Free Salt by Danielle Ellison Page A

curse myself as soon as I ask them what happened. Maple leans in to whisper.
    “William Prescott is in our round of testing.” As soon as she says it, the other girls squeal again.
    I nod my head. “Good for him,” I say. I have no idea who that it is.
    All four of the girls look at me as if I have grown a second head. “You do realize how huge this is, don’t you?”
    “Yeah, sure. It’s huge for all of us,” I say, trying to play it off. I have no idea what’s happening.
    “Tell me you know who he is,” Trina says. I don’t need respond, because they all know I don’t. Kessa grabs my arm, her shimmering light-pink nails against my skin.
    “William Prescott is the only son of Victor Prescott—you know, the Triad leader?”
    I raise my eyebrows. A Triad’s son trying out for Enforcer? That’s a little strange. It’s pretty widely known that first-born children of any Triad leader or council member are automatically expected to take on the role themselves. It’s passed down as closely as our magic is. A boy trying to change that has got to mean trouble.
    “William is apparently smart and powerful. He’s at St. Jude’s,” Trina adds. Ah, the private school.
    “Not to mention rich,” Kessa adds. Definitely trouble.
    “Gorgeous,” Beth says.
    “Any girl would be beyond lucky to be Paired with him,” Maple says on a sigh.
    I scoff. “I don’t care about rich and powerful. Those qualities don’t necessarily mean he’d be a good Enforcer. I care about having someone who can back me up if I need it.”
    Kessa’s face is red, like she wants to explode or something. Even though I might actually like to witness that, I feel a little bad. Before anyone can blow a gasket, Mrs. Bentham claps her hands to get our attention.
    “Today, girls, I’m going to test your basic skills of self-defense. Each girl alone must be able to protect herself in case her partner is otherwise involved. You must be strong individually as well as together. Any girl who does not perform to perfection will be dismissed.” Mrs. Bentham calls two names—Beth is one of them—and the girls both disappear into another part of the room.
    The room is quiet while they are gone. Almost as if every girl is nervous to breathe. Miriam shakes her foot while we wait and stares at the door. For ten minutes. Then, the door opens and Mrs. Bentham comes out, clears her throat. “Jenna Lakes and Chrissy Jenkins.”
    The girls pass us as they move toward the door. It clicks shut, allowing the silence to resume. I guess we don’t find out who’s left until class tomorrow. I stare at my feet. Looking anywhere else makes me want to vomit.

    I’m in the sixth group that’s called to go in. The girl I’m up against, Edith Summers, is taller than me—about six foot two and fierce-looking. Her lip is slightly curled, her hair cropped short with red and black streaks. Her muscles are bigger than a lot of boys I know. She’s obviously been preparing for this, too—which means that I’m in a hell of a lot of trouble.
    Mrs. Bentham stands close enough to see us, but far enough away so she’s not in our space. “This is a non-magical sparring test. You don’t know the fighting knowledge a demon can possess, so you need to be prepared for every move. Shake hands, ladies.”
    Edith Summers could break my hand if she squeezed hard enough. That’s not intimidating at all. Nope. I bite my lip as we both get into block position. I breathe and try to focus. This is a make-it-or-break-it moment.
    Edith makes the first move before I’m ready. Her fists of fury fly at my face. My arms are there to block her. Her punch has less force than I expect, which means she’s saving it for later. I’ll have to remember that. Dad used to say that when you were facing someone bigger, you had to let your opponents wear themselves out.
    I move first. My foot shoots toward Edith’s left leg and she wobbles. She keeps herself from falling over, and when she’s