“That’s the most likely explanation,” Deacon said with an emphatic nod.
His shadow stood behind him, nodding.
Vivienne had a new level of respect for Ethan’s commitment to his role.
“Thanks for the warning.” Nicola sidled next to Ethan and linked her arm with his. “We’ll keep our eyes peeled for ghosts on our way home.”
“You should come with us,” the policewoman said to Deacon. “We’re going to a bonfire, and we have beer.”
Vivienne hoped he would stay so she could get over this stupid crush. He could do whatever he wanted with those girls. She didn’t care. And to show him how much she didn’t care, she turned and walked away.
A moment later, there were footsteps behind her, and Deacon jogged until he caught up. “Where are you running off to, little witch?”
“I’m going home.”
“You could do that. Or…you could stay out and get into trouble with me.”
Trouble. That’s exactly what Deacon was. “Fly away, lost boy. I’m not looking for that kind of trouble.”
The next morning, Vivienne received two text messages from a blocked number saying there was a mandatory meeting in the Aviary at 10 a.m. She and Emily happened upon Deacon and Ethan at the entrance.
“We should probably go inside,” Emily said, peering through the door. “It looks pretty crowded in there.”
“Can’t.” Ethan nudged his chin toward the fountain. “We’re waiting for Nicola.”
Deacon’s Kensington hat cast a shadow over his bloodshot eyes. He rubbed his temples and told Ethan to keep it down.
“Rough night?” Vivienne asked, wondering where he’d gone when he left.
“Very.” He looked pale. And exhausted. And irritable. And he reeked of alcohol.
Instead of trying to make more conversation, she went to wait next to Emily, who was giving her a questioning look that she ignored.
Nicola trudged up to them a few minutes later, her face pinched and brows furrowed.
“Hey babe.” Ethan tried to slip his arm around her waist, but she shoved him away.
“Don’t even start,” she bit out, adjusting her black sweater. “My dad is pissed, and if he sees you touching me, he’ll flip.”
Paul Mitter was stalking down the gravel behind her, a stern frown on his face. Wait. Paul was Nicola’s dad? Now that she saw them together, she could see the resemblance. They had the same straight nose and blue eyes.
Julie ran along behind Paul, her frizzy red hair bouncing on her shoulders as she struggled to keep up.
“You,” Paul growled, pointing at Deacon when he passed. “I need to speak with you in my office after this.”
Deacon rolled his eyes but gave Paul a tight-lipped nod.
Ethan stepped in front of Julie, blocking her when she tried to enter the building. “What’s going on, Julie?”
She narrowed her eyes and smacked her notepad against her palm. “Were you all out last night?”
“It was Halloween,” he said with a laugh, “of course we were out.”
Julie mumbled something about seventeen calls. “Then I have a feeling you know why you’re here. Every damn year we have to deal with this immature bullshit.” She pushed her frizz aside. “Your mother will get the report when she gets back, Dash. And you know what that means.”
Deacon pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned again.
Inside, they took seats at the back. Vivienne glanced at Deacon a few times, but he ignored her. She shouldn’t feel bad for last night. Not after seeing him flirt with those girls so openly in front of her. But for some reason, she did.
A microphone squealed at the front of the room, and Paul gave the top three swift taps. “The sooner you’re quiet, the sooner we can start,” he said, waiting for everyone to shut up. “I hate calling this meeting on such short notice, but I’m afraid we didn’t have a choice. My Nevergene may not be active, but I was your age once too. I know the drill. Halloween is fun. You go a little crazy. Play a few pranks. But back in my day, there weren’t camera phones.”
He nodded to where Julie stood, and she pressed the light switch. The room darkened as much as possible with the November morning illuminating the stained-glass windows. Paul held out a remote, and the machine beside him projected an image of what looked like a ghostly figure with hollow black eyes against the far wall.
The crowd began to murmur as Paul scrolled through the images, all in varying degrees of clarity. At the end of the slide show, he played a bumpy, grainy video clip. Everyone watched the ghost flit across the night sky.
Everyone except Ethan, who was busy whispering in Deacon’s ear.
Once the video played, Julie turned the lights back on.
“I expect the responsible party to come forward,” Paul said, his tone unamused. “We’re a secret society and having someone out there dressing up like a ghost and flying around scaring people is putting all of us in danger.”
Someone near the back of the room began to chuckle, and then another person at the front joined him. Before long, the entire group was in a fit of laughter.
Paul threw up his hands and stomped out the side exit.
Vivienne glanced over at Deacon once more, but he was already walking out of the room.
Deacon felt like shit. Had it been Ethan’s or Joel’s idea to do shots? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. He hated both of them.
And Paul refused to stand still. He just . . . kept . . . pacing . . . back and forth . . . in front of the bloody window . . . and the sun was burning through the glass and—Was it hot in here? He really needed some water.
“Look,” Deacon said, knowing the sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could get back home and pass out, “before you ask about the ghost—”
Paul stopped moving long enough to glare at him. “That childish prank is the least of my worries.”
“Then why did you just call a meeting for everyone on campus?” And why the hell had he called it so early?
“Because if there’s not at least the threat of some sort of disciplinary action, this place is going to descend into complete anarchy. Peter and your mother are busy with the latest Mermaid fiasco, and I’m bogged down figuring out Vivienne’s connection with HOOK.”
“I don’t see how any of that pertains to me.”
“It doesn’t. But I heard a rumor that you’ve been attending Lee Somerfield’s meetings.”
After the incident at the bar, Deacon had hoped the meeting he’d attended beforehand had been overlooked. “I went to one meeting,” he grumbled, slipping off the sofa arm and onto the cushions. It was comfy. Would Paul mind if he took a nap there?
“We need the young people on our side.” Paul went to shuffle files until he found his yellow legal pad. “And when they see you attending meetings with a rebellious faction, it doesn’t exactly serve Leadership’s purpose, does it?”
Paul mustn’t remember what it was like to be young. The very essence of rebellion ran through Deacon’s veins. Right or wrong, when someone told him to do something, he wanted to do the opposite.
“People are going to continue attending Lee’s meetings, if not out of genuine interest, then at least out of curiosity,” he told Paul. “Whether I’m there or not doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to anyone.”