I tried to imagine my dad playing Jason Bourne, or my mom playing a secret operative. “Not really. That’s not really their bag.”
“Mascara, then. We’ll just assume they’re working on mascara.”
My phone picked that moment to ring. I snatched it up, wondering if my parents’ timing was truly that excellent. But it was Jason. Still pretty excellent.
“Hey. How’s your Friday night going?”
“Pretty uneventful,” I told him. Which was mostly true. “What’s happening at Montclare?”
“Poker night. Except none of us has any money, so we’re playing for Fritos. Which Garcia keeps eating—Garcia. Lay off my stash, man. How am I going to go all in with four Fritos?”
In spite of myself, I smiled a little. Scout rolled her eyes and flopped down on her bed. “Ugh. Young love makes me totally nauseous.”
I stuck my tongue out at her.
“So, about tomorrow. How about I swing by at noon?”
“Noon works. What should I wear?”
“Normal Lily stuff. Minus the plaid skirt. I mean—you should definitely wear a skirt or some kind of pants, but you don’t have to wear your plaid skirt since it’ll be a Saturday—”
“You’ve been hanging around with Michael too much.”
He chuckled. “Anyway, you two girls have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay. Good night, Jason.”
“Good night, Lily.”
I hung up the phone and cradled it in my hands for a few seconds. Guilt settled like a rock in my stomach.
Scout rolled over and looked at me. “Oh, cripes. What now?”
I wet my lips. Might as well finish the confession since I’d started it.
“Remember the other day when I went out to draw over lunch?”
“Sure. Why?”
“Well, I didn’t actually end up drawing anything. I kind of got distracted.”
“Distracted by what?”
“Sebastian Born.”
Scout sat up straight, blinking like she was trying to take in the statement. “I did not expect to hear that.”
“He found me on the sidewalk. He said he’d wanted to talk to me.”
“About what?”
“About firespell. He feels responsible, I think, that I have magic. I told him I didn’t want to talk to him, that we weren’t friends. But then he asked me to go somewhere and talk.”
“Well, you’re not going to do it. You’re certainly not going to go somewhere and talk with him—” Her face fell as realization struck. “Oh, Lil. You already did it, didn’t you?”
“We walked across the street to the taco place.”
“Taco Terry’s?”
I nodded.
“You met with a Reaper at a Taco Terry’s?”
I shrugged.
She looked down at her lap, brow furrowed while she thought it over. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I don’t either.”
“I’m not sure if I should ring your neck for going, or congratulate you for the opposition research.” She gave me a sideways glance. “I want more info before I decide whether I’m totally peeved.”
“He gave me a speech about being a Reaper. About how it’s not as bad as people think. About how magic can be a force of change in the world, even if it means sacrificing people.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?”
I gave her a flat look. “I think the sacrifice argument would be a little more believable if they could point to anything decent they’d actually done in the world.”
“Fair enough. But what was the point? Was he trying to sway you to their side or something?”
“I don’t know. I feel like he’s playing some kind of game, but I don’t know all the rules. But I think he definitely believes there’s—I don’t know—merit to what they’re doing.”
“That’s the Dark Elite ploy,” she said. “That’s how they build their Reaper army. ‘Think of all the wonderful things we could do with all this magic!’ But when was the last time you saw any of those things?”
I nodded. “He also showed me how to do something.”
“Something?”
“He showed me how to spark my magic—how to create this little molecule of energy.”
“And he showed you this at the Taco Terry’s?”
I nodded.
She shook her head. “That is just . . . bizarre.”
We sat there quietly for a minute.
“Are you totally peeved?”
It took her a really long time to answer.
“I’m glad you’re safe. And I could sit here and yell at you about not being careful, but you did exactly what I’d do.” She looked over at me. “You didn’t just go with him because he’s hot, did you?”
I gave her a flat look.
“Hey,” she said, holding up her hands. “I’m not blind. Just because he’s completely evil doesn’t mean he doesn’t have that tall, dark, and handsome vibe. At least tell me you took the opportunity to interrogate him.”
“Tried,” I said, “but didn’t get much. He denied knowing about Lauren and—what’s the other girl’s name?”
“The French hornist?”
I nodded.
She tilted her head up, eyes squeezed closed. “Joanne or Joley or something? Let’s just say French hornist.”
“Anyway, I asked him about them. He confirmed our Grimoire theory.”
Scout paled a little. “They’re looking for me?”
“They are. Or at least your spell book. But I think I put the fear into him.”
There was some pretty insulting doubt in her expression. I batted her with a pillow. “I can be fierce when necessary.”
“Only because you have a wolf at your beck and call.”
“He’s not at my beck and call. And we’re getting off track. Sebastian denied knowing anything about the monsters, but here’s the really weird thing—he told me to go see the vampires. He said something about the ‘missing,’ and said we needed to talk to Nicu to figure out what’s going on.”
“A Reaper sending us into the arms of warring vampires. Yeah, that rings a little more true.”
“What about the missing thing?”
“What about it?”
I rearranged my knees so that I was sitting cross-legged. “Does that mean anything to you?”