"Where is it?"
"Where's what?" she asked. There were dark circles under her eyes.
"Jenna's bloodstone. I know you took it, now where is it?"
Elodie's eyes flashed. "I didn't take her stupid bloodstone. Although if
I had, it would've been totally justified after what she did to Chaston last night."
"She didn't do anything to Chaston, and you could have killed her!" I shouted.
"If she didn't attack Chaston, then who did?" Elodie asked, raising her voice. Little threads of light were racing under her skin, and her hair was starting to crackle. I could feel my own magic pulsing like a second heartbeat.
"Maybe that demon you were trying to summon," I fired back.
Elodie made a disgusted sound. "Like I said last night, if there were a demon, Mrs. Casnoff would know it. We all would."
"What's going on?"
We both whirled to see Anna standing in the doorway, her hair damp and a towel in her hand.
"Sophie thinks we took the vamp's stupid bloodstone," Elodie told her.
"What? That's ridiculous," Anna said, but her voice was tight.
I closed my eyes and tried to get control of my temper and my magic.
Then, picturing Jenna's necklace in my mind, I murmured, "Bloodstone."
Elodie rolled her eyes, but there was a distinct squeaking sound as one of Anna's dresser drawers slid open. The bloodstone rose up from underneath a pile of clothes, its red center glinting.
It floated into my hand, and I closed my fist around it.
Surprise flickered across Elodie's face for a moment. Then it vanished.
"You have what you came for, so get out."
Anna was looking at the floor. I wanted to say something withering, something that would make her feel ashamed for what she'd done, but in the end I decided it wasn't worth it.
When I got back to the room, Jenna's sobs had dwindled to sniffling. I opened the closet door a crack and handed her the bloodstone. Once it was back on her neck, she came out of the closet and sat on her bed, cradling her burned hand.
I sat next to her. "You should get this looked at." She nodded. Her eyes were still red and watery.
"Was it Elodie and Anna?" she asked.
"Yeah. Well, it was Anna. I don't think Elodie knew, but it's not like she would've disapproved."
Jenna released a shuddery breath. I reached up and brushed her pink stripe out of her eyes. "You need to tell Mrs. Casnoff what they did."
"No," she said. "No way."
"Jenna, they could have killed you," I insisted.
She stood up, pulling my comforter around her. "It'll just make it worse," she said wearily. "Remind everyone that vamps are different from the rest of you. That I don't belong here."
"Jenna," I started.
"I said drop it, Sophie!" she snapped, her back still turned.
"But you're hurt--"
And then she whirled on me, her eyes bloodred, her face contorted with rage. Her fangs slid out, and she grabbed my shoulders with a hiss.
There was nothing of my friend in her face.
Only a monster.
I made a shocked sound of hurt and fear, and she abruptly released me. My knees gave out, and I crumpled to the floor.
She was immediately beside me, Jenna again, her eyes pale blue and filled with apology. "Oh God, Soph, I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Sometimes when I get stressed . . ." Tears spilled down her cheeks. "I would never hurt you," she said, pleading.
I didn't trust myself to speak, so I just nodded.
"Girls? Is everything all right?"
Jenna looked over her shoulder. Mrs. Casnoff stood in our doorway, her face unreadable.
"We're fine," I said, standing up. "I just slipped, and Jenna was, uh, helping me up."
"I see," Mrs. Casnoff said. She looked back and forth between me and
Jenna before saying, "Jenna, if you don't mind, I need to speak with you for a moment."
"Sure," Jenna replied, in a voice that was anything but certain.
I watched them leave the room, then sat down on Jenna's bed. My shoulders were sore, and Jenna's fingers had left a mark.
I sat there absentmindedly rubbing my arms, the smoky smell of
Jenna's burned skin still stinging my nose.
And I wondered.
A week later, things still weren't any better. No one had heard anything from Chaston, so Jenna was still the number-one suspect.
After dinner, I was in the cellar with Archer again. This was our fourth time down there, and we'd begun to work out a kind of routine. For the first twenty minutes or so we just worked on the shelves. Half the stuff we'd catalogued the last time had usually moved, so we'd spend time trying to sort that out. Once this was done we'd take a break and talk. Our conversations hadn't really graduated beyond small talk about our families and the occasional insult, which wasn't that surprising. Other than being only children, Archer and I had almost nothing in common. He'd grown up super wealthy in a big house on the coast of Maine. I'd lived with my mom in everything from the cottage in Vermont to a room in a Ramada Inn for six weeks. But I still found myself looking forward to our talks. In fact I'd started dreading the days when I didn't have cellar duty, which was almost too pathetic to contemplate.