Charmfall

And what was the most efficient way to learn more about Reaper topics of conversation? Ask one. So I headed to my room, grabbed my phone, and called Sebastian.

“Lily?” he answered.

I sat down on my bed. “Hey, I need a favor. Well, information, anyway.”

“Okay,” he slowly said. “What do you want to know?”

I swallowed down a moment of panic, then threw it out there. “Do you know the story of Campbell? The fairy tale, I mean?”

There was a pause. “The fairy tale of Campbell?”

There was something strange in his voice, but I kept going. “So, there’s this fairy tale about a boy named Campbell who overthrew an evil baron or something. I hear Reapers are talking about that story a lot—maybe because they’re unhappy with Jeremiah. Do you know anything about it? Have you heard the story?”

Another pause, which just seemed that much more suspicious.

“Sebastian?”

“I’m here.”

“Okay. Any ideas?”

“I have—I have to go,” he said, and the line went dead.

I blinked at the phone for a minute, then flipped it in my hand while I thought through the call.

I’d asked Sebastian only about a fairy tale, and he seemed to freak out. He definitely hung up. Did the fairy tale mean something to him? Or did he know a boy named “Campbell” the Reapers might be secretly referring to?

“Maybe there’s a Campbell out there trying to make a name for himself,” I said quietly.

I grabbed my laptop from the bookshelf and carried it back to the bed, then flipped it open. The hard drive whirred a bit while the computer started up. As soon as it was ready, I dug into the Internet and tried my first search: the words “Campbell” and “fairy tale.”

Sure enough, I found a Web site of old Scottish fairy tales, including one called “Campbell and the Evil Lorde” that was pretty much the same as Kite had explained. Boy managed to win despite huge odds against him, but boy became as evil as the guy he’d overthrown. I think the moral of the story was basically “the grass isn’t always greener.”

Chin in my hand, I scrolled through the search results just in case there was anything else interesting. I didn’t see anything . . . until I got to the end of the fourth page. There, on the very bottom, was another Campbell story—a news report. The title read: CAMPBELL KIN RETURNS TO CITY FATHER CALLED HOME. And when I clicked on the article . . . a color picture of Fayden freaking Campbell stared back at me.

“Oh, crap,” I muttered, an uncomfortable flutter in my chest, as I scanned the article.

Turns out, Fayden Campbell’s father—Sebastian’s uncle—was from Chicago. He’d been a big shot in a tech company in California before he died earlier in the year. And just like Sebastian had said, Fayden had moved from California to Chicago, her father’s hometown, to finish law school.

So, to review:

Sebastian’s cousin, Fayden, just moved to Chicago. The Reaper gossip was about some fairy tale “Campbell” who was looking to take over the Reapers. And Sebastian’s cousin’s last name was “Campbell.”

Sebastian said she didn’t have magic. But this whole “Campbell” thing was a coincidence, wasn’t it?

Crap—I’d just told Sebastian that we suspected a “Campbell” might be involved. Sure, only in fairy tale terms, but I’d just given him the only clue I had, and he’d immediately hung up. What if he’d called Fayden and given her a heads-up?

Suddenly sick to my stomach, I shut the computer again. Had I done something awful? Had I trusted Sebastian too much?

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the kind of thing I could stash away and refuse to think about again. I had to tell someone. I had to tell Scout. And eventually, probably, I’d have to tell Jason and Daniel and the rest of Enclave. There was no avoiding it.

I flopped back on the bed. How did I get into messes like this? How did I end up in this bedroom in Chicago afraid to tell my new best friend that I might have accidentally given away details about our magical investigation to a guy who may or may not be totally evil . . . or who may or may not have told his cousin, the bad girl, that we were on her case.

I put my laptop back on the shelf in case I needed to run back into my room and flop on my bed in tears—or to hide from whatever Scout might throw at me.

I blew out a breath, and headed across the room.

Scout was organizing her new Gaslight Goods stuff when I opened the door. But when she looked back at me and saw the expression on my face, hers drooped.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I screwed up.”

She put her hands on her hips. “How did you do that?”

I closed her door behind me. “I called Sebastian to ask about the fairy tale. He hung up almost immediately—like the question freaked him out.”

“Or like he knew something about it?”

I nodded and took a seat on her bed. “Yeah. And I looked around on the Internet and maybe figured out why.”

Scout’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“Because his cousin—the one we saw outside—is Fayden Campbell.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s convenient.”

“That’s what I thought. I mean, he said she wasn’t a Reaper, but what are the odds? And here’s the thing—when he hung up, what if he went and called Fayden and warned her?”

“Warned her what? That you figured out her last name was Campbell? I mean, that’s really the only thing you’ve proved.”

I deflated a little. I mean, I didn’t want to put Adepts in danger, but I also kind of thought I’d been onto something. “I only told him that we’d heard about the fairy tale.”

“That’s my point—you didn’t tell him anything he couldn’t have found out from Kite. What you did find out is that he knows something. If that fairy tale didn’t mean something important to him, he wouldn’t have hung up. We just need to find out what that is.”

She patted me on the back. “You actually did good. This is nothing to freak out about. Now, the fact that you called Sebastian—that’s going to raise a few eyebrows.”

“Can’t the Enclave just think of me as a spy or a double agent or something? Making Sebastian think I’m a friend while actually using him for information?”

“Is that really what you’re doing?” Scout asked.

I didn’t have a good answer for that.

“I didn’t tell them about the time you met him in that Taco Terry’s,” she pointed out. I’d met Sebastian in the Mexican fast-food chain near St. Sophia’s over one lunch hour.

“But now you’re actually going to him for information. These people are putting their lives on the line just like you are, and I think it’s only fair that you tell them you have a source.” She shrugged. “It’s possible they won’t be really mad.”

“They?” I wondered. “Or Jason?”

She grimaced. “Yeah. You might want to think about a bribe.”

I made a face. “I got helpful information from Sebastian. I’m not going to feel bad about talking to him.”

She patted me on the shoulder. “Just keep telling yourself that, kid.”

When did things become so complicated?

Scout texted Daniel to arrange an Enclave meeting. I prepared myself mentally to make my confession about Sebastian, and then tried to put it out of my mind. I knew—or at least I thought I knew—I was doing the right thing by communicating with him. But I also knew there was a pretty good chance the others wouldn’t see it that way—some Adepts would be upset. There was no point in worrying about something that was guaranteed to happen.

In the meantime, I needed to get Veronica and Nicu together, as unfortunate as that assignment was.

Scout used Nicu’s business card to get his number, then called him to arrange a meeting. The rest was my responsibility—I had to get Veronica to Nicu. I figured the easiest way to do that was to simply invite her.

I found some off-white drawing paper among my art supplies and a really old calligraphy pen. We decided study hall was the best time to get Veronica to the meeting place without making the other brat packers completely suspicious. Amie wasn’t the type of girl to leave in the middle of a cram session, and Veronica probably wouldn’t even tell M.K.—not if she thought she was meeting a secret boy.

The trickier part was getting Scout and me out of study hall to follow her, but we’d cross that bridge when we came to it.

“What, exactly, should I say on this note?” I asked, nibbling on the end of my pen. “How do you entice a brat packer to go to a secret meeting?”

“Promise them free makeup and Neiman Marcus gift cards?”

“I was hoping for something more poetic.”

“Ah,” Scout said, then cleared her throat and broke out the worst European guy accent I’d ever heard.

“Mizz Veeee-ronica,” she said. “I have dee love of you, greatly. You will meet me in dee night, and we will make dee beyoooteeful music.”

I just stared at her. “Really?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not really into the whole romantic thing. Just keep it vague.”

That probably was for the best. I went with something simple.

Veronica—

I’m the one you’ve been waiting for. It’s time we meet. 8:15 tonight. Thorn Garden.

Yours Truly

Pretty romantic if you asked me, but not so romantic that it sounded, you know, stalkery.

I folded it up and wrote Veronica’s name on the outside. Then Scout and I waited until dinner started and slipped the note under the door to Veronica’s suite.

And then we waited.

* * *

The great hall was quiet and chilly, and most of the girls in St. Sophia’s wore sweaters or sweatshirts over their uniforms. With an elbow on the table, I sat with my chin in one hand, flicking my pencil against the table with the other.

I should have been upstairs in flannel pajamas. Instead, I was in study hall, a notebook and tattered copy of Sense and Sensibility on the table in front of me . . . and Veronica Lively on my mind.

We were already an hour into study hall, and Veronica hadn’t done anything. She sat with M.K. and Amie just like usual, and it looked like she was studying. If she planned to go through with the meeting, she certainly wasn’t acting like it . . . and that was making me antsy.

What if she didn’t show at all? What if she stood up a vampire and he blamed us? No more trips through the Pedway for us.

Seriously, these old-fashioned British romance novels were tame compared to the stuff we were living.

Since Veronica hadn’t so much as moved in five minutes, I looked down at my book and forced myself to read three more pages.

I looked up at Scout, who sat at the table across from me, actually reading her own copy of the book. She may have missed her parents, but there were some reasons for which she wouldn’t want to see them. Like failing out of school.

“What’s a whippet?” I asked.

“Whip it,” Scout said. “Whip it good.” She drummed on the table. “Duh duh duh, duh duh.”

“Not ‘whip it,’ whippet. It’s a dog, I think.”

“If you think it’s a dog, why do you want to know?”

“I just wanted confirmation. Thank you for being so helpful.”

“We aim to please,” she whispered, turning a page.

Apparently I wasn’t going to be able to get her to procrastinate with me.

Suddenly, Veronica all but jumped out of her chair. She walked over to one of the dragon ladies, said something with hand gestures, and then walked to the doors that led into the main building.

I guess she’d gotten excused from study hall.

I tapped my pencil on Scout’s book. When she looked up at me, I gestured toward Veronica, who was opening the door.

She nodded. “You go,” she said, then motioned at the patrolling dragon ladies. “How are you going to get past them?”

Trying to think up a plan, I gnawed the edge of my lip. And just as Veronica slipped outside the door, I spied my solution.

“There’s a water fountain in the great hall,” I whispered.

“And?” Scout asked.

“And,” I said; then I coughed—loudly.

The dragon lady glared over at me for interrupting the silence.

Pile it on, I thought, and launched into a spasm of coughing that would have impressed an Oscar winner.

“All right,” Scout barely whispered. “She’s walking over. Make your move. I’ll follow you if I can get outside. If I can’t, keep an eye on the lovebirds.”

I didn’t wait. I scooted my chair back and hustled over to her. Every few steps I faked a gigantic cough that turned every head in the room.

“I need to . . . you know . . . It’s an emergency.” I winged up my eyebrows and put a hand on my chest for dramatic effect. I also fake coughed enough that I made my eyes water, which probably helped, too.

The dragon lady didn’t look convinced, but she gestured toward the door. “Quickly,” she warned.

I didn’t waste any time. I half jogged to the door and slipped through it, fake coughing all the way like it was my theme song . . . at least until I was out of the room and the door was shut behind me.

I got out just in time to see Veronica slipping into the administrative wing. That was when I knew we had her. The only reason to visit the administrative wing this late at night was to use the secret exit—an old root cellar that led directly to the St. Sophia’s grounds. No alarms. No dragon ladies. It was a miracle Reapers weren’t pouring through there every night.