from her. You calmed her down, at the expense
of your own composure.”
“Okay...” Nash looked fascinated. “So, yesterday when you got
all badass and hell-bent on revenge, you were probably taking a little of that
from Kaylee. She’s been itching to make Avari pay since the day you died.”
Since before that. Since the day Avari tricked me into killing
Alec. That’s when I’d started channeling my pain
into anger—a much more useful emotion.
Luca frowned. “So then, whose anger was she syphoning today?
Somebody must have been really pissed off, if the portion she took was strong
enough to make her go off on you like that.”
Oh, shit. I hadn’t even thought about that. Em’s rage had a
source, and considering how many hellions were known to frequent the Netherworld
version of our school, chances were good that that anger wasn’t human in origin.
Which meant that someone at Eastlake could be about to lose control.
Again.
Chapter Five
“Where are you going?” Nash said when I stood, already
pulling my phone from my pocket.
“To find whoever sent Em into anger overdrive before he
explodes in someone’s face.” More violence was the last thing we needed at
America’s most dangerous high school. Of its size. “You had chemistry before
lunch, right?” I said, trying to remember her new schedule, and Em nodded.
“Whose class?”
“Mr. Flannery.”
“Did anyone look angry in your chem class? Anyone lose his or
her temper?”
Em shook her head. “Only me.”
“That just means that whoever it was did a good job of hiding
his anger.” Which meant those around him would be completely unprepared when and
if he snapped. “I gotta get a look at Mr. Flannery’s roll book before lunch is
over. I’ll see you guys later.”
Before anyone could object, I took off across the quad, headed
for the corner of the building, texting Tod on the way. His shift at the
hospital had just ended. With any luck, he’d have time to come help me deal
with...whatever was about to go horribly wrong.
As soon as I was out of sight of the quad, I let myself fade
from human sight, then blinked into Mr. Flannery’s first-floor chemistry lab.
The room was empty, thank goodness, and his roll book was open on his desk,
which was another stroke of luck in itself. Most of the other teachers had long
ago switched to an electronic attendance and grade program. Fortunately, Mr.
Flannery was nearly sixty and set in his ways. I’d once heard him complain to a
colleague about how long it took him to enter the grades into the computer all
at once, at the end of each term.
Still invisible, in case anyone came in, I flipped through his
roll book to the third period page and scanned the list. Emily Cavanaugh had
been penciled in at the bottom. Most of the students were juniors, which meant I
knew nearly all of them. All but four had been in the quad with us—underclassmen
usually got stuck eating inside on nice days.
All four of the missing kids were members of the baseball
team—Nash’s former teammates—who’d started eating in the practice field’s dugout
in the two weeks since Brant Williams’s death. They seemed to think that was the
best place to remember him. And to avoid adult supervision.
They kind of had a point.
I closed the roll book and blinked onto the baseball practice
field, but a quick glance showed me that only three team members were in the
dugout. Marco Gutierrez was missing.
After several more minutes of looking—I blinked into every
men’s room in the building as well as both locker rooms—I finally found him
under the bleachers in the gym, just as the bell rang. Lunch was over. In six
minutes I’d be late to English.
I faded into the corporeal plane at his back—visible and
audible only to him—then took a deep breath. “Marco? Are you okay?”
He turned, obviously startled, and the moment his gaze found
me, it hardened in anger. His eyes narrowed. His nose flared. His fists clenched
at his
of your own composure.”
“Okay...” Nash looked fascinated. “So, yesterday when you got
all badass and hell-bent on revenge, you were probably taking a little of that
from Kaylee. She’s been itching to make Avari pay since the day you died.”
Since before that. Since the day Avari tricked me into killing
Alec. That’s when I’d started channeling my pain
into anger—a much more useful emotion.
Luca frowned. “So then, whose anger was she syphoning today?
Somebody must have been really pissed off, if the portion she took was strong
enough to make her go off on you like that.”
Oh, shit. I hadn’t even thought about that. Em’s rage had a
source, and considering how many hellions were known to frequent the Netherworld
version of our school, chances were good that that anger wasn’t human in origin.
Which meant that someone at Eastlake could be about to lose control.
Again.
Chapter Five
“Where are you going?” Nash said when I stood, already
pulling my phone from my pocket.
“To find whoever sent Em into anger overdrive before he
explodes in someone’s face.” More violence was the last thing we needed at
America’s most dangerous high school. Of its size. “You had chemistry before
lunch, right?” I said, trying to remember her new schedule, and Em nodded.
“Whose class?”
“Mr. Flannery.”
“Did anyone look angry in your chem class? Anyone lose his or
her temper?”
Em shook her head. “Only me.”
“That just means that whoever it was did a good job of hiding
his anger.” Which meant those around him would be completely unprepared when and
if he snapped. “I gotta get a look at Mr. Flannery’s roll book before lunch is
over. I’ll see you guys later.”
Before anyone could object, I took off across the quad, headed
for the corner of the building, texting Tod on the way. His shift at the
hospital had just ended. With any luck, he’d have time to come help me deal
with...whatever was about to go horribly wrong.
As soon as I was out of sight of the quad, I let myself fade
from human sight, then blinked into Mr. Flannery’s first-floor chemistry lab.
The room was empty, thank goodness, and his roll book was open on his desk,
which was another stroke of luck in itself. Most of the other teachers had long
ago switched to an electronic attendance and grade program. Fortunately, Mr.
Flannery was nearly sixty and set in his ways. I’d once heard him complain to a
colleague about how long it took him to enter the grades into the computer all
at once, at the end of each term.
Still invisible, in case anyone came in, I flipped through his
roll book to the third period page and scanned the list. Emily Cavanaugh had
been penciled in at the bottom. Most of the students were juniors, which meant I
knew nearly all of them. All but four had been in the quad with us—underclassmen
usually got stuck eating inside on nice days.
All four of the missing kids were members of the baseball
team—Nash’s former teammates—who’d started eating in the practice field’s dugout
in the two weeks since Brant Williams’s death. They seemed to think that was the
best place to remember him. And to avoid adult supervision.
They kind of had a point.
I closed the roll book and blinked onto the baseball practice
field, but a quick glance showed me that only three team members were in the
dugout. Marco Gutierrez was missing.
After several more minutes of looking—I blinked into every
men’s room in the building as well as both locker rooms—I finally found him
under the bleachers in the gym, just as the bell rang. Lunch was over. In six
minutes I’d be late to English.
I faded into the corporeal plane at his back—visible and
audible only to him—then took a deep breath. “Marco? Are you okay?”
He turned, obviously startled, and the moment his gaze found
me, it hardened in anger. His eyes narrowed. His nose flared. His fists clenched
at his
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