We stood in front of locker 1018, Max Stanley’s, as I struggled to fit the skeleton key into the combination lock without seeming like I was breaking and entering. The sickly orange carpet in the hall where his locker was gave me hives; I couldn’t get this job over with fast enough. Keeping Haley’s comment about appearing normal in mind, I brought a reluctant Gideon along with me with the promise of an explanation. We were always together during our free period. Gideon already wasn’t a fan of my role in the Red Court, and I hadn’t thought of a way to explain what I was doing that made it seem less awful. Maybe because blackmail wasn’t supposed to be nice.
“I’m leaving a love note.” I added a glare to complement the thick undercurrent of sarcasm.
“Because squeaky clean StuCo boys are totally your type. Is this Red Court work?”
Gideon mentioning the Red Court—even in hushed tones—caused my heart to pound erratically. Who needed cardio when your best friend casually tossed out the name of the secret organization you belonged to?
“Keep. Your. Voice. Down,” I gritted out through clenched teeth. And then because I couldn’t not sass him, I said, “Not all of us are lucky enough to fall for a tortured artist who hocks lattes all day.”
“Don’t talk about Damien that way!”
I shushed him again and finally jimmied the locker open. As quick as I could, I dropped a playing card—the Jack of Spades, which was used to collect all debts—with a note written on the back on the top shelf and shut the door. According to Haley’s instructions, I gave Max Stanley three days to leave me copies of the nomination ballot in his locker.
Gideon and I turned to leave as casually as we could manage, though we probably failed. Subtlety was neither of our strong suits.
When we reached the quadrangle outside the foreign language hall where Max’s locker was, Gideon pulled up short. “Spill it, Ember. I’m not playing along with your games unless I know the rules.”
Haley hadn’t mentioned how much I could say to others about my membership in the Red Court. It must have been because sharing anything was forbidden. And beyond being forbidden, having this conversation in the hallway was a risk I didn’t need to take.
Gideon was staring at me impatiently. “Let’s go to my car,” I said.
“Don’t try to turn this into a coffee trip. I’m not going anywhere with you until you start talking.”
I rolled my eyes hard enough for it to hurt. “Fine. Let’s at least go somewhere with a door.”
We walked down the hall until we found a janitorial closet that had been left ajar. I made a mock sweep of my arm to usher him inside.
“Do you know Maura Wright?” I asked once I closed the door.
“Sure.” His eyebrow quirked upward, which he only did when he was very interested. Like he couldn’t be bothered with the effort unless it was good enough.
“Well, I’m going to get her elected Homecoming Queen. Me and my partner. Max owes us. I’m collecting.”
“Wow. You and the Red Court are already an ‘us.’ Assimilated that quickly, huh?”
“Stop it.” I fixed Gideon with a look. “Don’t give me a hard time. It’s the last thing I need, especially from you.”
Chastened, Gideon dipped his chin. “So, what are you collecting?”
“Homecoming nomination ballots. Max has until the end of this week to leave them for me to collect out of his locker. Are you satisfied now?”
He nodded and I opened the door to the closet. “Good, because I’m getting high from the fumes of whatever is in that bucket.” I gestured to the corner where some industrial-strength cleaner sat. “There’s somewhere else I want to go.”
We walked to a nook next to the library where the student art showcase was set up. I’d been meaning to go ever since I met Haley.
I paused in front of the first painting that struck me. It was an abstract piece, a style I’d never gravitate toward ordinarily. Most abstract work was too untidy, but this one was... compelling. Red, gold, blue, and purple met in a purposeful collision, a flame caught on canvas, and I was the moth drawn to its light. It looked like I felt at my most desperate—on fire and burning to escape.
I checked the title card and saw that it was painted by Haley Bitmore-Stanton.
“That’s my partner,” I whispered to Gideon, who was touching the edge of a sculpture.
It was like seeing Haley again for the first time, but through her art instead of the hard exterior she armored herself with. There were other pieces she’d created in the showcase, but my eyes kept trailing back to the flame. There was something about it that reminded me of Haley, while still feeling like it reflected a piece of me. Haley and I shared some common ground, but did that make us similar? The thought shook me. I had a purpose in the Red Court, and it wasn’t the power that appealed to me. But I didn’t know what had drawn Haley to the Red Court’s doorstep. If I was going to get closer to her, I needed to find out what had motivated her to join in the first place.
“I was thinking of submitting a piece for the Winter Showcase this year,” Gideon said.
I lifted a brow in imitation of him and waited.
“I think some of the black-and-white shots I took are good. Maybe one of them might be good enough to win.” His tone was reserved. Entering something into the art showcase was a big deal. From the way he wasn’t exactly making eye contact, I could tell he was anxious.
Gideon was as intelligent as they came, but he was also a talented photographer. During a recent trip into Denver’s industrial RiNo neighborhood, Gideon had spent hours wandering the streets and taking photos. He saw the world so differently from me and captured images of tumbledown buildings or stray dogs rummaging through the trash with the sort of naked honesty that made them painful to look at. The incident with the stray dogs led him to volunteer at an animal shelter. That’s what I loved about Gideon most. There was beauty to be found almost anywhere, but he also saw the ugly parts of life and never looked away. He did something about it.
“Which one are you thinking?”
He half shrugged. “Not sure. Next time you come over you can cast your vote.”
I grinned as wide as my face would let me. Gideon was asking my opinion about photography. This development deserved a parade.
“Don’t go congratulating yourself just yet. I said you can vote. I still have veto power.”
“If you want my expert opinion, it’ll cost you. My time is very valuable. Or I could try to rig the showcase vote in your favor.”
Gideon’s good mood vanished instantly, and I cringed. He was already nervous and making a dumb comment like that probably took a piece out of his confidence.