Diabolical

by Cynthia Leitich Smith

  He smells like piss. “Come and take it,” I reply.

  Mr. Bilovski might be a friend. He might be an enemy. I’ll feel better thinking it over with a weapon in my hand.

  The handyman gestures to Andrew’s remains. “It was a vampire, wasn’t it? I wasn’t wrong this time, was I?”

  Zach grabs Andrew’s head by the hair and lifts it. We can all clearly ID fangs.

  “Bridget could use some room to breathe,” Lucy says, guiding her into the kitchenette. Away from the corpse. The other students follow, except Nigel. He’s nowhere in sight.

  What if someone bit him, too? I backtrack to knock on his door.

  It takes a couple of minutes. Then he answers in his robe. His eyes widen at the sight of my axe. “What the hell, man?”

  It’s past time to stop coddling him. “The ‘what’ is this: Bridget was attacked by Andrew, who was a vampire. Bilovski beheaded him. She’ll be fine. But she screamed her head off. Everybody started hollering. Did you hear any of it?”

  He belches. “I was out cold.”

  I tossed back a couple of beers after I was mauled by the hellhounds. But that’s not the point. “None of us can afford to be less than one hundred percent alert. I’m sorry about Willa. I am. But your drinking is not only endangering you. It’s also putting at risk whoever you might be able to save if your reflexes were sharper. Or if you were, you know, conscious.”

  Nigel rubs his eyelids. “Where’s Bridget?”

  “Kitchenette.”

  “Be there in two minutes,” he replies, shutting the door.

  I limp back down the hall. I’ve already investigated the kitchenette. The glass-fronted cabinets are fully stocked with tea, coffee, and cocoa. Instant noodle soups, microwavable miniature pasta dishes, and an array of snack food. Granola bars, yogurt-covered pretzels, raisins, crackers, chips. A number of processed pastries that could survive the total destruction of the sentient population. Inside the full-size refrigerator: a couple cartons of 2 percent milk; various sodas; an assortment of deli meats, cheeses, and bagels; a head of iceberg lettuce, some fruit, and several jellies and jams.

  “Can we agree that vampires are bad?” Vesper asks as I stroll into the room. “Oh, wait. Never mind, the werewolf is dating one.”

  “Shut up, Vesper,” Zach says. He’s a forthright guy. But I’ve never heard him take that tone with anyone before. Then again, he’s almost as attached to Quince as I am. And in a mission-from-God kind of way.

  Bridget is seated with Evie and Lucy at the table. She’s pressing a wet paper towel to her fang wounds.

  “Andrew didn’t commit suicide,” Evelyn says.

  “He didn’t hang himself?” Nigel asks from the entry.

  “He hanged himself.” Zach reaches into the refrigerator for a pear. “But it didn’t matter because he was already undead.”

  “He probably fixated on Bridget on the drive from New York,” I add. “Vamps do that. Prey are fairly disposable to them. They tend to obsess over those they intend to curse. You didn’t drink any of his blood, did you?” I ask Bridget.

  She wrinkles her nose. “No, and ick.”

  “Who knows what will happen next?” Vesper says, toying with her nail file.

  I pitch the idea that we all bunk together. Sleep in shifts.

  At first, nobody argues. They’re scared. The fact that I’m the werewolf with the axe makes me more convincing.

  Then Vesper glares up at me. “How do we know that you’re not in on it? You’re the one with knowledge of the demonic. You’re the one with the vampire girlfriend. And you’re the one with a massive double-fang scar on your neck. How many people — excuse me, werepeople — walk away from something like that?”

  The scar came from Quince’s bite. Brad, the vampire who cursed her, wagered that she couldn’t drink from me without taking my life. He lost. He retreated. At least for a time. But I don’t owe these people an explanation.

  “You’re accusing me?” I shoot back. “You’re the one who was raised by alumni.”

  “Not a secret,” Vesper clarifies. “What about you and Zachary, though? Dr. Ulman did that kill gesture at him, and nothing happened.”

  “If he were a bad guy, why would Dr. Ulman try to kill him?” Lucy asks.

  “Maybe she wasn’t really trying,” Vesper suggests.

  “I know why the administration did it.” Nigel steps more fully into the kitchenette. “Why they’re doing all of it. To turn us against each other. To make us doubt each other. So we’ll be weaker. Willa’s parents did the same thing to the two of us. We have to be stronger and smarter than that.”

  The kid’s not half bad when he’s sober.

  Zachary nods and hands me a cup of hot cocoa. “Easier prey.”

  “OOMPH!” NIGEL EXCLAIMS, helping Evelyn wrestle the last mattress into position in the first-floor casual lounge. We’ve roughly divided the space by gender. Kieren and I are closest to the entryway.

  “I’ll keep watch tonight.” Kieren props his axe against the wall. “In fact, I can keep watch half of every night. As a Wolf, I can get by on four hours of sleep.”

  “You’re still healing up,” Lucy says from a mattress across the room.

  The Wolf narrows his eyes at her. “The axe makes you uncomfortable.”

  I missed that completely. Must be one of those shifter-instinct things.

  “Guns make me uncomfortable,” Lucy replies. “Knives. Things designed for killing people. But we’re defending ourselves against homicidal demonic monsters, so I say, rock on with your bad axe. Really, I’m good with it.”

  Vesper unfurls what she’s referred to as a Persian-plum sheet. “Still, why does Kieren have exclusive control over our only weapon?”

  “It’s my axe,” he replies. “I’ve taken out a vampire with it before. And I’m strong enough to hold on to it.”

  Besides, as a werewolf, he is a weapon. He’s learned how to handle that.

  Evelyn brought a container of raisins from the kitchenette. She passes it around.

  Vesper dabs her forehead with a cold washcloth. The temperature has settled in the mideighties. It’s less bothersome to the southwestern students than to those from up north.

  “At least for tonight,” I say, “the question of watch is pointless. I doubt anyone is going to be getting much sleep.”

  Nigel, stretched out in front of the fire, begins snoring.

  “I stand corrected.”

  “About the axe,” Vesper begins again.

  Kieren holds the weapon out to her. “Try it.”

  She grips with both hands. When he lets go, her knees buckle. “Uh, never mind,” she says.

  He takes it back and gives her his flashlight instead. “This axe was forged for a vampire, the vice principal at my high school. I beheaded him with it.”

  Nobody mentions that Bilovski was able to wield the weapon. The old coot is stronger than he looks. Or maybe it was like Evelyn said about Kieren: adrenaline.

  Bridget hugs her knees. Her voice is tentative. “Kieren, I’m glad that you have vampire-hunting experience, but given that your girlfriend is undead —”

  “You want to hear the story?” he asks, grabbing a fistful of raisins.

  Everyone does. Kieren doesn’t start by explaining that neophytes are still redeemable. Or by noting that Quincie is an exception to all the rules. Instead, he passes around her junior-year photo.

  He lounges, one hand propping up his chin. “It was my ninth birthday. Dad set up a treasure-chest piñata in my backyard. Quince’s swing tore it open. She ignored the candy. The confetti horns. The plastic doubloons.

  “She put on an eye patch. She ran up to me and bellowed, ‘Ahoy, matey!’

  “Quince was adorable. I loved her, even then. I didn’t care when other boys teased me about having a girl as a best friend. After everyone else went home, I told her the whole truth about what I was. My parents had warned me to trust no one. Every day. Like a mantra. A prayer. I put my faith in Quince
anyway.”

  The girls are hooked. I excuse myself to go to the restroom.

  I stroll through the formal living room and foyer toward the restroom past the Bilovskis’ apartment. I can’t hear any voices or see any light beneath their door.

  In the men’s room, I splash my face at the sink. When I look up in the mirror, the devilish face is superimposed on mine. Like with Ulman, only the fit is better. As if it’s a custom-made mask.

  “Dude!” whispers a voice. A hand clamps on my shoulder.

  “Gah!” I exclaim, turning to face Joshua. “You scared me.”

  “Yeah, I got that from the way you jumped and the girly shriek.”

  “I did not shriek.” I glance back at the mirror and my face looks normal again. “Where have you been? Can you tell me —”

  “Where have I been?” He folds his arms across his chest. “I am not your genie. I’m not your feisty redheaded assignment’s genie either. I’m an angel of the order guardian and deserving of some respect. You and your young ladies”— he uses air quotes around “young ladies”—“got me into this mess, and —”

  I shush him. “What are you talking about? I’m the one who’s —”

  “Yeah, uh-huh, it’s all about you. The famous, fantabulous, slipped Zachary.”

  While he’s ranting, I peek outside the restroom door to make sure no one’s eavesdropping. All clear. Except maybe for whatever the hell that was in the mirror.

  “Well, I’ve got news for you, dude. It’s just a matter of time before Michael hauls my ass into his office for a full review of your file and shows up to check on you himself.”

  That would be bad. “Can you stall him?”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing? Meanwhile, I’m trying to babysit your —”

  “Is Quincie okay? I thought she was watching movies at the B and B.”

  “Now you ask. It’s been three days. She’s conniving a way into this place so she can rescue you and her hirsute honey, or try to anyway. Kieren told you this would happen. You know as well as I do that you can’t expect that girl —”

  “I warned her how dangerous the school could be. Especially to a neophyte vampire, wholly souled or not. She doesn’t belong here.”

  “Neither do you. Find a way out, Zachary. Get back to Quincie, and start doing the job you’re supposed to do. Now.”

  At about 2 A.M., Bridget whispers, “Why do bad things keep happening?”

  “We’re being schooled,” Vesper replies. “It’s all part of the curriculum.”

  “I was under the impression,” Lucy says, “that they’re trying to graduate the strongest, the survivors. Like some unholy reality television game.”

  “If that were true,” Bridget counters, “why would Dr. Ulman be teaching Physical Fitness and Combat, of all things? She doesn’t even have a physical presence.”

  “Why only one faculty member?” Kieren asks, as if surprised it didn’t occur to him before. “Granted, we’re not a big class. Maybe only ghosts are eligible to teach because we can’t fight them.”

  I see what they’re getting at. “How hard could it be to find a gym teacher in hell?” I ask.

  “Not very,” chimes in every other student in the darkened room.

  I fall asleep sometime after four. Bridget shakes us awake before the alarm goes off. She brought her Bible from home. She suggests holding a makeshift church service.

  “You may want to carry that with you,” Kieren suggests.

  Lucy joins them in an impromptu prayer group.

  Meanwhile, Vesper announces that she wants to take a shower. Evelyn goes along so Vesper won’t be alone on the second floor.

  Nigel and I duck in to the kitchen. Mrs. Bilovski has laid out her traditional breakfast spread. “What are you children all doing downstairs?” she asks.

  “Safety in numbers,” Nigel says. “We thought —”

  “There is no safety,” the cook replies. “There is only prodding the Beast or not prodding the Beast. I’m warning you: do not provoke it. Do not invite it further in.”

  Transcript of Call:

  Vampires Quincie Morris and Queen Sabine

  1/9, 7:43 A.M.

  Sabine: What is this about another letter of reference? After what I said when we last spoke, you nevertheless dare to invoke my name with the Prince of Darkness?

  Quincie: What are you so nervous about, Your Majesty? He’s a prince. You’re a queen. Doesn’t that mean you outrank him?

  Sabine: Do not be insipid. You know it does not. It occurs to me that, because I graced your quaint little restaurant with my royal presence on Halloween night, you assume we are friends. We are not. Whatever your heavenly associations, you are still a vampire, and that makes me your sovereign.

  Quincie: I thought you’d kicked me out, waived my taxes and everything.

  Sabine: I have reconsidered.

  Quincie: Because?

  Sabine: I have news for you, young gentry-woman. My consort Philippe spoke personally to a Scholomance representative. In an unexpected turn of events, the administration is, and I quote, “delighted” by your application and “honored” by my recommendation. In fact, you were described as having been targeted as “a prospective student of highest interest” for some time, and your application approval process is being expedited.

  Quincie: So it’s a trap. Fine. I’m going in anyway.

  THIS MORNING, Kieren decides not to risk Ulman’s wrath by bringing his axe to class. Using shifter strength and hardware from our luggage, he mounts it in the chimney of his room’s fireplace. He singes the hair on his arms in the process.

  In Underworld Governments, we’ve been assigned to do semester-long independent studies, to culminate in oral reports. I pick the old-school Chicago mafia as my topic. Now that Kieren’s Wolf heritage is public knowledge, I want to make a point about what human beings are capable of. Besides, Moran and Capone feuded as much over acquiring demonic knowledge as they did over money, territory, and bragging rights.

  Evelyn backs me up by choosing the National Council for Preserving Humanity, and Lucy does the same by selecting the Ku Klux Klan. Kieren calls Wolves. Nigel, the kingdom of hell. Bridget and Vesper defer their decisions.

  Ulman herself seems at a loss in Physical Fitness & Combat. It isn’t just that she has no corporeal presence. I suspect she’s never physically faced off against anyone or, if she did, won. For the last two days, she’s assigned us to do calisthenics and to jog around the track.

  It makes me wonder about her employer. Lucifer is known for his ego, Michael for his work ethic. My angelic performance may be short of the archangel’s expectations, but I’m sure he carefully considers each mission he assigns. From what I can tell, the adversary stuck Ulman in this class, without a whole lot of thought, to fend for herself on his behalf. She doesn’t matter. The class doesn’t matter. This so-called school is a joke.

  “Kieren,” Ulman calls as he limps around the far curve, “your performance is insufficient. Minimum standards must be met.” Without further warning, she extracts her lace-trimmed handkerchief from her bodice. “My available discretion is limited.”

  Crap. For a moment everyone freezes, remembering what happened to Willa. The Wolf is on the opposite side of the room. If Ulman flicks her wrist, there’s no way I can make it across the gym in time to block her attack with my immortal body.

  Lucy’s hand shoots up. “Dr. Ulman, I, um, I . . . have a green belt in tae kwon do. I volunteer to share my knowledge with my fellow classmates.”

  For the first time, Ulman smiles. “Very good. Do take over. I will supervise.”

  I don’t remember Lucy studying tae kwon do. It’s possible that she took a class or two after Drac Radford made off with Miranda. I can see where that experience would inspire her to learn more about self-defense. Plus, she went through an obsessive period of watching the entire Buffy the Vampire Slayer TV series in back-to-back episodes during the summer after seventh grade. But Lucy’s never been m
uch of a student.

  On the other hand, she gets an A in distracting the teacher.

  We gather in two staggered rows, a few feet in front of the parallel bars. Nigel, Kieren, and Bridget in back. Me, Evelyn, and Vesper up front.

  Lucy faces us as Ulman hovers above the track behind her and to the right. Ulman hasn’t tucked the handkerchief away, but she doesn’t seem mindful of it either.

  “Tae kwon do,” Lucy begins with only five minutes of class left, “is a Korean martial art. It has an emphasis on kicking. . . .” She glances at Kieren’s bandaged calf. “And punching.” She grimaces at his shoulder injury. Still, she’s kept him alive this long.

  Trying to mimic Lucy’s demonstration, we punch thin air. I can’t see Kieren in back of me, but I hear him suck in a sharp breath on the first punch.

  Nigel whispers to the Wolf, “You’re bleeding again.”

  “Kieren.” Glancing at the cloth in her hands, Ulman apparently remembers what she was saying when Lucy’s arm shot up. “Your performance is insufficient. Minimum standards must be met. My available discretion is limited.”

  A wave of her wrist, and he’s gone. Completely. Unlike Willa, whose body remained after her life was extinguished, there’s no trace of him left in the gym.

  “You killed him!” Evelyn exclaims as the initial shock begins to dissipate.

  “I did no such thing,” Ulman replies. “I merely relocated him to his personal quarters. His situation did not parallel Willa’s. He did not willfully defy me. My available discretion is limited, but I do have some.”

  Ulman vanishes. The digital clock on the wall reads 2:45 P.M. We’re excused.

  Everyone sprints for the elevator. We’re silent as it rises to the second floor, and then we all trip over each other, barreling to Kieren’s room at the end of the hall.

  Lucy tries the door — locked. She and Evelyn beat their fists against it. Seconds pass, a moment, then the door opens.

  Kieren’s blurry, confused. Swaying a bit. “What?”

  Everyone crowds in, laughing, cheering. Nigel calls the Wolf bro. Bridget wraps her arms around him from the back and bursts into tears.