Without another word, he brought his hand down on top of the frog.

I cringed. “What are you doing?”

“Be quiet, I’m concentrating.” His hand began to glow with a strange, dim light and his brows drew together. After a moment, he shook his head. “It’s too late. I can’t save it.”

Before I could say anything else, he swore under his breath, got up from the desk so quickly that his chair skittered backward, and stormed out of the room, casting a very dark look at the teacher.

“Nikki,” Mr. Crane said when Rhys was gone. “What happened? Where’s he going?”

“He, um, wasn’t feeling very well.”

Mr. Crane nodded with understanding. “Not uncommon during this particular experiment, I’ve found.” He watched as a girl, covering her mouth with her hand and gagging, ran out of the room next.

I felt off balance. First from having to talk to Rhys at all, and second from his furious reaction to the dead frog (may it rest in peace). And what had he meant by saying it was too late to save it? Was he trying to bring it back to life? Could he really do something like that?

Apparently not, since the frog was still majorly dead on arrival.

I didn’t know all that much about faeries, other than they were territorial and dangerous and had wings and pointy ears that could be covered up with a glamour.

Now I knew they might be card-carrying members of PETA.

At least Rhys was gone. But I didn’t feel relieved. Not yet.

“Check it out,” a guy named Pete two rows up from me said. “I totally slayed the slimy beast.”

He’d cut the frog’s head off and had mounted it on the top of his knife like a frog lollipop.

The sight of it made my oatmeal breakfast suddenly decide it wanted to make a reappearance. I clamped my hand over my mouth before I hurled right then and there. Thankfully, I didn’t. But it was hard to breathe. My eyes burned and my back and temples itched. Worried equally about vomiting in public and turning into a horned, winged Darkling, I got up from the desk, grabbed my things, and ran out of the classroom.