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  “Isn’t high school all about drama?” His shark-black eyes glitter. “Come on, Rouen. Where’s your school spirit?”

  One thing’s for sure. If I could find it, I’d shove it down his throat.

  Chapter Three

  Syl

  Once there were hundreds

  Of sleeper-princesses

  But the dark Fae slaughtered them

  - Glamma’s Grimm

  My lungs are burning, my legs are burning, and as I pedal harder into the parking lot of Richmond Elite High, the train-wreck injury flares up and my right thigh, all the way down to my knee, becomes a screaming knot of white-hot pain. Girl on fire, right here, people. I’m going to spontaneously combust on school grounds. On my first day back. I’m sure of it.

  Just as sure as I’m still late.

  Ignoring the old injury, I crank down on the pedals, my lateness making this weird mantra in my head. Late, late, late. Four miles—my biking commute has doubled since we moved from the suburbs of the Fan—but the buses from Richmond E don’t exactly come into the slums of Jackson Ward.

  And Mom busts her bottom to make sure I can go to a school with a cutting edge art and photography program. She’s kind of awesome that way—none of that nonsense about getting a “real job” when I grow up. She believes in me and knows that art is just as real as the next career.

  I half dismount, standing on one pedal while coasting my bike to the rack.

  Maybe I’ll get lucky and Principal Fee won’t be watching from the office window. I mean, it’s only the first day. The old buzzard’s gotta have better things to do than watch for truancy.

  Besides, if I were really a truant, I’d already be at Nanci Raygun’s on the bonus level of Dragon’s Lair.

  My right leg aches as I bend to chain up my bike. I try not to imagine the iron shard in there, moving around. Gross. My backpack slips off my shoulder and fwaps me in the face as if to tell me I’m stalling.

  I am. It’s been nearly three months since I’ve seen Fiann.

  Although, I guess “see” is the right term since it’s not like we talked at the end of the school year in June. The last time we actually spoke was mid-May. After that night at the tracks, she came to visit me at the hospital. Once. To show me all the papers hailing her as Heroic Teen Saves Friends and Real-Life Supergirl! I guess she did save me. But why can’t I remember?

  My memories are all white flame and heat. So hot I thought I was going to spontaneously combust. That’s all I remember.

  That, and my weird dreams about her. But why would she be chasing me? Did she cause the crash? Who is she?

  Ugh. So frustrating!

  The doctors say it’s normal, that maybe I saw something horrible and blocked it out, but I don’t feel normal. I should remember Fiann dragging me away like she said, carrying me from the wreckage, that shard of railroad-tie metal sticking out of my thigh, the train tracks torn up like the broken ribs of some massive butchered creature—

  Quit it, Syl.

  An ache jabs deep into me, stretching my chest with a weird, wistful feeling like I’m on the verge of discovering something powerful, life-changing, but then it slips away. Like smoke. Poof. Suddenly, I wish I was at the Nanci playing Dragon’s Lair. That’s the thing with video games—eventually you reach the level where you get the treasure, become the hero, understand the story.

  Life has no such guarantees.

  Syl, seriously. My inner cynic slaps me upside the head. I’ve been literally chaining up my bike for like ten minutes. Stop stalling.

  Fine. I can’t put off this reunion forever. Might as well walk in with my head held high.

  I straighten and look up at the massive brick building. Forget Fiann. Forget Principal Fee—did I mention he’s her father? Yeah, rad—I’m doing this.

  But I’ll do it my way. Like a freakin’ ninja.

  Breaking into a jog, I cut across the lawn toward the side door. The library opens up into a small rose garden, and if I’m in luck, the door will be open. Miss Jardin, the librarian, likes roses and she likes me. She’ll probably let me duck through and into my second class.

  Oh, she’ll give me the stink eye and that raised eyebrow, but she’s a redhead like me, and we kind of have this secret pact. All redheads do.

  I slink to the side door. It’s cracked. Yes! I do a little happy dance as I slip inside. The cool central air washes over me, making me shiver. I’m all sweaty from my stupidly long bike commute. I make a mental note to keep some deodorant in my locker this year.

  That won’t help me today, but whatever. A little girl-sweat never hurt anyone.

  I slip into the stacks, channeling my inner ninja, using the giant shelves as a shield to check out the library. As usual, no one’s here. According to the giant clock, it’s just about the end of first period.

  Maybe I won’t even have to trouble Miss Jardin, just sneak into the halls and find my way to my second class. Bio 2 with Miss Mack. Ugh. She smells all cinnamony like those spice-sticks you put in your apple cider in autumn.

  “Hi, Syl.”

  I jump like a mile. “Miss Jardin!” So much for my ninja-ness.

  The librarian stands behind me, one red eyebrow raised. She’s supposed to look strict, but I can totally see the smile twitching her lips. Plus, according to my Fae-sight, her aura’s bright pink. She’s one of the youngest teachers here, and she’s super-cool to me. Plus, she always smells fresh, like the roses she grows. She used to let Lennon and me talk when no one else was in the library—back when Lennon and I still hung out.

  I swallow my bitterness. “Hi, Miss Jardin.”

  “You had a good summer?” She has this way of turning every statement into a question. It’s weirdly quaint.

  Before I can answer, the double doors bang open. Fiann and her new posse barge in, Lennon trailing behind like some kind of secretary. “Miss Jardin, we need to find books on—”

  Fiann stops, her gaze fixing on me. Suddenly, I wish I had superpowers. Invisibility would be rad right now. Or phasing. I could just phase back into the wall and poof! Bye, Fiann. Instead, I sway from foot to foot, my oxblood Docs making unhelpful squeaky noises on the floor.

  “Syl…” Fiann’s voice is syrup and spite. She comes my way and puts an arm around me. “How are you?”

  I stiffen. It’s been months since she last spoke to me. Is she messing with me? I don’t even need to read her aura. The glint in her eye and the way her friends giggle tells me that yes, yes she is.

  Fine. But I’m not backing down.

  “Fiann.” I give her half a stink eye ‘cause she doesn’t really deserve a full one. “Anything interesting happen this summer?”

  She was probably expecting me to cop to her recent celebrity status, so my casual question hits hard. There’s a flash of shock and anger in her eyes before she waves it off. “Well, you know, the life of a celebrity. I was so busy, what with news reporters and papers. Did you know Vanity Fair actually wanted to do a spread on me?” She simpers, preening for her popular-girl friends.

  I recognize them—Danette Silver, captain of the girls basketball team; Maggie Xiao, varsity cheerleader and all-around fashionista; Jazz Martinez, head of the anime club; and Lennon Van, student-body treasurer. Lennon hangs back shyly, tugging at her uniform skirt. She doesn’t like confrontation. Fiann and her new friends thrive on it.

  “Yeah, Vanity Fair.” I roll my eyes. “My Glamma’s bridge club loved that mag.”

  Lennon stifles a giggle, and Fiann nearly turns purple. I think she’s going to swallow her tongue or something.

  She falls back on her usual bullying tactics. “Where’s your hall pass?”

  “Who are you—my mom?”

  The other girls twitter, but they shut up fast when Fiann glares back at them. She primps her perfect blonde hair. “Miss Jardin, you know Syl can’t be in here without a pass.”

  Miss Jardin draws herself up, suddenly seeming a lot taller than her five-foot-one stature, and I get a weird w
hiff of something spicy beneath her usual rose scent. She pushes her chunky black spectacles up on her nose. “Well, that’s between me and Syl now, isn’t it?”

  “She doesn’t have pass, does she?” Fiann’s shrewd. She doesn’t miss anything. “You should probably give her detention.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement, Miss Fee.” Unlike the other teachers at Richmond Elite, Miss Jardin isn’t threatened by Fiann. “Where are your passes, Miss Fee?”

  Ohhhh…that’s cold. I can’t resist smirking as Miss Jardin nails them to the proverbial wall.

  Fiann sniffs and tosses her blonde ponytail over her shoulder. “Come on, girls.” She pins me with a glare. “But don’t think this is over.”

  I shrug one shoulder. I don’t even know what this is, but whatever. “If you say so.”

  She flounces out like some villain on Buffy, her friends flouncing with her—all except Lennon who looks back and mouths, Sorry. I smile at her, but I know it turns sad. Can’t help it. Lennon’s a good person in a bad crowd.

  I turn back to Miss Jardin, and I swear, not five seconds later…

  “Miss Syl Skye.” The speaker on the wall statics to life. “Please come to the principal’s office. Immediately.”

  I sigh. So much for sneaking in.

  The bell to end first class rings, and the sounds of students pouring into the hallways breaks the library’s silence.

  Darn it. So much for sneaking anywhere.

  Saluting Miss Jardin in thanks, I drag my butt from the library and into the busy hall. I’m a super-massive introvert, so dodging and ducking is something I do well. I turn the corner from the library and enter the gigantic atrium. The central hub is wall-to-wall with students. Jocks, popular girls, nerds, geeks, freaks—everyone’s buzzing about the first day of school. Freshman freaking out, seniors flexing their social muscle.

  It’s enough to make a girl’s anxiety go through the roof. Not to mention, so many people, so many emotions—it makes my Fae-sight freak out. Too bright, too many colors. It’s like a flight of unicorns threw up in here. I duck my head and skirt the fringes, hitching my backpack higher.

  Snickers and laughs chase me as I turn down the hall toward Principal Fee’s office. Fiann and her posse are conveniently stationed nearby. She gives me that simpering smile—“Good luck, Syl”—and all her friends laugh on cue.

  Ha-ha. I’m turning to tell her where to stuff her luck when the office door swings open. Mrs. Hawklin stands there, her tiny bird eyes pinning me like a bug to a card. What is she, psychic? I didn’t even have the chance to knock.

  “He’s waiting,” is all she says, ushering me in all cloak-and-dagger, like she’s about to give me a top-secret briefing.

  “Um, okay.” I get ushered.

  Out in the hall, the bell for second period rings. Ugh. They’re probably choosing lab partners in Bio, and now I’ll be stuck with Minecraft Mike, the kid who’s always playing videogames on his school laptop. A for effort, but seriously?

  “Miss Skye.” Principal Fee stands up as I enter, placing his hands on his lacquered cherry wood desk. The sour look on his face is what Glamma always called a “puss.” She’d stand there, hands on hamhock hips, and say, “Wipe that puss off your face, young lady.” I totally get it now. I bet if you cut him open, it’d be all sticky Sour Patch Kids and rotten lemons.

  He tries for a smile, but his aura is gross yellow, telling me he’s not exactly sincere. “Let’s not start this year off on a wrong foot, shall we?”

  I give him my best stink eye. I won’t if you won’t.

  He sighs, running a hand over his balding head. “Miss Skye…”

  I’m bracing myself for a lame, let’s-all-get-along speech when Mrs. Hawklin knocks on the frosted glass. “Your special guest is here, sir.”

  Principal Fee goes the color of cafeteria milk, and his demeanor changes from sourpuss authoritarian to freaking out ten-year-old. “I…I’ll be right there.” He tries to pick up a pen and pad and knocks them both onto the floor. After scrambling around under his desk, he grabs them and heads for the door.

  “Um, hello? Remember me?”

  “Syl…uh…”

  Dang, someone sure does have his panties in a bunch.

  “She could show me around.” From the darkened far corner of the room comes a feminine voice as sultry as silk sliding over steel.

  Shivers rake my spine, my skin prickling with awareness. Flashes of my dream erupt—the train crash, the night, those sapphire-blue eyes ringed in gold. My dream girl. She’d sound just like this. Suddenly, my heart is cardio-kickboxing my ribs.

  Am I about to see her?

  I turn slowly, and my breath goes out in a painful gasp.

  She’s not my dream girl, but whoa… She’s a dream girl, that’s for sure.

  She’s tall, statuesque even, and glamorously beautiful, like a movie star stepped out of the silver screen into my high school. Raven-dark hair cascades in thick waves over her shoulders. Her bronze skin and high cheekbones give her an exotic look, and her eyes! They’re not the sapphire-blue of my dream girl, but a bright electric blue. I could lose myself in them. In her.

  A warm, pleasant shock jolts through my body. I know her. Not from my dreams, exactly, though I do have about a million of her concert posters.

  Her name comes, a breathy gasp, from my lips. “Euphoria.”

  Chapter Four

  Rouen

  Her eyes, so innocent, so fierce

  They burn me

  Hotter than the sun in the Summer Court

  Sleeper-princess, when will you Awaken?

  - “Awaken,” Euphoria

  Crap. She sees me—the real me.

  The moment the petite redhead walked in the door, I recognized her from the newspapers. She was on the train that night—one of two survivors—but since the other girl, Fiann, was hailed the hero, I’m pretty sure it’s Fiann and not this girl who’s our sleeper-princess.

  Then again, she’s seen through the first layer of my Glamoury. Somehow.

  Four months ago, that night on the tracks, I’d been sloppy, forgetting to layer my Glamoury. It was after a show, and I’d gone there as Euphoria, destroyed the tracks as Euphoria. Like Agravaine Commanded me to.

  But today… I’d layered my Glamoury—Euphoria’s humanity over the dark Faeness of my pointed ears and fangs and luminous eyes, then a less glam version of a human girl over Euphoria. Layered like frosting over cake.

  But apparently the pretty redhead isn’t into frosting.

  “Euphoria,” she breathes again.

  I smirk. She likes cake, though. At least the first layer. She doesn’t seem to remember that night—or notice that an actual dark Fae is sitting in her principal’s office. I mean, she’s not running away, screaming in terror, so that’s good. The second layer of my Glamoury’s holding. The Euphoria layer.

  Call me twice lucky.

  Agravaine’s not going to like that she’s seen Euphoria-me, but he’ll have to deal. It doesn’t really change our plans.

  I wave Fee away, and he slinks out like a scolded dog, tail between his legs. He’s meeting with Agravaine, who’s posing as some rich Norwegian prince looking for an American education. Agravaine’s going all-in on our entry into the school. I don’t get it, but whatever. As soon as I find the last sleeper-princess, I’m out of here.

  She saw through your Glamoury, Roue.

  That doesn’t mean she’s definitely the sleeper-princess, but I wonder… I fix Miss Redhead I Can See Through Your Glamoury with a shrewd look. What if it is her?

  Hair like white flames, eyes like burning embers. That’s likely just her power signature. In reality, she could have any hair color, but this girl seems too…nice, too soft to have the burning passion I saw that night four months ago.

  Besides, if it really was her, I’d be able to smell the sleeper-princess power on her like vanilla and sweet sunshine.

  It’s not her, Roue.

  Not the girl who stood up
to me and protected her friend, not the girl who lit up with blaring white light and flame.

  I remember the pain of it blasting me back. I flex my Moribund hand. It must’ve been the other girl. Fiann Fee.

  “You are her, aren’t you?” The redhead steps closer to me. I see it in her eyes; she’s second-guessing herself. She can see through one layer of my Glamoury, but it’s more of a web than a cake—sticky threads that catch you and bind you. Clearly a part of it catches her, tells her what she should be seeing. She fights against it.

  I wait, crossing my arms. Maybe my Glamoury will win.

  She squints. “It is you.”

  Then again, maybe it won’t.

  I sigh. Blast and bloody bones. There are a few people in this world who can see through a Glamoury. It doesn’t make them a sleeper-princess, only one of the Wakeful. Just my luck, I’ve found one. Awesome. I’ve been here two seconds, and I’m about to have my cover blown. “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “What do you mean?” She looks at me like I’ve got ten hydra heads. “How is anyone not going to notice?”

  I waffle for a sec. Tell her the truth, that rebellious part of me whispers, and I resist the urge to smack that voice out of my head. I can’t tell her the truth. Yeah, we’re here to find one of your little friends and spill her summer blood so our dark Fae realm—which, by the way, is totes real—can survive the Faerie Apocalypse.

  Yeah. I’m so not saying that.

  “It’ll be fine. Most people don’t really know what I look like.”

  She looks at me skeptically, one corner of her mouth lifted in a wry grin. By the Hunt, she’s cute. She arches an eyebrow. Cute—and she’s not buying my story. Oooookay.

  I love a challenge, and I’ve been sitting in Fee’s stuffy, mothball-smelling office for a freaking eternity. Also, I’m a bit obsessed by mortal culture. I’ve read a million books, watched a ton of TV, and I’m curious as all get-out about this whole high school thing. Besides, if I can fool Miss Smarty here, I’ll be golden. “I’ve got Bio 2 for my second class.” I grab my backpack and gesture at the door. “Show me how to get there?”