“Assuming it’s true. And at this point, it’s just a theory, right?” she asked, and I nodded reluctantly. “So how ’bout this…” Emma turned from the mirror to face me directly. “I promise not to sleep with the hottest teacher on the face of the planet—math facts and harmless fantasies only—and you promise to tell me if he turns out to have horns or a forked penis. Deal?”

“No! No deal!” I snapped, gaping at her now. “You’ve seen the Netherworld. How can you not be freaked out by even the possibility that he could be some kind of monster? That forked penis thing could be true, you know.”

“Just because he’s not human doesn’t mean he’s a monster, Kaylee. You, of all people, should know that.” She shrugged and continued before I could argue. “Besides, Avari and Invidia were scary as hell, but hellions can’t cross into the human world. And Mr. Beck isn’t scary. He’s just…hot.”

I knew that look. That was the look Emma got every time her mom told her to be home by midnight. Every time her sister forbade her from borrowing her clothes. Hell, every time our fifth grade teacher told her to stop charging the boys in our class a dollar apiece for a peek at her training bra.

I exhaled, long and slow. “You’re gonna do whatever you wanna do anyway…”

“How well you know me…” She smiled and slid her purse strap over one arm, then picked up her books. “Hey, have you noticed you’re ten minutes late to chemistry?”

“Yeah. I don’t care,” I said, pushing the door open.

Emma frowned and studied me closer. “Since when do you not care about being late to class?”

“My priorities have recently undergone realignment.”

Her frown deepened. “What does that mean?”

“I’m tired of playing by the rules.”

“So?” I said, as Sabine slid onto the bench seat across the table from me and next to Emma. School had been out for half an hour, so the food court across the street from our campus was packed. I would have been happier in the quad or the parking lot, but Sabine was hungry. And thirsty. And in possession of information I wanted.

“Is that mine?” She reached for the paper bowl of frozen yogurt in the middle of the table and scooped a spoonful of nuts and berries off the top.

“Extra large, double raspberries.” I scowled into my own kid-size helping. “I make minimum wage, you know. You’re gonna break the bank.”

“Can’t take it with you,” she pointed out, and my frown deepened at the reminder of my own impending death.

“Where’s Nash?” The mara glanced around like he’d simply materialize in front of her.

“Baseball.” Nash was the startingpitcher. He’d offered to skip practice, determined to spend all of what time I had left with me, but I’d told him to go on. Sabine and I—and now Emma—had work to do anyway. “What’cha got?”

“Well…no luck scoring private time with Beck.” Sabine shrugged. “Evidently I’m not believable as a remedial math student.”

“That can’t be right,” I said, and the mara scowled while Em laughed, a spoonful of chocolate yogurt halfway to her mouth. “What’s your average?”

“Eighty-nine. I’m not stupid,” Sabine snapped, and Emma bristled, no doubt thinking about her own seventy-eight average. “My only problem with math is that the very concept of homework violates one of my most strongly held beliefs.”

“What belief?” Emma said. “That you’re too special to work like the rest of us?” Like she did homework.

“The belief that homework should be optional for those of us who already understand the concepts.”

“I like it,” Emma said. “You should run for student council.”

“No,” Sabine muttered, around another bite of yogurt. “I really shouldn’t.”

“Okay, so he won’t tutor you…” I said, redirecting the conversation. “We can work around that. You can still flirt with him, and try to read—”

“No way!” Emma slapped her palms flat on the tile-top table, and I flinched, hoping she hadn’t drawn attention from the crowd all around us. “You’ll let her hit on Mr. Beck, but you don’t even want me to be tutored by him?”

“I’m not letting her do anything,” I insisted, but Sabine spoke over me.

“Kaylee’s not the boss of me. Hell, she’s not even her own boss most of the time.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for yet another unsolicited amateur psychoanalysis.” Then I turned to my best friend. “I’m sorry, Em, but Sabine can hold her own against…well, pretty much whatever’s out there. And if I can’t stop her from throwing herself at Nash, how am I supposed to stop her from hitting on Mr. Beck?”

“You can’t, on either count,” Sabine said, and Emma shrugged in concession, still pouting. We both knew there was no taming this particular shrew. “Doesn’t matter anyway. I already tried and failed to flirt my way in. I don’t think he knows what I am, but he was definitely creeped out when I read his fears.” The dissimulatus bracelets we wore would disguise our psychic signatures, but if we used our abilities and they were recognized…we were screwed. And we couldn’t chance letting Beck stumble over our secrets before we’d uncovered his.