I continue rinsing the rest of my body as I tell an impatient Macy about my trip down through the tunnels to the art cottage.
“But I swear, Mace, the last thing I remember is gathering up paint to work on my project. I was in the art supply closet, and I had a really strong vision of what I wanted to do on my canvas, so I picked up gray and green and blue paint and then went into the art room and started painting, for what felt like hours.”
An idea suddenly comes to me.
“Wait a minute.” I turn to Macy as I try to puzzle this out. “Did Jaxon say where Cole was attacked?” If this happened because he saw me go into the art room and came after me, then maybe it wasn’t the cold-blooded attack it looks like.
Maybe it really was self-defense.
Please, please let it have been self-defense.
Then again, how on earth could I actually defend myself against a werewolf? Or end up without a scratch, for that matter? My only power right now is the ability to turn to stone, and though I can see that as a benefit when actually being attacked—as long as my attacker doesn’t also have a sledgehammer—I have no idea how it works in an offensive situation.
Like, how could I possibly have drawn this much blood from anyone while doing my best impersonation of a garden gnome?
“He didn’t say.” Macy hands me my phone. “Maybe you should ask him.”
“I’ll ask him when I see him.” I shudder as I reach for a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. “I have to go talk to your dad anyway. But first I need a shower.”
Macy looks grim even as she nods. “Okay, you shower and I’ll brush my teeth. Then we’ll go see my dad together. “
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell her, though I’ll admit that I really, really don’t want to face this alone.
She rolls her eyes. “What’s that old saying? One for all and all for one?” She plants her hands on her hips. “You’re not going down to my father’s office and confessing to whatever the hell this is without me.”
I start to argue, but she shoots me a death glare so intense that I end up just snapping my mouth shut. Macy may be the most easygoing person I’ve ever met, but she definitely has a spine made of steel under all that fun exterior.
Macy is still getting ready when I finish my shower, so I grab the bloody clothes off the floor and shove them in an empty bag I have lying around. It’s one thing to tell Uncle Finn what I think happened. It’s another to parade what looks an awful lot like evidence of my guilt in front of the entire school. I also grab my notebook, just in case, and shove it into my backpack as well before slinging it over my shoulder.
Once we leave the room, I expect Macy to head for the main stairs that deposit us close to her dad’s office. But she turns left instead, winding her way through two separate hallways filled with dorm rooms before finally stopping in front of one of my least-favorite paintings in the school—a dramatic rendition of the Salem Witch Trials, which shows all nineteen victims hung at once while flames engulf the village behind them.
Still, the last thing I’m expecting is for Macy to whisper a few words and then wave a hand that makes the painting vanish entirely.
She turns to me, her expression grim again. “Things are going to be in an uproar in the main rooms.” Then she does the unexpected. She smiles. “So let’s take a shortcut.”
Seconds later, a door appears out of nowhere.
20
Karma’s a
Witch’s Cousin
Unlike the other doors at Katmere, this one is bright yellow and has rainbow stickers all over it—which says everything it needs to about who has claimed ownership of it.
Macy puts her hand on the door and whispers something that sounds like “locks” and “doors” in an almost melodic cadence. And then the door opens.
“Come on,” she entreats, beckoning urgently with her hand as the door swings farther inward. “Before anyone sees.”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I follow her through the door, and I don’t even squeak as it shuts itself behind us with a quiet swish.
Of course, once the door closes, we’re standing in total darkness, which freaks me out for a whole bunch of other reasons. With my heart beating unsteadily, I fumble for my phone to turn on my flashlight app.
But Macy is on it, and before I can so much as get the cell out of my pocket, she murmurs something about “light” and “life,” and a line of candles along the left side of the passage flares to life.
It’s the coolest thing ever, and the more of Macy’s powers I see, the more impressed I get. But as my eyes adjust to the soft light and I finally see our surroundings, I can’t help but grin.