her vault and stole confidential files from her office.”

As if my telling her off had been cathartic, the lights immediately dimmed.

Scout glanced over appreciatively. “Why does it not surprise me that you have magic driven by sarcasm?”

There was more knocking on the door. “Scout?” Lesley tentatively asked. “Are you guys okay in there? Did you set the room on fire?”

“We’re fine, Barnaby,” Scout said. “No fires. Just, um, testing some new flashlights. In case the power goes out.”

“However unlikely that appears to be now,” I muttered.

“Oh,” Lesley said. “Well, is there anything I can, you know, help with?”

Scout and I exchanged a glance. “Not just right now, Lesley, but thanks.”

“Okay,” she said, disappointment in her voice. Footsteps echoed through the common room as she walked away.

Scout moved to a bookshelf, fingers trailing across the spines as she searched for the book she wanted. “Okay, so it was triggered by the firespell somehow. We can conclude that whatever magic you’ve got is driven by emotion, or that strong emotions bump up the power a few notches. It’s centered in light, obviously, but it’s possible the power could branch out into other areas. But as for the rest of it—”

She stopped as her fingers settled on an ancient book of well-worn brown leather, which she slid from the shelf after pushing aside knickknacks and collectibles.

“It’s going to take me some time to research the particulars,” she said, glancing back at me. “You want to grab some books, camp out here?”

I thought for a second, then nodded. There was no need to add academic failure to my current list of drama, which was lengthening as the day wore on. “I’ll go grab my stuff.”

She nodded and gave me a soft smile. “We’ll figure this out, you know. We’ll figure it out, go back to the enclave, get you inducted, and all will be well.”

“When you say well, you mean I can start spending my evenings torturing soul-sucking bad guys and trying not to get shot in the back by firespell again?”

“Pretty much,” she agreed with a nod. “But think about how much quality time you and Jason can spend together.” This time, when she grinned, she grinned broadly, and winged up her eyebrows, to boot.

The girl had a point.

Later that night, when I was back in my room in pajamas, and calm enough to dial their number, I broke out my cell phone and tried again to reach my parents. It was late in Munich, assuming that’s where they were, so they didn’t answer. I faked cheerful and left a voice mail, still avoiding the confrontation and because of that, almost glad they hadn’t answered. There were too many puzzle pieces—Foley, my parents, and now the SRF—that I still had to figure out. And if they thought keeping me in the dark was safer for all of us, maybe letting them think they’d kept their secret was the best thing to do. At least for now.

That didn’t stop the hurt, though. And it didn’t stop me from wanting to know the truth.

At lights-out, I turned out the overhead lights, but snapped on a flashlight I’d borrowed from Scout, and broke out my sketch pad and a soft-lead pencil. I turned off the left side of my brain and scribbled, shapes forming as if the pencil were driven by my unconscious. Half an hour later, I blinked, and found a pretty good sketch of Jason staring back at me.