Rock and Ruin

by Saranna Dewylde

  Every thought fled my brain.

  I mentally flailed for something mature and clever to reply with.

  Nothing came.

  We rounded a corner and Churchfield’s door loomed before us. A tiny snort of amusement snuck from my nose as Nash held it open for me—I’d just been saved by the door I didn’t want to enter.

  Walking through, I enjoyed the brush of his fingers against my waist. The promise of much more.

  I felt slightly guilty for not wanting to escape whatever Nash had planned.

  Hell. What was wrong with me? I’d dreamed about making out with some apartment-lurking guy I’d met once, and when Nash got anywhere near me I was… I was… I don’t know.

  But I didn’t like it.

  No, no… that was a lie. I did like it.

  That was the problem.

  Oh God. I sounded crazy even to me. And that was saying something.

  As I took a seat in homeroom and prepared to begin my fact-finding mission in earnest—gathering the information I’d need to escape—I noticed one of the feral girls glaring at me from across the room. My brow furrowed. What had I done to her? I’d irritated a number of people in my short time here, but the main one in school was at the front of the classroom.

  The feral girl’s eyes darted from me to the seat behind me.

  Risking a glance over my shoulder, I found Nash had taken the seat behind me. I winked at him. His eyes flashed briefly in reply, a sheen perfectly reminiscent of raccoons peering into a bright room from the dark.

  My lips quirked upwards in a sideways smile before whipping around to face the front.

  From the corner of my eye, I once again caught sight of the Shifter girl, this time aiming visual daggers of bloody murder at me. Damn, she was serious about this. No way she’d be so pissed off if Nash didn’t like me, maybe a fair bit. I could get used to a fair bit of him. I bit the sides of my mouth to stop my smile from spreading as Churchfield began lecturing.

  Smart or not, I’d definitely enjoy adding Nash to our small insurrection.

  I took out a lined notebook, a pen with spectacularly purple ink and began taking notes. It looked like I was paying attention to the lesson. That I’d been broken and was prepared to toe the line. Mom used to tease me that I wouldn’t know good advice if it jumped naked in the shower with me and turned all the water to snow.

  But I’d learned. I’d known it last night.

  Keep my head down. Study my enemies. Figure out how to break free.

  And rock with my new band.

  “Today, we continue on lessons on the necessity of hierarchical structures in maintaining an efficient business model,” Churchfield said, methodically scratching words on the board. It creeped me out how the demons called their system of contracts a business—yuck. Though I guessed being actual demons explained how some rich people seemed so happy to treat their staff like shit. “As you learn and enhance your study of our history for the rest of winter semester, you’ll see that our systems emerged from a true need. We bring order to a chaotic human world.”

  Right. By shoving us all into boxes and telling us to be grateful.

  “As you can see, before we refined our systems, the humans were failing,” Churchfield continued. Lights flickered at the front of the room, pictures sprang to light, a ghostly image against the blackboard. I blinked, shocked to realize we were looking at illustrations of the Black Plague. “The solution is obvious to us now, but was revolutionary at the time.”

  The images changed to demons torturing medieval figures.

  A chill crept through me and my pen wavered, forming a purple heartbeat against the page.

  “Our junior students will learn how our current order emerged from the bold actions of our leaders, while our senior students will pursue specialized study on those leaders.” The speed of her writing increased, the scratchy white marks flying across the board. Hand cramping, I struggled to keep up. “As you know, our program expects cross-pollination of learning, so each of your final papers will reflect the culmination of study across your different units this term.”

  Damn. That was freaking brilliant.

  Scaffolded learning was the rage in the top creative academies, where students learned how to take different fields of study and explore unique connections. I’d desperately wanted that kind of program.

  Shame this academy was a pit of demonic control, because otherwise, this would be the best program I’d ever had the opportunity to take.

  It was almost… torture.

  Of course. I sighed.

  Trust the demons to make things at school worse by making it smarter.

  “Your final papers are due in one month. I expect you all to make this homeroom the most exemplary in St. Damon’s.” Her back was to me, yet I suddenly felt Churchfield’s eyes on me. “Ashley Alcantara, approach the desk.”

  Oh. No.

  Does she know what I’m planning?

  I gripped my pen, wished it were a sword.

  The urge to run, to blast back out that door and hide in the washroom, was nearly overwhelming. My knees wanted to shake. Hands tremble. But if I did that, the kids in this class might quite literally turn on me like wild dogs. The Feral girl in the corner clearly wanted to gouge my eyes out—I couldn’t give her an opening.

  It took everything I had to rise out of my seat.

  Forcing my chin up, I walked slowly toward the front.

  I probably should have put my pen down, but for some reason, I needed to cling to the felt-tipped stick like my life depended on it. Not that purple ink would save me from a scary demon who could make me eat my fingers.

  Still, if worse came to worse, I could at least get one good stab in.

  Stopping before Churchfield’s desk, I locked my knees in place.

  My gaze dropped to the desktop, skimmed over stacks of paper and a cup full of blackish-liquid I hoped was coffee, and lodged on an apple on the far corner. It had seemed like regular fruit from my seat, but a deathly skull gaped within the side facing the board. A dead-eyed, melted mouth horror.

  I couldn’t stop staring.

  “Ms. Alcantara,” Churchfield said. “You joined us late.”

  She still hadn’t turned around. I prayed it stayed that way. The weight of silence gripping the room announced that she expected a reply.

  Swallowing hard, I said, “Yes.”

  “In fact.” Her chalk scraped across the board. “You arrived two months into first semester.”

  “Yes...” I tore my gaze away from the apple to study the back of her hood.

  “That means you have exactly one month to catch up on this semester’s learning and prepare for end of semester exams, held in the first week of December. As your homeroom instructor, I have the pleasure of compiling your missing work.”

  The top part of her body swiveled.

  Bony hands collected a towering stack of paper from the top of her desk in an eerily smooth motion.

  My eyes widened.

  Her hands were barely more than bone, but I knew those pale fingers could snap me as easily as one of the pencils neatly lined on her desk. Clearly, she expected me to take those papers from her. But I couldn’t move. This close, the air around her was nearly frigid. If I accidentally touched her, would I freeze to death?

  “Ms. Alcantara. Your work.” Those terrifying hands held out the pile

  Breath catching in my chest, I stared at the pile of papers. I had to take it. I knew it. I just couldn’t do it.

  “Come now, Ms. Alcantara,” Churchfield said quietly. “You don’t want to keep me waiting.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Sticking my pen between my teeth, I stuck my arms out, underneath the pile. Carefully between Churchfield’s grip. She dropped the stack into my arms and a sigh of relief rushed out of me.

  Then the weight hit.

  Staggering backward a step, I clutched the stack of papers and books to my chest in order to keep my balance. Shit, this was heavy. And tall.
Rested as it was against my body, the pile nearly reached my chin.

  “I expect your term paper to reflect the full learning of this semester. You’d best make use of study hall, Ms. Alcantara.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I muttered, staggering quickly back to my seat.

  Good thing Nash showed me to my locker—who knew demon school would be kind enough to provide lockers?—because I needed a place to stow my scary mountain of work, which got bigger and bigger as I fumbled through the rest of the day. By the time the closing bell vibrated through the stone walls, I could barely see in a straight line.

  “Hey, Ash.” Nash nudged me. “See you in study hall tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. If you can see me past homework mountain.” I blew out a breath and started shoving handfuls of paper into my backpack.

  He chuckled. “You’ll get through it.”

  A tiny thrill snaked through me at the sound. I glanced at him. “Is it that bad if I don’t? Maybe I should just throw in the towel and hit the town, party it up before failing hard.”

  “Whoa.” He shook his head. “You do not want to fail.”

  “Why? What’s the worst that can happen?”

  Clamping a hand on my shoulder, he leaned in close. Spoke softly into my ear. “That’s not a question you want to ask around here. And no one wants to fail at St. Damon’s. Not if they like their life.”

  Giving me a squeeze and a quick grin, he left me in the hall.

  I hung onto the edge of my locker, grateful it was on the top row and offered a nice, handy hold.

  Who knew demon academy would take their schoolwork so seriously?

  Trying to catch my breath, I glared at the pile looming in my locker.

  It would take me forever to even sort through that crap, let alone get all the work done. I’d always been a good student—a fast reader and a quick study. But I wasn’t some genius or magical creature, no wrinkling my nose and willing that shit done. It would take hours—days.

  And steal all the time I thought I’d have for practicing with my brand new band this week.

  Fucking demons.

  I’m sure there was a bunch of things in there that would help me defeat this place, but just how long it would take me to find it? And would I even have a band left to practice with after all this work was over?

  Unfortunately, I didn’t seem to have much of a choice.

  Because clearly failing my demon exams was not an option.

  Chapter Seventeen

  At the screech of my alarm, I tumbled out of bed ass-first.

  Squinting at my clock through one eye, I let out a string of curses. Nearly a full week of learning at Saint Damon’s, with the joy of all its creepy homework, and I still wasn’t used to anything—including the start time. But the evil bus waited for no one, and, if I missed it, Myrtle would get an excuse to rain misery down on Jim’s head.

  With a groan, I dragged myself up off the floor and trudged to the bathroom, noting Jim still wasn’t home as I passed his room. We’d been stuck in Vegas since Sunday and I’d barely seen him. He swore he was getting some sleep at the casino, I assumed that meant gambling in his down time.

  I half wondered if he was dead.

  But I guess that didn’t much matter in Paradise. Even dead, he’d probably be serving out his term.

  Giving myself a shake, I forced myself to grab my uniform. No thinking about Jim being dead, I had to get ready for school.

  Most students were happy to greet Friday. I was not one of them.

  Today marked my first music class with Sunglasses.

  My stomach twisted into a giant, tight knot. My hand trembled, and I had to pause halfway through painting my eyeliner until it steadied.

  I should be thrilled for music class, damn it—not dreading it.

  Of course, music hadn’t exactly gone my way since Tuesday. Forget playing and band practice, I’d barely had time to breathe. What little time I’d managed to carve out with Nabila and Oscar had been… not awesome.

  While she has some skill on the bass, Nabila clearly hadn’t played in years. As for Oscar, he struggled to make a noise above a whisper.

  Ugh. We’d straight-up sucked. Unable to find a tune, let alone stay in it.

  For a moment, I rested my forehead against the mirror.

  First practices are always shit, you know that.

  Now get it together.

  Eyes narrowed, I straightened and studied my reflection, wishing I couldn’t see worry in the blue smudges under those same eyes. Brown eyes, brown hair—when it wasn’t dyed—and skin that spoke of my mother’s family. The family I didn’t know. I wondered if a connection to them would have lent me strength in this moment, the way it did for Nabila?

  Unwilling to show any weakness, I added extra concealer beneath my eyes and rounded it out with some smoky shadow.

  Screw these demons. I’d get through today and make this band work.

  Somehow.

  Showing a short stack of freshly completed assignments into my bag, I headed for the bus. Homework Mountain remained a scary heap, but I’d been slowly carving my way through it. And doing pretty well, according to the stack of papers Thacker had returned to me yesterday. She’d said my paper on demonic enlightenment was excellent, and angry flames had licked out her flaring nostrils as she’d said it. She’d been clearly pissed about giving me an A minus.

  For whatever nefarious reason, my teachers were strangely fair graders.

  Demons were fucking weird.

  Sticking in my earbuds, I cranked the volume on my favorite metal playlist and willed the growling to soothe my soul.

  Anything to distract me from my pending class with Sunglasses.

  That morning Nabila and Oscar did their usual “who are you” routine, and Nash seemed busy with the other Shifters, so I kept my head down and focused on taking notes and carving away at my stack of homework. I felt a little guilty about not sitting with Nabila or Oscar, but we’d agreed to keep our friendship under wraps at school.

  Lunch involved picking at some salad with one hand and reading about how demons used the witch hunts to get rid of their enemies, followed by a brief flash of satisfaction when I dropped off another finished assignment on Churchfield’s desk.

  When two-thirty in the afternoon rolled around, as reliable as a zombie turning in her grave, I trod the gray stone floor between the study hall and Sunglasses’ classroom. A mix of dread and fascination rioted inside me—would he ignore me, or swoop across the room to pounce on me like an evil, blood-sucking bat?

  My stomach flipped.

  I wanted to run into the washroom and lose my lunch. But I had to be cool. Cat said to never give them a weapon, to never show weakness.

  So I’d show them my Poker Face.

  Trying to build courage, I toe-tapped a beat against the floor.

  Sunglasses—Monsieur Bournival, I corrected myself—wasn’t going to be able to control me this time. Imagining I was garbed in a spectacular performance outfit, something that hearkened to warrior queens of old, got me through the deep red door that marked the music room.

  Stepping inside that room felt like setting foot into that past, somehow the interior was even darker than the other classrooms. The windows were so black I imagined they’d been carpeted with the heavy fabric preventing any shred of daylight from entering.

  Chilled, air-conditioned air ruffled my hair, forming a cold wind through my body.

  My skin crawled with each step.

  The dark watched me. Its gaze running over my skin like the feet of thousands of invisible spiders. My heart thumped hard against my ribs. Palms damp. Knees preparing to quiver at the slightest provocation. Slowly, as if I didn’t care, I took a seat on the far side of the shadowed bench seats and let my eyes pan the room.

  A mix of Shifters, Feeders, a handful of Mixers like Nabila, and a few randoms like myself populated the space. Nearly a full space, guess lots of students were interested in the new teacher—or maybe they wanted the on
e class outside of homeroom that took students of all levels?

  Green eyes glinted malevolently at me from the other side.

  I blinked in surprise until my vision adjusted enough to recognize the girl who’d glared at me in homeroom.

  The one all pissed off because Nash always sat behind me.

  Suck it, bitch. I smiled sweetly at her.

  She jerked to her feet, hands clenched into fists. Getting into a fight with a stupid Feral beat anxiously waiting for Sunglasses.

  I gave an exaggerated yawn. It was hardly my fault Nash found me more interesting than her. She took a step towards me and pointed one long-nailed finger at me. Did she think that lame move would make me cover like the Feeders in the room, who were already slinking out of the way?

  As if. I blew her a kiss.

  A high pitched growl hissed from between her lips and she took another purposeful step towards me. Shit. Maybe picking a fight wasn’t the best idea. If she was a Shifter—and I was pretty sure she was—then physically, she could probably kick my ass from here to Sunday.

  But, so help me, I was tired of people pushing me around.

  This whole week had been one, time-sucking push.

  And if my music could make the Bulldog scream, maybe I could make this Shifter wail, too.

  Only one way to find out.

  I rolled my eyes in a hugely exaggerated manner. “If that’s how you sing, then you’re in the wrong class. Or you’re really going to make me look good.” Blinking in feigned innocence, I tipped my head.

  “I’m going to tear you apart, Feeder.”

  Pointing a finger at my chest, I formed a cartoon ‘o’ with my mouth. “Me? Eat shit, Fido—”

  “Good afternoon, class.” Sunglasses’ deep voice flowed from the darkest recesses of the room.

  I froze.

  All hopes of coincidence fled as he fixed that mirrored gaze upon me. Seemed he never took those sunglasses off. “Petit, please sit.”

  I sat back down on my bleacher, unsure of what else I could possibly do.

  He oozed around the squat wooden desk parked to the right of the small stage. Sunglasses took off his long coat and draped it over the back of his chair, showcasing a tailored black suit with a black shirt.