Demon Guard

by Samantha Britt

  Vivian had shared my initial horror, and she’d vowed to speak with the headmistress about painting the room a different color. She’d been outraged that the academy would allow any of its honored students to face such an unsavory welcome into their new residence. I kind of agreed with her. St. Michael’s is known for training the wealthiest of the wealthy. Then again, maybe some people liked the vomit yellow color? To each their own, I guess.

  But Vivian had immediately ducked out of the room and returned with the good news that Cortney and I would be allowed to paint the room any color we wanted. I wasn’t thrilled about the manual task in front of me, but I’d suck it up and paint if it meant I didn’t have to look at the ugly walls any more.

  Imagine my relief when Cortney told me her parents had hired a painting service to come paint our room. They would be coming by this morning while we were at class and be done by this evening.

  So, no manual labor for me. My new life is already off to a great start.

  The door to the dorm opens. Cortney enters wearing nothing but a bath towel. Drops of water drip from her soaking hair. “Good morning,” she greets in her bubbly voice. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Fine.” I can fall asleep anywhere. “You?”

  “I slept great!” She smiles. “My mattress pad is heavenly. Do you want one? I can totally ask my parents to pick one up for you.” Once again, I’m thrown by how genuinely kind Cortney is. I’m good at reading people, and it’s obvious this girl doesn’t have any ulterior motives. She’s just nice for the sake of being nice.

  “I’m good for now,” I tell her, then add, “Thanks anyway.”

  “No problem.” Cortney walks to her dresser and pulls out a pair of underwear, a bra, and one of her uniforms. “Sorry about the water,” she tells me, gesturing to the puddle gathering at her feet. “I forgot I needed to take my clothes with me. I’m not used to communal showers, you know?”

  “I get it.” I turn around without her needing to ask. I don’t know about her, but I like privacy when I change.

  “Are you excited to start classes today?” Cortney makes conversation as she dries off and shimmies into her clothes. Her voice is muffled as she pulls on her shirt.

  “Yeah.” More like: I’m excited to finally be on track to one day hunt down demons, and this is the step I need to get there.

  “It really sucks we’re in different groups.”

  “Totally,” I agree. The incoming class at St. Michael’s is divided into two groups: Group A and Group B. Our daily schedules are similar, except the class subjects and times are flipped, allowing for smaller class sizes. Unfortunately, that means the only times Cortney and I will see each other during the day are meals and whenever we have Combatives class. That’s the only one all novice students take together.

  “Oh well, at least we can eat together. Let’s make a deal. Whoever gets to the cafeteria first saves the other a seat. Sound good?”

  I smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Awesome! You can turn around now, by the way. I’m decent.”

  I rotate and lean against my bed’s headboard. Cortney’s hair is damp, but it’s no longer dripping. I can already see it twisting into her usual curls. Her white blouse is plain except for the dark blue thread which outlines St. Michael’s insignia on the left side of her chest. The fabric is fitted at the waist, flaring out a bit as it reaches her hips. Cortney opts to wear the navy blue skirt, while I think I’m going to go with the pants. Both are accepted variations of the academy’s uniform. A blue tie hangs loosely around her neck. She’ll have to fix that before we leave the dorm. St. Michael’s is strict about their dress code.

  “Do you want to get breakfast? I usually don’t eat in the mornings, but I’ll sit with you if you want.” Cortney pulls a comb from her toiletry basket and begins to run it through her hair.

  I glance at the clock and see we only have thirty minutes until our first class. I’m not usually one to skip breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day, after all. But I don’t want to risk being late on my very first day.

  “That’s okay. I’ll just have a granola bar.” Vivian had loaded me up with my favorite chewy, chocolate chip breakfast bars.

  Cortney bobs her head. She sits down at her desk, produces a hand mirror, and begins to apply her makeup. Begrudgingly, I force myself to get out of bed. I shuffle to my dresser and retrieve the shower caddy sitting on top of it. I don’t have time to wash my hair, but I can rinse my body real fast.

  I’m gone for less than ten minutes. Learning from Cortney’s mistake, I brought my clothes with me and I return to the room fully dressed with my tie perfectly knotted in place. I’d learned to tie the unfamiliar accessory from Lex.

  My roommate sits on the edge of her bed, knees bouncing with nervous anticipation. Still, she manages a smile. “You ready?”

  I drop off my caddy, grab my brown leather bookbag, and nod. “Let’s do this.”

  You know, one might think a demon fighting society would commission badass tech or state of the art facilities to train their up and coming members. But no. I sit in room 201 of the illustrious historical building, in a room filled with twenty of the same uncomfortable, wobbly chairs found in your typical high school.

  The desks may look relatively new, but I swear, whatever company makes them intentionally designs them to become uneven after one use. Seriously. There is nothing more annoying than trying to take notes on a table that constantly shifts up and down as you move your pencil.

  I’m in the last aisle of seats, farthest from the door. Despite sleeping in, I managed to get here with ten minutes to spare. I hear other Group B students trickle in, but I keep my gaze trained on the windows to my left. The entire wall is made of glass. Thick glass, by the looks of it.

  The view reveals the inner courtyard. It’s decorated with lush plants and flowering bushes. Flat stone slabs line the path for students to take shortcuts from one building to another. Each of the four buildings is connected with a series of passages and stairs. But again, the building is old and navigating isn’t the easiest. During good weather, the courtyard is definitely the way to go.

  A cackle of laughter reaches my ears. Against my better judgement, I turn to see who could be making such an annoying raucous at this early hour.

  Lo and behold, my eyes lock with none other than Lauren Thibodeaux.

  Great. Little miss social climber is in my group. Just my luck.

  The stunning girl’s smile falters for only a moment when she sees me, then it swiftly morphs into a belittling sneer. She whispers something to the girl beside her. I think that one’s Fiona.

  Whatever Lauren says, it makes Fiona look up and take her turn to look at me. Then, the two burst out into another bout of laughter. All I can do is roll my eyes. I’d thought I’d left the mean, preppy girls behind in high school. Wishful thinking on my end.

  I won’t do anything to antagonize Lauren any further. My remark at the end of the welcoming ceremony had been enough. But if she or her cronies continue to come after me, I don’t care what the academy’s stance on fighting is, I’ll let Lauren have it. I’m not going to spend the next two years dodging her insults or looking the other way. I’m not that big of a person.

  A new figure sweeps into the room. His black robe billows out behind him. Our instructor doesn’t say a word. He settles his briefcase on the desk at the front of the room and begins to take out a book and packets of paper. I take the opportunity to observe him. He’s one of the middle-aged instructors. His hair is brownish-blond, and his eyes are a dull blue. He’s pale, and his mouth is twisted in an unwelcoming scowl. Either someone had a bad start to his day, or this guy is a real peach.

  Finally, our instructor looks up. “Good morning, class.”

  “Good morning,” we reply.

  “My name is Instructor Kevin Jones,” his eyes graze over us in a vague, disinterested way, “and I am your Introduction to Demonology teacher.”

  The room murmur
s an uncomfortable chorus of second greetings, but I’m unable to speak. I stare at the instructor with wide, disbelieving eyes.

  Kevin Jones? That’s my mother’s last name. And once upon a time, it’d been my last name too. Could he be related to me somehow?

  Immediately, logic forces me to dismiss the idea.

  I don’t know much about my mom’s past, but I’d overheard enough chatter from Charles’s high-powered friends whenever they visited the house. The Guardians think my mom kept me from their society on purpose… like she has a secret to hide.

  At first, the accusation angered me, but the more I thought about it, the more I agreed with them. Why else would my mom not tell me what I am? Other than some vague promise to stay away from people with weird colored eyes, she’d never said anything strange or out of the ordinary. She’d certainly concealed me from the Guardian world, and logic says she must’ve had some reason. Only, I don’t believe her secret is nefarious like the others do.

  Regardless, my mom wouldn’t go by her given name if she’d been trying to hide from the Guardian world. I accept our last name is probably not Jones.

  “My expectations of you are as follows,” Instructor Jones begins to walk the aisles between the desks. “First, you will arrive to class on time. If you plan to be late, don’t bother showing up. I do not take kindly to such disrespect.” He reaches the end of the first aisle and begins walking up the next.

  “Second, you will not speak during my instruction unless called upon. You may have questions, but I will decide whether or not to permit you to ask them.”

  My lips turn down. What kind of teacher discourages their students from asking questions? How else are we supposed to fix misconceptions or solidify our knowledge?

  “Third, no one is to leave class without permission. I don’t care if you are sick or in dire need of the restroom. Take care of these matters before class begins. There is much you need to learn about our enemy, and every moment of my lessons will be vital in your education.”

  Okay, it’s official. Instructor Jones has an ego and a stick up his ass. There’s no way in hell I’m not going to get up to use the restroom if I need to. Not even my high school teachers tried to exert that much power over our actions. Most of us here are legal adults. I’m sorry, you can’t tell an adult they can’t go to the bathroom. You just can’t.

  “Does anyone have any questions?” Instructor Jones asks, gazing around the room. This time, he actually looks at our faces.

  No one says a word.

  The instructor is on his way back to his desk when his eyes land on me. I don’t know what expression I’m wearing, but it makes his eyes darken.

  “Is something wrong, Miss Van der Klay?” He stops beside my desk, looking down on me with a scowl.

  I’m only mildly startled by the fact he already knows my name. Then again, there are only forty of us. He and the other instructors probably made a point to memorize all of our names.

  “No, Instructor Jones.” I make a point to hide my earlier irritation with the man, careful to sound respectful.

  “Indeed?” He doesn’t move on. “Are you sure? You seem… bothered. Was it due to my expectations? Do you object to them?”

  Hell yes, I do.

  I hold back. “No, Sir.”

  “Hmm.” I can tell he doesn’t believe me but unless he has some mindreading ability I’ve never heard of, he can’t prove it. “Good.”

  Instructor Jones returns to the front of the room. He spins around, making his robe sway dramatically. “Let’s begin. First, who can tell me the three categories we have for demons.”

  Several hands fly into the air.

  “Miss Thibodeaux.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see the preppy girl straighten, preening with victory. “Higher, Mundane, and Lower, Sir.”

  “Very good.” Instructor Jones nods. “And who can explain the difference between the three?”

  Less hands lift in the air this time.

  “Mr. Michael?” My eyes snap up and find the owner of the name. It’s the guy who sat beside Cortney at the welcoming ceremony. I recognize his sleek hairstyle. He’s a Michael? As in, a descendant of Saint Francis Michael, the founder of this academy and one of the most badass demon fighters in history?

  I’m not the only one who stares at the guy. No doubt, we’re all wondering if he could really be related to our school’s founding father.

  If he notices the attention, he doesn’t show it. His voice is smooth and even as he answers the question, “Higher demons are the oldest and most powerful of their kind. Stories say they’ve been around since the days of Thaddeus, and their abilities and strengths make them the hardest to kill.”

  Instructor Jones nods, and he even tries to force his mouth into a smile. He’s obviously trying to get in good with this kid. That convinces me: Mr. Michael is definitely related to someone important.

  “Mundane demons are your average demon. They tend to do the bidding of higher demons, though they aren’t very intelligent. They come in all shapes and sizes, strengths and powers, but the main weapon used is their venom. One bite from a mundane demon, and anyone who doesn’t receive the antidote will turn into one of them.”

  I shudder at the thought of such a fate. Mundane demons are mindless, soulless creatures. They can’t even think for themselves. Anyone who turns into them loses their personality and any sense of self. Or so Vivian has told me.

  I’d often complained about the weekly lessons she’d imposed to educate me about demons and the Guardian world. But, at this moment, I have to thank her for pushing the lessons on me. I’d be embarrassingly ignorant without them.

  “Very good, Mr. Michael. Thank you.” Instructor Jones lays it on thick. “How about we let someone else demonstrate their knowledge by taking over and telling us about lesser demons.” He looks at the nineteen of us. No one raises their hand. They aren’t given the chance.

  “Miss Van der Klay? How about you? What can you tell us about lesser demons?”

  I don’t understand this guy’s game. Is he trying to embarrass me? If so, it won’t work.

  “Lesser demons are those who maintain some shred of humanity. Like vampires, werewolves, mages, succubi, and incubi,” I say with confidence. “Their kind was born of a higher demon mating with a mortal, so they have evil tendencies, but they have the humanity to overcome it. The Guardian Council permits them to live in peace, as long as they do not harm humans or reveal themselves to the mortal world.” Several students nod in agreement, including the Michael kid.

  I keep my attention on Instructor Jones, waiting for his approval.

  Gone is his smile. It’s been replaced with a more-natural-looking sneer. “You are right that the Guardian Council permits those vermin to live in peace, but you are wrong to assume they have any humanity left in their soulless, vile bodies.”

  The strength of the hatred in his voice has me leaning back into my chair. I know some Guardians don’t trust lesser demons. There are plenty of examples of the creatures breaking our laws and harming humans. But those cases are rare, and they are often condemned by other lesser demons. To not trust them is fine, but blanket hatred seems excessive and bigoted.

  The classroom is completely silent. I’m not the only one stunned by our teacher’s remark.

  Instructor Jones appears pleased. He likes that no one objects to his position.

  Naturally, I can’t let that happen.

  I raise my hand and see my instructor’s eyes, once again, darken. “Yes, Miss Van der Klay?”

  “Are you suggesting our council is wrong to grant peace to lesser demons who abide by our laws?”

  Several students gasp. I fight back my smile. To disagree with the council is taboo. At least, it is to the most loyal and ardent Guardians. Personally, I think disagreement is healthy. Blind allegiance is never a good thing. There are plenty of historical examples to back that up.

  But the look on Instructor Jones’s face says he doesn’t sh
are my sentiment.

  “How dare you accuse me of speaking against the council.” Hatred, raw and strong, hits me square in the chest.

  I don’t let it affect me. “I’m just trying to understand what you meant.”

  I can feel every pair of eyes lock onto me. Some are curious, others are fearful. Even still, some are admiring.

  “Of course.” His sneer deepens, and I brace myself for the next words to come out of his mouth. I can tell they won’t be kind. “Of course you are unaware of the true nature of our relations with the lesser demons. You were, after all, ignorant of so much until Charles took pity on you and welcomed you into his home. You may carry the Van der Klay name, but I suspect much of that commoner ignorance hinders you from understanding the true ways of our world.”

  Of all the things I prepared for, openly insulting my intelligence and outing me as a foster kid hadn’t even been on my radar.

  I blink, shocked an instructor would speak so cruelly to a student. All I’d done was ask him to clarify his position. And I hadn’t even spoken out of turn! He’d called on me to answer.

  My gut churns with need to retaliate. I’m so angry. Instructor Jones is, no doubt, a trained fighter, but I’m confident I can land at least one blow if I take him by surprise.

  Thankfully, Instructor Jones doesn’t feel the need to take another jab at me. He changes the subject to discuss the different forms of mundane demons, giving them names and telling us their strengths.

  Others scribble notes furiously, trying to keep up with the instructor’s fast speech. I don’t bother. The worst of my temper has abated, but I’m still furious. I spend the rest of ninety-minute class talking myself down from bum-rushing the instructor when his back is turned.

  When the clock on the wall hits ten thirty and the bell rings, I’m out of my seat and through the door in an instant.

  “Hey! Wait up, Van der Klay”

  I’m almost to the far stairwell, determined to use the climb to stomp out the rest of my anger, but I find myself turning around to see who called out.

  It’s the Michael kid. I watch as he jogs to reach me. The other students go to the opposite stairwell, the one closer to the classroom door.