Spirit

Then again, that talk would probably lend credence to this new drug theory.

“I’m done with this attitude, boy.”

Hunter looked up. “I’m not giving you any attitude. I said I would pay for everything.”

“It’s no wonder your mother can’t get it together, with all the trouble you give her.”

Hunter stiffened, but he didn’t say anything. He had no idea why his mother couldn’t get it together. He didn’t think it had anything to do with him, but maybe it did. The last time he’d gone up to her bedroom, her eyes had filled with tears. She’d put a hand against his cheek and said, “I wish you’d cut your hair again, Hunter. You used to look just like your father.”

He’d pushed her hand away. What are you so sad for? he’d wanted to ask. Dad was just using you.

His grandmother was no help, either. She didn’t rag on him like his grandfather did, but she’d watch him with pursed lips, and he could feel disapproval radiate through the room until he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and rattle her body and shout in her face.

“What?” he’d yell in this imaginary scenario. “Not good enough for you?”

And then he’d shake her so hard that her dentures would fall out, and she wouldn’t be able to make that expression with her mouth anymore.

Hunter almost smiled, but he only let himself enjoy it for half a second.

His grandmother didn’t even wear dentures.

A hand closed on Hunter’s arm, hauling him to his feet. “You think this is funny?” his grandfather demanded, his voice rising in pitch as well as volume. “Your friends destroy hundreds of dollars’ worth of our property, and you think this is funny?”

It took every ounce of self-control not to jerk free and drop his grandfather on his ass.

But Hunter met the man’s eyes. “Let me go.”

His grandfather’s grip tightened, his thumb pressing into the muscle behind Hunter’s elbow. It hurt, but Hunter wouldn’t let it show.

He knew some of this was his ability. His talents drew people to him—and that usually meant pulling their attention in whatever way they were wired to give it. Sometimes it was nice—like with Becca, his almost-could’ve-been girlfriend.

Sometimes it was not.

Like now.

“I should have left you in jail last Monday,” his grandfather said. “Let the justice system scare some sense into you.”

Like his grandfather had done anything more than pick him up at the police station. The cops hadn’t even pressed charges. No evidence—because he hadn’t started that fire. “Let me go.”

“You’re going to straighten up, or you’re going to be sleeping on the porch. You understand me?”

Hunter wouldn’t even consider that a punishment. He loved being outside.

Then again, it was getting into the thirties some nights, and all his camping gear was still in storage from the move.

“I understand,” he said. God, his head hurt. “Let me go.”

His grandfather let him go, adding a little shove. “Get this cleaned up before school. And I expect you back here right after, too.”

“Yes, sir,” said Hunter.

“And cut the sarcasm.”

Fuck you.

But Hunter didn’t say it. He wouldn’t give his grandfather the satisfaction.

Instead, he held on to his temper and cleaned up the mess on the floor.

If only the mess in his life would be so easy.

CHAPTER 3

School had been closed for a week, but that didn’t mean Hunter felt any eagerness about returning. He sat in his jeep in the parking lot and watched students stream through the doors.

He didn’t want to go inside.

He shared American Lit with Calla. How was he supposed to sit there in class with her and pretend nothing was going on?

Calla had been using Ryan Stacey to start fires in an effort to bring the Guides to town. She’d been drawing pentagrams in lighter fluid inside each of the houses they burned—a mocking call to the Guides, who painted pentagrams on houses where they suspected pure Elementals lived.

Now Ryan Stacey was in jail, and Calla had renewed her threat. She and that mystery boy would start burning down houses until he brought Guides here. How the hell was he supposed to do that?

And even if he could, was that any better? Luring people into a death trap?

He pulled out his cell phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found Bill Chandler.

They hadn’t spoken in days, but Becca’s father answered almost immediately. No preamble, just: “Hunter?”

“Calla Dean broke into my house this morning.”

“What did she want?”

Hunter couldn’t get a read off his voice. No curiosity, no anger, no boredom or exasperation. Hunter never had any idea where he stood with Becca’s father—which was reassuring in a way because he’d never had any idea where he stood with his own, either.

“She wants me to bring the Guides here.”

A pause. “This isn’t news.”

“She said she’s going to keep burning down houses until they come.”

“If these arson attacks continue, she’ll bring the Guides here on her own, eventually. She doesn’t need you.”

That wasn’t the answer Hunter was looking for. “Do you have any idea who she could be working with?”

“No, and I don’t care.”

Hunter blinked. “You don’t . . . care?”

“No. The Guides will come and eradicate the problem. If I get involved, it puts Becca at risk.”

“Calla will kill people. She’s not making little fires. She—”

“She’s alive because you missed an opportunity, Hunter.”

Shock trapped the words right in Hunter’s throat, lodging there until he could barely breathe around it.

“I told you to make sure Gabriel Merrick didn’t cause trouble. Instead, you helped him find it. You shouldn’t be involved.”

Hunter gritted his teeth. Yeah, Bill had asked him to keep an eye on Gabriel Merrick, a Fire Elemental with a temper to match. But Gabriel had been using his abilities to rescue people from the mysterious fires popping up all over town.

Hunter had helped him.

But when Ryan Stacey had set the library on fire, Calla had revealed herself to be the Elemental behind the arson attacks.

She’d also taunted him, claiming to be responsible for his father’s death. Hunter had drawn his gun.

And then he’d been unable to pull the trigger.

Hunter squeezed his eyes shut. “People would have died—”

“They didn’t. You saved them. But you allowed Calla Dean to get away, and now she has leverage.” He paused, a weighted silence full of judgment. “You made your bed, kid. Now you lie in it.”

The phone clicked off.

The shock settled into something like fury—at himself. Twice before, he’d had the opportunity to fix a problem, and he’d hesitated before employing lethal force.

And then he’d stood in the library, surrounded by fire, listening as Calla recounted her crimes.

All that training, and he couldn’t pull a trigger.

Now he’d have to confront her. Here, at school, where she couldn’t cause a scene.

The school hallways were crowded: the main corridors that led past the library were blocked with yellow caution tape, forcing people to go through the basement locker areas just to cross from one side of the school to the other. Hunter was bumped at least three times while he was trying to get his books together for morning classes.

Then a hand came out of nowhere and shoved the books straight out of his arms, sending them skidding across the tiled floor. “Welcome back, jackass.”

Gabriel Merrick.

The gesture had been casual. The venom in his voice had not.

Hunter stared after him, wondering if he should retaliate—or if he should swallow his pride and take it.

Because he kind of deserved it.

“Hey,” he called.

Gabriel flipped him off and disappeared around the corner.

Hunter figured he was lucky Gabriel hadn’t set his books on fire.

In homeroom, he ignored the morning announcements and tried to think of a plan. He shared fourth period with Chris and Becca. Maybe he could start there. If they knew what Calla was up to, they’d want to help.

Or they’d tell him to screw off.

He needed a backup plan. He couldn’t stop Calla by himself.

Someone cleared her throat, and Hunter blinked, realizing that the room had gone silent. Everyone in class was staring at him, including the elderly teacher who only monitored homeroom and study hall.

He’d missed something important.

“Hunter?” Mrs. Goodchild said. “Did you hear the intercom, dear? You’re wanted in the guidance office.”

Hunter sighed and grabbed his things. This would be the third time he’d been called to the office since school started. It seemed like every week they needed a new form signed by his mother. Maybe they needed another backup-backup emergency form filled out in triplicate. The headache from this morning was back, like a ball-peen hammer at the back of his eyeballs.

The main office was crowded: kids clamoring for late slips, a guy on crutches with medical forms in one hand, two men in suits who looked like salesmen but were probably college recruiters, and the hottest girl Hunter had ever seen.

For half a second, he could barely think to put one foot in front of the other.

She was standing by the main secretary’s desk, a messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Her hair was thick and blond and chin length, and a few strands fell across her face, framing green eyes. Striking eyes, full of intelligence instead of boredom. Her lips were pink and full and almost pouting. Her clothes were fitted and current and expensive-looking: a short brown leather jacket that flared from her waist, jeans that clung to the slight curve of her hips, and knee-high boots with just enough buckles and zippers to be intriguing.

But it wasn’t just her looks that held him spellbound. It was the energy in the air around her, as if the light and the air flared with tiny sparks.

Her eyes flicked sideways and she caught him looking.

Now his pulse tripped, but at least she couldn’t see that. He needed to shut this down. Girls were a complication he didn’t need right now. He shifted his bag higher on his shoulder and didn’t flinch from her look.

Her eyes narrowed and she tossed the hair off her face. Her lips parted, as if she were about to speak—but the secretary hung up the phone and held out a packet of papers to the girl. “Miss Sullivan, here’s your locker combination and some emergency forms for your parents to fill out. First period is about to start, so . . .”

She was a new student. Maybe fate was repaying him for that crap with Calla this morning. Maybe he’d been called down here to escort her around school. Maybe—

“Alice?” A voice called from the guidance counselor’s office. “When Hunter Garrity gets here, can you please send him in?”

Damn it.

He sighed and headed toward Ms. Vickers’s door.

As he moved past the new girl, he caught her scent, something sweet with a spicy kick to it, cinnamon over apples.

She was still watching him. “Like what you see?”

She said it boldly, but not cattily. Like a genuine question—without any doubt of the answer.

It embarrassed him anyway. He shouldn’t have been staring.

He opened his mouth to answer, not even knowing what to say. An apology? Something cocky, like Yeah, I do?

But one of the guys in the late line said, “I like what I see, baby!” And the guy next to him gave him a high five and said, “Why don’t you show us a little more—”

“Leave her alone,” Hunter snapped. He took a step toward them, and they mocked him, pretending to be afraid.