School Spirits (School Spirits #1)

School Spirits (School Spirits #1) Page 5

I wondered what it said about me that watching a teen soap opera with a four-hundred-year-old warlock felt, well...normal.

"I don't know why I'm doing all of this," I said, not taking my eyes off the screen. "Or why Mom is going to all this trouble. If there's a ghost here-and I kind of doubt it-it won't require my going to this school for, like, months or renting a house. We could just get in, get out-"

"Isolde, do not be so dense." In the mirror, Torin was leaning back on his hands, ankles crossed. "Your moving here has nothing to do with any ghost. Granted, there's a chance a haunting is happening at Betty Crocker High-"

"Mary Evans," I corrected, but he blew a hank of blond hair out of his eyes and shrugged.

"But clearly, Aislinn's true motivation here is to let you experience a taste of regular human life. She's gruff and difficult, that woman, so of course she'd rather die than tell you, 'Oh, Isolde, guilt over your sister's disappearance has left me swimming in a veritable sea of angst-'"

"Stop it." Standing up, I flipped off the television and turned to face Torin. "Just...if you can't help with Finley, then don't talk about her, okay?"

Torin pursed his lips slightly, tilting his head and studying me. Then he said, "I did not mean to offend. I simply wanted to make sure you understood why you're really here, Isolde. This isn't about hunting a ghost. It's about your mum trying to do something for you that she never did for your sister."

Snorting, I headed for the door. "Mom doesn't think like that."

"I've known her longer than you have," Torin called, and I froze, hand on the doorknob. I'd never really thought of it like that, but yeah, Torin had been in our family for centuries. He'd seen Mom grow up. Had known my grandmother, my great-grandmother, all the Brannicks stretching back to the sixteenth century.

Leaning forward, Torin gave his best sheepish smile. "Now, can we please stop quarreling and finish this program? I really do want to see what fresh hell is unleashed next."

I hesitated, and Torin clasped his hands on his knees, sitting up straight. "I promise to behave."

Somehow, I doubted that, but to be honest, I really wanted to see how that episode went. So I settled back on the floor and turned the TV on. Leslie and Everton kissed, his girlfriend found out, and the episode ended with Leslie running down the street in tears while some seriously whiny music wailed in the background.

"Well," Torin said as the credits began to roll, "take heart, Isolde. At least a ghost will be less terrifying than that."

CHAPTER 6

The next morning, I woke up before my alarm. It wasn't like I'd never thought about the first day of school before. I remembered going into stores with Mom and Finn, passing all those displays of pencils and binders and backpacks, and wondering what it must be like to live that kind of life. But I'd never thought that would be my life.

I was still brooding when I headed downstairs and into the kitchen. Mom was already there, and from the look of things, she'd been busy.

"Do you expect me to eat...all of this?" I stared at the kitchen table, which was practically buckling under the weight of all the food. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, a fruit bowl, an entire loaf of toast, and...

"Is that actual gruel?" I asked, pointing to a pot.

"Grits," Mom answered, wiping her hands on a dish towel stuck in her waistband. "And no," she continued, "you don't have to eat all of it. I just...I want you to start your day off right."

I grabbed a plate and some bacon. "Mom, you didn't make this much food the day Finn and I chased our first werewolf. I'm pretty sure today will be less challenging than that." I was trying to joke, but Mom frowned.

"I don't think I ever made you girls any food. Finn could make mac and cheese by the time she was four, and you were using a microwave by that age. I should've cooked more."

I stared at her. "Mom, we were fine. And I happen to like SpaghettiOs. Especially the kind with the meatballs. Finn used to give me the meatballs out of her bowl, and-"

I hate crying. The tears, the snot, the red face. All of it. But what I really hate is when crying sneaks up on you unexpectedly. So I looked down at my plate and shoved a piece of bacon into my mouth, hoping that would stop the sob that was welling up in my throat.

You need these meatballs more than I do, Junior. You're so skinny, a shifter is gonna pick his teeth with you one day.

Mom had turned back to the sink. "Hurry up before you miss your bus," she said, and I could've imagined it, but her voice sounded a little watery, too.

The bacon might as well have been made of cardboard for as much as I tasted it, but I got it down. "Right. Okay. Well. I, uh, guess I'll go wait for the bus."

Mom turned. "Do you want me to wait with you?"

I did. A lot. Why was hunting monsters less scary than waiting by a freaking stop sign in the suburbs? But I shrugged. "No, don't worry about it. I think I can handle standing on a corner by myself for ten minutes."

The parentheses deepened around her mouth. "Don't get smart."

"I wasn't! I..." Sighing, I shouldered my backpack. It was the same one I used to take when Finn and I would patrol, but this time there were no crossbows or vials of holy water. Just notebooks and two packs of pens.

"I'll be home after three," I told Mom.

"Okay," she replied. "Remember, main thing today is just to start getting yourself situated. Head down-"

"Eyes open," I finished for her. That might as well have been the Brannick family motto.

Mom gave a sharp nod. "Right. We'll talk when you get home. And..."

She walked over and, to my surprise, gave me a hug. "Have a good day, Iz."

I hugged her back, closing my eyes and breathing in the safe, familiar smell of Mom. Brannicks aren't huggers, and I couldn't remember the last time Mom had wrapped her arms around me. "I will."

The kitchen was right off the main hallway leading to the front door. The old owners of the house had put up a little shelf with hooks, a box for keys, and a tiny mirror to, I don't know, check your lipstick before you went out or whatever. I snagged my black jacket from one of the hooks, and as I did, caught a flash of movement.

Torin.

In the mirror, he leaned against the wall behind me. "Nervous?" he asked, grinning.

Glancing down the hall toward the kitchen, I leaned in closer and whispered, "No."

His grin got bigger. "Yes, you are. You're a Brannick, a Queen Among Women, and you're scared of going to school. When, really, it's the school that should be scared of you."

He said it like that was something to be proud of. Mom was still banging pans, water running in the sink, but I kept my voice as low as I could. "What the heck does that mean?"

"Like I said," Torin replied, "you're a Brannick. Not only have you been trained to dispose of the most powerful creatures this world has ever known, you've been bred to be an effective killer. Over one thousand years of genetics, all coming together to form Isolde Brannick, a deadly weapon."

I stared at him. "Torin, is...is this your idea of a pep talk?"

His brow wrinkled. "A what? I am simply trying to make you feel more confident about your day by giving you a small speech on your many virtues."

Adjusting my bag on my shoulder, I poked at the glass. "That's a pep talk, then. Except yours isn't really helping."

Now Torin was leaning back against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. "I actually felt it was going quite well, and I hadn't even gotten to the part where I declare you a tiger sent to matriculate among kittens."

In the kitchen, the water shut off. I glared at Torin. "I'm not a tiger," I hissed. He gave one of his elegant shrugs as Mom called, "Iz?"

She stepped out of the kitchen, but by then, Torin had already vanished from the mirror.

"Yeah?" I replied, hoping I sounded casual.

"Just...be careful today, okay?"

It was such a weird thing for her to say. I mean, it was a perfectly normal thing for regular moms to say, but not for mine. And for a second, I wondered if I actually could be the sort of person who had a mom who told her to "be careful." The kind who rode buses and whose mom cooked breakfast.

Then she added, "Lie low. And remember your cover."

The bus ride ended up being easier than I'd thought. I snagged a seat by myself and spent the twenty-minute ride watching the boring streets of Ideal flash by and trying to tell myself that I'd faced off with werewolves and demons, for heaven's sake. Not one other kid on this bus had done that. So how tough could it be navigating high school? All I had to do was go into the main office, hand the secretary my (fake) paperwork, get a schedule, and then...go to class. Mom and I had agreed I shouldn't start asking questions about the attack on the science teacher too quickly, but I could definitely keep my ear to the ground.

I'd studied a map of the school last night, but that didn't prepare me for the crush of people and confusing warren of hallways and stairs and classrooms as I walked through the giant double doors. It was so...loud. To my left, a group of girls shrieked and laughed about something, while just in front of me, two boys were shouting at each other, earbuds jammed firmly in their ears.

Pushing my shoulders back, I tried to move with the same sense of purpose that everyone else seemed to have, but that wasn't really helpful since I didn't actually know where I was going. I wandered down one hallway, only to have to double back when it dead-ended in a row of lockers. Then I thought I'd found the main office, but that was actually the attendance office.

"The main office is in the east wing," the harried attendance lady had told me, and I'd nodded and mumbled, "Thanks," like I knew where the heck the east wing was.

Well, other than east, obviously.

By the time I found the main office, it was nearly time for first period, and the secretary hardly looked at my papers. "Here," she said, shoving a folder at me. "Schedule and list of extracurricular activities. Now get moving before third bell."

Third bell? There hadn't even been one so far.

At that moment, a harsh buzzing filled the air, and as I stepped out into the corridor, kids suddenly began to sprint for the staircases and other hallways. Pressing myself against the wall, I struggled to open the folder and not get run over. As I did, I kept up a running monologue with myself. Oh my God, chill out. Your heart is going a million miles an hour over a bunch of kids? You fight monsters. Get a hold of yourself, Brannick.

And I'd almost managed to do that when a boy nearly a foot taller than me collided with my shoulder, sending the folder spinning out of my hands, papers scattering everywhere.

My muscles tensed, and before I could stop it, my hand had darted out to...I don't know, grab the guy, or punch him, or who knew what. Thank God he'd already moved too far past me, and my hand just flopped harmlessly in midair.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm down. The last thing I needed was to let my instincts take over before I'd even set foot in my first class. I knelt down and started to pick up my papers.

"Hey, you okay?"

A boy about my age stood in front of me. Sandy brown hair fell in his eyes, which, I noticed, were dark brown. "Just, uh, dropped some stuff."