Dad raised both eyebrows at me. I wondered if that was on purpose or if, like me, he couldn’t lift just one. “‘Intense?’” he echoed. He picked up the file again and studied it over the top of his glasses. “On your first day at Hecate, you were attacked by a werewolf. . . .”
“It wasn’t really an attack,” I muttered, but no one seemed to pay any attention.
“But of course, that’s paltry compared to what came after.” Dad flipped through the pages. “You insulted a teacher, which resulted in semester-long cellar duty with one Archer Cross. According to Mrs. Casnoff’s notes on the situation, the two of you became ‘close.’” He paused. “Is that an accurate description of your relationship with Mr. Cross?”
“Sure,” I said through clenched teeth.
Dad turned another page. “Well, apparently you two were . . . close enough that at some point you were able to see the mark of L’Occhio di Dio on his chest.”
I flushed at that, and felt Mom’s arm tighten around me. Over the past six months, I’d filled her in on a lot of the story with Archer, but not all of it.
Specifically, not the whole me-making-out-in-the-cellar-with-him part.
“Now, for most people, nearly being murdered by a warlock working with the Eye would be enough excitement for one semester. But you also became involved with a coven of dark witches led by”— he ran his finger along the page—“ah, Elodie Parris. Miss Parris and her friends, Anna Gilroy and Chaston Burnett, murdered the other member of their coven, Holly Mitchell, and raised a demon who just happened to be your great-grandmother, Alice Barrow.”
