Torn. Part 17

"People keep saying Verity's death was G.o.d's will," I said. "In fact, whenever something bad happens, they tell me that. Like that makes it okay, or something. It doesn't. And it doesn't prove anything about G.o.d or fate or whatever. All it proves is, life really sucks."

Evangeline drove in silence for a while, and I stared out the window as the view changed from the high rises of the Loop to funky lofts to slowly gentrifying brownstones, and finally my neighborhood. It was mostly blue collar and a little shabby, but the lawns were neat and the storefronts were all occupied. People strolled down the sidewalks instead of rushing, heads down, to get someplace better. It wasn't fancy-it was a quiet place where people tried to make a life for themselves. For me, it was the place where everyone knew my family's shame-my father in prison, my mother loyally waiting for his return, my uncle a man to flatter and fear. And I was the one they all shook their heads over, the one they pitied because they believed who I came from defined who I was.

It didn't.

"I'd like you to consider something," Evangeline said as we pulled up in front of my house.

"What?"

"You've made it plain your interest lies in seeking revenge for Verity's death." I stared at our front stoop, the crumbling lip of the steps and the flecks of rust on the cast-iron railing, as she continued. "Yet Lucien and I are far more likely to uncover the truth, and more suited to meting out retribution."

"I promised her."

"We want to honor that. Promises carry a great deal of weight in our world, Mo. The people who killed Verity prevented her from fulfilling her destiny. Right now, they are feeling fat with overconfidence, believing their work is done. By stepping into her destiny and completing the task set out for her, you could prove them wrong. Verity's sacrifice would not have been in vain. A more complete revenge, really."

"Wait. You want me to be the Vessel? Stop the Torrent?"

She didn't wait for a response. "Consider it," she said, as Colin's truck pulled up behind us. "We'll be in touch."

CHAPTER 16.

"Tell me more about the guy," Lena said, bouncing slightly in her chair.

I used the mouse to nudge a column on the monitor an eighth of an inch. "What guy?"

"The one who took you home from the party. He's the same one who picks you up after school, right? Do you two have a thing going?"

I didn't even know where to start correcting her. Explaining Colin was hard enough, even to myself. If I said he was a bodyguard provided by my uncle, everyone would think Jill was right, that Verity's death had been meant for me. Calling him a friend of the family meant he was fair game for all of the girls in school, which seemed too cruel, especially since he'd kept quiet about Jill's party. Saying he was a friend of mine was not only laughable, but awkward.

Colin was a lot of things-solid and stubborn and gorgeous, to name a few, but friendly was not the word I would use to describe him.

"We don't have a thing, and Colin didn't pick me up from the party," I said, trying to focus on the newspaper layout in front of me. We were doing a special memorial insert for Verity, and Lena's desire to investigate my newly complicated social life was slowing us down.

Lena slanted me a skeptical look. "How'd you get home?"

"Just a friend. No one you've met." Luc had been strangely absent since the night of the party, and the quiet was unsettling. I hoped it was because he was tracking down leads or figuring out how to stop the Torrent, not because he had changed his mind.

"Are you going to invite your just-a-friend to Homecoming?"

I was saved from having to answer by the approach of Ms. Corelli, the newspaper advisor. She was a comfortable-looking woman, with a sensible, brown bob, who managed to get the newspaper out on time without making everyone freak out. It was a nice change of pace from home, where my mother was perpetually in panic mode.

"Nearly done, ladies? I would love to be finished with this in time to catch the late news."

"You know, Ms. C, they have this thing now? CNN? You can watch the news any time you want. Very cool." Lena grinned, her finger paused on the article she was editing.

"They have this thing called a grade book, too," Ms. Corelli returned with a smile. "And I can mess with it any time I want. Where are we at?"

"We're in the final pa.s.s," I said. "Tweaking a few layout things, and Lena's proofing one last time."

"And the memorial?" I could feel her checking for any sign of an imminent breakdown.

"I found a few more pictures to include, but it shouldn't be a problem." Except, of course, the Verity we were remembering hadn't really existed.

I'd always known the girl the rest of the world saw, the charming, beautiful, talented girl they loved and admired. But that was only a public face. When it was just the two of us, Verity was . . . more. Sharper, funnier, more outrageous. Less perfect, certainly, but more real, and more precious. Not everyone got to witness that part of her-only me, because we trusted each other. Now I knew the truth-even with me, she'd been acting. There were vast patches of her life she'd never shared with me, and I couldn't help wondering, how was I different from the rest of the world? Trying to put together a memorial for her seemed nearly impossible. Every photo and quote we'd collected felt fake.

"If you want to let Lena bat cleanup on this one, it's okay," Ms. Corelli said.

I shook my head. "I'm fine. Really."

She rested a hand on my shoulder for a moment. "Sister Donna also wanted me to let you know they've heard from the NYU rep. She'll be here earlier than usual this year."

My stomach pitched and my hand tightened on the mouse. I'd been so caught up with Luc and Evangeline, I'd nearly forgotten my real plans. "For interviews, or a meet and greet?"

"Interviews disguised as meet and greets," she said ruefully. "They like to sit down and visit with the serious candidates. If you're not up for it, Sister Donna could explain."

"No!" The last thing I wanted was some sort of special treatment. That was the whole point of going to NYU. I was tired of people tiptoeing around me, talking in low voices, giving me the sympathetic head tilt and gently understanding smile meant to convey they shared my pain. It was my pain, and it was what kept me going.

"I'm looking forward to it," I said. Not quite the truth, but not a bald-faced lie, either.

"I know you're really counting on NYU, Mo, but remember, they've historically taken only one St. Brigid's student from each senior cla.s.s. They'd be lucky to have you, but I don't want you to be too disappointed if it doesn't pan out. You have safety schools, right?"

I swallowed and turned back to the monitor. "Of course."

Lena, perceptive as always, stretched in her chair and checked the clock. "We'd better get going. They're not going to hold the weather report for us."

Ms. Corelli gave my shoulder another squeeze and headed back to her desk. "Yell if you need me," she said.

Suddenly anxious to get away, I stood. "I'm going to grab a c.o.ke. Lena, you want anything from the vending machine? Ms. C?"

"Oooh. Caffeine. Mountain Dew, please," said Lena. Ms. Corelli shook her head and gestured to her ever-present travel mug.

The school always had a strange smell this late at night, a mixture of antiseptic, musty paper, and the competing perfumes of fourteen hundred teenage girls. The hall lights were on, but the cla.s.srooms were dark, and the effect was echoing and lonely. I rubbed the spot where Evangeline had nicked me, walked a little faster. She'd said the spell would conceal me from Darklings, but she hadn't mentioned whether they were the only ones I should be worrying about.

I arrived at the vending machine and paid my dollar, pressing the b.u.t.ton for a Diet c.o.ke. A bottled water fell out, and I swore. This was the wrong time for our temperamental vending machines to act up. I needed caffeine. Natural arctic springs weren't going to help me finish the paper. I dug in my pocket for another dollar, fed it in, and before I could push the b.u.t.ton again, another water appeared. I frowned, my hand hesitating over the correct b.u.t.ton, and a third tumbled out.

I knelt down and tried peering into the machine, but all I could see was the black plastic chute. A chuckle sounded behind me, and I looked up to see Luc standing underneath an antidrug poster.

I straightened, dusting off my knees. "Very funny. I want my money back."

He rolled his eyes and waved a hand. A Diet c.o.ke rattled down the chute. "Water's better for you," he pointed out. "Clean living, and all that jazz."

"I need a Mountain Dew, too."

"Buy it yourself. I ain't a short-order cook."

"The machine ate my money, thanks to you. Start wiggling your nose, or whatever."

He muttered something under his breath, and I collected the second bottle. "Took you long enough to figure it out," he said.

"It's a vending machine. When it doesn't work, I a.s.sume it's broken, not that magical forces are aligning against me."

He came closer, brushing a wisp of hair away from my cheek. "Considerin' recent events, you might want to change your perspective. Where's Cujo?"

"Around." Outside, waiting for me to finish. "Why? You want to meet him?"

"Didn't come here for him," Luc said. The narrow s.p.a.ce between our bodies nearly hummed with energy. "You have a good chat with Evangeline?"

"She makes me nervous." So did he, but I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

"Might be the first sensible thing you've said since I met you," he said. "Evangeline's a Matriarch-the head of the House of Marais, and they're one of four running the show right now. She's okay, though. If she gets ornery, it's 'cause she's got a lot at stake."

Evangeline seemed too sophisticated to be called ornery, but I got his point. Driven seemed a better word. "Verity was her niece. Of course she does."

He all but patted me on the head. "And you can't keep a.s.suming everyone cared as much about Vee as you. For a lot of people, she only mattered because of the prophecy."

"Are you one of them?"

Tension surfaced on his face, his gaze going far away. As he refocused on me, the lines around his mouth slowly eased, and he ran his fingers through the hair flopping into his eyes. "Don't misunderstand, Mouse. I believe in the prophecy. I've spent my whole d.a.m.n life gettin' ready for it. But me and Verity . . . it wasn't just the magic that made me care about her."

I looked away. The pain in his voice was hard enough to hear. Seeing it turn his whole expression bleak was more than I could handle. Knowing someone else loved Verity should have made me feel less alone. Instead, I felt a wash of jealousy-and shame. They made the perfect couple, leaving me on the outside. Again. I wasn't sure, though, which I was more jealous of-Luc, for knowing who Verity truly was, or Verity, because she got to have Luc. He was smug and irritating and clearly not good for me in any sense, and still I felt this strange little hiccup in my veins whenever he looked at me. I couldn't shake the feeling that Luc, more than anyone else, saw me. Really saw me, instead of the girl I let everyone believe they knew.

It was not a comfortable feeling.

I edged toward the door, eager to return to Lena and Ms. C's gentle prying, but he stepped closer and cupped my elbow with his hand.

"C'mon." His voice was back to normal-the overconfident drawl that made me want to hit him with the nearest blunt object while closing my eyes and sinking into its warmth. "We got work to do."

He drew a line of flame in the air with one finger, muttering at the same time, and I jerked away. The flickering line was quieter than it had been in the park, but seeing it in the middle of the student commons still jarred.

"I've got to go back upstairs. We're finishing the paper." I raised the two bottles of pop as evidence. "They're expecting me." I didn't mention what Colin would do if he found me gone.

Luc paused in his tracing, the doorway half-finished, suspended in midair in front of our trophy case. The magic made the green of his eyes more vivid; it was practically radiating off of him. I wondered if it could be measured, if it showed up somewhere on the infrared spectrum or a Geiger counter. Magic would be so much easier if there was some way to explain it.

"Thought you wanted in on this," he said scornfully. "Of course, if working on your school project is more important than findin' out who killed Verity, scurry on back, Mouse. I don't have time to waste."

He finished the top of the door and started down the last side. I glanced back at the staircase, certain he wouldn't offer again. Verity would appreciate justice a lot more than some memorial in the school paper.

"Wait." I set the pop bottles under the trophy case. "Is this safe?"

"Does it matter? Hold tight, and we'll be fine."

"Couldn't we just take a cab?"

"To New Orleans? No." He reached his hand out. I took it, feeling my breath quicken.

Luc drew me closer, circling both arms around my waist. I didn't know where to put my hands-on his chest, around his neck, left hanging at my sides-and he smirked. "This ain't the time to be shy," he said. "How about like we're dancing?"

I rested my hands on his shoulders, feeling as shy and geeky as a kid at her first dance, and he tightened his grip. We were close enough that I could see the weave of his T-shirt, a silky-fine black cotton, and feel the heat coming off his skin.

"See? Not so bad." His voice was low, rustling my hair. "Try not to throw up this time, hmn?"

CHAPTER 17.

When we came through, I stumbled against Luc, my nose smashing against his chest, and he tightened his hands on my waist to steady me.

"I've got you."

The ground under my feet tilted and wobbled, and I clung to him. It was embarra.s.sing, but so was throwing up on his shoes.

"You okay?"

My face was still buried in his shirt, soft jersey against my cheek, my eyes squeezed tight. I nodded once, uncertainly. When my head stayed on, I let go, stepping back. We stood in a courtyard, the air damp and sweet, with white flowers glowing against shrubs that looked glossy black in the dusk.

"Is it always like this? Going Between?" I clenched my teeth and willed the nausea to recede.

"Don't know," he said. He guided me over a path of tiny seash.e.l.ls that crunched under our feet. "Never had to bring someone through before you."

"What, you don't spend a lot of time with Flats?" I meant to sound sarcastic, but it came out genuinely curious. "What about school?"

"Didn't go. Not to your kind, anyway."

"Verity did."

"Vee's parents were Flat. Kids who grow up in a house with magic do things differently."

"So you never hang out with Flats? Really?"

"Not usually." He said it so offhandedly I knew it must be the truth. I wavered, unsure if I felt special or freakish. He leaned down and with two fingers tapped the lock on a tall wrought-iron gate. It swung open noiselessly. "Goin' Between should get easier the more you do it."

"I'm not planning on making this a habit." The idea of going Between as often as I caught a CTA bus made my knees buckle. Luc looked at me strangely but didn't say anything. "You didn't use the sword this time."

He shook his head. "Didn't need it. Every Arc has a channel, something to use when you need a lot of magic all at once. But it lacks finesse, hmn?"