My jaw clenches as I recall the bill that showed up along with my new things. A bill I have no idea how to pay. Thanks, Winter Prince.
“I have my books,” I growl, “now, move.”
“Check.” There’s something in her voice. A command. I shiver as the order repeats inside my head, and then I find myself sliding my backpack down my arm and unzipping it.
“Pull one out,” she orders in a silky-smooth voice.
Suddenly I want to retrieve one of my textbooks. Not just want to, I have to. I slip my hand inside the bag and feel something soft brush my fingers. Soft and sticky. Not a book. Something heavy and familiar.
And there’s an alarming metallic, coppery scent coming from inside. My body recoils from it. I don’t want to reveal what I’m holding. There’s a sick dread in my stomach. A terrible, gnawing ache.
But I have no choice. My body isn’t my own. Slowly, I pull out whatever this is . . .
It’s a head. A bloody, severed head inside my backpack. Red pig-tails. Freckles. Blood and other horrifying things drip from the neck. But worst of all—worst of all, I recognize the face.
Jane.
With a wail, I fling the head away and fall to my knees as a pang of grief splits open inside me. The pain is unreal. I gag, warm vomit tickling my throat. My thoughts ping-pong all over the place.
Do Aunt Vi and Z know yet? When did this happen? Why? How?
Laughter echoes around me. Cruel, cold, unending laughter. A few Unseelie whip out cell phones and shoot videos. Someone jumps in and takes a selfie with me.
I hardly notice them. I clutch my chest. Unable to breathe. To focus on my surroundings. My heart. My heart is tearing in half.
“What’s happening here?” a deep voice booms.
A male professor stands just outside the classroom, frowning at the whole affair. I point at where I tossed Jane’s head . . . except now there’s only a book. And the blood staining my hands and the floor has disappeared.
It was a . . . trick. A spiteful, brutal, callous trick.
The professor sees Inara and then his face goes slack with fear. Still, he seems about to help me, taking a step forward, despite Inara’s terrifying presence. Then his gaze slides to my right and he freezes. The blood in his face drains until his skin is the same hue as snow.
With a quick, apologetic glance at me, he disappears into his classroom.
Coward.
I follow his gaze, wondering who could be more intimidating than Inara, and my eyes snag on the Winter Prince. He’s leaned against a locker watching Inara, his gaze avoiding me completely. He wears his usual lazy smirk, the one that makes me want to throat-punch him. His blue-black hair is artfully messy and falls around his slender, pointed ears, the white collar of his tunic unbuttoned and open to the top of his chest.
He looks like he just fell out of bed. He probably did.
My skin tingles with fear as I remember last night. Does he know I trespassed inside his mind? “Keep your filthy trailer park eyes off him,” Inara hisses. “He’s off limits.”
I’m still on my knees as she leans down and takes my chin between her fingers, forcing my focus away from her mate. One of her pack of sociopaths moves in to video the encounter.
I should stand, but I’m afraid if I move, I’ll hurl. The sight of Jane’s head is still too fresh. The horror of her fake death still too raw. My body hasn’t recovered from the influx of grief, fake or not.
“That was just a taste of what I can do.” Cold emanates from Inara’s fingertips. She yanks my head up by the jaw, tweaking my spine and forcing me unsteadily to my feet.
My hand curls as I prepare to deck her, but the homicidal look in her eyes says she’ll snap my neck if I try.
Instead, I grin, fighting back with the only thing I have available: words. “I’m curious. Why did you make my book look like an adorable puppy?”
Confusion flickers across her face. “That’s not what you saw.”
“Yeah. He had the cutest nose—”
“I saw you fling it away.”