Because You Love to Hate Me(35)

“They’d been branded, too,” Sigrid said, pressing into Thomas’s perspective and projecting pentagrams of warped scar tissue on the witches’ chests. “Before they died.”

Thomas squeezed tighter and tighter, folding the bones of her hand in his fist like a bundle of sticks. “Sigrid,” he said, voice strained.

Just as quickly as it had appeared, the vision was gone, replaced by the dim light of the clubroom. What remained was a splitting headache.

“What was that?” Thomas said, releasing her hand. “You were changing images in my head . . .” He exhaled like he’d been holding a breath for days. “Have you always been able to do that?”

“I’m not sure.” Sigrid clutched her throbbing head. She thought of all the times Thomas had foisted visions on her in the last three years. “Doesn’t feel quite right, does it?”

Thomas adjusted his shoulders as though shaking something off. “Do you think Alice found him? The sorcerer?” Thomas asked.

“If she didn’t,” she said, “then what the bloody hell killed her?”

Thomas looked away. “So what happened to the next team?”

“What?”

“The ones who tried it next. What came of them?”

“Thomas, everyone in the Hether Blether expedition died. Horribly. People weren’t exactly lining up to repeat their mistake.”

“Mistake?” Thomas said, stunned. “They knew exactly what they were doing—trying to save magic. Being brave is a risk, not a mistake. They wanted to be extraordinary. To embrace all that they were capable of. To be legend.”

Descriptions of Alice Gray’s body filled Sigrid’s mind. Her skin sucked tight around her bones, scarred with symbols no expert had been able to interpret. “Why be extraordinary if that’s the cost?”

Thomas grabbed her wrist. “Because of the cost of doing nothing.” He met her gaze with a challenge. “People die either way. If you act, at least their blood isn’t on your hands.”

Sigrid shook off his grip and stood. “Alice might have owed the world some magic. I don’t think she owed us her life.”

“Sigrid!” Annabel swept into the room. “Time to get your head out of those books, Sig, ol’ girl.”

“You’ve no idea,” Sigrid agreed. She grabbed her bag and turned her back on Thomas. “I need a break from him.”

“Who?” Annabel threw an arm around Sigrid and steered her toward the billiards table in the other corner. A group of scraggly boys were getting ready to start a game. They twisted chalk on their cues and watched the girls approach. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Annabel said. “We’re going to watch these wankers play pool, bet on the one with the cutest arse, and by the end of the night we won’t care about who’s won, or applications, or London, or any damn thing.”

Sigrid looked back and saw Thomas stuffing his satchel with books. She could see the disappointment in his eyes.

Sigrid was easily seduced into Annabel’s world of casual fun. When Annabel was around, it seemed so simple to knock off and enjoy things. To ignore the part of her brain that buzzed with anxious thoughts, focusing instead on a drink, a flirt, the possibility of comfort and peace. In time she could learn to mimic the easy cadence of Annabel’s crowd, Sigrid told herself. She could be happy.

The billiards table was crowded with Pendle Hill’s finest. They stood close, jostling and throwing insults, alive with laughter. Sigrid wondered when, exactly, they’d all grown so comfortable with one another. Annabel leaned against the wall, talking to a student whose name Sigrid couldn’t recall. Blake, maybe, or Blair, or Blaine. They were talking about positions, of course.

“I’m after one with Manchester United,” BlakeBlairBlaine said.

“Wow!” Annabel said. “That’s on.”

“Wait—what?” Sigrid said, sharp. “You’re a witch. You know that, right?”

“Right?” he said. “What of it?”

“You can do magic. And you want to work for a football club?”

“Not just any club, is it?”

Sigrid shook her head, incredulous. “Who cares? You’d never be able to use your abilities. You’d be forever hiding what you are.”

BlakeBlairBlaine shrugged. “It’s not like I’m saving the world, levitating small objects or hexing stains out of my loafers. Parlor tricks.”

“Exactly,” Annabel laughed. She tossed her gleaming hair. She was flirting, Sigrid realized, and with that unevolved cretin.

Sigrid longed to retaliate somehow, to decelerate the billiard balls until they retraced their trajectories. Maybe send the whole room back to a few minutes before the game had even started. Show Annabel and all the rest a fraction of the power they so casually dismissed. But she’d been so careful to keep the extent of her powers under wraps; just because she wanted to prove a point didn’t mean she suddenly trusted her classmates.

In that moment, Sigrid understood that being extraordinary wasn’t something she could curb forever. There was no opting out.

Parlor tricks.

“Right.” Sigrid turned to Annabel. “Want to get out of here?”

Annabel hesitated. Sigrid’s stomach dropped. Her face flared red at the sight of Annabel’s pitying expression.