Red-Headed Stepchild

“Adam can handle it.”



She crossed her arms and scowled. “It’s not fair. I’m not some delicate flower, Sabina. I have skills you can use.”



I jumped off the counter and approached her, feeling bad but not that bad. “Look, I appreciate the offer. Really. But it’s just too dangerous. If something happened to you, I’d feel horrible.”



“I’m not your responsibility. I can take care of myself.”



“I’m sure you can. But I won’t have you risking yourself on my watch.”



“I could go to Clovis, you know.”



“Good luck.” I already knew his answer. Clovis wanted the team small and lethal. Nymphs weren’t exactly known for their bloodthirsty battle skills.



Her hand landed on my arm, her eyes imploring me to listen. “Please, Sabina. I want to help. Anything.”



I sighed as I felt some of my resolve crack. I knew what it felt like to be underestimated. “You can help with the logistics—gathering supplies and whatnot.” She let out a whoop of triumph, but I stopped her. “However, you’ll stay behind during the attack.”



“That’s okay,” she said. “I’m just happy to help any way I can.”



Her smile was contagious. I felt my face crack into a grin.



“You know, when you first got here I had my doubts,” she said.



“Oh yeah?” I leaned back against the sink, surprised by her candor.



She nodded. “I’m ashamed to admit this now, but Clovis asked me to spy on you.” She looked up at me through her lashes, as if worried I was going to get angry. I wasn’t angry—or surprised. I’d figured as much.



“And well, I’m relieved at how this has all turned out. I know it was rocky at first, but I’m glad we’re friends.”



My chest contracted. Friends? When had that happened? I’d never had a female friend before. Most of the other assassins in school were males, and the profession lent itself to being a loner more than a social butterfly. And now, inexplicably, I had a nymph for a friend. I wondered if she’d still think that after I killed Clovis. I knew better. The trust shining in her eyes would die and I’d go from friend to traitor.



Again.



22



If there are two things that don’t mix, it’s pizza and cats. Giguhl groaned half the night with heartburn and emitted the most noxious gas I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter. At one point, it got so bad I opened the bathroom door and turned on the fan. The cat darted past me, heading straight for the toilet. I left the door cracked to give him privacy and fell back into bed amid the sounds of dry heaves and yowling.



When I managed to fall asleep with a pillow over my head, nightmares plagued me. In one, David was alive and hunting me through a thick forest. I woke with a start, his words echoing in my ears, “Betrayer!” My breath came in labored gasps and cold sweat coated my skin.



When I managed to fall asleep again, I dreamed of my father. I hung upside down on some sort of torture device, my hands and feet bound. He told me to use my magic to rescue myself. Yet as hard as I tried, I couldn’t break free. My father shook his head and said, “You’re such a disappointment.”



Finally, my own yells woke me. I was sitting up when my eyes opened. Giguhl sat at my feet, watching me warily. “Are you okay? You were shouting.”



I ran a hand through my rat’s-nest hair and tried to get my bearings. I closed my eyes and willed my heart to decelerate by taking slow breaths. In my solar plexus, I felt the sun hovering at the horizon.



“What did I say?” I asked finally.



Giguhl’s ear twitched. “Something like ‘it’s not my fault.’ ”



I cringed, remembering the reason I’d been yelling. Though I’d never met my father, I knew without a doubt he’d been the mage in my dream.



Knowing I’d never get back to sleep, I tossed off the covers and stood. Adam would probably arrive at the butt crack of dusk just to annoy me anyway.



“How are you feeling?” I asked Giguhl.



“About five pounds lighter,” he said.



“Poor, Mr. Giggles,” I said. “That’ll teach you to stay away from people food.”



“I’d rather be gassy all night than forced to endure that horrible slop that passes as cat food.”



“Suit yourself. Only next time you’re sleeping in the living room. You gave a whole new meaning to ‘nocturnal emissions.’ ”



He sniffed and jumped from the bed, dismissing me. At the door, he paused, waiting for me to open it for him. I sighed and did his bidding. He left without looking at me.



“You’re welcome,” I called. His only response was a tail twitch as he rounded the corner into the living room.



I felt a grin tease the corner of my lips at his behavior. Shaking my head, I pivoted toward the bathroom. If luck was on my side, I’d have time for both a shower and a gallon of coffee before Adam made an appearance.



By now, I should have learned that luck, if she was a lady, was a mean-spirited bitch with a grudge against me. I’d barely stepped out of the shower when I heard the doorbell. Dripping like a wet dog, I grabbed a towel from the rack and did the world’s fastest dry-off. Five minutes later, my hair was in a makeshift but damp bun. After tossing on jeans, a white tank, and my black cowboy boots, I inspected myself in front of the mirror.



“Makeup,” I said to my pale reflection. A couple of coats of mascara, a little cream blush, and some lip-gloss worked wonders. I told myself the enhancement was merely a concession to my sleep-deprived complexion. However, part of me didn’t feel right appearing before Adam clean-faced. I needed some war paint before I faced my first lesson in magic.



Someone knocked on the bedroom door. Knowing I couldn’t put it off any longer, I went to answer. Before I opened it, I rubbed my damp palms on my denim-clad thighs.



Adam lounged against the doorframe. “Morning,” he said with his trademark grin.



“Hey.” The word came out like a croak.



His gaze traveled south, pausing briefly over my chest. I crossed my arms, suddenly wishing I’d thought to put on a bra. I cleared my throat.



“You ready to get started?” His eyes met mine again.



“I guess so,” I said. “Do I need anything?”



He shook his head and stepped back to make way for me. “I thought we’d start in the courtyard. It’s a nice night.”



“Sounds good.” I felt like I needed to clear my throat again. And I was having trouble meeting his eyes. Weird. Guess I was more nervous about this magic stuff than I thought. Of course, given the distrust Lavinia instilled in me about all things mage, maybe it wasn’t such a surprise.



Giguhl and Vinca had made themselves scarce. I wondered if this was their lousy attempt at matchmaking or if they were just scared to be around once I started casting spells. After a quick detour to the kitchen for coffee, Adam followed me outside. A bistro table and two wrought iron chairs sat next to the pool. Adam motioned to it and I took a seat, adjusting the chair so it faced the street.



“Worried someone’s going to sneak up on you?” Adam said. Then, he did the same thing. I ignored this and busied myself looking everywhere but at him.



Despite the temperature, the pool lights glowed. The chlorine’s sharp scent mixed with the smoky aroma of fallen leaves. I took a deep breath, trying to relax.



“This isn’t the Spanish Inquisition, you know.”



I looked at Adam. He smiled at me across the table. The lights from the pool accentuated the pleasing symmetry of his face. Realizing I was staring, I shifted in my seat. “I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well.”



He nodded and reached into his backpack. “I thought tonight we’d just cover some basics. How much do you know about mages in general?”



I shrugged. “Not much. You’re not immortal, but you live extremely long lives. I guess the magic helps with that.”



He nodded. “It helps. The oldest mage I know of lived to be a thousand years old.”



I felt my eyes widen. “He must be pretty strong to live so long.”



“She,” he corrected. “Ameritat was the leader of the Hekate Council.” His voice held a note of regret. Almost as if to distract himself, he pulled a book out of his bag and set it on the table. “What else?”



I looked up, racking my brain for something. “Honestly? Most of what I’ve been told isn’t so positive.”



He chuckled. “No, I guess it wouldn’t be. Let’s skip the vampire propaganda and go straight to the basics of magic, okay?”



“Fine with me.”



“The first thing they teach all mage youth is that magic must always be used with caution. Because it messes with the balance of nature, you have to be weigh potential repercussions before casting any spell.”



“What kind of repercussions are we talking about?”



He leaned his elbows on the table. “Depends on the magnitude of the spell. Are you familiar with the butterfly effect?”



I nodded. “Something about a butterfly flapping its wings in Africa can cause a hurricane on the other side of the world.”



“Very good,” he said. “Magic basically works on that principle. The larger the spell, the more serious the consequences. I’ve seen big spells cause earthquakes, tornados, even tsunamis.”



“What about the smaller ones?”



“Those are harder to track. Might be something as big as a rain shower or as small as an acorn falling from a tree. Could happen five yards away or fifty miles. Plus, you never know when it will happen—in five minutes or fifty years.”



“That sucks,” I said. “But if you don’t know what will happen, why worry at all?”



“The point isn’t knowing what will happen, it’s being aware that everything we do affects the whole. All of us—mages, vampires, humans, and the rest—affect the balance of life.”



“If you start singing ‘Kum Ba Yah’ I’m out of here.”