Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 131: Purple

"And then Jenny said the eyes were like, this weird purple color? But Stacy swears they were more blue. Usually, glowing is yellow or green, right?"

"Purple? Is that the only reason it’s weird? My cousin saw red ones last summer."

"Blue eyes glow red in light! That’s probably why. Purple seems weird, though. I don’t think purple eyes is normal. That’s creepy. Were they staring into her room or something?"

"It probably wasn’t even eyes, then. Maybe someone was practicing light orbs."

The gaggle of students devolves into a debate about supernatural eye colors that would put a Pinterest board to shame. Not a single useful detail emerges from their chatter.

Penelope extricates herself with practiced grace. "Well ladies, this has been absolutely fascinating, but we should get going."

She waves goodbye to her newfound flock, who chirp farewells in return. Once we’re safely out of earshot, she turns to me with a frown. "You aren’t going to be Lady Detective again, are you? Mysterious glowing eyes in the garden sounds right up your alley."

"Not a chance." I grimace. "In case you forgot, we can barely light a candle between us. Running toward danger when we can’t defend ourselves is exactly the kind of stupid that gets people killed in horror movies." Since I no longer have to worry about being some sort of murder suspect, and my job isn’t on the line, I see no need to put myself into danger.

Been there. Done that. Got the weird injections, and I’d like to return them.

Penelope’s heels click against the marble as we walk aimlessly. "Fair point. But can we talk about how there’s apparently a ’normal kind’ of glowing eyes around here? Like, what does that even mean? Is there a handbook somewhere? ’Chapter One: Standard Issue Supernatural Eye Colors and You’?"

"I’m not worried about the eye color. I’d be more worried about what’s behind the eyeballs stalking me."

She nods thoughtfully. "This place is weird. It’s supposed to be a prestigious magical college, but half the time it feels more like high school with spells. Complete with cliques and gossip central. Though it doesn’t seem like the geese are opposed to making friends. The gossip wasn’t as useful as I’d like, but at least I know I can squeeze my way into the information chain."

* * *

Over the next week, the professors still ignore us. Penelope still can’t do anything more basic than light a candle, and my magic acts like it doesn’t exist. We’re the failures of our class, and I’m up every night scouring my textbooks, trying to figure out what I’m doing wrong.

At this rate, I’m definitely going to accidentally blow up and kill someone again.

Despite my lack of faith in the Conclave, at least I’m starting to see why they want me here.

The couch squeaks as I flop back on it. My textbook slides off my lap and hits the floor with a thud. Let it stay there. Three hours of staring at magical theory diagrams have left my eyes burning.

"Princess Paws, I’m dying here."

My cat stretches on her perch by the window, giving me a bland stare.

"Don’t give me that look. You try learning about magical resonance frequencies and tell me how your brain feels after."

The apartment feels too quiet. Logan hasn’t been around in a couple days, though he hasn’t explained exactly why he’s busy. It’s all vague stuff, and I’m already sick of it, though I understand why he can’t tell me every detail.

Usually, Penelope’s always around—but she’s gone, too, sneaking away to spend time with the Ashby fan club she calls her geese. She’s determined to get into the gossip chain. Information is power and all that.

But so far all we’ve learned is that more people report glowing purple eyes and Marcus Ashby’s girlfriends all had red hair.

My fingers trace the edges of the bandage on my arm where I burned myself in class. Another failed attempt at basic magic. I don’t even know what happened; there was a flareup of flame and pain, but only for a second. It’s the kind of incident that doesn’t turn heads in class—everyone’s had some sort of magical snafu—but it’s enough to make me worry.

Everyone’s able to do something with their magic, but not me.

Princess Paws jumps onto my stomach, her paws kneading my shirt.

"At least you still love me, even if I’m the worst witch in the history of Thornhaven."

She headbutts my chin and purrs. The vibrations travel through my chest, easing some of the tension I’ve been carrying. I scratch behind her ears, focusing on the simple comfort of her presence instead of the lack of progress I’m making.

Shadows lengthen across the floor as evening settles in. I should get up. Should practice more. Should try to figure out why my magic refuses to work properly...

But the couch holds me hostage, and Princess Paws has me pinned down with the weight of her royal presence. The quiet feels almost peaceful, if I ignore the gnawing anxiety in my gut.

The professors are all still ignoring us, as if we don’t exist in their classes. That’s fine. The students have already grown bored of the gossip surrounding us, because we don’t ever do anything.

It’s a strangely peaceful life, but my anxiety rises every day, as if I’m waiting for the other shoe to fall. Something’s going to happen, but I have no idea what it is.

"Hey."

My eyes snap open at an unfamiliar voice. Princess Paws leaps off my lap with a hiss, her fur standing on end.

A flickering image stands in front of me—translucent and unstable like bad reception. My heart pounds as I take in the sight of a young girl, no more than thirteen, covered in cuts and bruises. Blood trickles from a gash on her forehead.

"You need to listen carefully." Her voice crackles with static. "Logan Everett isn’t who you think he is."

My muscles tense. "What—"

"He belongs to the Conclave. Their perfect little attack dog." The image flickers, distorting her features. "Everything he does, every move he makes—it’s all for them. He’s a liar. He’s not on your side."

"Who the hell are you?"

The hologram stabilizes for a moment, and purple eyes lock onto mine—the same shade from the garden rumors. Something cold settles in my stomach.

"It’s been difficult getting close to you." Her form wavers again. "But you need to know the truth. Get out of Thornhaven while you still can."

I push myself up from the couch, studying her appearance. Torn clothes, blood everywhere, a girl trembling in fear—it’s like someone designed her to trigger every protective instinct I have.

"Why should I believe anything you say about Logan?"

"Because I—" The image flickers violently. "—was like you once. Trusted him. The Conclave—" Static cuts through her words. "—uses him to control people like us."

My eyes narrow. This wounded child act, the careful way she’s trying to drive a wedge between Logan and me. It’s not right. "What are you really after?"

Purple eyes flash. "I’m trying to help—"

The image destabilizes completely, fragments of light scattering across my living room before winking out entirely.

Princess Paws creeps out from under the coffee table, her tail still puffed up. I reach down to scratch her ears, but my hand trembles. "What the fuck was that?"

She’s a cat. A very special cat who’s saved my life more than once, but still just a cat, so she has no answers for me.

I blow out a deep breath and slump back onto the couch. "I’m so fucking sick of people having access to where I live."

First Shadow breaking in, now hologram girl with her cryptic warnings. What’s next—the tooth fairy dropping by to tell me the Conclave is actually run by dental hygienists?

Actually, that would be welcome. I’d prefer dental hygienists to anything creepy, like people who want to ruin the world.

My fingers drum against the couch arm. The apartment feels different now, tainted. Like someone’s watching through the walls. Through the ceiling. Through the floor. Logan removed the cameras, but who knows what other surveillance methods exist in a magical academy?

Princess Paws jumps back onto my lap, her fur slowly settling. At least she’s not hiding anymore. Her purring fills the silence, but it doesn’t ease the cold knot in my stomach this time.

"You’d tell me if Logan was evil, right?" I scratch under her chin. "You’re a good judge of character."

She blinks at me, slow and deliberate.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought." The girl’s words echo in my head, but I shove them away. I already know he’s tied to the Conclave. It doesn’t mean he wants to be, and you can’t fake the kind of concern he has for me.

Whoever she is, she wants us separated. There has to be a reason for that.