'tats.'"
I grabbed his elbow, my fingers slipping on his sweaty skin.
"Wait. What?"
"Those marks mean she's gone through the Removal.
They're a symbol of her screwup, not a point of pride with her. Why would you . . ."
He trailed off, probably because I was glaring at him.
"Elodie," he muttered.
"Yeah," I fired back. "Your girlfriend and her friends were realy helpful in filing me in on the Vandy this morning."
He sighed and rubbed the nape of his neck, which had the effect of puling his T-shirt even tighter across his chest. Not that I cared. "Look, Elodie . . . she's--"
" So do not care," I said, holding up my hand. "Now, what did you mean when you said my dad gave her those tattoos?"
Archer looked at me incredulously. "Whoa."
"What?"
"You seriously don't know?"
I'd never been able to actualy feel my blood pressure rising before, but it certainly was now. It felt kind of the way magic used to feel, only with more homicidal rage thrown in.
"Don't. Know. What ?" I managed to say.
"Your dad is the head of the Council. As in, the guy who sent us al here."
CHAPTER 12
A fter that little tidbit of information, I did something I have never done in my entire life.
I had a ful-on drama queen meltdown.
By which I mean I burst into tears. And not tragicaly beautiful, elegant tears either. No, I had the big messy ones involving a red face and snot.
I usualy make it a point not to cry in front of people, especialy hot boys that I'd been totaly crushing on before they'd tried to choke me.
But for some reason, hearing that there was yet another thing I didn't know just sent me right on over the edge.
Archer, to his credit, didn't look exactly horrified by my sobbing, and he even reached out like he might grab hold of my shoulders. Or possibly smack me.
But before he could either comfort me or commit further acts of violence upon my person, I spun away from him and made my drama queen moment complete by running away.
It wasn't pretty.
But by that point I was beyond caring. I just ran, my chest burning, my throat aching from a combination of Archer's chokehold and tears.
My feet pounded against the thick grass with dul thumps, and al I could think was what an idiot I was.
Don't know about blocking spels.
Don't know about tattoos.
Don't know about big, stupid, evil Italian Eyes.
Don't know about Dad.
Don't know anything about being a witch.
Don't know, don't know, don't know.
I wasn't sure exactly how far I'd run, but by the time I got to the pond at the back of the school, my legs were shaking and my side ached. I had to sit down. Luckily, there was a little stone bench right next to the edge of the water. I was so out of breath between the running and the crying that I totaly overlooked the moss creeping over the seat and flopped down. It was hot from the sun, and I winced a little.
I sat there, my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, listening to my breath saw in and out of my lungs. Sweat dripped from my forehead to my thighs, and I started to feel a little dizzy.
I was just so . . . pissed . Okay, so Mom had been freaked out by Dad being a warlock. Fair enough. But why couldn't she at least have let me talk to the guy? It would have been nice to get a little heads up about the Vandy. You know, just a friendly "Oh, and by the way, your gym teacher hates me a lot, and so, by extension, hates you! Best o' luck!"
I groaned and lay across the bench, only to come shooting back into a sitting position when the hot stone touched my bare arm.
Without realy thinking, I laid my hand on the bench and thought, Comfy .
A tiny silver spark flew from my index finger, and immediately the bench under me began to stretch and undulate until it morphed itself into a pretty, lush, velvet chaise lounge covered in hot-pink zebra stripes. Clearly, Jenna was rubbing off on me.
I settled back onto my newly comfy resting spot, a pleasant buzz humming through me. I hadn't done magic since coming to Hecate, and I'd
I grabbed his elbow, my fingers slipping on his sweaty skin.
"Wait. What?"
"Those marks mean she's gone through the Removal.
They're a symbol of her screwup, not a point of pride with her. Why would you . . ."
He trailed off, probably because I was glaring at him.
"Elodie," he muttered.
"Yeah," I fired back. "Your girlfriend and her friends were realy helpful in filing me in on the Vandy this morning."
He sighed and rubbed the nape of his neck, which had the effect of puling his T-shirt even tighter across his chest. Not that I cared. "Look, Elodie . . . she's--"
" So do not care," I said, holding up my hand. "Now, what did you mean when you said my dad gave her those tattoos?"
Archer looked at me incredulously. "Whoa."
"What?"
"You seriously don't know?"
I'd never been able to actualy feel my blood pressure rising before, but it certainly was now. It felt kind of the way magic used to feel, only with more homicidal rage thrown in.
"Don't. Know. What ?" I managed to say.
"Your dad is the head of the Council. As in, the guy who sent us al here."
CHAPTER 12
A fter that little tidbit of information, I did something I have never done in my entire life.
I had a ful-on drama queen meltdown.
By which I mean I burst into tears. And not tragicaly beautiful, elegant tears either. No, I had the big messy ones involving a red face and snot.
I usualy make it a point not to cry in front of people, especialy hot boys that I'd been totaly crushing on before they'd tried to choke me.
But for some reason, hearing that there was yet another thing I didn't know just sent me right on over the edge.
Archer, to his credit, didn't look exactly horrified by my sobbing, and he even reached out like he might grab hold of my shoulders. Or possibly smack me.
But before he could either comfort me or commit further acts of violence upon my person, I spun away from him and made my drama queen moment complete by running away.
It wasn't pretty.
But by that point I was beyond caring. I just ran, my chest burning, my throat aching from a combination of Archer's chokehold and tears.
My feet pounded against the thick grass with dul thumps, and al I could think was what an idiot I was.
Don't know about blocking spels.
Don't know about tattoos.
Don't know about big, stupid, evil Italian Eyes.
Don't know about Dad.
Don't know anything about being a witch.
Don't know, don't know, don't know.
I wasn't sure exactly how far I'd run, but by the time I got to the pond at the back of the school, my legs were shaking and my side ached. I had to sit down. Luckily, there was a little stone bench right next to the edge of the water. I was so out of breath between the running and the crying that I totaly overlooked the moss creeping over the seat and flopped down. It was hot from the sun, and I winced a little.
I sat there, my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, listening to my breath saw in and out of my lungs. Sweat dripped from my forehead to my thighs, and I started to feel a little dizzy.
I was just so . . . pissed . Okay, so Mom had been freaked out by Dad being a warlock. Fair enough. But why couldn't she at least have let me talk to the guy? It would have been nice to get a little heads up about the Vandy. You know, just a friendly "Oh, and by the way, your gym teacher hates me a lot, and so, by extension, hates you! Best o' luck!"
I groaned and lay across the bench, only to come shooting back into a sitting position when the hot stone touched my bare arm.
Without realy thinking, I laid my hand on the bench and thought, Comfy .
A tiny silver spark flew from my index finger, and immediately the bench under me began to stretch and undulate until it morphed itself into a pretty, lush, velvet chaise lounge covered in hot-pink zebra stripes. Clearly, Jenna was rubbing off on me.
I settled back onto my newly comfy resting spot, a pleasant buzz humming through me. I hadn't done magic since coming to Hecate, and I'd
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