Mom's books. I'd been about thirteen, just idly flipping through the pages, admiring the glossy pictures of famous witches. And then I'd turned to a painting of a witch's execution in Scotland, maybe around 1600 or so. The picture was so gruesome that I hadn't been able to stop staring at it. I could still see the witch lying on her back, strapped to a wooden plank. Her blond hair streamed to the ground, a look of sheer terror on her face. Standing over her was a dark-haired man holding a silver knife. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and just above his heart was a tattoo--a black eye with a golden iris.
"In the past we've more than held our own against these three groups, but that's when they were separate and at odds. Now we've received word that they may be forging a sort of peace. If this happens . . ." She sighed.
"Well, let's just say we can't let that happen."
The Eye faded, and Mrs. Casnoff clapped her hands together. "Now.
Enough of that. You all have a very big morning tomorrow, so you are dismissed. Lights out in half an hour."
She sounded so bright and businesslike that I wondered if I had hallucinated the part where she basically told us we were all going to die.
But one look around the room and I knew that my classmates were just as shell-shocked and confused as I was.
"Well," Archer said, slapping his hands on his thighs. "That was new."
Before I could ask what he meant, he was out of his seat and disappearing among the crowd of students.
Thanks to his long-legged stride, I nearly had to jog to catch up with
Archer.
By the time I reached him, he was halfway up the stairs.
"Cross!" I called. I just couldn't bring myself to say "Archer" out loud.
I'd have felt like I was in an episode of Masterpiece Theatre: "Archer! Let us fetch a spot of tea, old boy!"
He paused on the stairs and turned to face me. Shockingly, he wasn't smirking.
"Mercer," he replied, making me roll my eyes.
"Look, what did you mean by 'that was new'? I thought you'd seen all that before."
He came down a couple of steps. "I have," he answered when he was only two steps above me. "Three years ago, when I was fourteen. My first year here. But it was different then."
"Different how?"
He shrugged out of his blazer, rolling his shoulders as if the jacket had been heavy. "They still did the Charles Walton thing; that seems to be a favorite. And there was a werewolf getting shot, and maybe one or two faeries on fire. But there weren't as many images. And they weren't all at once like that."
He looked down at me like he was sizing me up. "No hanged witches and warlocks either. I have to say, I'm a little impressed."
I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled. I didn't like the way he was looking at me. "Impressed by what?"
"When I saw that show three years ago, I had to run into that little bathroom over there"--he pointed to a small door across the foyer--"and puke my guts out. What we saw tonight was a lot worse, and you don't even look pale. You're tougher than I thought."
I fought the urge to laugh. My face may have looked calm, but my belly still felt like a mosh pit. Briefly amused by the image of my organs wearing eyeliner and ripped jeans, I gave Archer what I hoped was a look of cool nonchalance. "I just don't believe all that."
He raised an eyebrow, which made me totally jealous. I've never been able to do that. I always just end up raising both of them and looking surprised or scared instead of sardonic.
"Don't believe all what?"
"All that about humans wanting to kill us in lots of nasty ways."
"I think history pretty well supports that hypothesis, Mercer. Hell, humans have wiped out thousands of their own kind trying to get to us."
"Yeah, but that was in the past," I argued. "Back when they also thought drilling a hole in your head, or draining your blood would cure you of a disease. Humans are a lot more enlightened now."
"That a fact?" He was smirking again. I wondered if his face hurt if he took too long a break from it.
"Look," I said. "My mom is human, okay? And she loves Prodigium.
She'd never do a thing to hurt one. She even got a--"
"Her daughter's one."
"What?"
He heaved a sigh and tossed his jacket over one shoulder, holding it with the tip of his index finger. I thought only male models in GQ did that.
"Your mom may be an awesome person, but do you honestly believe she'd feel all warm and fuzzy about witches if she weren't raising one?"
I wanted to answer yes. I really did. But he had a point. Mom may have become a monster expert for my sake, but hadn't she run from my dad the minute he'd told her what he really was?
"You're right," Archer said, his tone softening a little. "Humans aren't what they used to be. But all those images were real, Mercer. Humans are always going to be scared of us. They're always going to be envious of our powers, and suspicious of our motives."
"Not all of them," I said, but my voice sounded weak, and I was thinking of Felicia, hysterical and screaming, "It was her! She's a witch!"
Archer shrugged again. "Maybe not. But you've been living with one foot in each world, and you can't do that anymore. You're at Hecate now."
His words hit hard. It had never occurred to me that I was different, that most Prodigium grew up in households with two parents just like them.
And some of the kids here had had hardly any interactions with humans once they'd come into their powers. Despite the doubt that was crawling over my skin like bugs, I said, "Yeah, but--"
"Arch!"
Elodie was standing on the landing above us, one hand on her basically nonexistent hip. Normally when this kind of thing happens in movies, the girlfriend is glaring down at the other girl with bright green jealousy, but since Elodie was a goddess, and I was, well, not, she didn't look even the littlest bit threatened. More bored, actually.
"Be right there, El," Archer called up to her. She executed that combination eye-roll/hair-flip/hand-wave thing that only beautiful girls irritated with their boyfriends can pull off, and walked up to the third floor. I think she put a little too much swing in her hips as she went, but, hey, matter of opinion.
"'Arch'?" I asked once she was gone, attempting the raised-eyebrow thing. As usual, it didn't work, so I probably just looked startled.
"See ya, Mercer," was all he replied. But as he turned to go, I couldn't help blurting out, "Do you think they might have a reason sometimes?"
He turned back to me. "Who?"
I glanced around, but the hall was empty.