Diabolical

  The girls are still fixated on the phone issue.

  “I can’t log on to the Web from my laptop either,” Bridget says, “and I’m supposed to call my parents tonight before I go to bed.”

  Vesper counters, “Big deal. I’m supposed to call my boyfriend.”

  “Well, I’m supposed to call my girlfriend,” Evelyn says, “and you don’t see me having a meltdown over it.”

  Kieren frowns at Vesper. “You have a boyfriend?”

  She winks at him. “He knew I was a flirt when he fell in love with me.”

  I decide to talk to Lucy first, alone. Then I’ll confront the other students. After a quick shower, I’m dressed and ready to go.

  “What are you doing?” a voice asks. “You had to fake being a student to get through security. Sure. But why are you still here? Grab Kieren, find Lucy, go, go, go!” Joshua has materialized on the recliner. His feet are propped up. He’s painted his toenails silver and gold to match his fingernails and sandals.

  I rub my temples. “You know it’s not that simple. We can’t kidnap her. I have to find the right words. I have to convince her. Then she has to choose —”

  “Normally, I’d agree with you,” Josh says. “Rules good. Kidnapping bad. But oh yeah, this isn’t a normal situation.”

  “No,” I agree. “In addition to Lucy, I’m also dealing with these other kids who —”

  “Are not your responsibility!” Josh exclaims, standing. “Your interference could make things worse for all of them. Did you think of that?”

  What is with him? “At Drac Radford’s castle, you not only supported my rescuing the prisoners in the dungeon, you demanded to know what was taking me so long.”

  “That was different! Michael ordered you to go to the castle. You were supposed to be there. It was your principle assignment, and it was vague. You had wiggle room. Right now, Quincie is your specific, principle assignment, and she’s cooling her heels solo at Norma and Harry’s B and B, watching Dead Poets Society, and counting the minutes until you and Wolf boy return. Go guard her.”

  “But —”

  “Dude, look at where you are, what you’re doing!” Josh points to the Codex Gigas illustration hanging above the fireplace. “Freaking Beelzebub is your interior decorator!” He pauses, taking in the art. “I didn’t realize he had a sense of humor.”

  “So does the Big Boss,” I say. “Consider the platypus.” I move to clasp Josh’s shoulders. “Look, you’re the one who told me about Lucy in the first place. Miranda asked that I save her, but you passed on the message.”

  Josh shrugs me off. “I know, and I feel terrible about the whole thing. I’ve been putting off filing my latest report to Michael.” He sighs. “If you don’t skedaddle ASAP, when the archangel finds out . . . Zachary, he’s totally gunning for your ass. Having slipped is one thing, but because of this mess, you could fall all the way down.”

  “That’s not up to Michael,” I say. “He’s higher ranked than us. He puts the Word into action. When it comes to GAs, day to day, he’s in charge. But whether I’m eternally cast out of heaven, that’s between me and the Big Boss.”

  “You keep telling yourself that,” Josh says. “Meanwhile, I’m praying for you.”

  MIRANDA READ FANTASY. Lucy watched horror flicks. Miranda shrank in the face of their high-school queen bee. Lucy was immune to social politics. Miranda treasured a blanket knitted by Grandma Peggy and her stuffed toy penguin from SeaWorld. Lucy decorated her bedroom with the impressions of old tombstones made with colored pencils and paper. Would they have become friends at all if they’d met later in life? It doesn’t matter. When you’re friends with someone that long, they’re like family.

  Lucy opens her door before I knock on it. “You’re not wearing a dress this time.” She’s talking about the standard GA uniform — the white robes I had on when we met.

  “Sorry I never returned your coat,” I reply.

  “Did you bring it with you?”

  I dimly recall giving it to someone at a homeless shelter in Dallas. “Uh, no.”

  I join her in a private room identical to the rest. My gaze rests on the print from the Codex Gigas. It’s creepy how it’s everywhere.

  Lucy shuts her door. “Start talking.”

  “You may want to sit down.”

  She doesn’t.

  I don’t blame her for being pissed. “Do you know what Scholomance Prep is? Who’s behind this school?”

  Her hand still on the knob, she replies, “It’s a demonic institution in terms of fields of study, ownership, and origin. Or at least that’s what I read on the de Nostredame group message board, heard at the Dallas metropolitan chapter meeting of the Nosferatu Studies Society, and confirmed via Baba-Yaga’s Junior Encyclopedia. When I asked Seth whether I would find out here what had happened to Miranda that night in Dallas, he said yes.”

  I don’t get it. Lucy may have been gleefully fascinated by the eerie — monster movies and Goth fashion, though she only dabbled in the latter. But only when it was make-believe. Dress up. In fun. “So why are you —”

  “Seth promised me answers. Everyone says I have to face that I’ll probably never see her again. But what if they’re wrong? What if she needs me?”

  “The best way to be her friend is to leave. Tonight. Would Miranda want you to stay in a place like this?”

  “What do you know about Miranda?” Lucy demands. “Who are you, Zachary — if that’s your real name? Why were you at the cemetery? Why are you here?”

  I take a step closer. “That night, you said that if there were monsters, there must be heroes. I frightened away the vamp then, and I’m here to rescue you now.”

  “What?”

  “If there are demons,” I say, “there must be angels.” Josh was right. We don’t have time to debate. I’ve always sucked at the whole secret-identity thing anyway. I move to the center of the room, in front of the angled desk.

  I show my wings. “I was Miranda’s guardian angel.”

  Lucy recoils, her back flat against the door.

  “W-was?” she finally stammers.

  That would be the part she’d zero in on. I hide my wings again. “I’ll tell you what I can, but —”

  “Prove it.” Lucy slowly passes by me. “Prove that you’re Miranda’s guardian angel. Tell me something that only Miranda’s angel would know.”

  My mind goes blank. “Her parents were divorced. It wasn’t . . . amicable.”

  “Anyone could find that out. The local church ladies knew more details.”

  I try again. “She had a gerbil named Mr. Nesbit.”

  Lucy pauses, then gestures to me to move on.

  “She had a crush on Geoff Calvo. She dreamed of being an actress. She was bullied by Denise Durant. She listened to Christian rock and used lemongrass bodywash —”

  “That’s kind of personal.” Lucy sinks to the corner of the bed. “The bodywash. But anyone in her gym class could’ve told you that.” She shifts her weight. “Geoff went missing, too. Did you have something to do with that?”

  As Kieren would say, Scientia potentia est. “Miranda was taken by a vamp named Radford, the reigning king of his kind. He made her undead and claimed her as his adopted daughter. An Old Blood vamp aristocrat named Sabine presented Calvo to then-princess Miranda as a gift.”

  Lucy laughs. “Vampire princess? Miranda? Don’t get me wrong. I love — loved — that girl more than anybody, but she wasn’t exactly royalty material.”

  I throw up my hands. “You don’t believe me?”

  “I believe you’re a supernatural being. I believe you’re a supernatural being that I first encountered in a dark cemetery crawling with bloodsuckers and am meeting again at a Scholomance institution. That says demon to me.”

  I’m flabbergasted. “Didn’t you see my wings?”

  “Vampires and demons can have wings.” She nods at her skewed logic. “Like in the movie Van Helsing.” She points to the depiction of Lucifer over the fir
eplace. “Maybe not that one, but you can make yours appear and disappear. Maybe he can, too.”

  “Demons have scaly, dragonlike, clawed wings,” I counter. “Not gleaming, white, eagle-like . . . pretty wings.”

  That sounded lame. Luminous is the word Quincie uses. I should have said that. “Vamps have wings only in bat form, and only Old Bloods can achieve that. I have a pulse. You’re welcome to check. There’s no way I could be —”

  “Lying?” Lucy stands. “Deceitful. Hiding an ugly nature behind a . . . pretty face?”

  That’s it! I grab Lucy, toss her over my shoulder, and, halfway down the hall, shout, “Kieren!” Meanwhile, Lucy kicks. She yells to be set down. She pounds on my back.

  Other students pour into the hall. The Wolf grabs her legs and we duck into the elevator. “Lucy already knew about the school,” I say. “She’s willing to risk staying to get answers about Miranda.”

  Kieren stares at Lucy like she’s insane. “Didn’t you tell her . . .”

  “I tried. She just started bitching me out and —”

  “Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” Lucy exclaims.

  The elevator reaches the first floor and opens. Bridget, Vesper, and Evelyn are blocking our way to the front door. That leaves Willa and Nigel, probably passed out in their rooms, and Andrew, who likely couldn’t care less. I’ll worry about them later.

  “Put her down!” Vesper says.

  “She’s claustrophobic,” Kieren replies, pushing through. “She’ll calm down once we get her some fresh air.”

  “You’re claustrophobic?” Evelyn asks Lucy.

  “No!” Lucy yells. “Do something! Help me!” She kicks her calves free and throws her weight backward.

  I let go so I don’t fall onto her. Cussing me out, she hits the tile floor.

  “Hey!” Kieren shouts, holding up the front doorknob. He’s apparently ripped it off. “We have a problem.”

  “What?” Bridget calls.

  “We’re locked in,” the Wolf replies.

  MY FIST TIGHTENS on the metal knob. Where’s another way out?

  I start searching. The door to the kitchen is bolted. Could I bust through? Not without revealing my inner Wolf.

  I will my descending canines to retract. Can’t panic. Can’t run faster than a human. But I can run.

  With the others, I canvass the building. We stumble over each other like the Scooby gang. First-floor common rooms. Second-floor student housing. The basement gym. Up to three. The seminar room and library? Both locked. Restrooms swing open. They’re nothing remarkable. Nowhere else to look.

  The sealed front door is the only one leading outside. Fires blaze in all of the fireplaces.

  Back on two, Bridget asks, “What about fire code? Shouldn’t there be a stairwell leading outside at the end of every hall?”

  “Relax,” Vesper says. “I’m sure the lock-in is a security procedure. This must be a smart building. You know, run by computers. The front door lock, the spontaneous fires. They’re just opening-weekend glitches in the program.”

  “Of course there’s a fire plan,” Lucy adds. “They’ll probably review it tomorrow at orientation.” She sounds convincing. She’s acting unfazed. She smells like fear.

  Downstairs, Vesper plucks the sticky note from the Bilovskis’ door. It reads: AT A MEETING ON 4. BREAKFAST IS AT 7 A.M.

  “Four?” Zach puts in.

  “Fourth floor,” I reply. “Faculty housing and offices.” The others are winded. I try to sound like I am, too.

  Vesper crumples the note. “It could be hours before they’re back.”

  “This is our first night in a remote building in the snowy mountains,” Lucy points out. “We’re hot. We’re tired. We’re scaring ourselves for no reason. Let’s go to bed.”

  Midway upstairs, I toss the front doorknob and catch it in one hand.

  “Can I see that?” Bridget asks.

  Once we reach the second-floor landing, I set it in her palm.

  “You ripped it out!” she exclaims. “And sort of crushed it.”

  “It’s not crushed,” I try to argue. “It’s —”

  “Adrenaline,” Evelyn replies, with a dismissive wave. “People sometimes show extraordinary strength in moments of crisis. Lucy was right. We should turn in.”

  I count the Otter as an ally.

  KIEREN AND I run our fingertips along the border of his floor-to-ceiling window. We’re looking for a weak spot that we know isn’t there. “What do you think?” I ask.

  He sets his palm flat against the pane. “I have no idea whether it’s natural, artificial, or mystical. I’d bet my tail, though, that it’s shatterproof.”

  I will my wings to appear and rise to check along the thirty-foot-high ceiling for cracks, anything. “No luck,” I say, coming back down.

  “I will never get used to you doing that,” Kieren replies.

  He braces himself with both hands against the tinted window.

  I return to wholly human form and take the same position, with some space between us. “One, two, three.”

  Muscles straining, we shove as hard we can. Sweat trickles down my forehead. We might as well be trying to move Mount Rushmore.

  “Hold up,” Kieren says.

  I let myself fall forward a bit.

  “You’ll want to step into the hall,” he announces.

  “Because?”

  “I’m a Wolf. If I go all out, and the window breaks loose or —”

  “Got it.” I retreat to the restroom doorway instead. As Kieren centers himself to try again, it occurs to me that he was trying to protect my ego. It’s considerate. Maybe in the world of teenage guys it’s critical to his getting by. But this isn’t Waterloo High. If Kieren’s shifter strength is the key to our escape, that’s great by me.

  He takes a cleansing breath. Straining against the window, Kieren grimaces. His canines lengthen. His eyes go yellow. A moment passes. Fur ripples across his forearms. His T-shirt splits. Two minutes, three, and the glass doesn’t budge.

  “Uh, Kieren?”

  He swings his head toward me. Opens his jaws.

  “Good werewolf,” I say. “Ease off. It’s no use.”

  Kieren barks a laugh. “I’m not a cub.” Shaking off the shift, he adds, “Maybe if I ran at it, full speed. We could open both doors. I could get a head start from the back of your room. Race through the hallway into mine, and —”

  “Break both of your arms on impact. Maybe kill yourself.” I hate to admit it, but . . . “We’re going to have to wait and see what tomorrow brings.”

  Lacking any better ideas, I turn in. I’m wearing running pants and nothing else. It’s warm from the fire in the fireplace, from the heat pouring in through the vents. I’d rather sleep naked, but I’m out of the habit because I have housemates.

  Not long after moving into Quincie’s home, I snuck down to the second-floor restroom in the buff. I surprised Nora, who was coming upstairs with a glass of water from the kitchen. She loves to tell that story.

  I admit, this platform bed is comfortable. It feels a lot like my futon in Quincie’s attic. Just as lonely, too. Like every night, I imagine tracing the lines of Miranda’s heart-shaped face. Her blue eyes laughing at me. “It usually makes me feel better to think you’re looking down on me,” I begin. “Not tonight.”

  I’ve abandoned Quincie. Walked into the most obvious trap on earth. Brought Kieren with me. Blew it with Lucy. Lost a sword of heaven. Now I have six more teenagers to worry about, too.

  Kieren and I should’ve cased out the building before going inside. There could be fire escapes we didn’t see. Hidden doors. Maybe even a tunnel like the one leading out of the dungeon at Sabine’s castle.

  “Try not to worry,” I tell Miranda, though there’s no way I can know for sure if she’s listening. “There’s another exit — a way to bring in food and supplies. The forces of evil would never risk the magical costs of conjuring maple syrup or toilet paper.”

  ??
?CAN I COME IN?” I whisper outside Evelyn’s doorway.

  “I couldn’t stop you,” she replies, hairbrush in hand.

  “May I come in?” I try again.

  Evelyn lowers her voice. “Are you one of those big bad Wolves or —”

  “I’m only half Wolf.” I lean in. “A hybrid.”

  At that, she grabs hold of my shirt. She practically drags me inside. “Is it common? Are there a lot of us?”

  “Nobody talks about mixed-species kids.” I extract myself from her grip as she checks the hallway before shutting her door. “I’ve met a few. Probably more than I realize.” I run my hand through my hair. “You have to be careful around humans. No hospitals. No blood or urine tests. If the general public realizes that werepeople and humans can have kids —”

  She nods. “I saw a werehyena skinned —”

  “You were there?” I ask. “Did you know him?”

  It happened about a month ago. A Hyena skin from Vermont was sold on eBay. A U.S. senator from Wyoming was quoted as saying it was legal to hunt shifters in animal form. According to a CNN/USA Today/Gallup poll, 44 percent of Americans agreed. Worse, 26 percent indicated it was okay if the shifter was in human form.

  “No,” Evelyn says. “I know the people who skinned him. My dad is the head of the New England Council for Preserving Humanity. It’s a —”

  “I’ve heard of it.” I don’t obsess over bigoted crackpots. But I do keep up with shifter-related news on the Web. “So you’re an Otter on your mother’s side.”

  She sits cross-legged on her desk. “From what I’ve heard, Mom is claiming she had a one-night stand with a stranger. ‘Didn’t even catch his name,’ she says. But I’ve heard family stories about her grandmother and about my great-great-grandmother for years. ‘Don’t tell your daddy,’ she’d scold when I was little. I didn’t believe it. I didn’t even know I could transform until it happened last spring at the lake.”

  “You went swimming,” I explain. “That triggered your first shift. For wholly aquatic werepeople like Whales or Dolphins, it’s automatic from birth whenever they’re submerged. With Otters, Seals, and Sea Lions, the first shift doesn’t happen until puberty. That’s more typical of shifters in general. Hybrids probably later than most.