Reg was a massive Shakespeare fan and often talked about what a missed opportunity it was that no one had ever turned him immortal.

  “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Poe said. “My favorite.”

  “And mine,” Reg said. “Poe and I are both auditioning for the part of Puck.”

  “Let the best man win.” Poe held his hand out to shake Reg’s in an overly dignified way that I think was just an excuse for more touching.

  Dexter teased, “I see no men here. Only boys.”

  I matched Dexter’s smile. “Guess we’ll have to keep ourselves occupied while these boys run off to the theater.”

  “And debate,” Reg added.

  “You don’t plan to join any clubs?” Dex asked, feigning surprise. “And here I pegged you as a 4-H girl.”

  “I don’t know what that is,” I said with a flip of my hair. “But I can tell when I’m being mocked.”

  “You could try out for soccer,” Sophia said. “We could train together.”

  “I don’t kick things.”

  She laughed. “Well, Poe and I are also in student government, and I’m the president of the National Honor Society. NHS is great on college applications. If your grades are high enough, I could recommend—”

  Sydney dropped her head to her sister’s shoulder and pretended to snore.

  Sophia responded with a playful shove. “Okay, okay. I know when I’m being too much.”

  “You really don’t,” Sydney said.

  When the pair of them left for home, I turned to Dexter, my lips pulled into a side pout. Now was his chance. Maybe he just needed a little push.

  “I guess I’m just interested in other kinds of extracurricular activities,” I said.

  Push.

  “Speaking of extracurriculars . . .” Dex leaned in close, his voice low. “I’m late for an FFA thing. Thanks for reminding me.”

  Whatever face I made in response caused him to smile in that teasing way he had, then he waved goodbye to Reg and Poe and took off down the hall.

  Reg caught me watching Dexter’s retreat and sidled up next to me. “Ouch. Did you just get sidelined by Future Farmers of—”

  “Shut up.”

  He grinned and slung an arm across my shoulder. “A worthy opponent for Charlotte Drake, if ever I saw one.”

  I shushed him, even though he was already being quiet. “It’s Charlie Smith. And no boy from Iowa is a match for me.”

  On the way home, I let Reg do most of the talking, and he chatted Poe and plays and clubs and classes all the way back to the cottage. I genuinely enjoyed seeing my brother happy, even if a little jealousy clung to the edges of my enthusiasm. He was clearly having more fun on his human vacation than I was.

  He was wearing it better too. The dark layer of stubble that had sprouted on his face was coming together in a nice frame that showed off his jawline, while the only thing bursting from my own skin was a spray of bright red acne spots that I had to take care to cover with concealer every morning. Maybe that was why Dexter hadn’t asked me out.

  Zits, I decided, were definitely the worst part of being human.

  Fifteen

  Friends, Not Food

  As if we didn’t get enough torture at school during the week, it turned out we were supposed to do school on the weekends too, in the form of homework. I protested, of course. Worrying about homework was like an admission that we’d be around long enough to get a report card, and I still refused to believe that. Reg put up a fight too, saying the assignments were insultingly easy and beneath his “considerable studies.”

  But Sal insisted it would draw too much attention if we failed out of high school. So that’s how we found ourselves at All Hours the following Saturday for a caffeine-fueled study session with our new crew. At least if we had to do homework, we didn’t actually have to do it at home.

  “Strict.”

  “Sévère”

  “Polite.”

  “Polie.”

  We were gathered around our barrel table, our favorite drinks in hand, quizzing each other on vocabulary—French for me, Reg, and Poe; Spanish for Dex and the twins. For the first time in a century, I wished I’d spent a little more time on my education, or at the very least picked up a few languages. English was the primary tongue in Drake House, and it turned out we really didn’t need to speak a bunch of languages to hunt all over the world.

  I tried to participate as Poe read from a stack of index cards in his hands, but Reg was too busy showing off to let me get a word in, and I was distracted by the fact that Dexter was sitting just to my left smelling like something fresh and green, as if he’d been rolling around in grass.

  And then I was distracted by thoughts of rolling around in the grass with him.

  “Finally.”

  “Finalement.”

  Poe frowned and thumbed the edge of the cards. “More like, at last!”

  “Oh,” Reg said. “Enfin!”

  “Perfect.” Poe’s eyes sparkled behind his glasses as he stared at Reg. “Parfait.”

  No doubt those two were headed for a roll in the grass themselves.

  “That’s all the cards.” Poe tucked the stack away.

  “Enfin!” I cried.

  Dexter hefted a broad textbook from his backpack. “We still have a chem test to study for.” He tapped the cover. “Periodic tables and atomic structures.”

  “Ugh,” I groaned. “There’s more?”

  I silently cursed all my teen TV shows that never seemed to show students slogging through hours of schoolwork.

  “There’s always more,” Sydney complained. “It’s like the teachers are trying to give us so much work that we won’t have time to get into any trouble.”

  “And yet, somehow, you always get into trouble anyway,” Sophia needled her sister. “How do you do that?”

  Sydney tipped her chin into the air. “Years of practice.”

  Sophia gave Sydney a playful shove, and I found myself smiling at them.

  Homework was on my list of the worst things about being human, but our new mortal friends made it tolerable.

  Dexter scooted close to me, spreading the chem book across both of our laps. His arm brushed mine as he reached over to turn the page, and I felt a little current of static electricity run through my skin.

  “Oh, sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to zap you.”

  I bit my lip in a way I knew boys liked. “It’s okay. That’s my kind of chemistry.”

  “Actually, that’s physics,” Reg piped up from my other side.

  I responded with a murderous glare, until Dex leaned in to whisper, “Feels like chemistry to me.”

  After another hour, the twins finally declared the study session done and treated everyone to another round of coffee.

  Reg sipped his latte and made a face. “This tastes a little off today.”

  “It’s the weekend barista,” Sophia said. “She always uses too much syrup.”

  Sydney nodded. “We have a rule. No Lina, no latte.”

  “Noted. Avoid sugary concoctions when the proprietor is away.” Reg set down his drink, so he missed the warning look I shot him about using words like “concoctions” and “proprietor.”

  “The only times she’s not here are pretty much weekends and breakfast,” Poe said.

  “All the busiest times,” Sophia added with a wink. “I’m pretty sure Lina doesn’t actually like people that much.”

  “I’m kind of glad she’s off,” I admitted. “The last time we were here, I got this sense that she was watching me the whole time. It was kind of creepy.”

  “Oh, please!” Reg drawled. “Stop pretending you don’t like to be looked at.”

  “I don’t mind admirers.” I tossed a wink in Dex’s direction. “I just prefer them to not be middle-aged shop owners.”

  The group laughed, all but Dexter, who was suddenly very distracted with packing up his books. Maybe he hadn’t seen my wink.

  He left a little while later with a friendly, if not very flirty, goodbye, and the twins followed. When Reg and Poe and I finally got up to leave, Reg let Poe walk ahead and stopped me just outside the front door.

  “Charlie, can you let Sal know I’ll be home a little later?”

  “What do you mean? Where are you . . . ?”

  I looked over his shoulder to where Poe was waiting on the sidewalk a few yards away, fidgeting with his frames.

  “Oh. Are you two . . . do you . . . ?” I lowered my voice. “Is it like a date?”

  “Yes, I suppose it is. Do you mind?”

  I did mind. It was Saturday night and Reg had a date, while all I had was a backpack full of still-unfinished homework. But I didn’t want him to think I was jealous, so I plastered on a smile.

  “Of course not. Obviously, you will share all the juicy details later.”

  “Obviously.”

  He turned to join Poe, and I crossed the street in the opposite direction, passing the boarded windows of the old cinema and recalling the story about the fire that had gutted it. Where were Reg and Poe supposed to go on a “date” anyway, if this town couldn’t even keep a movie theater open?

  My phone rang, and Sydney’s pink hair and blue eyes filled the screen. She and Sophia invited me over for a movie and makeovers, and I hung up feeling grateful. Slumber party was a little lower on my human bucket list than dating, but anything was better than spending Saturday alone in the slayer’s den.

  I spun around to holler at Reg that I had plans too, but he was already at the end of the street, lost in conversation with Poe. A small thread of worry tugged at my insides. There was nothing wrong with dating—I had every intention of trying it myself if Dexter ever got around to asking me out—but it was just a diversion while we waited for our sentence to be reversed.

  I watched Reg slip his hand into Poe’s just before they rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. I hoped my brother still felt the same way.

  Sixteen

  Fade into Fall

  Sal was right. Time flies when you’re fitting in. The first month of school passed in a blur of pop quizzes, party planning, and surprisingly interesting new friends. I finally made it to a mall, where I was able to find casual clothes that were neither plaid nor flannel, and I started combining Prada with my new pedestrian pieces in a look Sydney coined “fashion fusion.” Too soon, it was the end of September, on the cusp of October.

  When the first crisp afternoon hit, the twins and I were at our usual table at All Hours, fighting off the chill of fall with hot lattes. I’d learned to order mine without sweetener to keep the taste as close to coffee as possible. We were waiting for the boys to join us, but even so, I barely recognized Reg when he burst through the bright yellow door.

  His soft stubble had grown into such a full beard, I might have mistaken him for a werewolf if the face behind the beard wasn’t still so pretty.

  “What is this?” I yanked on his whiskers as he sat down, and he swatted my hand away.

  “I’m growing it out. Haven’t you noticed?”

  Noticed? I’d hardly even seen him in the last few weeks. When he wasn’t with Poe, he was tied up with debate practice and play rehearsals. He’d fallen understudy to Poe’s Puck, but you’d think he won the lead the way he crowed about it. He was keeping busy enough that he even forgot to torment the teachers—or perhaps that was Poe’s influence, as he seemed to be the favorite of everyone on staff at Hope High.

  “You look like an animal.” I caught his eye and gave him a look to let him know exactly which animal I meant, but he just smiled.

  “Well, I think it’s distinguished.”

  I opened my mouth to mock him again, but as I watched him stroke his beard, it struck me how old he looked. He could almost pass for an adult, and the sight of it caught my chest in a vise. We were already aging. The proof of it was there on Reg’s face. In a minute, we would be adults, and a minute after that we would be old and wrinkly.

  My hands went to my own face, as if I could feel lines sprouting from my skin as easily as facial hair sprouted from Reg’s. My fingers found only soft skin and the occasional pimple, reminding me that I was still, mercifully, teen. But the tight feeling in my chest remained and began to pulse in time with my heart, like a clock counting out every passing second.

  We’d been mortal nearly a month already and still no word from the Shadow Clan. How many more months would pass before we could file our appeal with the Elders? How many years? It was shocking how fast time moved when you had limited quantities of it.

  Reg must have seen something in my face, because he closed a hand over mine. “It’s just a beard.”

  His tone was brighter as he said to Sydney and Sophia, “Charlie has a hard time with change.”

  “Tell me about it,” Sydney said, popping a fresh stick of gum in her mouth and working it down to a ball. “It took us weeks to convince her to buy a pair of flats. I thought we were going to have to teach her to walk in them!”

  I tried to mimic Reg’s breezy air. “I accept change just fine, if the color and fabric are decent.” I propped my pink ballet-slippered feet up on the barrel table as evidence and stuck my tongue out at everyone.

  “Where are Dex and Poe?” Sophia asked.

  “Poe is still at rehearsal,” Reg said. “Not sure about Dex. Maybe he decided not to come.”

  I took a sip of my latte to help swallow my disappointment.

  While Reg and Poe had spent the last few weeks joined at the lips, I hadn’t seen Dexter much at all. Our paths only crossed at Poe’s locker and the occasional co-ed outing at All Hours, where I struggled to get him in a private conversation. Our exchanges were still flirty, but we never seemed to be alone. It could be the only explanation for why he hadn’t asked me out.

  Sophia gave me pathetic pity eyes, and I scowled in response. I’d made the mistake of asking one too many questions about Dexter, and the twins had picked up on the fact that I had a “crush.” Their words, not mine. Crush implied some kind of defeat, and I was merely delayed, not defeated.

  “His loss,” I said, with a flip of my hair.

  But a second later, Reg’s phone lit up with a text message, and I was quick to ask, “Is it Dex?”

  Reg smirked. “It’s Sal.”

  “He texts? Who knew?”

  I didn’t add that as recently as last month, Reg wasn’t much of a texter either.

  Reg’s face changed as he read the message, then he quietly passed me his phone with a warning look—the one he used when he wanted me to stop making a scene. I rolled my eyes. As if Sal could possibly text something scene-worthy. And anyway, when is the last time I made a—

  “What?!”

  As soon as I read the text, I stood up so abruptly that my drink spilled all over the floor, soaking my pretty pink shoes.

  “We have to go,” I said.

  I scrabbled for napkins and tossed them in the general direction of the spreading coffee.

  “Right now.”

  A little splash under my slipper told me I may have stomped my foot for emphasis.

  Unflappable Reg raised one eyebrow.

  Scene, his eyebrow said.

  I know, my pout replied.

  “Is something wrong?” Sydney asked.

  “Is your uncle okay?” Sophia added.

  “It’s a—a—” I stammered, at a rare loss for words.

  Reg glided smoothly to my rescue. “It’s just something from our parents’ life insurance company. A letter.”

  His eyes met mine, and beneath the stone set of his features, under the still current of his voice, I sensed emotions churning.

  I let out a shaky breath. “The letter we’ve been waiting for.”

  “Where is it?!” I burst into the cottage, letting the heavy wooden door crunch against the inner stone wall.

  “And hello to you,” Sal said.

  I stepped up to where he was seated at the kitchen table—he’d stopped lurking in doorways waiting for us—and stretched out my palm.

  “Hand it over.”

  I added, with effort, “Please.”

  Sal patted his shirt and pants pockets, feeling all over. “There was something, now that you mention it, but . . . hmm. I seem to have misplaced it.”

  My palm remained up, hovering near his face, so that I would only have to thrust my arm forward to land a fingernail in his eye. Not that I really wanted to poke Sal’s eyes out anymore, but fantasies of slaying a slayer are a hard habit to shake.

  “I don’t have time for your games, old-timer.”

  He started to respond with a quip of his own when he caught sight of Reg over my shoulder and pulled back in surprise.

  “Holy beard, Batman! There’s a whole forest on your face, boy.” He stood for a closer inspection, taking Reg’s cheeks and chin in his hand and turning them left and right. Then he said the thing I had feared when I first caught sight of Reg at All Hours. “I wonder if I misjudged your age.”

  “It’s really come in, just in the last week,” Reg said, pawing at his beard again.

  “It’s a nice one, but it won’t do for high school. Guess I’ll be teaching you how to shave then. I assume you don’t know how?”

  Reg confirmed with a shake of his head.

  “Come on upstairs, I have a spare kit—”

  “Excuse me!” I burst out. “As much as I’d like to attack you both with razor blades right now, could we please save the shave for after we read our letter?”

  Sal raised his hands in apology, and Reg shoved his in his pockets, looking appropriately ashamed to have so quickly forgotten why we’d rushed home.

  “It’s in your room, on your bed,” Sal said.

  I lay in the center of the bed, on top of the covers, with the envelope clutched to my chest—the answer we had been waiting weeks for, our last hope, already rumpled from each time I had opened it to read the reply once more.

  Through the open bedroom door, in a bathroom down the hall, I could hear Reg and Sal admiring their work.

  “I bet you used a straight edge back in your day,” Sal said. “Classier, but not as clean as an electric shave.”

  Reg sighed. “I’m sad to see it go, but Poe will probably like this better.”

 

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