Conspiracy Boy (Angel Academy)

by Cecily White

  “I mean, your boyfriend isn’t going to accidentally trip and stab Luc with a broadsword, is he? I know he’s a pain in the ass, but he’s kind of my pain in the ass now.”

  My sister squinted at me for a second. “Do you have a thing for him?”

  I didn’t answer right away. Honestly, I didn’t know how to answer. No, I didn’t have a thing for Luc. I was in love with Jack. He was my bondmate. That all still felt true.

  But it wasn’t that simple anymore. Luc meant something to me, too. The problem was, I had no idea how to define it.

  “I just don’t want him dead, okay?”

  She nodded. “You may not realize this, but Luc Montaigne could be the only person standing between the Guardians and a full-on war. He’s safer with Alec than styling product at a gamer convention. Now, hurry up. We’re running low on time.”

  I stared at her back as she made her way into the tree grove. Despite her assurances, it still left a knot in my belly to leave Luc in that cabin. What did that mean, that he was the only thing keeping us from a war? Weren’t the Guardians already at war?

  And where the hell were we going in the middle of the night?

  Lisa tromped ahead through the clearing until she got to the spring, and then climbed onto a rocky ledge overlooking the water pool. Moonlight bled through the trees, casting silver shadows on her hair.

  As beautiful and confident as she’d always been, it had never occurred to me how much she resembled our mother. Now, the similarities seemed impossible to ignore. Chestnut curls, defined brow line, sloped jaw with the ever-so-slight underbite. Even Lisa’s eyes were lit with the same pain and determination I’d seen so often in Mom. With Mom, it made sense—all the battles she’d seen, all the loss she’d experienced. In Lisa, I’d always assumed it was just obsessiveness over grades and boys and stupid stuff. I could see it all now—the tightness of her features, the lost-in-thought look, like she was holding her breath until life was safe to live again. After a moment, she turned to me, and the pained expression vanished under a well-practiced smile.

  “Ready?” she asked, extending a hand.

  I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be ready for, so I didn’t respond right away. It took me a full second of staring at her hand before it occurred to me that I should take it.

  “Please don’t kill me.”

  “I’m not a masochist.”

  Good point. It wasn’t like she could kill me, unless she wanted to die herself. No amount of distance or time would change that—we’d always be two sides of the same coin, two halves of the same soul. If I died, she died with me. She could probably torture me without a ton of repercussions, but I really wasn’t feeling the psycho vibe from her. In a way, it would be easier if she was bat-poop crazy, since at least then I wouldn’t feel too bad about turning her in to the proper authorities. As it was, she still just felt like Lisa. My best friend. My sister.

  Her hand felt warm in mine.

  “Okay.” She pulled me on to the rock. “Close your eyes and don’t let go of me.”

  I let my eyes flutter shut as she flattened a hand to the air. It was similar to what I did before a portal jump, but without the wards. Which meant wherever we were going, it probably wouldn’t take us too far into the Crossworlds. Definitely not into deep subterranean territory.

  “Semper noctis,” she whispered.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then nothing started to happen very loudly. The water shut off. The air stopped moving. The leaves quit rustling. Even the moonlight seemed to freeze in its path.

  I cracked an eyelid to see what was up and immediately shut my eye again. Not that I get freaked out easily. I don’t, for the record. But when you instantaneously go from a semi-quaint forest into a blackened pit of hell, it’s a bit difficult to maintain that whole neutral-indifference thing.

  “Holy freaking hell, Lisa,” I muttered, letting my eyes creep open. “Where on God’s green earth are we?”

  “We’re not on God’s green earth,” she said, smiling. “We’re in holy freaking hell. Let’s go meet the natives.”

  A spray of dust and ash went up around her ankles as she leaped off the rocky ledge into a pile of bones. If you could still call them bones. Honestly, they looked more like the schmutz bones might become if you left them in an incinerator for too long, all dark and corroded at the edges.

  It didn’t matter that we weren’t freezing our butts off anymore. I still wouldn’t have traded my boots and leggings for the world.

  We traipsed across the grosstastic desert of death for another few minutes before Lisa bothered to speak. “So, does Jack know?”

  “Does Jack know what?”

  “That you and Luc are, like, involved.”

  I kicked a pile of bones out of my way before responding. “Luc and I aren’t involved. Not in the way you’re thinking, anyway. I’m his fledgling, that’s all.”

  “But you channeled together.”

  “So?”

  “So, that’s not really fledgling stuff,” she pointed out.

  Sigh. This was so not a conversation I wanted to have with her. “New topic, please.”

  “Alec and I set up charms around our whole perimeter to disable channels. So when you said you healed him—”

  “This isn’t a different topic, Lisa.”

  “—I knew something had to be up. You guys have a bond thing, don’t you?” She smiled. “Have you kissed him yet?”

  I drew in a deep breath—like scorched dust in my lungs—and let it out slowly. Sometimes I hated how smart she was. Why didn’t I get the brains and she get the natural ability to annoy people?

  The landscape had shifted subtly from apocalyptic wasteland to suburban apocalyptic wasteland, such that we were now walking down an abandoned street. On either side, colorless houses lay in various stages of decay and disrepair, street signs hung limply from their posts, and burned-out vehicles littered the front lawns. Except I’m not sure you could call them lawns, since there wasn’t a single blade of grass anywhere.

  “Where are we?”

  Lisa looked around thoughtfully before answering. “Missouri, I think.”

  I kicked a bullet-riddled soda can to the curb. “They may have stretched the truth a bit in their tourism pamphlets.”

  “Not the real Missouri, dummy. The one on the Nether.”

  I stopped next to a decapitated doll with a melted left foot. “Do I want to ask?”

  “Probably not,” she said. “Though I will say if you paid attention at school, you’d probably already know about this place.”

  I kicked the doll out of the way and kept walking. Because, obviously, everybody knows about the Nether, right?

  “Just a thought,” I said. “Wouldn’t it be great if we could maybe have a class at St. Michael’s titled Crap You Need to Know When Coping With an Impending Apocalypse?”

  “You should mention it to Henry,” Lisa suggested. “Not that it would help you. How’s he doing, by the way?”

  “Depressed,” I said. “Someone murdered his bondmate.”

  She didn’t even turn around. Or slow down. If anything, she picked up the pace as we rounded the corner to a new and even more dilapidated cul-de-sac. On second thought, maybe this one just looked more dilapidated because of the contrast.

  At the end of the block, surrounded by a lush green lawn and fluffy flowering trees, stood an adorable yellow craftsman house. It was the kind of house you’d see on insurance commercials when they’re trying to make you feel comfortable and safe even though a tornado’s about to rip the roof off your minivan.

  It totally failed.

  The sight of that quaint little haven, lit by gentle afternoon sunlight—the same sun that burned so harshly on every other square inch of this pit—sent the most hellacious trail of willies down my spine, I didn’t think I’d ever recover.

  “We’re all gonna die, aren’t we?”

  “Probably.” Lisa shrugged. “But don’t be too dramatic. These are good
people you’re about to meet.”

  “That’s what everyone said about the Kardashians.”

  She ignored me as we trudged up the drive to the front door. It was odd the way the wards flexed over my skin when we passed through the bubble of doom that separated the house from the neighborhood. A stiff crackle, but no acid shock. This was how the wards used to feel at St. Michael’s, before Hansen got her sadistic, little paws into them.

  “Be nice.” Lisa lifted the knocker and dropped it against the door.

  I’d half expected one of those awful, resonant clangs like at the Addams Family house. But no, it was just a normal, benign, little knock. And when the door opened, the girl who stood behind the welcome mat was just an average, pretty, twenty-something blonde carrying a dishcloth and wearing an apron.

  With a gold glyph tattooed on her wrist.

  “Um,” I said.

  “Hi, Petra.” Lisa grinned. “Is Dominic around?”

  A giant, super-friendly smile spread across the girl’s face. “Sure, come on in. I’m just getting dinner ready. Hi, Amelie. Y’all are staying, right?”

  Lisa’s grin held as she looked over at me, preparing myself to flee. “We’d love to, thanks.”

  I didn’t say a word. I didn’t think I needed to. Typically, when one is invited to dinner by an assassin, and one’s only ally is a known serial killer—unless one wants to end up on the dinner plate—it’s a good idea to decline.

  Against my better judgment, I followed them into the house.

  Afternoon sunlight spilled through the windows behind us, casting long beams across the cherry-stained hardwoods. Distant birdsong twittered in through the windows—fascinating, since there were no birds outside. And no living trees. Come to think of it, there was no living anything anywhere around here.

  “Dom’s in the backyard,” Petra said, shutting off the stove burner. Soft aromas of pasta and garlic infused the air, along with a hint of bay leaves. “For some reason, he decided an herb garden was a good idea. I have no idea why. I mean, it’s not like he eats any of it except the basil.”

  “Men.” Lisa sighed. “I’ve told Alec a hundred times to quit hunting rodents, but he won’t. We’ve got more squirrel pelts lying around than I know what to do with.”

  “Gross.” Petra checked the oven then turned to me with a smile. “Garlic bread’s almost done. You two grab a seat, and I’ll go let Dominic know you’re here. He’s been looking forward to meeting you, Amelie.”

  Like a good guest, I waited until she’d gone before I spoke.

  “Lisa, have you lost your freaking mind? Don’t answer that,” I said when she started to reply. “I don’t want to know. We’re going to die here, aren’t we?”

  “Don’t be so catastrophic,” she said. “Petra won’t hurt you. I don’t even know if she can.”

  “Oh, she can,” I assured her. “I’ve got scars.”

  “That was on the mortal plane,” Lisa argued. “Sorry about that, by the way. I just wanted her to check on you.”

  I glared at my friend. “Wait, you sent her? You did that to Lyle?”

  “Lyle was an accident,” she reminded me. “Interdimensional travel isn’t exactly a cakewalk, even for people like us.”

  “Us?” I snapped. “Don’t lump me in with these nut jobs.”

  On cue, the back door swung open and one of the nut jobs in question entered. He wasn’t what I’d expected, although I’m not entirely sure what that was. Something diabolical. Maybe something dangerous. Certainly not the tanned, scruffy-faced lawn boy who shuffled in with his gardening tools. His dark hair was pulled into a low ponytail with a piece of twine, and his pale indigo eyes twinkled with an amused glimmer that left no doubt—this was a man who smiled a lot. Despite my natural suspicion, I felt myself starting to like him. It wasn’t until he set down the tool basket and gave me a giant bear hug that I realized why.

  “Amelie, love,” he said in a light British accent. “Lisa’s told me so much about you. Cheers for looking after Luc all these months. I’ve always said my son needs a proper guardian.”

  Over his shoulder, I stared at my smug-looking sister.

  Seriously, I couldn’t speak. Even if I’d known what to say, my mouth wouldn’t have formed words.

  “Amelie”—Petra looped an arm around my shoulder—“welcome to the family.”

  Chapter Thirteen:

  Dinner of the Dead

  Dominic…Dominic Montaigne.

  It didn’t matter how many times it crawled through my brain, the name still sounded weird. This was Luc’s dad, for crying out loud. Fathers were supposed to have gray hair and wrinkles and make grumpy comments about how great things were “back in the day.” They definitely weren’t supposed to hang out in alternate dimensions with gardening spades and super-hot assassins eating garlic pasta with pesto. Speaking of which, why the hell was he eating food, anyway? Wasn’t he blood vegan?

  “Supper okay?” Dominic asked, staring at my untouched plate.

  “Not hungry,” I replied.

  “You sure?” Petra chimed in. “Old family recipe.”

  “I’m good.”

  Petra shrugged and went back to her meal.

  I still hadn’t figured that girl out. Sometimes she seemed normal as apple pie, then other times I wondered if maybe the apple pie had been baked from some wicked queen’s enchanted garden.

  Instead of eating, I found myself fingering Luc’s pendant. It didn’t seem fair that I should be here, having dinner with his dad, while he huddled on a couch with a sick case of Crossworlds taint and only Alec to keep him warm.

  “Ami’s had kind of a rough night,” Lisa explained, “with the jump and all. I gather things didn’t go as planned?”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” Petra said. “I wasn’t expecting Jack’s girlfriend to show up. She’s a serious piece of work.”

  Lisa frowned. “Jack’s girlfriend?”

  “She means Hansen,” I corrected. “They’re not together anymore.”

  Petra just raised her eyebrows and looked at her pasta in silence.

  Like I said, evil apple pie.

  After a minute, Dominic cleared his throat. “In any case, I’m pleased you and Luc have sorted things out. It can be odd, the fledgling relationship, until you get used to each other.”

  I didn’t know what he meant by “get used to each other,” and I almost didn’t want to ask. My full-throttle hate-on for Luc might have faded, but that didn’t make the idea of getting used to him any less Hitchcockian.

  Instead of dwelling on it, I decided to grab the opportunity for intel. “I do have questions about all this. If you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. It must be quite overwhelming.”

  Beside me, Lisa gave a small harrumph, and I couldn’t help agreeing.

  “For starters, what did she do to Lyle?” I jabbed a thumb at psycho Petra. “I know he’s not dead anymore, but is he going to be okay? And why did she attack me? If y’all had just told me Lisa wanted to talk, I would have come. You didn’t need to hurt my friends.”

  Petra’s face took on a bashful look as she swallowed her forkful of pasta. “I said I was sorry.”

  “No, actually, you didn’t.”

  “Ami, it’s not her fault,” Lisa explained. “She’s Netherbound.”

  I sighed. “Do I even want to ask?”

  “Every time a child of Lucifer draws from the Crossworlds,” Lisa said, “it takes a piece of your soul. The evil stays in your blood until it clouds who you are. Eventually, you aren’t able to live in the mortal world anymore. That happened to Petra. That’s why Alec and I choose to live as we do now—in the human sector. If I kept channeling the way I was the past few years, I’d be Netherbound before I’m thirty.”

  I frowned. “I thought Watchers drain the taint. Isn’t that the whole deal with the Guardians?”

  “For them, maybe. Not for us,” she replied. “Lucifer may be an archangel, but he’s also a Fallen. So yeah, we have ex
tra power. And yes, a bonded Watcher helps, obviously. But nothing comes without a price. Why do you think Guardians hunted all the Graymasons in the first place?”

  “Because they were wicked evil and liked to eat babies, or some such crap. See, I do read my Bible stories occasionally.”

  “Ami, they’re not stories.”

  That took a second to lodge in my brain. Once it did, I would have traded anything to dislodge it. Was that why I always felt so cruddy after I channeled? Because it was eating my soul? Was that why the wards at St. Michael’s had gotten tight for me now that I was channeling without Otrava to dampen my abilities? Because I’d become evil?

  I pushed the thought away.

  “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. Lisa told me you didn’t reply to her note, so I assumed you’d resist coming here,” Petra confessed.

  “How was I supposed to reply? I’m not a code breaker, you know.”

  Lisa rolled her eyes. “Nine-one-one? Four-one-one? That’s help and info, hello?”

  Yeah, that did seem pretty clear now. I opted not to respond, however, in the interest of not sounding like a dipwad.

  “Anyway,” Petra continued, “I knew you could bring back your friend. So, are we cool?”

  I opened my mouth to tell her no, we weren’t cool. But I just couldn’t. She genuinely did look upset about the idea that she’d hurt someone—like a child who tortures a puppy to death without realizing the puppy can’t be awakened with a warm bath.

  “Okay, fine. But what about Lyle now? He’s still sick,” I said. “What did you do to him?”

  “I needed a conduit,” she said, like that explained everything.

  “Meaning?”

  Lisa sighed. “She needs a Watcher to draw more than four hundred rohms. For Petra to travel back and forth safely, she has to draw about five hundred. When her blood mixed with Lyle’s at the wharf, it set up a link so she could drain into him remotely. It lets her navigate the mortal plane more effectively.”