Lady Renegades (Rebel Belle #3)(19)

It was. I totally saw that. Heck, I’d always wanted to go after David rather than sitting back and waiting for things to happen to me. “Proactive” was practically my middle name, but that didn’t mean this would be easy.

But if we had Blythe—and Blythe’s plan, whatever it was—maybe it could work?

I felt the briefest spark of hope in my chest, and then I remembered Blythe at Cotillion. The look on her face as she’d done the spell on David. The way she’d vanished with Bee. The complete and utter havoc she’d wreaked in the few days I’d known her.

I wanted to find David, and I was curious about whatever she had planned, but trusting Blythe after everything? Was I that desperate?

“I understand that you don’t trust me,” Blythe added. “I mean, I wouldn’t trust me if I were you.” She leaned closer, and I could see my own skeptical face reflected in her sunglasses. “But there are things I know that you just don’t. Spells this guy”—another dismissive glance at Ryan—“hasn’t even heard of.”

Reaching out, Blythe tugged my purse off my shoulder. I gave a startled squawk, but she just fished out my phone and typed into my contacts.

“Now you have my number. When the three of you decide to grow up,” she said, even though I was the only one she was looking at, “you can give me a call. But I’m only sticking around for a few days.”

With that, she spun on her little ballet flats and headed toward the parking lot.

But then she stopped, turning around to look back at us, her hand lifted to shade her eyes. “This isn’t just about you, Harper. You or your friends. Alaric destroyed an entire town when he turned. He killed Paladins, sure, but innocent people, too. This whole thing is so much bigger and worse than you understand.”

She nodded at my phone, still in my hand. “So you think real hard about that. And then call me.”





Chapter 11


“DON’T YOU HAVE anything smutty on that cart?”

I blinked at Mrs. Morrison. It was Monday morning, which meant I was helping The Aunts with their volunteer work at the local assisted-living facility, Hensley Manor. They visited at least three times a week, sometimes arranging activities for the residents, sometimes just to chat or sneak in homemade cookies. My Aunts genuinely liked helping people, but they also liked to remind themselves that while they might be old, they weren’t that old yet. I was usually too busy to help during the school year, but during the summer I tried to commit at least one day a week to being in charge of the mobile library, which was really just a rolling cart full of paperbacks.

Paperbacks that were not smutty enough for Mrs. Morrison.

I glanced back over the rows of spines, trying to find something that had the word “savage” in the title, finally settling on a bright pink book with half-naked people on the front, and a very alarmed-looking swan in the background. “Will this work?”

Mrs. Morrison’s watery blue eyes went wide and she plucked the book from my fingers. “You’re a good girl, Harper,” she said, and I smiled as I stood up, pushing my cart toward the door.

“You’re welcome!” I said sunnily, then headed out in the hall to continue my rounds. As soon as I was out of her sight, my smile dropped, and I had to fight back a sigh. It had been two days since we’d done the ritual in the field, and while Blythe had turned up, there was still no sign of David.

“Harper Jane, stop scowling!” Aunt May said, coming out of another room, stuffing her knitting in her bag.

I straightened up, trying to smile. “Sorry, Aunt May. Just thinking.”

She gave a little sniff. “You think too much and too hard. You get that from Jewel.”

I didn’t think it was supposed to be a compliment, but that actually made my smile a little more genuine. There were worse things in life than being like Aunt Jewel, after all.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” I said to Aunt May, pushing my cart farther down the hall.

I made a couple more stops—and a mental note to pick up some more “smutty books” at the local Goodwill—but then the soft chime sounded, signaling lunch. Stowing my cart away in the break room, I went in search of Aunt Jewel. We hadn’t gotten a chance to talk after everything at the country club, and while Aunt Martha and Aunt May had grilled me about it on our way to the nursing home this morning, Aunt Jewel had been silent. Which, I knew, meant she was waiting for a chance to talk to me alone.

I finally found her having her lunch outside in the little courtyard between the buildings, and even though it was hotter than Satan’s armpit out there, I went to sit next to her. Wordlessly, she handed me half of her sandwich. I peeled back the wax paper and took a little sniff. Aunt Martha’s famous curry chicken salad with green apples, one of my favorites.

“I was hoping to get you alone,” Aunt Jewel said after I’d taken a bite. “And ask you just what in the Sam Hill all that stuff was at the country club on Sunday.”

I went to answer, but she held up one hand. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, and also don’t bother trying to tell me it wasn’t important. Girl shows up and you go all ninja on her, I figure it has something to do with everything we’ve been talking about.”

I swallowed. “It does. That girl . . . her name is Blythe, and she’s a Mage. It’s a person who does magic—”