by Joanna Wiebe
A lump is in my throat. I can’t swallow it down.
“My apologies, but this happens from time to time, as I’m sure Dr. Zin told you,” Hiltop says, flicking a stony glare as she walks by an unfazed Dr. Zin. “Cania Christy cannot guarantee that every child can be vivified. Naturally, understanding that we could not fulfill our end of the exchange, your contract is now null and void.”
“What do you mean this happens? What do you mean no guarantee? Why can’t you do what you said?” Mrs. Smith looks frantically at each of us. She bounces on the spot as if torn between rushing to hold the animated body of her son, a body that appears far healthier than Damon must have been in his last days, and cowering from the dismal monster that teeters in confusion. “Where’s Damon? Where’s my baby boy? What is this atrocity? Zin didn’t tell us anything about—what the hell is this?” She shoots a stinging glare at me and Hiltop. “Did you know this would happen, you little freaks? Is this some sort of edgy story for your stupid paper?”
My tongue knots. Hiltop looks expectantly at Dr. Zin, who, inebriated, shrugs like it’s not his problem.
“Would you like me to walk them out?” Dr. Zin asks Dia.
“No!” Mr. Smith insists. “No. That’s not the answer. There’s no walking us out. No. No, make Damon be here. It doesn’t get simpler than that. You said you would. What more do you need? What more can I give you?”
I drop my eyes the moment Mr. Smith fumbles to remove his watch, as if this is one of those problems you can solve by hocking your Rolex. When I dare to look up again, I find him with his hands fidgeting helplessly at his sides; his fingers are stripped of rings; his jewelry is pooled in Dia’s hands alongside the vial of blood.
His wife bolts from the room. She slams the door and attracts Damon’s vacant stare.
Mr. Smith’s reddened gaze falls on the boy. “Why is he like this?”
Hiltop nudges Dia, who hands the jewelry back to Mr. Smith and says, “Each of our souls is on a continuum. It stops in bodies— in different lives—along the way. Being Damon was just one stop on his journey. Usually we’re able to vivify before the next stop. That wasn’t the case today.”
“Are you talking about reincarnation?”
“Exactly.”
“So, wait,” Mr. Smith sniffles, taking a silk handkerchief from his coat and blowing his nose as his gaze rolls to and from the rocking boy. “Are you saying that Damon—hold on, can you please do something to get rid of this abomination? It breaks my heart to see him like this. Even if it’s just his body.”
Dia holds the vial up and, without a thought, tosses it into the fireplace. In moments, the glass heats enough to shatter, drizzling blood into the flames. Damon Archibald Smith gradually vanishes; Mr. Smith turns his eyes away like he’s been slapped, and I’ve gotta say that, as cool as I think I am with death thanks to growing up in a funeral home, even I have to glance away.
Again, Mr. Smith blows his nose. When he turns back to Hiltop and Dia, he looks more composed.
“I don’t want the contract to be null and void,” Mr. Smith says. “I died the day cancer took Damon, so I’ll be happy for the distraction of building your college.”
“We can’t bring your boy back,” Dia says.
“I will give you what you wanted—that college in the village—if you will tell me this: Who has my son been reincarnated as? When we’re finished building your college, I intend to move to wherever he is and watch him grow.”
Dia begins to protest, but Mr. Smith holds his hand up to silence him and turns instead to Hiltop.
“You,” he says to her. “You’re the one running this, right?”
“Until recently, yes. Now I’m more of an advisor.”
“And you, too?” He looks at me.
I stammer, “No. Not me. Not at all.”
“So you’re just a dead kid this actually worked on?”
Hiltop brings the conversation back on track. “I’m the one you want to talk to.”
“Have you still got what it takes to track a deceased child’s soul? Can you help me?”
I’m stunned at how much Mr. Smith knows. Do all parents know there’s more to Cania Christy than a magic show?
“I am always open to…interesting exchanges.”
“Good,” Mr. Smith says. He glances at Dia, too. “Good. I’m not here to judge. I just want to know what my boy is doing. Where he’s living. Who he was reincarnated as. Tell me that, and you’ll get your college.”
I FOLLOW DR. Zin, Hiltop, and Mr. Smith out of Dia’s office, leaving Dia staring after us with a particularly unsettling glow in his dark eyes. Only the clamor of the hallway filled with Guardians can tear my eyes from his. I snake through them until I spy Pilot.
“What are you guys doing here?” I ask him.
“We heard the Moron Parade was about to begin, and—voilà— here you are,” he says. “Why should I tell you?”
Just as he finishes his question, his face crumples. And I turn to see Invidia standing behind me. She flips her thick black-and-green hair and, to my surprise, asks Pilot to answer my question properly. He looks tongue-tied at first, but, with his eyes downcast, he eventually gets it out.
“Dia’s making a change to the Big V competition,” he explains.
“And what do you have to say to Miss Merchant?” she asks him. Before he answers, she turns to me and touches my hair. “You have the loveliest hair.”
“Um, thank you.”
I catch Pilot’s stare out of the corner of my eye. He looks a little less weirded out than I am, but pretty much pushed to the edge. Around us, other faculty members—those who serve Mephisto and those who serve Dia—are turning to watch Invidia twist one of my curls around her slender finger. Standing this close to her, I spy a tattoo under her clavicle; it’s an unbalanced scale, the heavier side stacked with emeralds; the longer I stare at it, the more it seems to gleam. I think my heart skips a beat—just a slight palpitation, but noticeable.
“Pilot,” Invidia keeps her gaze on me, “you were saying?”
“I’m sorry,” he says to me.
“For…?”
“For saying you’re a moron, Anne.”
“Because, in fact, Miss Merchant is…?”
“Very”—he looks like he might choke on this—“smart.”
Invidia smiles, releases my lock of hair, and saunters to the door. Casting one last smile at me, she swings the door in and leads the Guardians into Dia’s office.
Certain everyone here is crazier than a squirrel in a nuthouse, I zip through the atrium and push open the doors of Goethe Hall, stepping into a rare sunlit morning. I catch a short glimpse of someone just on the other side of the gates. A brown-haired girl. She’s not wearing a school uniform. She’s simply standing there, looking in, with sunlight through the trees casting shadows over her face.
“Hello?” I call. “Is someone there?”
The girl steps backward and vanishes into the shadows.
“Miss Merchant!” a woman calls.
I whirl to see Garnet Descarteres stomping my way. I’ve barely had time to gulp when she halts before me, raises her hand, and moves to slap me. I just duck out of the way—to the hoot of that strange, unseen girl outside the gates—but, even still, I feel exactly what Garnet wanted me to: embarrassment, pain, intimidation.
“Take it easy,” I say and dodge around her.
That’s not gonna happen. She tugs my arm until I can’t help but face her again. Anywhere else, a teacher would be fired for touching a student like this; here, it’s a dog-eat-dog world, and I’m going to need to bite back to survive.
“What?” I snap at her.
“He’s mine.”
“I’m not going to fight over a guy. Not with anyone, least of all you.”
“What does that mean, least of all me?”
“It doesn’t mean anything! Look, I’m sorry—”
“You’re gonna be sorry.”
“Shouldn’t you be inside with the
rest of the Guardians, Garnet?”
“Shouldn’t you be making out with my boyfriend somewhere? He’s not going to fight for the Big V because of you! Do you understand that, you selfish cow?”
She pushes her enviably pretty face toward mine, and waves her fist near my face, so close I see the faintest shadow of a shackle on her wrist. It throws me. I’ve barely had time to process the fact that she surrendered her soul for this time with Ben.
“If you had a heart, you’d force him to be with me, Merchant. Without me, he’s dead. You know that. But you sit quietly while he slowly kills himself.”
“No one’s stopping you from helping him! You could be inside right now getting the scoop on whatever Dia’s telling all the other Guardians.”
She flinches like she hadn’t thought I’d see things so clearly. Rather than arguing the point, she pushes me hard in the chest. She might have kept pushing, and that pushing might have led to an actual fight, if we weren’t interrupted. Behind us, all at once, a stampede of Guardians tramples out the doors and down the steps. Like a herd of wildebeests, they race around us; they envelop me and Garnet. I check to see if they’re being chased and hear my name just as I spot Pilot, who’s calling for me. Sidestepping the throng, Pilot reaches for me, yanks my arm, and drags me away from Garnet and total pandemonium.
“Anne, it’s incredible!” he gasps, his perfectly straight teeth dazzling. Behind me, the last of the Guardians stream out noisily, letting the massive oak doors fall shut behind them. I turn to see them dart onto the path others have stomped into the grass and whiz away— until Pilot tugs me back to him. Garnet has fled with the crowd. “You and me, we’re gonna get serious about the Big V now, Annie.”
“Don’t call me Annie. That nickname died when you did.”
He tries to catch his breath. “K. Fine. Walk and talk?”
Reluctantly, I turn toward the quad with him. The pack of Guardians has dispersed; a few that have found their students are whispering with them in little pairs next to Valedictorian Hall, in the middle of the quad, near the dorms, by the cafeteria, outside of the Rex Paimonde building and Heorot Hall—everywhere. A conversation finishes and a duo high-fives; another finishes and a Guardian and student actually hug.
“Anne, listen, I know we’ve had our differences.”
I laugh.
“But I want you to know that I’ve always, deep down inside, been fully committed to seeing you win the Big V. I was just doing what Mephisto told me to.”
“Sure.”
“Hey, you weren’t exactly a good friend to me, either.”
“This world is doomed if you’re giving lessons on how to treat people.”
“I faked a friendship with you—and I was only partly faking, Annie. But I didn’t kill you.”
“You faked a friendship with me so you could live while I died. You would have killed me. I just killed you faster.”
“You’re in a coma! You wouldn’t have died.” He can see I’m not buying it. “Look, I’m ready to help you win the Big V now. We can do this. Together.”
“What’s in it for you?”
“‘In it for’—Anne, whatever could you mean?”
Guessing it’s something big, I pull back. “Forget it. If you’re gonna lie to me—”
“Fine!” He stops me from leaving. And sighs. “I get something, too, if you win.”
The only reward that could possibly inspire Pilot hits me. “It’s life, isn’t it?”
“See? This is why you’re going to win! You’re razor sharp.” He smiles awkwardly as I roll my eyes. “Dia wanted to up the ante for us. The winning Guardian gets one wish granted, and, yes, that could include a new life.”
“As long as there’s something in it for you, you’ll help me.”
“Totally!”
“That’s not something to be proud of, Pilot.”
“I’m helping you!” he defends, throwing his hands out and tracking me as I veer away. “How can you find fault in my motivations? So what if I get something? You’ll get something, too. And, Anne, you can win this. I happen to know you’ve got excellent untapped skills. We just have to change your PT, and you’re good to go.”
“We don’t just have to do anything. I’m alive, remember? I don’t need the Big V.”
“But we could win. Easily. Cakewalk.”
“I’m done with you, Stone! I wish I had Teddy as my Guardian again.”
He stops cold as I march on. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Go to Hell. Again.”
“Anne, there’s more to winning the Big V than a second life!”
Now I stop cold.
“It’s trivial stuff for most of us,” he continues. “But it could be big for you.”
I turn to him. “Spill it.”
“Riches.” He drags the word out. “Everything you’d need for a great new life. Valedictorians have gotta set up a new identity, move somewhere no one will recognize them, buy a house, go to school, get a car, all that stuff. Money was nothing for Mephisto, and it’s nothing for Dia. These rewards are a little extra perk for the person destined to be a great success in this world. You’d get…a lot. As in never-worry-about-money-again a lot.”
I could go to Brown.
Buy a New York brownstone.
Open an art gallery.
My dad could start new, too.
“Why is this the first I’m hearing of these ‘riches’?”
“Like I said, it’s small potatoes to most of us. Life is our big prize.” He can see me considering it, and I wish I could pretend I’m not intrigued. “We’d need to change your PT, though, to guarantee your victory. See, I work with Lou Knows—the janitor—and he told me something about you. About your soul. Something I don’t think you know, but you really, really should.”
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure if I’m allowed to tell you. Just lemme find out—I don’t wanna piss anyone off. But, Annie, truly, if we change your PT to one that’s more like Harper’s—”
I should’ve seen that coming! Harper’s PT is to succeed by using her sexual desirability, which is possibly the most offensive PT ever committed in blood. Teddy spent his time as my Guardian trying to convince me that I was predisposed to such a PT, and now Pilot’s trying to do the same thing.
“Do you find it hard to look in the mirror?” I snarl.
His smile vanishes, and he grabs me by the arm. “Don’t make this worse than it has to be. It’s a simple win-win arrangement. You scratch my back—”
“And you’ll stab mine?” I free my arm. “Pilot, be real. This ‘magical reward’ Dia’s promised you? It’s impossible. You don’t have any blood or sources of Pilot Stone’s DNA. You’ve only got your soul, which was barely enough to qualify you as a human before.”
“He can make me human again.”
“Even powerful demons—even devils—even Lucifer—can’t make a human.”
The sunlight slips behind a cloud, and Pilot becomes a still, silent silhouette.
“Look, I’m sorry to rain on your parade.” I shove my fists into my cardigan pockets.
“You’re missing the obvious.” His voice is as cold as the wind blowing down from Canada. “Think of all the long-dead people who’ve left pieces of themselves behind. Frozen blood. Locks of hair. All perfectly usable DNA samples.”
“So you’re going to find Einstein’s hair and, like, be reborn as Einstein? Good plan.”
“I’m talking about sure things, Anne, not fantasy.”
“Right. Because you’re firmly planted in the real world.”
“Actual DNA,” he continues to explain. “The stuff you find in mummies. I’m talking about reincarnating as one of the kings who ruled thousands of years ago. Their souls have moved on, so there’s plenty of room for me under their skin. Museums are filled with the DNA of ancient royals, and when my dad gets his hands on some”—he steps into the sunlight—“I can and will be born again. My soul. In the body of
King Tutankhamen.”
“You realize Tut had a super-long head and a cleft palate, right?”
“Don’t mock me.”
“To mock you, I’d have to entertain the possibility of this actually happening for you, or of me helping you. Let me clear this up for you right now: it’ll be a cold day in your neck of the woods before I fight for the Big V.” His frustrated glare follows me as I spot Ben and start away. “I don’t want your prize, Pilot. I wasn’t kidding when I threw your vial over the cliff. You deserve to be exactly where you are.”
BEN AND I are on the fourth floor of the library. He is flipping through a massive Latin dictionary, and I’m reading about the celestial rules believed to dictate the creation of human beings.
“See!” I say, smacking the page every time some ancient religious scholar proves me right. “Dia would need a physical human body to put Pilot’s dark, ugly little soul in. And to create that body, he’d need the combined DNA, masterfully united, of two humans. He ain’t got that. Those are the rules. Boom.”
“‘Invidia’ means envy,” Ben tells me.
“And,” I continue uninterrupted, “although these books are a tad outdated, it seems like every time the underworld has tried to make a human, it’s been a disaster. The closest was Jack the Ripper, so”—I meet eyes with Ben—“clearly the recipe is still in the test-kitchen phase.”
The lights and the heat on this little-visited floor of the library have been off, broken, or flaky for as long as Ben can remember, which is why we’re sitting in a circle of candles of all shapes and sizes, some of them scented. We’re reading over their dim glow, rubbing our hands every so often over their flickering flames, and starting to get a little hungry from the aroma of melting vanilla and brown sugar. Outside, it’s dark already, and sleet hits the windows with flat thuds. If Ben hadn’t spazzed about our uberbrief kissing session the other night, I might think something would happen here, in this perfectly romantic setting. But there’s room for a whole extra person to sit between us.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Something about wanting a fresh-baked cookie?” I guess and blow out the vanilla candle. “You actually said”—I put my book down—“that invidia means envy. In Latin.”
