Scott Tracey - Moonset

“That’s it,” Quinn said magnanimously. “I’m on your side, kids.”

“We’re not kids,” Cole muttered, speaking for the first time.

“So we’ve got your assurance for what … three months? What happens after that, when we never see you again?” Jenna asked pointedly. “When it comes to us, no one’s on our side. At least not for long. And you can’t guarantee that the next one will be competent.”

It didn’t seem like Quinn let very much get to him. This was no different. “So what are you expecting? That you’re going to demand to be taught some spells that will arguably be useful in self-defense? Spells that a girl with your track record could easily abuse in a plethora of creative ways. Now why would I do that?”

“Jenna has a point, though,” I interjected. This was about thirty seconds from getting ugly—

anyone could see that Quinn wasn’t about to give Jenna what she wanted, and that was always dangerous . “Isn’t there some kind of appeal system? I mean, no offense to Jenna, but she abuses the spells she knows anyway, and we don’t get taught something without at least a dozen people signing off on it first.”

It was more than a little annoying that I’d agree with Jenna on that. There was so much fear and nervousness that we were the Second Coming, that everything we were to be taught was checked and double-checked. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Congress had entire think tanks established just to predict what kinds of chaos Jenna could do with a spell that turned glass opaque or one that could change an article of clothing into a primary color.

After all, this was the girl who had cobbled together a couple of eavesdropping spells, a rumor-spreading spell, and one that made the caster seem incredibly trustworthy, and somehow turned that into a riot.

“Jenna’s not going to change—” I started.

“—and you’re always going to be there to cover her ass,” Quinn interrupted. “I get it. But you guys have to realize that everyone else is doing the same thing. Every time Jenna abuses what power she does have, it makes them question your progress all over again. There are some people advocating that you stop training entirely.”

“They can’t do that!” Jenna shouted at once. She started to pace, very quickly and without looking where she was going. Cole fluttered in her wake, looking unsure if he was supposed to pace with her or get out of the way. As a result, she nearly barreled into him at least three times.

“They can do a lot worse than that,” Quinn replied matter-of-factly. “That’s the way the system works. If you abuse your power, you don’t get any more.”

“And if we get killed because a bunch of old cowards are scared of us?” she demanded.

“Then they’ll think that the problem worked itself out.” Quinn raised his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. “The Council may take care of you, giving you all the things you need to be comfortable, like your phones and a healthy allowance, but it’s not a luxury. You’re not the political darlings you seem to think you are. They teach you as little as possible because they’re scared, and you give them every reason to be even more scared. So you can’t be surprised that they’re not looking out for your best interests.”

“And what,” Jenna scoffed, “you are?”

“I’m looking out for your survival,” Quinn replied. “I’m a Witcher. That’s part of my job.”

Part of his job. The unspoken other part hung in the air, and the four of us who weren’t

Witchers each absorbed it differently. Cole shuffled his feet, Jenna’s expression grew taut, Malcolm rolled his eyes, and me? My heart thudded in my chest.

Because there were two jobs that any Witcher around us would be expected to perform. To protect us from threats. And to eliminate us in the event that we became the threats.

Jenna still hadn’t moved on by the next day. She was sulking, barely speaking to any of us unless it was a snide remark. Quinn’s refusal to break the rules and teach us new spells hadn’t sat well with her. For some reason, she was particularly hostile to me, as if I had something to do with it.

Trying to figure out girls, especially ones I was related to, was definitely not one of my superpowers.

It was another day of shopping. Jenna and Bailey were both complaining about not having enough clothes. Our wardrobe from Kentucky still hadn’t arrived, if it ever would. After the wraith had showed up, I think we all wrote our stuff off as a lost cause. They wouldn’t want to send anything to us on the off chance that it had been tampered with. So that meant a lot of shopping.

“Again?” Mal had groused first thing in the morning, when everyone had collected in his kitchen. I didn’t really want to go, either, but the other three were all about it. And I figured it would be better to keep an eye on Jenna rather than let her unleash her temper on an unsuspecting population.

“Just because everything looks good on you is no reason for the rest of us to suffer,” Jenna said crossly. “Besides, a girl needs options.”

“Our guardian said it gets cold here, and there’s lots of snow,” Bailey added. “I need a couple different coats if she’s right.”

“I guess I could use a new pair of cross-trainers,” Mal sighed.

The whole conversation made me think of what Quinn had been saying the night before. That the Council made sure we had allowances and credit cards just to keep us quiet. If we were taken care of, we were less likely to complain. I listened to Jenna and Bailey discussing things they’d seen in store windows, and Cole jumping in to talk about some video game he wanted, and I realized that he was right.

I’d never thought about it like that before. Just how far did they go to manipulate us? Were our moves always necessary, or were they trying to accomplish something else?

Carrow Mill didn’t have a “mall” by the strictest definition, but Malcolm had found the closest alternative. There was a suburb where the trendy rich lived, and they had a little outdoor shopping plaza that screamed Old Time, America. Cobblestone streets lined with park benches gave off the perfect downtown vibe, even though it was all an elaborate ruse. The outdoor mall, Americana style. All the buildings stood at least three stories, the bottom floor filled with chains like Express, Forever 21, and even a Barnes & Noble. The girls were in heaven. The guys were there to carry bags.

“I missed my morning workout for this? I’d rather be sleeping,” Mal groaned, throwing himself down on one of the benches on the street. The girls were inside with Cole, who’d been surprisingly quick to tag along with them. It made sense when he tried to tag along at Victoria’s

Secret, but less so when it was just a clothing boutique.

“You’re the driver,” I said, leaning over the back of the chair and watching across the street.

More and more people were starting to crowd the streets. “Besides, how can you hate shopping? Stop ruining a perfectly good stereotype.”

“Shopping with them?” Mal shuddered. “And I’m not a magic clothing genie. I don’t care what they buy.”

“I think you’re just supposed to tell them it looks great,” I said with an absent shrug. “That’s what I always do, at least.”

“Always playing peacemaker,” he said with a fluid wave, like a conductor controlling the orchestra.

I followed the movement, reading the intent behind it. “It’s not like that. I’m not manipulating them.”

“Sure you’re not.”

“Who cares what you think, anyway?” I snapped. “You’re the one with the Victoria’s Secret bag in your lap.”

He didn’t need to look up to give me the finger. Then again, by doing so he missed the group of girls crossing the street right in front of him.

The girl in front knew she was gorgeous. She owned it. Her brunette hair was pinned up with chopsticks, and her dark coat was the kind of fur that probably wasn’t faux. She had what

Jenna would have called “permanent bitch face”—a smirk that looked like it never left her face.

She took one look at Mal with his middle finger in the air, turned right to her friend, and started whispering something. Almost the entire flock of girls burst into giggles as they passed us.

“Great first impression,” I said, and Mal finally lifted his head.

He saw the girls and rolled his eyes. “I’m heartbroken. If it’s so important, why don’t you go apologize. You could use the practice talking to girls you’re not related to.”

“Dick.”

Mal laughed. “Go talk to the girls, coward.”

I watched them go, half wanting to. They were partway down the street when one of the girls in back turned around. She was the only one with short hair, some sort of reddish auburn that stood out against her white jacket. Despite the snow and ice on the ground, she moved easily, and grinned in my direction.

“They’re just girls,” Mal said, like that made any sense whatsoever. “They’re not going to hurt you. I mean, unless you want them to.”

“I’ve had enough things trying to hurt me for one lifetime,” I muttered. “You know this is why I let Cole do bad things to your reputation, right?”

Mal lifted himself upright like he was doing crunches at the gym. “Better hurry, before Jenna decides which one you like before you do,” he said, nodding to the store the girls were in.

Jenna and Bailey were at the cash register, and Cole stood mystified staring at a rack of jewelry.

“I’m going for a walk,” I announced, and started off down the street. I might have hustled a little, but I couldn’t say for sure whether I was trying to catch up to the girls or get away from my siblings.

It was probably an even stretch of both.

Half an hour later, I didn’t have a clue where I was. Despite what I’d said to Mal, I wasn’t about to go stalk a bunch of girls that I’d have to spend a few months at school with. Bad first impressions weren’t my thing.

The downside to small-town Americana was that every street looked the same. I got lost quickly and managed to walk in a circle at least three different times. By a stroke of luck, I finally managed to find my way back to the bookstore, only to open the door just as the girls from earlier were walking out. The brunette leader sailed passed without even a thank you. The rest of the girls followed her lead, a few giggles escaping here or there. And then there was the girl in the back.

She held the inner door open, just as I held the outer. After a momentary stare down between us, she cocked her shoulders as if to say, “Well?” We stood like two gunslingers in the

Old West, waiting to see who’d flinch first. Who’d release their door and let the other walk through?

I glanced down the street, desperately trying to think of something cool to say. This girl didn’t look like she’d fall for one of Malcolm’s stupid lines or be drawn in by Cole’s sometimes adorable nature.

“Your friends are leaving.” Immediately I wanted to kick myself. That was how I opened a conversation?

Her smile widened. “Maybe they’re not my friends.” She ran a hand through her hair, and I … forgot what I was going to say. The cold didn’t matter, the people coming in and out around us weren’t important.