“Fuck!” she yelled, practically falling onto the floor. “Who goes there?!”
The purple mist departed, revealing Peter and me, and she exhaled an audible sigh of relief. “I thought I was about to be abducted by aliens.” She levelled her disbelieving eyes on Peter. “You can teleport?”
Just like he did with me, Peter shrugged it off. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Oh, yes, it is. Most of the professors at St. Bastian’s can’t even do that,” Grace replied. “You’re a dark horse, Peter Girard.” She eyed him with her usual dose of suspicion, but now it was tinged with a hint of respect.
He didn’t say anything, and I realised he was busy taking in my bedroom. It was large by most standards, with a king-sized bed and dark, navy walls. Thick carpets. Expensive furnishings. I was a girl of simple needs, but my father’s taste in home décor was rather luxurious. Our city townhouse had three floors, several spare bedrooms, countless bathrooms, and an extensive back garden. Not to mention a kitchen most professional chefs could only dream of. I expected Peter’s house wasn’t quite as extravagant.
We all heard the front door open, signalling my parents’ arrival home. Peter’s eyes widened before he looked at me. I better go.
Yes. And thank you for tonight. For everything.
You don’t need to thank me, he replied before vanishing back into a cloud of mist.
Grace folded her arms, tilting her head at me. “Okay, what the hell—”
Before she could finish, my parents burst into my room. “Darya,” Dad bellowed, his tone harsh. “I thought I told you not to go out.” Great, so Rebecca had told them everything.
“It was my idea, Uncle Ethan,” Grace put in. “I was going stir crazy hanging around the house. I shouldn’t have convinced Darya to go out with me. I’m so sorry.”
At this, my father lost some of his steam. Grace’s tone was so apologetic and sweet it was clearly hard for him to stay mad. I noticed my mother looking around the room, her eyes narrowed. Oh, no, could she sense that Peter was just here? That someone had teleported from the very spot that she was now standing in?
“You should be sorry. Something terrible could’ve happened to all three of you tonight,” Dad replied, then Rebecca appeared in the doorway, a guilty look on her face.
“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have agreed to take them out.”
“No, you should not have,” Dad agreed. “I’m just glad that all three of you know how to defend yourselves. If that hadn’t been the case—”
“Someone was here,” Mum interrupted, drawing everyone’s attention. I glanced wide-eyed at Grace, and she widened her eyes right back at me as panic set in.
“What are you talking about?” Dad questioned, and I practically saw his hackles rise. “Are you saying someone broke into the house?”
“No, they didn’t break in. I can see the remnants of teleportation,” she replied, staring into thin air like it was showing her something none of the rest of us could see. “I should be able to discover who it was. All it’ll take is a quick tracing spell.”
“No,” I said, and everybody’s attention fell on me. “You don’t need to do that. Someone was here, but it was just a friend of mine from school.”
“You’re telling me that one of your school friends can teleport?” Mum asked, incredulous.
“Um, yes, he came to my assistance when the vampires attacked us, and then he teleported me home just now. That’s why you can still sense him.”
“Who is this friend?” Dad demanded.
I winced. “I’ll tell you, but I don’t think you’re going to like the answer.”
“Darya, out with it,” Mum said, hands on hips.
“It was Peter Girard.”
“Why on earth would we not like that answer?” Dad questioned.
“Because I know how much trouble Peter Girard Senior might make for you. He doesn’t want me being friends with his son.”
“That man can’t dictate anything to us,” Dad replied. “And he has no power to cause trouble. It just makes him feel better to lash out occasionally.”
Now I felt ridiculous. I blew out a breath, my voice quiet when I replied, “Okay, good. Well, Peter’s a friend of mine, so now you know.”
“In that case, he’s welcome to visit the house, though I’m not sure I like him teleporting into your bedroom.”
“It won’t happen again,” I promised, and he seemed satisfied with that.
“He’s distantly related to Rita,” Mum said. “It makes sense for him to have greater powers than the average warlock his age.”
“He says he practices a lot,” I told her.
“It takes more than practice. You need natural talent, too, to be able to teleport.” Mum shared a look with Dad. “Perhaps he should be offered extra tutelage. I’m sure Rita would be more than happy to train him. The boy could make a powerful sorcerer one day, and we need to ensure he isn’t drawn to the dark arts like Marcel or Theodore before him.”