I didn't like the way she said "What," so my tone was a little sharp when I said, "Jenna Talbot."
Her eyes widened. "Dude. The vamp?" She chuckled. "Forget it. I'll take a bitchy faerie over that any day."
"She's not so bad," I said automatically.
Taylor shrugged and picked up the remote she'd thrown at Nausicaa.
"If you say so," she murmured, turning the TV back on.
Apparently our conversation was over, so I headed to the second floor. That was Boy World, so I couldn't really do any exploring. The layout was identical to the third floor, but their lounge area looked even more beat up than ours. Stuffing was leaking out of one of the couches, and a card table leaned crookedly in the corner. There was no one in there, but I did glance down one of the halls. I saw Justin trying to maneuver a huge trunk into what I guessed was his room. He paused, and his shoulders sagged with defeat. I felt a little sorry for him. Watching him try to push around a trunk that was nearly as tall as he was reminded me that, vicious werewolf or not, he was just a little kid. Then he turned, saw me, and, I boy you not, snarled.
I hurried down the stairs and onto the first floor. It was quiet down there. I only saw a couple of people hanging around, including a tall jock-
looking guy all in denim and flannel. I wondered if he was someone's older brother, since he looked too old to be at Hecate, and he was wearing jeans instead of khakis.
My footsteps were muffled by a thick oriental rug in swirling shades of red and gold as I turned down one of the hallways off the main foyer.
I peeked into the first room I came to. It looked like it had once been a dining room, or maybe a large parlor. Directly across from the door, one wall was nothing but windows, finally allowing me a good look at the grounds. This room overlooked a small pond with a pier and a pretty, ramshackle cabin. But what really struck me was all the green. The grass, the trees, the thin coat of algae on the pond, where I really, really hoped we wouldn't be canoeing or anything . . . all of it was this bright, hurt-your-eyes green that was like nothing I'd ever seen before. Even the heavy clouds that were beginning to swell with the threat of an afternoon thunderstorm seemed lime-tinted.
The carpet in this room was also green, and it felt soft, almost mushy underfoot, making me think of moss or fungus. Pictures covered the other three walls. Every one showed the same thing: a group of Prodigium gathered on the front porch. I didn't know if they were witches or shifters, but there were no faeries. A tiny gold plaque at the base of every frame told the year, starting in 1903 and ending with last year's picture, just to the right of the door.
There were only six adults in the oldest picture, and all of them looked really serious, like they'd probably kicked kittens for fun. Younger
Prodigium didn't start showing up until 1967. I wondered if that was the first year Hecate Hall had become a school. And if so, what was it before then?
Last year, there were nearly a hundred kids, and everybody looked a lot more relaxed. I spotted Jenna in the front, standing next to a taller girl.
They had their arms slung over each other's shoulders, and I wondered if this was the mysterious Holly.
To be honest, I felt a little jealous. I couldn't imagine ever being close enough to someone to casually put my arm around them in a picture. In all my old school pictures I was always the one standing alone in the back with my hair in my face.
Was that why Jenna had seemed so weird when I'd mentioned her old roommate? Had they been best buddies, and now I was the interloper trying to take Holly's place? Great.
"Sophia?"
Startled, I turned around.
The three most beautiful girls I'd ever seen in my life were standing behind me.
Then I blinked.
No, they weren't all drop-dead gorgeous. It was just the one in the middle. She had auburn hair that fell in soft bouncy curls nearly to her waist.
She probably didn't even have to use a diffuser. I bet she woke up with her hair looking like something out of a Pantene commercial while little bluebirds circled around her head, and raccoons brought her breakfast or something.
I also couldn't help but notice that she didn't have any freckles, which was enough to make me hate her instantly.
The girl to her right was a blonde, and even though she had that whole
California girl thing going--stick-straight hair, tan skin, deep blue eyes--her eyes were too close together, and when she smiled at me, I noticed she had a pretty bad overbite.
Rounding out the trio was an African American girl who was even shorter than I was. She was prettier than the blonde, but nowhere near as lovely the redheaded goddess in the middle. Still, looking at the plainer of the three, it was like my brain wanted them to be beautiful. My eyes wanted to skip over all of their imperfections.
A glamour. That was the only explanation, but I'd never heard of a witch using one. That was some serious magic.
I must have been looking at them like I was mentally damaged or something, because the blonde snickered and said, "Sophia Mercer, right?"
It was about then that I realized my mouth was literally hanging open.
I closed it so quickly, it made a clacking sound that was really loud in the quiet room.
"Yeah, I'm Sophie."
"Great!" said the short girl. "We've been looking for you. I'm Anna
Gilroy. This is Chaston Burnett"--she gestured to the blonde. "And this is
Elodie Parris."
"Oh," I said, smiling at the redhead. "That's pretty. Like 'Melody' without the 'M.'"
She smirked. "No, like Elodie."
"Be nice," Anna admonished before turning back to me. "Chaston, Elodie, and I are sort of like the welcoming committee for new witches.
So . . . welcome!"
She stuck her hand out, and I briefly wondered if I was supposed to kiss it, before I came to my senses and shook it.
"You three are witches?"
"That's what we just said," Elodie retorted, earning another sharp look from Anna.
"I'm sorry," I said. "It's just that I've never met any other witches before."
"Really?" Chaston asked. "Like, never met any witches at all, or just never met any other dark witches before?"
"Excuse me?"
"Dark witches," Elodie repeated, giving Nausicaa a run for her money in the Snottiest Tone Ever competition.
"I . . . um . . . I didn't know there were types of witches."
Now all three of them were looking at me as if I'd just spoken in a foreign language. "Yes, but you are a dark witch?" Anna asked, pulling a piece of paper from her blazer. It was some sort of list, and she scanned it intently. "Let's see, Lassiter, Mendelson . . . here, Mercer, Sophia. Dark
Witch. That's you."