“And Art. I’m definitely taking Art. Have you seen what that dude did with his paintbrush?”
After spending the day exploring the classes, Gwen was ecstatic, and Chloe overwhelmed. There were too many choices for her liking. They headed straight to the mailroom, where the unpleasant Martie grumbled a greeting.
“How do I go about sending a message to Blair?” she asked him.
“You write it. Can you write, newbie?”
He seemed, if possible, more irritable than yesterday, maybe because some raven had quipped at her merrily. A small one—the same one she would have sworn had followed her to her dormitory the previous day—flew around her. She lifted her hand and the raven took the invitation, perching on her index finger.
“Don’t the talons hurt you?” Gwen asked. “My grandma keeps birds. They don’t like me much, but they love my brother. He has loads of cuts from holding them, though.”
Chloe looked at her hand. Indeed, the small talons did seem sharp.
“No, I think this baby is being careful.”
“Listen, Miller,” Martie grunted. “I’ve had this job for the last thirty years, and my uncle had it before me. We’re servants of the Seven. You can’t come here and take over.”
She blinked, flabbergasted.
“All right, glad you got that off your chest. But I’m here as a student; I have zero idea what sort of tricks you do to send these to the right people, and, anyway, no offense but your job is my idea of a nightmare. A boring nightmare. I have zero intention of stealing it.”
“Swear it,” Martie demanded.
Gwen opened her mouth to speak, but Chloe had already said, “I swear I’m not after your job.”
The witch sighed. Martie smiled and handed her a blank piece of paper.
“Well, write your stuff, then. I’ll take care of it.”
Chloe wrote to Blair, asking to meet her when she could free up some time, and Gwen did the same with her mentor.
On their way down to Adairford a few minutes later, the witch told Chloe, “All right, I may be out of bounds here, but I figure someone should tell you. Never swear to a sup. Ever.”
Chloe frowned. “Why?” She shrugged. “I’m not after his job.”
Gwen sighed. “Because you don’t know what the future holds, and this sort of vow can be trouble. Martie is a witch. I doubt he had a binding hex ready, but he could have. Your vow means that now, or in ten, or a hundred years, you cannot ever be after his job. Let’s say Martie’s tired of minding birds and decides to apply to a job in a while. Then you see that job posted online and you apply to it too?”
Chloe couldn’t see any of that happening, but for the sake of the argument, she asked, “So?”
“So, you’d die, if those are the terms of the hex. Or, maybe you’d just wake up with pustules all over your face. Who knows? My point is, you don’t want to find out.”
Put like that, her warning was noteworthy.
“Wow.”
“Words have power. With your real name, your word, your blood, your soul…our kind can shape your future. You have to guard yourself against harm.”
Chloe felt foolish and naive.
“All right. Well, next time I say something stupid, please feel free to interrupt and let me know.”
“Promise.”
Chloe lifted a brow. “Can we promise, then?”
Gwen broke into a grin. “Sure. To you, anyway.”
Because she was the weakest thing in a ten-mile radius.
“Hey, look. Sundown.”
Behind the mountains, the sun was sinking deep in the lake. Chloe remembered Jack’s offer.
“Do you want to go to that race?” she asked Gwen.
The witch grinned.
“Hell yes. And you should. Jack fucking Hunter asked you.”
The name meant nothing to Chloe, but evidently Gwen was familiar with it.
“Is he a big deal?”
“In London, definitely. He runs the city, with just a few dozen huntsmen under him. They’re as powerful as mortals get, but their numbers have never been large, and they recruit once a year or so. I say if Jack wants to see you run, you show him what you got.”
Chloe paused.
“You mean to become a huntsman-thing?”
That sort of thing had never crossed her mind. She wanted a high-stakes position in a successful company. Maybe own a business by the time she was fifty. Kicking naughty paranormal creatures into behaving wasn’t her idea of a career.
“That, and to show the rest of the Institute you’re not a useless little newbie they can play with. There are vampires, werewolves, and so many other things here. You don’t wanna look like prey? Taking a huntsman’s challenge is a good start.”
Gwen might have had a point.
The problem was that she could run reasonably fast, and that was the extent of her skill set. If anyone did want to see what she was capable of, she’d make a fool of herself. Staying on the sidelines made more sense. Besides…
“I won’t win.”
It had been too long since she’d run; this morning had been pretty hard.
“That’s okay. Just don’t lose.”
Chloe pondered her options.
“If you don’t show up, I doubt Jack will ask again.”
Very true. And if she did show up, she’d spend the evening drinking beer with some students after the race—whether she paid for it or not. It certainly beat going back to her room and replaying every single moment she’d rather bury as soon as she was alone. She couldn’t hold out hope for another miracle sleeping potion from Levi.
“All right. Let’s go before I change my mind.”
Circling the dorm toward the forest, they found Jack with about twenty people, most of them wearing brown leather gear. Belatedly, Chloe realized that she wasn’t dressed as well as she could be for running in her jeans and baby pink Converses. The snow had melted away on the roads, meaning there was probably mud in the woods. Pink and mud did not go well together.
“Look who we have here. Just in time,” said Jack.
Great. Just in time sounded like too late to back out or change shoes.
“Crew, this is…” He turned to her. “What was that again?”
She didn’t think he’d asked her name in the first place. “Chloe.” She pointed to her new friend. “And Gwen.”
“Right. Chloe, Gwen, this is Tris, Chris, Reiss, Ward, Bat, Bash…”
He lost her halfway through.
After the speedy introduction, he stated, “So, you know the deal. Five hundred to the winner, loser buys the drinks. No rules, but try to stay away from the northeast—the werewolves don’t take kindly to strangers intruding on their territory.”
Wait, werewolf territory?
“Whoever gets to Lakehill first wins. Ethan is waiting at the finish line to determine a clear winner. On my mark!”
Shit. That was not nearly enough information.
“Get set!”
“Where’s Lakehill?” she screamed over Jack’s counting.
There were only three hills—Night Hill, then one at its right and another to its left. Jack pointed to the left one.
“Two miles north. Through the woods, or down the path—but the path takes five miles. No rules. Get there first, you win. Got it?”
Definitely not. Her mouth opened and said, “Yes.”
“Good. Go.”
