I liked Bishop’s kitchen just fine the other day. In fact, it was my second-favorite room in his zillion-room mansion. It features the same wooden beams across the roof, smooth archways around the doors, and windows covered in cast-iron grilles as the rest of the house, making it look like the feature spread in Architectural Digest. But there are also stone walls, an ornate tile backsplash, fancy tile floors, dark-colored wood cabinets, and a low-hanging candle chandelier suspended over an island full of planters. Together, the look is just so warm that I couldn’t help loving the room.
But that was the past. Because today, as I perch on the counter, Jezebel pushing back her cuticles as she leans against the massive stainless steel fridge, Bishop drumming his hands on the island with Lumpkins curled in a ball at his feet, I suddenly don’t like it at all. I’d rather be anywhere but here, in this stupid kitchen, with the worst company I can think of, except for maybe Leo and the Priory.
Which is why we’re here having this little meeting. I finger the edges of the blackened newspaper, the headline STRANGE MEN SEEN LURKING AROUND HIGH SCHOOL CHEERLEADING PRACTICE stamped in heavy Gothic script across the third page of the local newspaper.
“I propose a permanent twenty-four-hour guard,” Bishop says.
I bark a laugh. I know he’s waiting for me to look at him, but I won’t. I haven’t looked him in the eyes since last night when he rebuffed me in the sand dunes. And that’s saying something, considering the long drive home.
“That’s ridiculous,” Jezebel says.
“Why?” Bishop spins around to face her.
Jezebel heaves a sigh and glances up from her nails. “Because that’s a lot of manpower, there’s a war going on, and the rest of the Family would never go for it, to name just a few of the reasons it’s a terrible idea.”
“I’ll do it myself, then,” Bishop says.
My stomach knots up, and I toss the Los Angeles Times aside in a flurry of paper. I want to yell at him to quit this I’m-so-concerned act, point out that he didn’t seem too worried about me when he ripped my still-beating heart from my chest. But Jezebel’s here, and plus, that would mean admitting I’d felt something for him when I should have been feeling nothing but the loss of my mom.
Jezebel’s face remains as impassive—and flawless and beautiful—as ever. “And what about when you sleep? You need to sleep sometime. There are big holes in your plan, my friend.” She returns to her impromptu nail-care session.
“I won’t sleep, then. I just won’t sleep,” Bishop says.
Jezebel’s jaw hardens almost imperceptibly. “Oh yeah?” She marches over to where Bishop sits, perfect red hair falling in front of her face, and narrows her cat-green eyes at him. “And do you think the Family will approve of this little plan of yours? You’re already in enough trouble as it is, having lost the Bible, without them discovering you’re in a relationship with a student. A student you’ve been assigned to—”
“Jezebel …” Bishop rises an inch from his stool.
Jezebel ignores Bishop’s warning and finishes her statement, eyes flicking to mine as she does. “As punishment.”
All the air is knocked out of my chest, and my heart squeezes so hard it’s as if someone were using it as a stress ball.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Jezebel cocks her head to the side and sticks out her bottom lip. “You didn’t know that, did you?”
I don’t want to cry. Crying would make everything so much worse. But nothing goes my way.
“Aw, look!” Jezebel says.
Bishop’s expression is a blend of horror and remorse, his fingers knotted up into his tangle of hair.
Jezebel faces me again. “Our friend Bishop here was assigned to train you after his little screwup with the Bible. Training newbies like you is so undesirable it’s used as punishment where we come from. Yep, that’s why he came back. Not because he cared about you sooo much he just couldn’t stand to be away. He had to, or he’d have been tried for insubordination.”
“That was why at first,” Bishop says quickly. “Not now.”
Jezebel tosses her head back and laughs.
I cover my ears. I should run away, just leave. But that wouldn’t solve any of my problems. I need to ignore Jezebel’s tormenting, pretend Bishop’s not here, forget about whatever I thought we had. I shake my head hard, as if to physically remove him from my People I Care About list. “I don’t want a bodyguard.”
Bishop sighs. “Indie—”
“It’s Indigo,” I snap.
He winces as if I’ve slapped him. “Just listen to me—”
“No,” I interrupt. “I think I’m tired of listening to both of you, and of the two of you talking about me like I’m not right here. It’s my turn to speak.” I slide off the counter. “I don’t want a bodyguard. I’m not going to live my life like this, waiting for another attack to happen. If we’re going to get the Bible back, kill Leo, and wipe out the Priory for good, we’re going to have to get creative.” I pause, waiting for the laughter to start.
“Go ahead.” Jezebel crosses her arms. “Elaborate, O Wise and Experienced One. What do you propose?”
I jut my chin up. “We use me as bait.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Jezebel says, nodding emphatically.
Bishop stands up so quickly he knocks his stool over. “What are you talking about, Indie?”
“I’m talking about using what the Priory thinks they know about us against them. They think that witches and the Family regard secrecy very highly—”
“Which is true,” Jezebel interrupts, pointing a long nail at me.
“Yes, I know. So what I’m talking about is luring the Priory out into a public place, where they think no witch or warlock would ever attack, and then hitting them with force. They’d never see it coming, so long as you two stay far back until the right moment.”
“No. Absolutely not. Never happening.” Bishop crosses his arms and shakes his head, as if I’ve just proposed the most inane idea possible. Meanwhile, Jezebel chews the inside of her cheek like she’s actually considering my plan.
“It could work,” she says.
“No, we’re not doing it!” Bishop slams his palm down on the island, rattling a potted plant. “You’re talking about putting yourself in deliberate danger. You could be killed.”
“I’m talking about saving the Bible,” I say, not looking at him. “Saving the lives of every witch and warlock on the planet.”
“Yes, do try and think of others for once,” Jezebel says, glancing over at Bishop. “You know, Indigo, we don’t need him on board with this plan. We can do it without him. I’ve got influence with the Family, more influence than Bishop and his stupid uncle—”
“Don’t listen to her,” Bishop says. “Of course she’d love for you to die. Less competition for me.”
“Now, that is just unkind,” Jezebel says, but she’s smiling.
Bishop pushes around Jezebel and grabs me by the forearms. I bristle at his touch.
“Look at me.” His voice is pleading, and my heart nearly rips from my chest because I want to so badly. But I don’t. I focus on the backsplash, counting the individual tiles so that I can breathe, so that I don’t think about his wood-and-mint taste and how it felt when I kissed him. “Indie, I’m so sorry about what happened. I didn’t mean to embarrass you and I—”
“Just don’t!” I yell, a rapid pulse beating in my forehead. The last thing I want right now is to relive the memory in front of an audience.
“Oooh, this sounds interesting.” Jezebel’s boot heels echo as she paces behind us. “Just what happened, Bishop?”
Bishop ignores her. “You’re trying to punish me, and it’s stupid. You’ll just kill yourself.”
“No.” I shake free of his grip. “That is not what I’m doing. This is the best plan we have and you know it. Guarding me twenty-four-seven on zero sleep and waiting for an attack that could happen anytime, anywhere, with any number of sorcerers is just plain stupid.”
“The girl is right, Bish.”
Ugh.
“We do it at homecoming,” I say. “Hundreds of people attend, so the Priory wouldn’t suspect the Family would attack, and they wouldn’t wonder why I’m there, because”—I shrug—“well, because it’s homecoming. And it’s almost a week away, so that leaves just enough time to talk to the Family and get their support, plus do a bit more training.”
“Oh, fun!” Jezebel says, possibly the nearest thing to a genuine smile she’s capable of brightening her face. “Kill them in style.”
Bishop blows out a slow breath. “Okay, so let’s pretend I’m taking this plan seriously. Don’t you think it’ll look suspicious when you go to homecoming alone? You don’t think they’ll know something’s up?”
I finally look at him so he can see my big, innocent doe eyes. “Oh, I’m not going alone.”
He gives me a suspicious glare.
“I’ll be going with Devon. You remember Devon, right?”
He laughs, but behind the indifference is an unmistakable flash of jealousy. “The same Devon that screwed your best friend? You can’t be serious.”
“Make fun of me all you like, Bishop. I’m going, and we’re doing this plan, whether you like it or not.”
“Amen!” Jezebel holds a hand up and, even though I hate her nearly as much as I hate Bishop, I high-five it over Bishop’s shoulder as I give him a hard stare. Lumpkins sits up and barks, and I’m inclined to believe he likes the plan too.