“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.