Rock and Ruin

by Saranna Dewylde

  The truth will set you free, huh? Way to be literal, Nabila’s granddaddy.

  “As for something to wear, I know this is important for you girls.”

  “It’s no big deal. I’m not the pretty-princess type,” I said.

  “Now, dear. Maybe that’s because you haven’t had the chance to enjoy it.” Horror swelled in my chest as he went to the far closet and pulled out a dress bag. “That’s why I got you a dress for the ball.”

  Fuck. Off.

  I didn’t want a dress—especially from the Jim-Thing. I’d just… I don’t even know why I’d mentioned finding an outfit, I’d been too busy trying not to scream to think too hard about the words falling out of my mouth.

  “Just wait until you see it, Ashley,” it said. “You won’t want to wait to wear it.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ve got a bus to catch.” I’d rather wear leather pants, shitkickers and a t-shirt to the ball.

  I was still wearing the shitkickers. Dress or no.

  When he pulled the zipper down, I expected it to be something awful. But it wasn’t. Not at all.

  I was disturbed to discover something I’d actually wear. Something that, given the money, I’d have chosen. It was a purple velvet sheath dress, with a lace collar that had been stitched to look like spiderwebs and a thick belt that ran right at the waist, with a glittery spider for a center buckle.

  Despite the jewels, it looked so real I was afraid to touch it. “That thing’s not going to come alive or anything, right?”

  The creature wearing my dad laughed, sending chills down my spine. “You’re a treasure.”

  This was not good. I did not want to be any creature’s treasure.

  I needed to leave. Right. Now.

  “Uh, thanks for the dress. I’ll try it on later,” I said, inching down the hall and toward the door.

  “I look forward to seeing you wear the dress,” he said.

  I barely managed not to shudder. Reaching my coat, I yanked it on one arm at a time, keeping a grip on my backpack.

  “Should I expect you for dinner tonight?” I asked the Jim-Thing.

  “No.” It offered me another terrible smile. “I’ll be working, but they’re letting me come to the ball.”

  I paused with my hand on the door. He was coming? This might be a major complication. Would it be my father who’d arrive at the ball, or this creature wearing his shape like an ill-fitting coat?

  “I don’t think you’ve ever seen me play.”

  “I’m sure it will bring down the house.” His smile turned vulpine and I stepped out the door.

  Before I could close it, he added, “No time for a hug for your old man?”

  Nope.

  No way in my literal hell. I fixed him with a hard look. “Boundaries. I just met you, remember?”

  “I’m trying to change that, Ashley.”

  “I know. See you later.”

  And I fled.

  As I raced down the stairs, I realized the scent of burning hair had actually been sulfur. Throat tight, I understood a gut-wrenching truth: a demon had been wearing my dad.

  Normally Nabila and Oscar and I didn’t speak on the bus—we didn’t even sit together.

  Usually, we positioned ourselves a careful two seats apart and avoided eye contact the whole way. We saved our chats for after school or at the Flambeau, and usually, I appreciated that system. It kept us safe, after all.

  Today I took the seat behind Nabila.

  Part of me wished I’d sat beside her, but I didn’t want to have to explain how something had either worn my dad like a meat suit or had made themselves look like him. I guess that was stupid. Nabila could tell me which one was likely, assure me it couldn’t happen to anyone who wasn’t regular, ole human.

  But I didn’t. Instead, I studied everyone on the bus extra closely, searching for the smell of sulfur or any sign someone wasn’t who they claimed.

  My hands were shaking.

  The thing in my dad’s body had given me a dress. I had to wear it. I had to put that present on my body and smile.

  Bending forward, I rested my head on my knees. Tried to breathe.

  I couldn’t process this.

  Which was ridiculous. I’d dealt with my father selling his soul—and mine—in tandem. I was going to demon school. I had dates with cute boys who turned out to be demon hunters, and I straight up accepted that the Shifter I was seeing was mostly likely using his wiles on the direct order of a boss demon.

  I could handle all of that, but not that monsters could impersonate people I loved?

  “Ash?” A voice hissed quietly.

  I glanced up in time to see Oscar passing me, heading off the bus. Shit. We’d arrived, and my panic had been way less than subtle.

  Scooping up my backpack, I made my way into the courtyard.

  I needed to get my shit together before Homeroom.

  To do that, I had to figure out what the point of that display with Jim had been—with that breakfast and that dress. Was it to test me? To see if I noticed the difference between my father and the monster wearing him? Or had it just been a little reminder of their power over both of us?

  Pretending to look at my phone, I stood as close to Oscar as I dared.

  Sunglasses walked past me, close enough that the tails of his billowing coat brushed my boots.

  I glared at him—had he been behind what happened to Jim?

  But he didn’t mention anything, didn’t ask me about my dress or comment that I liked my eggs scrambled. He simply smiled that reptilian grin of his and mouthed, “See you later, petite.”

  I swallowed my instinctive retort and pointedly looked away.

  Nothing triggered my sixth-sense. I wanted to blame him for this morning, to feel his triumph… but I couldn’t. No matter how much I hated him, I just couldn’t imagine Bournival pretending to be my father.

  His energy felt different, less a full-bodied punch and more a boa constrictor.

  Besides, according to my friends, he couldn’t wear my dad.

  But Cat could.

  Breath rushed out of me at the thought, like I’d been struck straight in the heart. I pressed a hand to my chest and struggled to hold in a cry. Could it have been her, retaliating for yesterday?

  Had she lied and I’d missed it…

  I closed my eyes and forced myself to remember what the Jim-Thing had felt like, how a chill had encased my body. The energy hadn’t been red or purple, it had been… nothing.

  An absence of light.

  No matter what, that wasn’t Cat. When she forgot herself, purple light sparked in her eyes and along her fingers. And she didn’t make a room cold when she entered—I hadn’t gotten goosebumps around her. Not once.

  Whew. My shoulders sagged with relief. As awful as learning the truth about her was, part of me still wanted to see her as a friend.

  But if it wasn’t Cat, and it wasn’t Sunglasses—then who?

  And more importantly: why?

  Holding tight to my backpack, I slunk into Homeroom and did what I could to be as unremarkable as possible. Nash wasn’t in class, and for once, I was grateful for it. I kept my head down and wrote the whole time.

  In fact, I did the same during my next class. And lunch.

  My final class before music passed in a blur. I took notes, yet I had no real clue what I was writing down—actual notes about the herbalism lecture DuVayne was determined to deliver on the last day, musings about which demon would want to wear my father like a suit, a poem about goats?

  It was anyone’s guess.

  I’d long since stopped seeing the words, it was all just shapes and worry. So. Much. Worry.

  How was I supposed to perform for a “special” class with this weighing on me?

  There was something so much worse about not knowing.

  At the end of the class, I scooped up my belongings and blindly followed the rest of the class out the door.

  I’d head to the washroom, fix my eyeliner, a
nd try to get my shit together—

  “Ash.” Strong hands caught my arms.

  I jerked, instinctively raising my fists before I realized it was Nash. “Fuck. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  He flashed a toothy grin. “Sorry.”

  “Liar.” I stuck out my tongue, but couldn’t help following it with a kiss to his jaw.

  “Maybe I missed you.” He tugged me out of the middle of the hallway, and the flow of students, nudging me against a row of lockers. He slid a hand into my hair and gently kissed me on the lips. It was the barest brush of his lips across mine, yet I warmth spread all the way to my toes.

  Any protest fled.

  Damn. When he did sweet, he made it so hard for me to keep my guard up.

  “Maybe I’m sorry I didn’t see you in Homeroom today. Or elsewhere,” he added, with a wicked grin.

  Maybe I was, too. Just a little.

  I cleared my throat and tried to keep cool. “Sure, I bet you were up to all kinds of important Shifter stuff.”

  “Just a couple things.” He nipped the base of my throat and my toes curled. “Come on, I’ll walk you to class.”

  I laughed. “My next class is music, you never go there.”

  “Today I do.”

  He held out his hand and, with a shrug, I took it. “Alright, let’s go. I should get there a few minutes early. I need to set up. My band—”

  “Has a special, in-class performance. A preview for tomorrow’s festivities.” Tugging me close against his side, he leaned in, letting me enjoy the full warm length of him. “I know, and I’m going to be there for it.”

  “What?” Stunned, I stopped and stared up at him. “You’re coming to Music?”

  “Yes.” He grinned.

  “But…” I searched for a nice way to say it. After a long moment, I gave up and simply blurted it out. “You don’t like music.”

  “Not as much as you,” he said with a shrug. “So?”

  I wrinkled my nose at him. “Don’t you have Advanced Evil or Hunting or something?”

  “Usually, I’m practicing fancy techniques in dark classrooms.” The gravely way he said fancy gave me a little thrill. “But today, I’m all yours.” Giving my hand a tug, he got us moving again. “Aren’t you glad?”

  Was I glad?

  “Yeah… I guess I am,” I said with a slow smile. A funny warmth was brewing in my chest, pushing away the cold worry that had been lodged there since this morning. “It’ll be…nice, having someone in the audience. I just hadn’t expected you to get on board with my music enough to ask for a pass to join my class.”

  “Good.” He gave my hand a squeeze.

  “You have to cheer, you know,” I told him. “Loud.”

  “Noted.” He chuckled. “Actually, I’m ready to take it very seriously. I want to know what music to expect for tomorrow. It will help me complete preparations for the ball, now that I know you have a dress.”

  A dress. The tiny bubble of warmth popped.

  Had he… No. He hadn’t been the creature pretending to be my dad. But he knew who—or what—had. More than that, he’d had a conversation with that creature. Today. It was the only explanation because I hadn’t told a soul about that damn dress.

  I wanted to yank my hand away and run.

  To scream and punch.

  Instead, I tightened my grip and said lightly, “I take it the powers that be support this?”

  “Of course. My attendance will please the Principal.”

  The Principal.

  I gulped. The only other Upper demon connected to my life, and the only other creature who could have worn Jim. “Of course,” I whispered. “That makes sense.” Terrible, perfect sense.

  “Come on, don’t you want to get set up.”

  I looked past Nash into the music room. Nabila and Oscar were already there, setting up their equipment on the stage. They weren’t even in this class, couldn’t have heard about this “special” performance any sooner than I did—yet here they were, making it happen. Just like me.

  A sinking dread hit my gut like a ton of bricks. That feeling rabbits probably got, the moment they stepped into a trap.

  “Did he mention what color?” I asked. “For my dress.”

  “Purple,” Nash said. “That will look beautiful against your skin.”

  “I know,” I whispered. Just like they planned it.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  With Nash holding my hand and dread coiled like a snake in my gut, I entered the music room. I couldn’t take Nash onto the stage—and I needed to keep him and Oscar apart—so instead of joining my friends on the stage, I slid into a seat on the bleachers, wishing I could disappear. But that wasn’t in my cards.

  Shoulders tense, I waited for the inevitable announcement.

  “Today, we have a special treat,” Bournival said, sliding from his office and into the front of the room like a serpent. “As you know, tomorrow evening we’re having a ball in honor of the Principal’s arrival. What is a ball without music? Our very own Ashley Alcantara.”

  His hand swept toward me and I did my best to force a smile for my audience.

  Aware of Nash sitting next to me, I lifted a hand, gave a cocky flick of my wrist.

  I glanced at my friends, who looked frozen in the shadows of the stage. Especially Oscar, who was so pale he resembled a ghost…

  Oh, fuck. Oscar.

  Music class was jam-packed with Shifters and Mixers. The few Feeders who were in my class never took the stage, unless it was to sit at the back and provide accompaniment to a Shifter. Shoving down my own turmoil, I suddenly picked up on the tension in the room, the coiled sense of danger radiating from every Shifter in the room…including Nash.

  My alarmed gaze snapped to Bournival.

  He continued, gesturing to the stage. “Ashley will be accompanied by Nabila and Oscar—”

  A guy nearby me scoffed. “No way I’m listening to a fucking Feeder—”

  “Pardon me.” Bournival whipped around so fast that his image blurred, shifting into fire-edged shapes that burned. For a second, I thought I caught a glimpse of a tail. A stench of burning meat filled the air and…

  Claude Bournival took off his sunglasses.

  Oh. My. God.

  I followed the hand that fell down to his side, clutching the black glasses.

  Don’t look up.

  But I couldn’t help it. Here it was, the truth of Bournival—or a piece of it.

  My gaze lifted and my whole body jerked. Where his eyes should’ve been were nothing but smoking, gaping maws.

  Two seats away from me, a scream rose in the guy’s throat—and then died. When I tore my gaze away from those empty, deathly sockets, I found the student’s face tilted up, expression stricken, a terrible gurgling sounded in his throat.

  Something trickled down his face.

  It wasn’t tears.

  I gasped and, despite my better judgment, I found myself pressing tight to Nash’s side. He’d wrapped an arm around me, pulling us both back. The other students inched away from the target, trying to put as much space between them and the offender as they could.

  “Interrupt me again, mon amie,” Bournival said, voice low and conversational, “and you’ll find yourself dismissed.”

  He put his sunglasses back on and faced us.

  He smiled and calmly hooked his thumbs on his coat pockets as if he hadn’t just threatened to unleash hell on the kid. I shivered. Beside me, Nash might have done the same. I wanted to hold his hand, but I couldn’t show any weakness. So I pulled away from his grip and straightened in my seat.

  “Miss Plant,” Bournival said. “Please take Mr. Barnes to the nurse.”

  She got up from her seat to do exactly that without any complaint, or even a sneer my direction.

  I could see why. His eyes were nothing but bloody sockets.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered.

  “He’ll be fine,” Nash whispered in my ear. “It’ll be miserable and h
urt like a bitch for a long time, but the nurse will patch him up. And he’ll learn not to interrupt. If he ever speaks again.”

  “As I was saying, we have a very special performance today.” Bournival’s voice cut through the room. “I expect you all to welcome Oya’s Blade to the stage.”

  My mouth went dry. My feet were anchored to the spot—as was my ass.

  “Well, come along. Don’t be shy, petite.”

  It was Nabila who finally got my body to obey, pulling a pin from her hair and pointing it meaningfully in my direction. She and I were really going to have to talk about those pins. Later. When I didn’t need the incentive.

  I stepped forward, heading for the stage, and Bournival blocked my path.

  He held out a guitar. “This is a very special instrument. It’s one of my own design. I expect you to use it for today’s performance.”

  Eyes wide, I stared at the piece.

  The guitar was simultaneously beautiful and horrible. It looked like a PRS Custom, one worthy of Santana, that had been birthed by a graveyard. Everything was sharp angles and the shades of bone and chrome and gray. I accepted it and, at first, I could barely stand the touch of it.

  It felt wrong. As if it were a living, breathing, squirming thing.

  Maybe it was.

  I sucked in a sharp breath as bands of smoky energy struck like vipers, slithering into my fingers from the strings. Burrowing into my hands, my wrists—all the way up my arms.

  It felt awful and wonderful at the same time.

  Suddenly, I knew I had access to notes that no human ear could survive the hearing of them.

  I breathed in and out, and the faint hum of energy that burned through the guitar began to pulse in time with my breath.

  Holy shit, this was cool.

  I knew I shouldn’t be excited to hold this guitar—to play one of Sunglasses’ creations—but while it was in my hands, it didn’t seem to matter that Bournival had melted that guy’s eyes from his head. It did matter that this guitar would show everyone at school that I had power.

  Maybe it was time to show them I wouldn’t be pushed around.

  Walking onto the stage, I avoided Oscar and Nabila’s eyes, instead testing the opening notes from a metal song about bullies and little bitches. Powerful notes exploded from the instrument. This guitar didn’t need an amp. It echoed with all the force of the precise amp I’d wanted behind it.