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    Hex Hall #2 Demonglass by Rachel Hawkins


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  • Название: Demonglass
  • Автор: Hawkins, Rachel

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Copyright © 2011 by Rachel Hawkins

All rights reserved. Published by Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No
part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information
storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For
information address Hyperion, 114 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10011-5690.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data on file.

ISBN 978-1-4231-2131-2
Visit www.hyperionteens.com

Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40

For John, who said, “You know what this book needs? More fire. And maybe some
swords.” This one time, honey, you were right.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

—Lewis Carroll



At a normal high school, having class outside on a gorgeous May day is usually pretty
awesome. It means sitting in the sunshine, maybe reading some poetry, letting the breeze
blow through your hair….
At Hecate Hall, a.k.a. Juvie for Monsters, it meant I was getting thrown in the pond.
My Persecution of Prodigium class was gathered around the scummy water just down
the hill from the school. Our teacher, Ms. Vanderlyden—or the Vandy, as we called her—
turned to Cal. He was the school’s grounds-keeper even though he was only nineteen. The
Vandy took a coil of rope from his hands. Cal had been waiting for us at the pond. When
he’d seen me, he’d given me a barely perceptible nod, which was the Cal version of
waving his hands over his head and yelling, “Hey, Sophie!”
He was definitely the strong and silent type.
“Did you not hear me, Miss Mercer?” the Vandy said, twisting the rope in her fist. “I
said come forward.”
“Actually, Ms. Vanderlyden,” I said, trying not to sound as nervous as I felt, “see
this?” I gestured to my mass of curly hair. “This is a perm, and I just got it done the other
day, so…yeah, probably shouldn’t get it wet.”
I heard a few muffled giggles, and next to me, my roommate Jenna muttered, “Nice
one.”
When I first came to Hecate, I would’ve been too terrified of the Vandy to talk back
to her like that. But by the end of last semester, I’d watched my great-grandmother kill my
best frenemy, and the boy I loved had pulled a knife on me.
I was a little tougher now.
Which was something the Vandy apparently did not appreciate. Her scowl deepened
as she snapped, “Front and center!”
I muttered a few choice words as I moved through the crowd. When I reached the
shore, I kicked off my shoes and socks to stand next to the Vandy in the shallows,
grimacing at the slimy mud under my bare feet.
The rope scratched my skin as the Vandy first tied my hands together, then my feet.
Once I was all trussed up, she rose, looking satisfied with her handiwork. “Now. Go all the
way into the pond.”

“Um…how, exactly?”
I was afraid she was going to make me hop out into the water until it was over my
head, an image too mortifying to even contemplate. Cal stepped forward, hopefully to
come to my rescue.
“I could toss her off the pier, Ms. Vanderlyden.”
Or not.
“Good,” the Vandy said with a brisk nod, like that had been her plan all along. Then
Cal leaned down and swept me into his arms.
There were more giggles, and even a few sighs. I knew most girls would give up a
vital organ for Cal to hold them, but my face flamed red. I wasn’t sure this was any less
embarrassing than flopping out into the pond on my own.
“You weren’t listening to her, were you?” he asked in a low voice.
“No,” I replied. During the part where the Vandy had been explaining why someone
was about to go into the pond, I’d been telling Jenna that I had not flinched just because
some kid had called me “Mercer” yesterday, the way Archer Cross always did. Because I
hadn’t. Just like I hadn’t had a dream last night that re-created in vivid detail the one kiss
Archer and I had shared last November. Only, in the dream, there was no tattoo on his
chest, marking him as a member of L’Occhio di Dio, so there was no reason to stop
kissing, and—
“What were you doing?” Cal asked. For a second, I thought he was talking about my
dream, and my whole body flushed. Then I realized what he meant.
“Oh, I was, uh, talking to Jenna. You know, making monster small talk.”
I thought I saw that ghost of a smile again, but then he said, “The Vandy said that real
witches escaped trial by water by pretending to drown, then freeing themselves with their
powers. So she wants you to sink, then save yourself.”
“I think I can manage the sinking part,” I muttered. “The rest…not so sure.”
“You’ll be fine,” he said. “And if you’re not up in a few minutes, I’ll save you.”
Something fluttered inside my chest, catching me by surprise. I hadn’t felt anything
like that since Archer had disappeared. It probably didn’t mean anything. The sun was
shining through Cal’s dark blond hair, and his hazel eyes were picking up the light
bouncing off the water. Plus, he was carrying me like I didn’t weigh anything. Of course
I’d feel butterflies when a guy who looked like that said something so swoon-worthy.
“Thanks,” I said. Over his shoulder, I saw my mom watching us from the front porch
of what had been Cal’s cabin. She’d been staying there for the past six months while we
waited for my dad to come get me and take me to Council Headquarters in London.
Six months later, and we were still waiting.
Mom frowned, and I wanted to give her a thumbs-up to let her know I was okay. All I

could manage was raising my bound hands in her general direction, clocking Cal on the
chin as I did so. “Sorry.”
“No problem. Must be weird for you, having your mom here.”
“Weird for me, weird for her, probably weird for you since you had to give up your
swinging bachelor pad.”
“Mrs. Casnoff let me install my heart-shaped Jacuzzi in my new dorm room.”
“Cal,” I said with mock astonishment, “did you just make a joke?”
“Maybe,” he replied. We’d reached the end of the pier. I looked down at the water
and tried not to shudder.
“I’ll be pretending, of course, but do you have any advice on how I’m supposed to
not drown?” I asked Cal.
“Don’t breathe in any water.”
“Oh, thanks, that’s super helpful.”
Cal shifted me in his arms, and I tensed. Just before he tossed me into the pond, he
leaned in and whispered, “Good luck.”
And then I hit the water.
I can’t say what my first thought was as I sunk below the surface, because it was
mostly a string of four-letter words. The water was way too cold for a pond in Georgia in
May, and I could feel the chill sinking all the way into my bones. Plus my chest started
burning almost immediately, and I sunk all the way to the bottom, landing in the slimy
mud.
Okay, Sophie, I thought. Don’t panic.
Then I glanced over to my right, and through the murky water, made out a skull
grinning back at me.
I panicked. My first impulse was a human one, and I bent my body, trying to tear at
the ropes across my ankles with my bound hands. I quickly realized this was profoundly
stupid, and tried to calm down and concentrate on my powers.
Ropes off, I thought, imagining the bindings slithering off me. I could feel them give
a little, but not enough. Part of the problem was that my magic came up from the ground
(or something beneath the ground, a fact I tried not to think about too often) and it was
hard to get my feet on the ground while I was trying not to drown.
ROPES OFF, I thought again, stronger this time.
The ropes snapped violently, unraveling until they were nothing more than a big ball
of floating twine. If I hadn’t been holding my breath, I would have sighed. Instead, I
untangled myself from what was left of the ropes, and made to kick for the surface.
I swam up about a foot, and then something jerked me back to the bottom.

My eyes went to my ankle, half expecting to see a skeletal hand grabbing me, but
there was nothing. My chest was on fire now, and my eyes were stinging. I pumped with
my arms and legs, trying to swim up, but it was like I was being held underwater even
though nothing was holding me.
Real panic set in as black spots danced before my eyes. I had to breathe. I kicked
again, but just bobbed in place. Now the black spots were bigger, and the pressure in my
chest was agonizing. I wondered how long I’d been down here, and if Cal was going to
make good on that promise to save me anytime soon.
I suddenly surged upward, gasping when I broke the surface, the air burning as it
rushed into my chest; but I wasn’t done yet. I kept flying until I was completely out of the
water, landing on the pier in a heap.
I winced as my elbow connected painfully with the wood. I knew my skirt was
probably hiked up too high on my thighs, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I just took a
second to enjoy breathing. Eventually, I stopped gulping air and started to breathe
normally again.
I sat up and pushed my wet hair out of eyes. Cal was standing a few feet away. I
glared at him. “Awesome job with the saving.”
Then I realized Cal wasn’t looking at me, but up toward the head of the pier.
I followed his gaze and saw a slender, dark-haired man. He was standing very still,
watching me.
Suddenly, it was hard to breathe all over again.
I rose to my feet on shaky legs, tugging my soaked clothes back into place.
“Are you all right?” the man called out, his face clearly worried. His voice was more
powerful than I would’ve expected from such a slight man, and he had a soft British
accent.
“I’m fine,” I said, but the black spots were back in front of my eyes, and my knees
seemed too wobbly to hold me. The last thing I saw before I fainted was my father
walking toward me as I crashed back to the pier.



For the second time in six months, I found myself sitting in Mrs. Casnoff’s office,
wrapped in a blanket. The first time had been the night I’d discovered that Archer was a
member of L’Occhio di Dio, a group of demon hunters. Now my mom was next to me on
the couch, one arm wrapped around my shoulders. My dad was standing by Mrs.
Casnoff’s desk, holding a manila folder overflowing with papers, while Mrs. Casnoff sat
behind that desk in her great purple throne of a chair.
The only sounds were Dad flipping through all that paper and my teeth chattering, so
I finally said, “Why couldn’t my magic get me out of the water?”
Mrs. Casnoff looked up at me like she’d forgotten I was even in the room. “No
demon could escape from that particular pond,” she answered in her velvety voice.
“There are protection spells in it. It…holds anything it doesn’t recognize as a witch,
faerie, or shifter.”
I thought of the skull and nodded, wishing for some of that spiked tea I’d had last
time I was here. “I kind of figured that. So the Vandy was trying to kill me?”
Mrs. Casnoff’s lips puckered a little. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “Clarice didn’t
know about the protection spells.”
She might’ve been a little more believable if her eyes hadn’t slid away from mine as
she’d said that, but before I could press the issue, Dad tossed the folder down on Mrs.
Casnoff’s desk and said, “Quite an impressive file you’ve amassed, Sophia.” Clasping his
hands, he added, “If Hecate offered classes in complete mayhem, I have no doubt you’d be
valedictorian.”
Nice to see where I got my snarkiness. Of course, that seemed to be all I’d gotten
from him. I’d seen pictures of him before, but this was the first time I’d seen him in
person, and I was having a hard time not staring. He was so different from what I
expected. He was definitely handsome, but…I don’t know. In a fussy way. He looked like
the kind of guy who had a lot of shoe trees.
I glanced over at Mom and saw that she was having the opposite problem from me.
She was looking anywhere but at Dad.
“Yeah,” I said, turning my attention back to him. “Last semester was intense.”
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 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 greatgrandmother, Alice Barrow.”
My stomach twisted. I’d spent the past six months trying not to think about all that
had happened last fall. To have it all read out to me in Dad’s emotionless voice…well,
let’s just say I was beginning to wish I’d stayed in the pond.
“After Alice attacked Chaston and Anna, she killed Elodie, and then you killed her.”
I saw his eyes drift from the paper and to my right hand. A puckered scar ran across
my palm, a souvenir of that night. Demonglass leaves quite a mark.
Clearing his throat, Dad dropped the papers. “So yes, Sophia, I would agree that you
did have quite the intense semester. Ironic considering the fact that I sent you here to be
safe.”
Sixteen years’ worth of questions and accusations flooded my brain, and I heard
myself snap, “Which I might have been if someone had filled me in on the whole my
being a demon thing.”
Behind Dad, Mrs. Casnoff frowned, and I thought I was about to get a lecture on
respecting one’s elders, but Dad just watched me with those blue eyes—my eyes—and
gave a tiny smile. “Touché.”
The smile threw me, and I looked at the floor when I said, “So are you here to take
me to London? I’ve been waiting since November.”
“We can discuss that at some point, yes. But first I’d like to hear about the events of
last semester from your perspective. I’d like to hear about the Cross boy.”

Resentment surged up in me, and I shook my head. “No way. You want those stories,
you can read the accounts I wrote up for the Council. Or you can talk to Mrs. Casnoff, or
Mom, or any of the other people I’ve told the story to.”
“Sophia, I understand that you’re angry—”
“It’s Sophie. No one calls me Sophia.”
His lips thinned. “Very well. Sophie, while your frustration is perfectly valid, it’s not
helpful at this moment. I’d like to spend time talking with you and your mother”—his
eyes flickered to Mom—“as a family before we proceed to the subject of your going
through the Removal.”
“Too bad,” I retorted, tossing off the blanket and Mom’s arm. “You’ve had sixteen
years to talk to us as a family. I didn’t ask you to come here because you’re my dad and I
wanted some kind of tearful reunion. I asked you to come here as head of the Council so I
can get my stupid powers removed.”
All of that came out in a rush. I was afraid if I slowed down, I might start crying, and
I’d done enough of that over the past few months.
Dad studied me, but his eyes had gone cold, and his voice was stern when he said,
“In that case, in my capacity as head of the Council, I reject your request to go through the
Removal.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “You can’t do that!”
“Actually, Sophie, he can,” Mrs. Casnoff interjected. “Both as head of the Council
and as your father, he’s well within his rights. At least until you’re eighteen.”
“That’s over a year away!”
“Which will give you enough time to understand the implications of your decision to
the fullest,” Dad said.
I whirled on him. “Okay, first of all, no one talks like that. Secondly, I do understand
the implications of my decision. Removing my powers will keep me from potentially
killing someone.”
“Sophie, we’ve talked about this,” Mom said, speaking for the first time since we’d
come into Mrs. Casnoff’s office. “It’s not a foregone conclusion that you will kill
someone. Or that you’ll even try. Your father has never lost control of his powers.” She
sighed and rubbed her eyes with one hand. “And it’s just so drastic, honey. I don’t think
you should risk your life for a ‘what if?’”
“Your mother is right,” Mrs. Casnoff said. “And bear in mind that you decided to go
through the Removal less than twenty-four hours after watching the death of a friend.
More time to weigh your options might