That explains the name, at least. Evermore. Because they will literally live ever-freaking-more, body hopping like the characters in a bad science fiction movie. The idea weirds me out.

Someone calls my name, bringing me back to reality.

Mrs. Hawthorn stares at me expectantly. “Are you with us now, Summer? Good. I asked what the second rule of power is. The rest of the class doesn’t know. Do you?”

Accordingly, my mind goes blank. I pinch my leg beneath my desk to refocus my thoughts. Who do I know that has power . . . ? Cal and his father immediately come to mind. I’d never wondered how, exactly, they came into such power.

They didn’t have magic. They had money, of course. But it was more than that . . .

“Influence?” I say.

She raises an eyebrow. “It that a question or an answer? If you want me to believe what you say, perhaps you should learn to influence me.”

Someone snickers, but she holds up a hand. “The delivery needs work, but Summer is right; influence is the second component of power. With enough magic, anyone can make someone do something. But if you can learn to influence them instead, to make them think your goal is what they desire most, you are one step closer to ultimate power. Strong magic and the skill of influence is a dangerous combination.”

“And the third component of power?” Reina asks, pencil poised over her notebook, ready to scribble down the answer and learn world domination. God help us all.

Mrs. Hawthorn’s lips curve into a grin that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “The first student who answers that correctly will receive an automatic A in this class. But”—she raises a hand in protest as the class tries to throw out answers—“answer carefully because you only get one opportunity.”

The voices go quiet as she adds the first two components of power—magic and influence—on the chalkboard. Number three goes just below.

As she has us open our books to chapter one, I stare at the empty number three spot, wondering what the third component could be.

If surviving the Fae requires power, then I should probably learn the answer. And, judging by the way Reina and her friend not-so-quietly whisper about me, I should find it soon.

19

“I’ve seen zombie movies with less gore,” Mack declares, her nose scrunched. “The darkling just munched on the poor Fae girl’s face like it was a deep-dish supreme pizza.”

The girl sitting with us, Evelyn, a Summer Court shadow, groans and shoves her orange lunch tray across the table. “Thanks for that. I’d finally just managed to scrub that image from my brain.”

I pluck the uneaten apple off her tray without even thinking. Hoarding food becomes an instinct when you’ve spent years starving. But the video seriously dampened my appetite, and I pocket the fruit for later.

Watching a human monster rip someone’s face off has that effect.

I glance over at Evelyn. So far, she’s the only shadow who will dare sit with us. Honestly, she’s sweet but not incredibly bright, and I think she truly has no idea I’m the equivalent of social kryptonite. Mack said Evelyn comes from a long line of legacies and that her parents infused the school with a huge sum to get her admitted.

I don’t doubt that for a moment. Everything she wears—from her sparkling diamond earrings to her immaculately fitted black pantsuit—looks expensive. Her vibrant red hair hangs just past her shoulders, the silky-smooth strands curling under. Not a split end in sight.

I finger the broken ends of my own wild, wavy hair, suddenly all too aware of its deficiencies.

Mack slurps her milk. “Half the class puked, but I thought it was cool.”

I raise an eyebrow. “How was that cool?”

She shrugs. “It shows how important our jobs are. Why the Fae need us. They might treat us like dirt, but at the end of the day, they know we’re the only ones who can protect them from those things.”

She sounds like the combat teacher, Mr. Crayburn, who said we needed to understand what we’re up against, and why protecting our Fae partners is so important.

Still, I wasn’t expecting that level of violence from the darklings. Nor the speed. They moved so fast at times that they became blurs on video. The Fae were formidable, their magic splashing bursts of light into the camera. A few had weapons and they wielded them with expert skill.

But it wasn’t enough. Not even close. The darklings seemed unaffected by the Fae’s magic, and their speed allowed them to dodge the Fae’s weapons with ease. Even when their weapons did hit their mark, the darklings seemed impervious to the steel blades.

The footage was taken inside a restaurant in an unnamed Everwilde city. None of the Fae had shadows.

It was a slaughter.

Evelyn shudders. “I saw a darkling once.”

“Where?” Mack demands.

The charm bracelet on Evelyn’s wrist tinkles as she makes a sweeping gesture with her hand. “Right here.”

My eyes go wide. “One broke into the school? I thought the new wards were impenetrable.” At least, according to our teacher, Professor Crayburn. Although the guy wears tweed suits so I’m not sure I trust his judgement.

“She was a student, and I was here touring with my parents.” Evelyn stares at the double doors behind us as if the darkling is still here. “I think she had just turned because her eyes looked almost human, and she wasn’t all deformed. Just . . . different. With horns and stuff. Before she could hurt anyone, a group of fourth years burst in and shot her with rowan-berry laced darts. Then they took her away, to be killed, I’m sure.” She inhales deeply before releasing a long sigh. “If I became that . . . monster, I’d want to die too.”

After lunch, I go to meet Rhaegar on the upper floors for fifth period. I’m so busy searching the halls for half-turned darkling humans that I fail to notice how many Fae there are. Right up until the point I nearly crash into Inara and her friends.

Reina is already with her, and it looks like they’ve been waiting for me. Crap.

Shifting my backpack on my shoulder, I glance back, looking for Mack. But she had to run by her locker after lunch. I’m alone.

Inara laughs as she glides toward me, all smiles and teeth. She wears a striking shimmery-blue ensemble that I could never pull off with my complexion.

“Excuse me,” I say, trying to slide past her.

She grabs my shoulder and squeezes hard. Anyone looking from the outside might think the shoulder touch is friendly. But the terrifying strength pouring from her fingers is anything but, and I grit my teeth to keep from crying out in pain.

By now, a crowd has gathered. All Unseelie by the look of them. I’m surprised they’re not wearing evil-and-proud T-shirts.

“Where are you going?” she asks, still smiling.

A pit of dread opens inside me. Inara wouldn’t make the effort if she didn’t plan to do something horrible to me.

“To class,” I answer. I try to slip away, but her fingers grip tighter, so hard I think they’ll rip my shoulder out of place.

Her cruel gaze slides to my bag. “But how can you go to class without any books? We all know you can’t afford them.”

My jaw clenches as I recall the bill that showed up along with my new things. A bill I have no idea how to pay. Thanks, Winter Prince.

“I have my books,” I growl, “now, move.”

“Check.” There’s something in her voice. A command. I shiver as the order repeats inside my head, and then I find myself sliding my backpack down my arm and unzipping it.

“Pull one out,” she orders in a silky-smooth voice.

Suddenly I want to retrieve one of my textbooks. Not just want to, I have to. I slip my hand inside the bag and feel something soft brush my fingers. Soft and sticky. Not a book. Something heavy and familiar.

And there’s an alarming metallic, coppery scent coming from inside. My body recoils from it. I don’t want to reveal what I’m holding. There’s a sick dread in my stomach. A terrible, gnawing ache.

But I have no choice. My body isn’t my own. Slowly, I pull out whatever this is . . .

It’s a head. A bloody, severed head inside my backpack. Red pig-tails. Freckles. Blood and other horrifying things drip from the neck. But worst of all—worst of all, I recognize the face.

Jane.

With a wail, I fling the head away and fall to my knees as a pang of grief splits open inside me. The pain is unreal. I gag, warm vomit tickling my throat. My thoughts ping-pong all over the place.

Do Aunt Vi and Z know yet? When did this happen? Why? How?

Laughter echoes around me. Cruel, cold, unending laughter. A few Unseelie whip out cell phones and shoot videos. Someone jumps in and takes a selfie with me.

I hardly notice them. I clutch my chest. Unable to breathe. To focus on my surroundings. My heart. My heart is tearing in half.

“What’s happening here?” a deep voice booms.

A male professor stands just outside the classroom, frowning at the whole affair. I point at where I tossed Jane’s head . . . except now there’s only a book. And the blood staining my hands and the floor has disappeared.

It was a . . . trick. A spiteful, brutal, callous trick.

The professor sees Inara and then his face goes slack with fear. Still, he seems about to help me, taking a step forward, despite Inara’s terrifying presence. Then his gaze slides to my right and he freezes. The blood in his face drains until his skin is the same hue as snow.

With a quick, apologetic glance at me, he disappears into his classroom.

Coward.

I follow his gaze, wondering who could be more intimidating than Inara, and my eyes snag on the Winter Prince. He’s leaned against a locker watching Inara, his gaze avoiding me completely. He wears his usual lazy smirk, the one that makes me want to throat-punch him. His blue-black hair is artfully messy and falls around his slender, pointed ears, the white collar of his tunic unbuttoned and open to the top of his chest.

He looks like he just fell out of bed. He probably did.

My skin tingles with fear as I remember last night. Does he know I trespassed inside his mind?