by Abbie Lyons
Be a good girl. Stay out of trouble, human.
Who did that guy think he was?
Slash who was he, period?
“Okay, one last question,” I said. “Who were those three guys back there? The ones who broke up the fight, I mean.”
“Ugh.” Morgan said with a groan. “They call themselves the Infernal Three. The redhead on the end is Collum Tavish—Irish, if the name and hair don’t tip you off, and very posh. Big family and lots of influence to throw around. Blondie with the killer cheekbones? That’s Aleksandr Voronin, and do not ask me how to spell his name, my Russian is shit. Rich as sin and well-connected. The last one, dark hair?” She glanced over her shoulder, as if needing to confirm Red Eyes was still there. “That’s Raines Kendrick. Bad attitude and an even worse reputation. Basically, they’re all bad news. Even worse than Camilla.”
“But what’s so bad about them?” I asked.
“Just trust me,” she said. “If there’s one thing you need to know about surviving Hades Academy, it’s that nothing good comes out of associating with the Infernal Three.”
Chapter Six
Before I could get any more out of Morgan, let alone finish breakfast, a loud, echoing, totally disembodied voice echoed out “first-year students, please report to your assembly” followed by several loud bongs of a bell.
I set down my cup of coffee and shouldered my leather satchel. It was weird how normal all this was. Granted, it’d been a while since I’d had an actual first day of school—longer still since I’d had one I intended to actually attend until dismissal—but still, even demons had to adhere to schedules, it seemed.
I went to pick up my tray only to have Morgan raise an eyebrow.
“Oh,” I said. “Right. Magic. Duh.”
“It’s more than just magic,” she said as we walked back toward the Great Hall. “By the way. I suppose we’ll go through all the various sorts as we take classes—whole point of this place and all—but just in case you want to, you know, speak proper demon.”
I did, I realized. “Thanks.”
“What classes have you got?” she asked. I produced my parchment schedule from my leather satchel and she scanned it eagerly.
“Oh, good, we’re in the same human history course,” she said cheerfully. “And philosophy, too, whatever that’s about.”
“You’d know better than I would,” I said, following the crowd of what had to be first-year students as we wound through another one of the maze-like ground-floor structures. “Are you in Latin?”
Morgan chuckled. “Oh, please. I’ve grown up in public schools in Britain. Dulce et decorum est, et cetera. I could speak it in my sleep.”
“Not me,” I said. “I have to take remedial. Doesn’t ‘remedial’ mean for stupid kids?”
“I should think so.”
A curtain of blonde hair slashed the air in front of us. Camilla. She turned and looked over her shoulder, just enough to peek at us with steel-colored eyes.
“Piss off, de Locke,” Morgan said.
Camilla ignored her. “Hey, human, wanna see a ‘magic’ trick?” Without waiting for an answer, she lunged forward. Instantly, her skin went silver, her hair and eyes black, and blue flames crackled around her fingertips. Unbidden, a shiver poured down my spine like liquid nitrogen.
“Shit!” I stumbled over my Docs. “What the hell?”
Another snap of the fingers and Camilla was prim as ever, smoothing the front of her skirt. “You scare awfully easily, human. Are you sure you’ll even pass the exetasis?”
Now it was my turn to say “piss off.” And this time, Camilla did, clicking away to join her two friends, almost clones of her, except one had light brown hair and the other’s was a deep emerald color.
I gripped the strap of my satchel even tighter, beginning to wish I hadn’t downed so much coffee.
“God, that wasn’t even a good transmorph,” Morgan said. “She’s just whipping out kiddie stuff since you’ve never seen it. Don’t let her get to you.”
“I’m not,” I said, and hoped it was true. I’d dealt with mean girls before. Plenty of them, in fact. But this was the first bitch I’d met whose powers of darkness were literal.
The stream of students had emerged into a side passage of one of those enclosed gardens—a cloister. I recognized the structure from a long-ago trip up to the tip of Manhattan, the last stop on the A train, where some old rich dude had imported and rebuilt a medieval monastery for himself, brick by brick. This one, though, was way more impressive, with no empty Coke cans hiding in the bushes. Slender pillars held up Spanish-style overhangs that looked out onto a beautifully manicured square of foliage the size of a baseball diamond: trees with thick branches and draping curtains of moss, plush grass, and even some dirt patches sporting spicy-spelling herbs with leaves in every color, including those I didn’t think were even found in nature.
“Whoa,” I said.
“Herb garden,” Morgan explained. “Not a lot of poisoning going on these days—people think it’s too crude or something. But still makes for nice decoration.”
As if on cue, one of the curling tendrils poking through the earth snapped into flame.
“Oh yeah,” Morgan said. “That happens too.”
Something was bugging me, and not just spontaneously-combusting flowerbeds. “What did Camilla mean, exe...whatever it is? Do we have to take some sort of test?”
But before Morgan could answer, we’d arrived at a pair of arched wooden doors leading to what had to be the Hades Academy version of an auditorium. Rather than a bunch of seats angled to face a stage in one direction, this one had wooden benches encircling a small platform on all directions, like a colosseum. It was dark and cool, inside, lit by far-off green glass lamps that glowed in a somewhat-less sinister way than the blue flames I’d seen elsewhere. The benches were more like box seats at a baseball game—not that I’d ever been, of course, but go Mets, I guess—with each one separated by a little divider on the side and a low railing in the front, above a small flap that must flip down into a desk. On the stage was a massive wooden table, surrounded by throne-like chairs that resembled the vine-chair Dean Harlowe had plunked me into my first day at the Academy—which was yesterday, I realized. Jesus.
Dean Harlowe was on the stage, in fact, standing at attention at the edge and stalking the perimeter, hands behind her back. Behind her, settling at the table, were the people I had to assume were the other professors. I recognized Lattimore, of course, who looked a little less craggy after a full night’s sleep and demon breakfast buffet, but the rest were total mysteries. For the most part, they looked and dressed like normal humans, save for some eccentric hair colors and styles. Clearly, there wasn’t as strict a dress code for the profs, either, seeing as more than a few of the women wore corsets. But other than bright purple ponytails and iron buckles fastening up their outfit, they looked pretty...professorial. Just above middle-aged, or even older, but somehow not old looking, if that made sense. The women especially had this kind of otherworldly glow to their skin, and even though I knew the toiletries here were good, they weren’t that good.
Maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s being a freaking demon.
“Excuse me,” said a male voice from behind me. I turned around, ready to be on the defensive, but instead of one of the Imperial Three or whatever they called themselves, I found myself facing a guy I’d never seen before. Or, rather, facing his collarbone.
“Tall,” I blurted.
“Excuse me?” he said again, this time a question inflecting his tone.
“I mean, you’re tall,” I said. Brilliant, Nova. What the hell are you talking about? “In case you hadn’t noticed. But I guess you’d have to, huh?”
It came out feistier than I’d meant it to, but feisty seemed like the right direction to push the conversation into face-saving territory. After my run-ins—plural—with Camilla, I wasn’t about to let another demon walk all over me. Besides, I wasn’t wrong. I was five
-ten, so for someone to strike me as tall, they had to be pretty impressive.
“So maybe you should watch where you’re going with that excellent vantage point you’ve got there,” I added, jutting my chin into the air.
The guy’s eyes flashed. He was blonde, with a hint of stubble over his cheeks, and behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes were a brown so rich they almost looked like rubies. I actually had to blink when I fully got his gaze in mine.
“I can assure you that I will.” His tone was perfectly neutral—almost playful, I’d say, if I didn’t know any better.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me...” He trailed off, and nudged past me on the narrow, steep staircase that led down to the closer box seats, and, eventually, the stage.
“Yeah, that’s right,” I said, very much under my voice. “You do go take a seat.”
“Nova?”
Badassery forgotten, I spun to see Morgan waving from a box two steps to my left. I squeezed through the small hinged half-door and settled in next to her.
“Gotta get the good seats, eh?”
“Depends,” I said. “Is this in the splash zone?”
Morgan stared at me. I waved a hand. “Sea World joke. Never mind.”
“Excuse me?”
I swear to God, if people didn’t stop asking if I’d excuse them—
But when I turned back to the aisle, it was a friendly face—or at least one of the friendlier ones I’d encountered so far, one under floppy brown hair and behind large glasses.
“Would–would you mind if I sit with you?” The kid bit his lip shyly. “I’m just—well, everyone else seems to be full, and they seat three, so...”
“Bloody actual hell, mate, sit.” Morgan jabbed me in the ribs, and I scooted over.
“Yeah,” I said. “Welcome to first class. This is the primo section. Teddy, right?”
Teddy nodded. “Yes. I should say, well...thank you for what happened in the common room this morning.” He clutched his satchel in his lap, only releasing it to push his glasses up his nose. “I’m miserable at Latin, and I wasn’t paying attention—”
“—and Camilla’s a grade-A demon bitch?” I offered. Teddy blushed.
Morgan laughed. “I’m Morgan,” she said, extending a hand. Teddy shook it, then looked at me.
“Nova,” I said.
Teddy grinned. He had a cute, puppyish look to him, though I could tell how that could come off as, well, wounded-gazelle-like. So I guess my MO worked out after all.
“So, what do you—” Teddy started, but a terrifyingly clear—and terrifyingly loud—voice rang out above our heads.
“Welcome, first-year class, to the dawn of your new life.”
The auditorium plunged into low light, the only illumination the green glow of the lamps that were now trained on Dean Harlowe. She spread her hands in what must have been a gesture of greeting but could just as easily have been some kind of pre-spell hand signal.
“Today, your lives as demons officially begin. No longer are you of the human world—”
I could swear I heard a Camilla-like snort.
“—but you are merely in it, existing amongst your fellow-creatures while living the superior destiny of a supernatural.” Dean Harlowe tilted her face down to focus her gaze on us—almost like she was zooming in on each of us individually. “Now, as students at Hades, you come from all over the globe, all walks of life, all backgrounds. But as of today, you are equals. Your diversity of talents is precisely what will serve demonkind. Through you, the world shall know respite from Chaos, and the forces of creation and destruction will extend in perfect harmony.”
I had to admit, it was a hell of a pump-up speech. Of course, I was still curious about exactly how all this “enacting perfect harmony through terrifying demon spellcasting” stuff was going to work, but I guess that’s what classes would be for.
“Now, you should all have had your schedules left in your bedrooms,” Dean Harlowe continued, “and your first class will commence after this assembly, so don’t delay. Also, tonight, you will all be treated to a tour of Hades Academy’s extensive collection of demon relics, a traditional for all first-year students.”
There was a chorus of ooohs, so clearly these relics were a big deal.
“Although classes will begin today, we will be conducting the exetases on a rolling basis throughout the first year of your time at Hades, such that by the start of your second year, you will all know what type of specific, personal power you possess.
“For those unfamiliar, the Hades Academy exetasis is not an ordinary test. Rather, it is a comprehensive series of scryings and divinations to determine the exact nature and strength of your inborn power. As such, each student will be matched with a professor who will administer the various stages of the exetasis over the course of the two semesters.”
A hand flew into the air—Camilla’s. Dean Harlowe looked taken aback, as if she hadn’t really intended this as a Q&A-type thing, but nodded anyway. “Miss de Locke?”
“What about those who already know our powers?”
I could’ve sworn I saw Dean Harlowe suppress a sigh. “Exetasis tests are mandatory for all first-semester first-year students, no exceptions.”
“But if we—”
“If you know, then there is no harm in confirming,” Dean Harlowe said smoothly. “And for those who don’t know, especially those brought up among humankind, the exetasis is a valuable chance to reveal your true demonic nature.”
“And what if they fail?” Camilla clearly wasn’t done with questions yet, her voice as sweet and hard as rock candy.
Dean Harlowe pursed her red lips. “Do you mean if no power is discerned during the exetasis? It is...rare, of course, but I would lie if I said that the Academy hadn’t made the occasional admissions error over the past few millennia.” Some of the professors chuckled. “Such circumstances will be dealt with on a case-by-case basis. But I should say that most of you—no, almost certainly all of you—have nothing to worry about.”
My stomach felt like a clenched fist. If there was something here to worry about, then I was probably going to worry about it. From the way Camilla made it sound, failing was basically a death sentence. I mean, I’d already signed my name in blood. Who the hell knew what would happen if I broke that oath somehow?
“Unless, of course, your exetasis reveals you belong at Elysium,” said a male voice from behind Dean Harlowe. She narrowed her eyes at the table behind her, where one of the professors cocked an eyebrow at her.
“That’s enough, Professor.”
My jaw almost fell open. It was Tall Guy from before. He wasn’t a student—he was a professor. And I’d treated him to some five-star sass.
Crap. I almost wanted to hide my face in my hands.
“Gods,” Teddy muttered. “I feel bad for whoever has him for the test.”
Chapter Seven
I guess there was something kind of funny about the fact that my first class at demon school was human history. Not that I was some sort of history buff by any means, but I figured the fact that I’d lived “among humans” or whatever for longer than any other first-years here probably meant I’d be at least a little more familiar with the material than many of my fellow students.
But I wasn’t quite sure what the point was. What good was learning about the Declaration of Independence or some shit like that for the tenth time going to do?
Still, I was comforted by the fact that it would help ease me back into the educational world. It’d been a hot minute since I’d even so much as set foot inside a school, and honestly, I always kind of expected that I never again would. A high school dropout scamming people on the streets doesn’t really spare too much thought for college plans. No way was three-card monte going to cover that cost.
“I’m so excited we have class together!” Morgan squealed as we made our way out of the auditorium. “Every morning, you and I, we’ll go get our breakfast, then head off to history. It’s going to be absol
utely aces!”
“I appreciate the enthusiasm,” I said in a tone that probably came off much more sarcastic than I meant to be. I did like her enthusiasm, though. It was encouraging to know that someone was in my corner.
Morgan took the lead and I followed her, which was fine considering I was still confused about the layout of the place. Hades Academy didn’t seem to have been designed with ease of navigation in mind. It was probably in violation of about a thousand of New York’s building codes and regulations. I mean, you’d think a school for demons in particular would have at least one fire exit.
“Here we are,” Morgan said as we arrived at the classroom. Her non-stop chatter on the way there had taken a bit of the edge off my nervousness. But now the rubber was going to meet the proverbial road.
Time for me to be a student again, I thought. Here’s hoping it goes better than last time.
“Welcome, welcome!” Lattimore called out as we entered. “Take a seat! Anywhere will do.”
It didn’t look so different than the old PS 316 classrooms, at least in terms of layout. You had your desks, your blackboard (with actual chalk), bookshelves, a globe on a wooden stand and, almost unbelievably, some posters with vaguely inspirational sayings. Sure, it was clear the budget Hades Academy was working with was much better than whatever the New York Public School system was able to spend, but it had the look and feel of what you’d find at most schools around the country. The other difference was in the motivational messages themselves: instead of bullshit like “Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars,” there were decidedly more demon-y phrases like “Preventing Chaos is a scream!” That one came complete with an illustration of a winged fire-breathing demon scaring the literal pants off an unsuspecting man holding a briefcase. I didn’t know if this was an all–Hades Academy thing, or just a corny Lattimore thing, but either way, it was pretty funny.
Students continued to file in for the next few minutes, some of whom I recognized from the common room or the refectory. Others were new faces entirely. I couldn’t help but wonder who grew up among humans and who were demon purists. Could there be something about their faces that might give it away?
