Chapter 13

"Let us go," I spat out against the dirt.

How? How could an Object Summoner choose to use their power like this? In all my years living with Fabian and Don, I never could have imagined them directing their whimsical, witty magic in such a cruel and spiteful way.

"You know, I'm not so sure I want to," Fergus said from above me. "I don't particularly like being called stupid. Or being scolded like I'm a toddler."

"Please," Emelle cried, her neck cranked sideways. "Why are you doing this?"

That newfound rage crawling through my veins… it made me agree with Fergus on one thing: our powers, so far, seemed useless. Because all I wanted to do in that moment was throw a vine around all their throats until they let us go. But I had no idea how to call out for one or ask it for help or direct it in any capacity.

Fergus droned on above us. I focused my vision on the shallow cracks between cobblestones, where a single fire ant was scurrying past my nose.

"Help us," I whispered to it, my breath rough and raw. "Please."

The ant paused and turned to look at me, antennas raised. This close, I could make out the hairs on its head and its mandible flexing in and out.

"Please," I whispered again, just as Fergus gave Rodhi a single kick.

Rodhi grunted. The ant scurried away.

For the next several seconds, I lay pressed against the ground, wincing as Fergus kicked Rodhi again and again. How had it come to this? Why did they—

Fergus's scream cut my thoughts short.

Followed by the screams of Jenia, Dazmine, and the Summoner, too.

As an entire colony of fire ants burst from every crack near the stairwell and surged up each of their legs.

I scrambled to my feet. Emelle helped up Rodhi, who groaned. For a moment, the three of us were frozen in space, watching the chaos unfold before us.

They twisted and hopped and scratched at themselves, shrieking and, for all intents and purposes, looking like four sped-up versions of Gileon's earlier dance. I felt no pity, though, as hives sprouted along every inch of their skin.

Until the Object Summoner seemed to get ahold of himself, and sent the ants flying away—from himself and from the others.

I barely had time to blink. Barely had time to even take a breath before Fergus barreled at me with his hands spread wide.

"You bitch! I know it was you!"

He pounded me into the wall behind me, anchoring my neck to the stone.

My heels jerked up, leaving me on scrambling tiptoes. Blood rushed up my head, and my throat wanted to gag but couldn't.

"Don't you dare," a drawling voice said suddenly.

Fergus released me immediately, his hands flying to his own throat.

He gasped, then fell to the ground, flopping about like a fish on sun-baked land.

"Go," the newcomer told Jenia, Dazmine, and the Summoner.

They sprinted off, scratching at their arms and legs, without a backward glance.

I lifted myself from the wall, panting and taking Coen Steeler in.

Real. He was real, not some twisted figment of my imagination. And he was glaring down at the jerking boy at his feet, such fury radiating from him that I almost couldn't speak.

Almost. Chancing a glance at Emelle and Rodhi, who were watching with shock-wide eyes, I asked, "What are you doing to him?"

"Making him think he's drowning," Coen said without looking at me.

I stared, horrified, at Fergus's writhing figure. "Stop it. Now."

"He hurt you." Such a hard, unyielding tone… but Coen wrenched his glare away from Fergus to meet my gaze, and Fergus fell still between our feet, raking in gasp after gasp. "Are you okay?"

I touched my neck, right where a bruise, no doubt, was already purpling.

"I'm fine."

"Hmm." Coen's hand twitched as if he wanted to touch my neck, too. But he clenched it into a fist instead and returned his glare to Fergus. "Don't touch her or her friends ever again, okay? I'm not allowed to kill you, but I am allowed to make you wish you were dead."

Fergus nodded, hatred boiling in his eyes, and hoisted himself up.

We all watched him limp away until he was gone.

"So." Coen leaned against the stone wall I'd been pushed against, folding his arms and ignoring Rodhi and Emelle completely. "I missed you at my party last night. I would have thought you'd want to take a tour of my room. I have my own private one, you know, as the Manipulator prince."

Rodhi's eyebrows shot through his hairline before a grin formed on his face. Emelle pressed her lips together.

I, however, stared at Coen, straining to make sense of his words.

A coded message, that's what this was, I was sure—about the pills, maybe? Did I have to take it more than once? Suddenly, I hated myself for telling him to stay out of my head. He'd be able to drop private thoughts into my mind right now if I hadn't.

I cleared my throat, well aware of Rodhi and Emelle clinging on to each word.

"I thought that was a one-time thing?"

Coen studied me carefully. "Some people like it weekly."

Rodhi actually gasped in delight at that. I glared at him, but Coen just pushed himself away from the wall and started down the stairwell. "I'm having another party this Friday," he threw over his shoulder. "I expect to see you there."

Rodhi whipped toward me once Coen had disappeared from view.

"What. Was. That?"

"Nothing," I said a little too quickly.

Rodhi scoffed. "He saved you from Mr. Greaseball, told you about his room, and said he likes it weekly. You, my darling, are straight up lying right now."

"He said some people like it weekly," I muttered, avoiding even Emelle's gaze. From the crooked twist of her mouth, I knew she was thinking about that secret I'd told her in Ms. Pincette's classroom and putting the pieces together.

I bent low to the ground before either of them could say anything else and found a single stray fire ant wandering along a line between cobblestone. "Thank you," I told it, hoping it would relay the message to the rest of its colony—wherever they were, now that the Summoner had blown them away.

Then I started down the stairs, toward the courtyard, without another word.

I had a lot to ponder tonight. How had Coen known I was in trouble? Why hadn't he told me to begin with that I'd need a suppressant pill once a week?

And what was I supposed to do about the damned flutter in my throat at the thought of his gaze on mine?

We found Gileon in the dining hall, sitting alone and sniffling into his plate.

Emelle—timid, shy Emelle—was the one who marched over to him and nodded at our table, where Rodhi and I had just collapsed on either side of Wren to tell her about the day's events. I smiled at the sight of her raised chin, and smiled even wider at the sight of Gileon heaving himself up to follow her to our table.

He sat down. "Hi."

"Hi," we echoed.

"How are you doing?" I asked.

Gileon massaged the back of his neck. "I'm okay. I think there's a ghost in the courtyard, though. It was attacking me after Ms. Pincette's class, and I'm scared it's gonna follow me around forever."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Rodhi said. "Rayna got rid of that ghost."

Gileon turned massive, moon-round eyes on me. "You did?"

"Um… sort of. But not without help." I laid a hand on top of his. "The point is, nobody's ever going to haunt you again, okay?"

I hadn't meant to sound so assertive, because really, how could I prevent someone else from picking on him? But I felt sure that Fergus and the others wouldn't anytime soon, at least, not with the threat of Coen and his Manipulating torture lurking around every corner. None of them had shown up for dinner tonight and I felt smug pleasure at the thought that they were probably getting all their ant burns treated right now.

Gileon leaned his head against the back of his chair. "That is such a relief to hear. I thought I was doomed."

Wren, who'd paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, gave me a look.

A look that clearly said, you better protect him with everything you've got.

I nodded. We all nodded. Now that we'd seen what kind of damage the power of others could do, it seemed there was nothing else to do besides defend those who couldn't defend themselves. Even if it put a target on our backs.

Because as much as I felt, deep down, that Fergus wouldn't bother messing with Gileon in the near future, I had no doubt he—and Jenia, too—would find ways to mess with Rodhi, Emelle, and me… for interfering, for the fire ants, and for Coen.

Ways that didn't require physical touch. Ways that would hurt even worse.

The rest of that first week passed by in a blur. We learned about the effects of farming in History, helped estuary otters line their dens with leaves in Predators Prey, laid in the arboretum some more while Mrs. Wildenberg rambled about the meaning of different tunes, and tried to direct worms through mud mazes using different vibrations in our throats while Ms. Pincette frowned at us.

Jenia, Dazmine, and Fergus never looked our way a single time during any of those classes. Apparently, we heard through rippling whispers, they'd been spending each night in the sick bay next to the dining hall, where night medics tended to their ant bites—a relief for me, to not have to sleep five bunks down from Jenia.

An irrational part of me feared I'd wake up to her slitting my throat with my own knife still tucked firmly away under my bunk. The fire ants, after all, had marked her perfect face with oozing red bumps.

Despite the constant, loitering suspicion that I now needed to watch my back at all times, though, I felt a sense of… normalcy sink in. I ate every meal with Wren, Emelle, and Gileon. Rodhi mentioned Ms. Pincette's stunning womanhood about once a day. And Lander stopped by every night to say hi.

A routine. That's what I'd needed to feel at home, and that's what was slowly developing now. Even if it had only been a week since I'd slept in a tree.

Finally, Friday night rolled around, which meant Coen's next party. Lander said that he was going to play a game of pentaball with some of his friends, Wren was downstairs teaching Gileon how to swing a punch (we didn't even ask), and Rodhi was off doing Rodhi things, so Emelle and I found ourselves alone together, contemplating which outfits to wear.

"I think I'm going for a skirt tonight," Emelle said, pulling out a swath of black gauze. "Or should I wear a dress?"

"Hmm. I like the skirt."

I laid out my own outfits from home, biting my lip at the stiffness of each of them. All I had were tunics and pants with collars and buttons and no flare. It had never bothered me until I'd arrived here and seen everyone else wearing so much… less.

Just for one night, I wanted to feel free in my own body.

Emelle glanced at my face.

"Do you want to wear my dress, then? It's a little long for me anyway, but I think it would fit you perfectly. And I can help you refashion some of your own clothes this weekend." I glanced back at her, surprised. "My mom is a seamstress," she clarified. "A Shifter, if you can believe it or not. She grows or shrinks her fingers depending on what size she needs them to be in the moment. I used to help her all the time, even though I was slower at it."

"I would… really like that, Emelle." I smiled. "Thank you."

Five minutes later, I stood in front of the bunkroom wall mirrors, discovering what I looked like in a dress for the first time.

My hair was tamer than usual, thanks to some curling gel Emelle had let me borrow and a fancy clip the shape of a heliconia that she had used to pin the top half of it back. Rather than wild, it merely looked… thick, with rippling waves flowing down to the small of my back. My eyes were outlined in smoky black, and my body—

I felt pleased and terrified at the same time, looking at my body.

Emelle's dress hugged the swell of my breasts and the curve of my hips, flowing outward at my upper thighs. The neckline itself spilled halfway down my cleavage, where each side joined in a row of tiny, descending black pearls.

Pearls that reminded me of the pill I had swallowed five days ago.

"Are you sure you're okay with me wearing this?" I asked Emelle, gulping.

"I'm more than okay with it." She cast me a sly look that I knew had everything to do with Coen's cryptic words the other day. I'd refused to answer any of her questions about him, but she knew I was nervous about this party for a very particular reason. "You look beautiful."

I turned to her, surveying her tight, form-fitting top and slitted skirt. "So do you. Okay, let's go, I guess."

We made our way downstairs, out onto Bascite Boulevard, and toward the Mind Manipulator mansion. There, lights flashed from all those little windows, and music, once again, pulsed against the gathering darkness. Up ahead, I could hear the shouts of Lander and his new Shifter friends as they played pentaball. Behind us, the shrieks and laughter of other parties joined the cacophony.

The birds, for once, were silent.

Reeling in a slow breath, I stepped up to the Mind Manipulator entrance, nodded at Emelle, and knocked.