knew that my classmates were just as shel-shocked and confused as I was.
"Wel," 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.
CHAPTER 8
T hanks 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 caled. 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 rol my eyes.
"Look, what did you mean by 'that was new'? I thought you'd seen al 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, roling his shoulders as if the jacket had been heavy. "They stil 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 al 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 smal 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 bely stil 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 al that."
He raised an eyebrow, which made me totaly 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 al what?"
"Al that about humans wanting to kil us in lots of nasty ways."
"I think history pretty wel supports that hypothesis, Mercer.
Hel, 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 driling 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 al warm and fuzzy about witches if she weren't raising one?"
I wanted to answer yes. I realy 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 realy was?
"You're right," Archer said, his tone softening a little.
"Humans aren't what they used to be. But al 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 al 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
"Wel," 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.
CHAPTER 8
T hanks 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 caled. 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 rol my eyes.
"Look, what did you mean by 'that was new'? I thought you'd seen al 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, roling his shoulders as if the jacket had been heavy. "They stil 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 al 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 smal 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 bely stil 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 al that."
He raised an eyebrow, which made me totaly 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 al what?"
"Al that about humans wanting to kil us in lots of nasty ways."
"I think history pretty wel supports that hypothesis, Mercer.
Hel, 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 driling 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 al warm and fuzzy about witches if she weren't raising one?"
I wanted to answer yes. I realy 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 realy was?
"You're right," Archer said, his tone softening a little.
"Humans aren't what they used to be. But al 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 al 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
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