Prophecy Girl

by Cecily White

  Luc was ecstatic (read: less annoyed) to find Fiori—a bona fide Guardian of a respectable bloodline, former Enforcer—recently retired from his academic post. Unfortunately, he was also dead.

  His soul had been taken.

  Since Fiori’s bloodline was Remiel, not Gabriel, Luc concluded there must be more to the case than just a prophecy. So he combed through all the deaths we’d originally classified as “collateral damage,” only to discover that every single victim had been on the Convergence peace petition. Including Headmistress Smalley.

  “This is preposterous.” Luc swerved around a corner, narrowly missing a lamp post. “If you’d heeded my call in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

  “If you’d put it together sooner, you could have avoided the whole thing.”

  “If you hadn’t dragged all your bloody drama into my home—”

  “Could we, perhaps, keep our focus on the task ahead?” Henry begged. “Or at least on not dying before we arrive?”

  Luc’s foot hit the accelerator so hard I thought the needle might pop off the odometer. It was a miracle we hadn’t picked up a police tail yet. Maybe they couldn’t see us since the car was traveling faster than the freaking speed of light.

  By the time we screeched to a halt on Prytania, the commencement gala was in full swing. The whole main building seemed to dance with light. Paper-bag luminaries lined the front walkway, casting haunted, quivering shadows over the wide front porch. Beams of muted gold coursed out of the vaulted front windows. Even the thick vines twined around the oak trees seemed to writhe like restless snakes.

  A chill crept down my arms as Luc, Henry, and I approached the front gate. If the wards were up, Henry and I could probably still get through, but for Luc it’d be like walking into an electric fence. Not that I’d mind seeing him nose-dive into one.

  Before he’d had to shift again, Dane suggested we dress to blend, so Henry grabbed Dad’s funeral suit and I snagged one of my mom’s old formal dresses that I kept in the back of my closet. Black, stretchy, slit up the side for fighting…with a couple of rhinestones thrown in for effect. Sexy, yet functional.

  Luc, on the other hand, looked like a Calvin Klein ad come to life. Pale light gleamed off his violet eyes, casting shadows along the elegant hollows of his cheekbones. Every silky dark hair in place, every line of his tux flawless. He wasn’t especially tall—maybe six-feet on a good day—but he had a presence that would fill up a banquet hall. I could see why people might want to follow him…when he wasn’t acting like a complete ass, that is.

  “I thought you said this was a huge event. Why are the wards down? And where are the guards?” Luc sniffed the air. “And why do I smell blood?”

  “Blood?”

  I took a deep whiff. Maybe a nice magnolia scent underlying the familiar burn of magic, but certainly no blood. I was about to diagnose him officially psycho when I saw it—the heel of a black leather Guardian boot sticking out from under a bush near the side gate. My elbow dug into Luc’s ribs.

  “Look,” I said, pointing. “I bet they’re down all over the place.”

  Luc frowned and closed his eyes. “I hear their heartbeats,” he said. “Four weak ones along the front, three on each side, and two in the back. There are too many to count inside.”

  “Mr. Smith-Hailey must be here,” Henry observed.

  “How do you figure?”

  “Well,” Henry reasoned, “if it was the Graymason who took them out, you wouldn’t hear heartbeats, would you?”

  “How much time do we have?” I asked.

  “Thirteen minutes,” Luc replied, “give or take. What’s the plan?”

  A sick feeling slid through my stomach. Crap, we needed a plan. “Let’s split up. We can cover more territory, maybe find Jack a little faster.”

  “Splendid idea,” Luc said. “If we hurry, we might be in time to collect his body.”

  I sneered at him. “Not helpful. What about my classmates? They could look for him—”

  “Or they’ll start screaming and the guards will kill you on sight. Lovely plan.”

  Did I mention how much I hate stupid, know-it-all vampires? “I see, and what do you propose, exactly?”

  “I’m not a strategist. My objective was to get us here quickly. I accomplished that.”

  “You,” I pointed out, “are precisely why politicians should not be allowed to run empires.”

  Henry ignored us completely as he slid through the gate and stalked up the main path. The weapons belt under his coat was loaded with throwing knives, glyph-carved grenades, a few canisters of tear gas, and Jack’s curved short sword. I recognized it immediately by the marks etched into the blade.

  “Henry?” I called out.

  He stopped barely long enough to tug Jack’s sword out of his belt and hurl it into the ground at my feet. It stuck in the mortar between two cobbles, wagging back and forth.

  “Give that to Jackson when you see him,” he called.

  “Where are you going?” Luc asked.

  “To pull the fire alarm,” Henry hollered.

  I exchanged a sheepish glance with Luc. The fire alarm. Why hadn’t we thought of that?

  With a look of exasperation, Luc snatched up the sword and shoved me into the bushes. In the distance, the main door cracked under Henry’s boot, followed by the soft hiss of tear gas and a banshee-yowl that could only be the fire alarm.

  “So it begins,” Luc said.

  Students flooded out of the main building. Veronica Manning hurtled past in a frothy pink dress, Keller Eastman at her side. Skye Benedict and Ty Webster followed with panicked expressions, alongside a handful of visiting dignitaries from the European consulate. But no sign of Matt, Lisa, or Katie. And no Jack.

  “This isn’t working.” I shoved Luc to the side and yanked the sword from his hand. “I’m going to find him.”

  “Amelie, wait—”

  Without a backward glance, I bolted for the stairs. I had no idea when I’d be able to channel, or if I could channel at all. I had about eleven minutes to figure it out. Light and warmth ignited in my chest as I pushed my way through the flood of terrified younglings. Jack was in there. Somewhere.

  My mind was so focused on the path in front of me I barely noticed Creepy Daniel until he was on top of me. Literally.

  A flash of light burst out of my periphery as something flat and hard cracked against my temple. Bright pain bloomed above my left eye and I stumbled to my knees, Jack’s sword suddenly huge and unwieldy.

  “Welcome back, Guardian Bennett. I worried someone else might kill you first.” With a few quick jabs, Daniel flicked the sword from my grip and brought the tip of his blade to my throat. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

  That earned him my best go-screw-yourself look. “Really? That’s what you fantasize about in your personal therapy? I’m flattered.”

  “Insolent child,” he said in a low voice. “Thibault was wrong to let you live.”

  I tried to wipe the blood from my eye, but only succeeded in smearing it across my cheek. So, Daniel knew about Thibault, which meant he must be part of it, too. “Yeah, well, maybe y’all can discuss it from your adjoining cells at the mental hospital.”

  Daniel laughed crazily.

  The lights from the trees twinkled in his sword’s smooth surface as he drew it back. I leaped sideways, avoiding the strike by mere inches.

  “Desarmé,” I screamed, flinging out a hand. The air buzzed a little and Daniel’s sword leaped, but he kept its hold.

  “You can’t even channel, can you?” Daniel’s lip tugged into a sneer. “A pitiful excuse for a warrior.”

  I frowned. “As pitiful as you letting your bondmate get killed?”

  Daniel’s laughter evaporated instantly. He strode forward and with a snarling grunt, planted his foot so far up my ribcage, I swear I heard something crack. I fell backward onto the hard dirt, unable to breathe. I’d just begun to wonder if I could manage a scream sa
ns oxygen when a tuxedo-clad blur knocked Daniel sideways into a concrete garden bench.

  At first, I assumed it was Luc. But as I peered more carefully at the two tussling figures, I could tell the newcomer wasn’t quite graceful enough—or pretty enough—to be the vampire.

  The bench overturned and the two men hit the ground, rolling across the lawn in a melee of dirt and flying fists, each trying to get a stranglehold on the other’s neck. It was artful—like a synchronized swimming demonstration, except with rampant bloodshed instead of Speedos. Both wore tuxes, both had brown hair, both about the same size. And I had no idea who the other guy was.

  I scampered to where Daniel’s sword had fallen, intent on helping, but in the dim moonlight it was impossible to tell the men apart. So that’s how I stood, Jack’s sword in one hand, Daniel’s in the other.

  Finally, one of the men got the other in a chokehold, ready to snap his opponent’s neck. Suddenly, I smelled it. It was faint, barely enough to detect under all the smoke and magic searing the air. Drakkar Noir. Dripping off the boy who was about to die.

  “Lyle!”

  I lifted both swords and ran at Creepy Daniel. The first sword came down in a diagonal slash, cutting through his hamstrings. The second, Jack’s sword, I used as a club against the back of his skull, the way I’d seen Jack do before. Daniel gave a gurgle and fell to the ground, unconscious.

  “Thanks,” Lyle rasped and collapsed on the ground.

  I dropped to my knees beside him. “Hey, Lyle. Next time you want to impress a girl, try a box of candy, okay? It’s better for your health.”

  He croaked back laughter, his windpipe still half-crushed from Daniel’s grip. Whatever he might have said next was lost under a symphony of coughs. His cheek was already turning purple from the fight, and one eye had begun to swell shut.

  He spat out a mouthful of blood. “Ami, I’m so sorry. I never should have—”

  “Save it.” I handed him Daniel’s sword. “If we’re both alive at sunrise, we’ll discuss it over breakfast. My treat.”

  “So, we’re dating?” he asked, hopeful.

  “Better.”

  His eyes widened. “Bondmates?”

  “No, dorkus,” I said, smiling. “Friends.”

  My blood-covered fingers curled around his lapel as I bent to kiss his bruised cheek, trying not to inhale. If he and I were going to hang out, we’d need to have a serious talk about aroma moderation.

  I moved quickly as I scouted around the main hall, scanning the faces of the fallen guards. Henry wasn’t among them, thank goodness. I wasn’t sure why, but something warm and magnetic pulled me toward the Hall of Angels. That had to be the place, right? It even fit with the line from the prophecy, “under angels’ gaze.”

  Normally, I preferred to have someone watching my back. But since Luc was MIA and Henry was probably dead, it looked like I’d have to do without. Most of the office doors had been left open because of the alarm, which just upped my paranoia that I might get jumped at any moment. So basically, until I had my full powers back, I was no safer than a clay pigeon waiting to be launched.

  Strands of Crossworld power slipped through my fingers…still not enough to channel. If the Queller worked the same as before, my power would strengthen in a few minutes. I just wasn’t sure I had a few minutes.

  By the time I got to the Hall of Angels, the bond-warmth inside me flared like a Halloween bonfire. Jack was definitely close. And in trouble. I did another quick scan of the surroundings, then sidled up to the door and gave a firm tug.

  Nothing happened.

  “Abertura,” I whispered, and pulled again, harder. Still nothing.

  Okay, whatever wards held this door shut had been charged with a level of power I couldn’t touch yet. Which meant the Graygirl, if she wasn’t already in there, had to be nearby. I’d just begun to entertain the possibility of hacking my way through with Jack’s weapon when I felt an icy hand on my shoulder. I swiveled, blade at the ready.

  “Brilliant. Abandon me to a beating on the front lawn, then threaten to chop my head off?” Luc griped. “Bloody Americans.”

  I lowered the sword. “Luc, you scared the crap out of me. Where were you?”

  “Got tossed by one of your trainers. Blond gentleman. Bit like a Viking. He kept trying to interrogate me.”

  “That’s Marcus. You didn’t kill him, did you?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Do I look like a murderer?”

  “Frankly, yes,” I admitted, “but Marcus is a good guy. He just follows orders a little too mindlessly. He’s actually kind of funny once you get him talking. There was this one time—”

  “Much as I’d love to hear it,” Luc said, with no small measure of sarcasm, “there remains the tiny matter of saving my species.”

  “Right, sorry.”

  Luc led me down the corridor lining the main offices until we reached the door marked Faculty Lounge. He shoved it open.

  I’d expected something grand and elegant, with wooden beams and vaulted ceilings. But the room was nothing like that. The walls were gray and rough, à la industrial sandpaper, and the floor hard and slick. At the back corner, a narrow metal staircase wound upward, spiraling in tighter and tighter circles. A dank smell, like wet sheep’s wool, teased my nose and I pinched it, determined not to sneeze. The last thing I needed was my allergies causing some unexpected demon rift.

  “Let’s go.” Luc pressed a hand to the small of my back, pushing me toward the stairs.

  “Quit groping me.”

  The smell grew stronger as we neared the top, and the mildew took on a chalky flavor, like the air of a stonecutter’s quarry.

  “Do you even know where you’re going?” I snapped.

  “Stunningly, yes. Some of us actually studied the school’s blueprints.” Luc yanked the face off an intricate grate set low in the wall and crawled through it, disappearing into the darkness.

  Okay, call me paranoid, but I was beginning to think there might be something about me that made men want to crawl into dark holes. Maybe Lisa was right that I should rethink my feminine mojo.

  Inside the heating duct, pale dust bunnies lined the vent walls like permanent tenants. Luc wriggled around on his elbows until we reached the right opening—the one that led to the Hall of Angels—then backed up beside me.

  “You go in first,” he said. “Once you get a handle on the situation, signal me.”

  Below us, black smoke billowed into the hall, the chandeliers and torchieres dark and bent. Chunks of plaster were scattered across the floor and teardrop-shaped scorch marks stained the walls above the sculpture alcoves. I had to swallow another sneeze as the smell of fuel pushed its way through the mold.

  I wrestled out the grate and leaned my head through. Thirteen feet up.

  Around the edges of the room, a series of gray blocks was cemented to the walls, each one stuck with a metal pin and draped in black and red wires, not unlike the wires Jack had untangled last night. My stomach plummeted. I’d prepared for a personal threat, for my friends in danger, for Jack at death’s door. But this? What kind of maniac takes a whole building hostage?

  A smart one, my unhelpful inner voice muttered.

  “Shut up,” I said.

  “Excuse me?” Luc asked from behind me.

  “Nothing.”

  I muttered a quick prayer of gratitude for Henry. If he hadn’t pulled that alarm, there’d be more than just a building at stake.

  There already was.

  About halfway down the hall, Jack knelt in the center of a charcoal circle, his hands black with blood and limp by his sides. A ripple, like waves of heat, blurred the air around him, but I could tell he was in bad shape. His body sat, hunched, crimson whip-marks staining his shoulder blades, and forearms shredded. It looked like someone had tried to carve the tattooed glyphs out of his skin with a knife.

  “Holy crap!” I breathed. “Luc, help me down.”

  Luc clasped both my hands in his and swung me down f
rom the vent. I hit the ground hard and fell, only vaguely aware of the bloody smears my hands and feet left across the smooth marble floors. The blood didn’t worry me nearly as much as the crackle over my skin at the grate’s threshold—like a wall of electricity being breached. It couldn’t be an accident the room was warded so heavily when the rest of the building wasn’t; and not just the doors, either. Whoever did this was serious. But what were the wards for? Anti-demon? Containment?

  I only wasted a second thinking about it. Wards weren’t my priority. My priority knelt on the floor about twenty feet away. And if I didn’t get him out safely, our whole world would be plunged into war.

  I snatched the sword from where it had fallen, pulled myself to my feet, and hurried toward Jack. Whatever charm held him in place would probably affect me, too, so I’d have to be careful. Tightness gripped my foot as I lifted it across the circle’s smudged boundary, and a numb sensation skittered across it.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  A deep, cigarette-tinged voice spilled from the edge of the room and I froze. The last time I’d heard that voice, it had been offering me a future, wishing me luck with my post-graduation goals. Lying to me.

  “If I were you,” I retorted, “I’d throw myself into a lion pit at lunchtime. But I guess we can’t always get what we want.”

  The Chancellor laughed. “So much like your father. Pity Alec neglected to finish him yesterday. The boy’s always been too soft.”

  He hobbled forward, his legs weak and buckled. Any sympathy I’d felt for him before had evaporated. His cane flicked in a quick gesture toward the circle, spatters of blood flying off it. Probably Jack’s blood. Sick bastard.

  “What did you do to my bondmate?”

  He smiled. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Our perceptual vortex worked so well at your test, I thought it might make a nice prison for your boyfriend. Excuse me, your bondmate,” he corrected with a condescending nod. “It’s a mercy, I think. Dulls the pain.”

  The suction slipped over me again as I pulled my foot out of Jack’s vortex. Through the layers of smoke, I could just discern the outline of three figures standing behind Chancellor Thibault. Their faces were obscured, but I knew who they were. My best friends—the people I’d grown up with.