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.
29
Fairfield High Renegades entertain what I like to think is a pretty decent-sized audience most game nights, considering it’s L.A. and school spirit isn’t really a thing here. So it’s no surprise that on the afternoon of homecoming, the bleachers are so jam-packed full they’re at risk of collapse.
I scan the crowd as I perform the moves to Bianca’s pregame warm-up routine, but realize that I won’t find who I’m looking for. Mom won’t be coming to any more of my games. I blink back tears, because now’s so not the time to get emotional.
Aunt Penny is here, though, front row center, with Bishop. So there’s that. The plan was to have Bishop watch the game from afar, so as to give the Priory the impression that I was alone, without protection. But the second I realized Aunt Penny couldn’t be talked out of coming to the game—she was homecoming queen her senior year, after all—I had to ditch that plan. At least I don’t have to worry about Paige, who agreed to stay home following only minor threats of violence against her if she didn’t listen.
Mrs. Hornby blows her obnoxious whistle as she jogs over from the sidelines. Hornby’s hard core into female athletics and female empowerment in general and can pretty much one hundred percent of the time be found wearing a full tracksuit with big pitters. She’s been both the girls’ volleyball and girls’ soccer coach since forever, and has now taken on the role of cheerleading coach in the wake of Carmen’s death. And she’s … unpleasant. Mrs. Horny, as we’ve very maturely dubbed her, has made no secret of the fact that she thinks cheerleading is demeaning to women.
“All right, girls,” she says. “As you all know, it’s an important game today. And there is no way the football team can manage to win without you girls out there, shaking your booties and yelling out nice things to the boys. So do your school proud!”
A collective eye roll passes over the squad.
“Isn’t it against some sort of rule to be sarcastic to students?” I ask, eliciting a hum of support.
But Mrs. Malone’s voice comes over the speaker, announcing our squad, before Horny has a chance to respond.
“Come on, girls,” Bianca says, trotting toward the field. She turns around and runs backward. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint our favorite new coach,” she adds. And if I’m not mistaken, I’d say Bianca winked at me before spinning around again. Weird.