by Abbie Lyons
Right on cue, Camilla and her stupid entourage strolled in with miserable looks on their faces. If Camilla were an example to go by, maybe the clearest outward sign that you grew up as a demon purist was “looking like a total bitch.”
She sighed as she took a seat at a desk, clearly desperate for everybody to know that she was not thrilled about having to take a Survey of Human History.
Wonder if Lattimore will put up with her crap, I thought.
“Look at this bollocks,” Morgan whispered into my ear. “I hate her so much.”
Lattimore, seeing the room looked quite full, rose from his desk.
“Welcome, class,” he said. “For those I’ve not yet had the pleasure of making acquaintance with, I’m Professor Lattimore. This semester we’ll be working together to explore human history, and, more specifically, its relation with our own history. I understand many of you were raised among humans, so some of this information may be a bit redundant, but I hope that the methods with which we examine historical events you’re already familiar with will make them take on a new light. After all, the histories of our kind and humankind are inextricably intertwined. By the end of the semester, you should all have a new appreciation for the work we do as demons to protect both the human race and the very fabric of the world itself. Shall we begin?”
Camilla’s hand shot up. Not only was she proving to be a terrible person, but also a gigantic time waster.
“Yes?” asked Lattimore.
“Why is human history important?” she asked bluntly. Her whole posse giggled.
“Excellent question, Ms. de Locke,” he replied, straight-faced. If he did think it was a dumb question, he wasn’t letting it show. “That’s the ultimate question my class is looking to answer. I’m confident that by the end of the semester, each of us will have a new appreciation for the importance of human history.”
She opened her mouth, ready to voice some sort of undoubtedly annoying rebuttal, but Lattimore went right into his lecture before she could even get the words out.
His lecture began simply enough, with a brief overview of all human civilization: the ancient Mesopotamians, the Roman Empire, knights, samurais, the Renaissance—a little bit of everything. Stuff I knew about, but I appreciated the refresher. Plus, Lattimore had a way of speaking that just naturally drew you in.
But when the topic turned toward the subtle—and not so subtle—ways in which demons have had an impact on human history, the lecture became absolutely riveting. There we so many things I was going to have to rethink.
“There is a saying,” began Lattimore pacing back and forth, “that goes ‘those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it.’ We demons try to influence the course of human civilization as little as possible. We create fear and negative energy, not to influence humans, but because it is our duty to do so in order to maintain balance and ward off Chaos. But sometimes we err.”
He stopped pacing and paused dramatically, really milking the moment.
“Sometimes,” he continued, “the fear we create inadvertently influences the course of human events. For example, the Tragedy of Salem in the 17th century. The simple work of a few overzealous demons in that small community caused a panic that resulted in men and women being declared witches and burned at the stake. We learn about histories such as these, so as to know the best ways to avoid them being repeated. Humans are perfectly capable of causing death and destruction on their own and we must always do our best not to exacerbate that behavior.”
Lattimore ended with the announcement that he was assigned to administer the exetasis for several students and that they should remain after class for a quick discussion. He read off a list of names of those he would proctor the test for. One of those names was Morgan’s, so we said a quick goodbye and “see you in Philosophy” before I had to head back out and navigate the school on my lonesome.
As I shuffled out of class, I could hear Camilla muttering something to her friends about humans deserving “all the terrible things that happen to them.” Evidently one class on human history wasn’t enough to wipe away an entire lifetime of being raised as a shitty bigot.
Figures.
The next class on deck was Pyromancy, which I could only assume had something to do with telling the future through fire. If so—fucking awesome. Luckily, I overheard a few other students saying they were on their way there, so I followed behind in the most nonchalant “I’m totally not following you” fashion I could.
This classroom was far less traditional, which made sense given that we’d be burning shit up. Scattered across the room were small firemaking stations for each student, made up of stones, a few logs, and a flint.
“We start by making fire the traditional way,” said Professor Lamoureux after we’d all found a spot. “No matches and certainly no lighters. It’s useless to commune with a flame that you’ve put no effort into creating. Impossible, in fact.”
Lamoureux had a sultry French accent that clearly had all the dudes (and maybe some of the girls) in the room hanging on her every word. And it didn’t hurt that she had that sexy librarian thing going on: big glasses, dark hair with small streaks of gray wrapped in a bun, and, if we’re being honest, just a little more cleavage than a professor at a normal university would be comfortable showing. She was the type who could’ve just as easily been either 35 years old or 55 years old. Or, given that she was a demon, 155 years old.
“Techniques of fire creation will be covered in our first few sessions together.” She sat down at a firemaking station at the front of the room. “First, I will show you how to create a beautiful flame with the flint. This is simple, yet elegant. Only once we have mastered such techniques, will we use our own powers to create sparks.”
She demonstrated how to make fire with the flint and some kindling—again, driving the guys in the room crazy, since it involved a decent amount of bending over—before having us try it out ourselves. “C’est bon” or “voila!” she’d exclaim at the students who had a particular knack for it, while muttering “non non” at those who were struggling. Classic French lady stuff.
I, for one, kicked ass at it. What I neglected to mention to anybody was that learning to make a fire was essential for anybody who occasionally had to spend a winter New York night outside. Usually, I could find a place to squat, but sometimes I had to spend the night outside in seedier surroundings. On a cold night, a trashcan fire could be your best friend. Even if it made you look like a cartoon hobo.
“Très bien!” she said when she saw what I was able to build into a few minutes. “A natural! Everybody, take a look at this work of art!”
I didn’t know whether to smile with pride or hide between my hands at the attention.
Good thing Camilla isn’t in this class, or otherwise she’d see this as yet another opportunity to drag me.
I tried not to worry about the attention. Usually “the girl who’s good at making fire” isn’t the one you’re going to want to start any shit with.
And stop feeling like people are out to get you, I reprimanded myself. So far you’ve only had to deal with one bad apple out of hundreds of students.
From the excitement of pyromancy, I was scheduled to go to...Remedial Latin. What a shift. At least I got to treat myself to a big lunch at the refectory first. Morgan was nowhere to be found—probably at some sort of class that all the non-idiots who already know Latin get to go—so I sat at a two-top by myself.
Not that I minded eating a gigantic plate of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and biscuits all by myself with no conversation to distract me. I could handle that.
Remedial Latin, according to my schedule, was in Room 188. I decided to head in that direction a little early in case I got lost. After all, I got the sense there wouldn’t be a ton of people I could subtly stalk all the way to class this time around.
That was an understatement. I found Room 188 with a few minutes to spare and walked in to see one other student.
“
Hi!” called Teddy from his desk. “The professor isn’t even here yet.”
You had to smile at the kid’s earnestness. He was totally the type I’d be able to pull my three-card monte trick on.
I took a seat at the desk next to him. This was the barest classroom I’d seen yet. No posters, no bookshelves. A little more PS 316 than Hades Academy, to be honest.
“So I guess you had a shitty education, too?” I asked.
“Oh, no! Not at all!” Teddy demurred. “My high school was good. They just didn’t offer Latin.”
I laughed. “Still shittier than the schools most of these other people went to. Even demons who like hanging out with humans probably send their kids to private school.”
“Well, I’m excited to finally learn Latin. Better late than never!”
He was incapable of saying anything mean. Bless his heart.
“Here I am, here I am,” came a feeble voice from the back of the room. I turned to see an elderly man with a cane who—and I say this with all politeness—looked like he could be at death’s doorstep. Just watching him slowly hobble to the front of the room was a chore.
“Is he okay?” Teddy whispered. “He looks sick.”
“He’s just old,” I whispered back. “Probably in his second millennium.”
I nearly broke out into applause when he finally took a seat at his desk.
“Latin,” he began. “Latin is a beautiful language. An important language, too.” He paused for a full ten seconds. “In this class, you’ll learn to read Latin. Please come to my desk and take a workbook.”
I went to his desk to grab a workbook for the both of us. They were chunky volumes bound in some kind of fancy linen, with the words THE LATIN LANGUAGE AND YOU stamped on the front in gold. From the looks of it, they were old as dust—although not like Latin’s changed much in the last few centuries, I thought.
“Enjoy,” mumbled Professor Stultior as he handed them over.
I took a seat back at my desk and looked over at Teddy. “What’s wrong?” His jaw was dropped.
“Just look,” he said.
In the few seconds it took to walk back from the front of the room to my desk, Professor Stultior had fallen asleep sitting in his chair. If it weren’t for the small snores, I might’ve thought we were already down a Latin teacher.
“Should we do something?” asked Teddy.
I pondered it for a moment. “I’m afraid that might scare him. What if that gave him a heart attack or something?”
“I suppose we can just get a start on these workbooks,” Teddy said.
So we did. I spent an hour or so learning the very basics of Latin from a workbook that looked exactly like the kind any middle school student in America might use. I had no idea how knowing how to say Caecilius is in the garden was supposed to help me be a better demon, but I guessed I’d learn at least enough to know which bathrooms to use.
“Ahhh!” the professor cried, waking with a start. “That’ll be all for today. Class dismissed.”
Finally, it was time for the last class of the day—Philosophy—and I had to admit, I was exhausted. Maybe I was just out of practice being a student in general, or maybe all the demon shit was continuing to blow my mind to smithereens, but either way, I could use an eight-hour nap.
I yawned. Teddy grinned. “Tired already?”
“Look, it’s been a long day,” I said. “And I think Stultior might be contagious.”
Teddy chuckled. “Well, don’t fall asleep just yet. We’ve got to stay up for the relic viewing, remember?”
Crap. I had not remembered. I hope they had coffee in the refectory at dinnertime.
Teddy turned out to be in Philosophy with me, so I let him lead the way to the classroom. Morgan was already there, and waved us over to sit next to her. This classroom didn’t have desks, but rather a large, round wooden table, like we were in Camelot or something. I guess Philosophy was one of those “no wrong answer, we’re all equals” kinds of classes.
“Welcome,” said a male voice. My stomach dropped, though honestly, not in an entirely unpleasant way.
It was Tall Guy, who I guess was Professor Wilder Frost. Guess I could’ve put two and two together if I’d been paying more attention. He didn’t at all look old enough to be a professor—mid to late twenties, maybe—and he was, literally, devilishly handsome. Even under his buttoned-up academic clothes, his shoulders were broad, and he had the kind of strong-looking hands that just scream capable, in more ways than one.
He smiled. “Good afternoon. Nova, is it?”
My mouth went dry. How did he know my name? Demon magic, I answered myself almost instantly. That, or he’d gotten a class roster. Which made me wonder whether demon schools had a picture day. Or a yearbook.
“Yep,” I said.
“Pleasure to meet you.” Just the way he said the word pleasure sent another wave of heat to my stomach. God, what was wrong with me? Just because I’d been on a years-long dry spell didn’t mean I had to start fantasizing about the first attractive guy I saw.
Okay, one of the first. I had to admit, Hades Academy was not wanting for hot guys.
“It seems that I’ll be in charge of administering your exetasis,” Professor Frost went on. “So perhaps we can chat a bit after class, figure out some basics?”
If my mouth was dry before, it was now positively Saharan.
Was there a rule against student-professor romance? Did demons have some kind of honor code? No, we’re all adults, and this isn’t like regular school—
Stop, I told myself. Get a grip. He’s your teacher.
But a hot teacher, I told myself back. And if he was the one administering my exetasis, we’d be spending a lot of time together.
“Sounds good,” I said, trying to keep it short, and took my seat.
More students filtered in as Morgan chatted away about her own language class—Ancient Sumerian, go figure—and I shuffled around in my satchel for a piece of parchment. It was only a few minutes until I felt that prickle at the back of my neck.
I looked up to see none other than Mr. Red Eyes—Raines—flicking his gaze over me from the other side of the table.
Great. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about in this class.
“Welcome,” Professor Frost said again, “to Theories of Demonological Philosophy. The most practically useless class you’ll take during your course of study at Hades Academy.”
There were a few soft giggles, as if people weren’t sure if that was a joke or not. But Professor Frost was smiling.
“Yes, I’m aware that that’s the reputation this class has. I get it. After all, our whole job is to do things, right? To act out in the world. So what does knowing a bunch of theories really help you do at all?”
No one answered.
“Teach Philosophy?” someone cracked. Aleksandr, the blonde one of the Infernal Three, sitting next to an incredibly pissed-off looking Raines.
Jeez, who spit in his cornflakes? I wondered.
“Good one,” said Professor Frost, sounding decidedly not pissed off. He put his hands behind his back and started slowly pacing around the table. “No, Philosophy matters because action isn’t enough. Or rather, one action is not always as good as another, depending on the situation. What you do out there, when you’re part of the battle against Chaos—you won’t always have a textbook or a diagram. You’re going to have to make decisions, both immediate and long-term. You have to know the why of what you’re doing. And that’s what we’re here to learn.”
No one looked particularly animated by this—probably because it was the end of the day—except Teddy, who was furiously taking notes. Except that he was writing down mostly stuff that was irrelevant; his last sentence was “why we’re here = learn.”
Sigh. Classic Teddy.
“In fact,” continued Professor Frost, “our entire endeavor as demons raises interesting philosophical questions. We create fear and negative energy for the greater good. Or put more simply,
we do bad things to prevent even badder things.” He grinned. “And I know badder isn’t a real word, so don’t correct me on that one. The point I’m trying to make is that we demons do work that’s inherently interesting philosophically. Now, you may have some professors during your time here at Hades Academy who think what we do isn’t worth devoting much thought to. They’ll say that as long as we create fear dispassionately, we’re doing good. But is it that simple? And what about the question of creating fear with passion? Is that really so wrong?”
I was trying to pay close attention to his broader points, I really was, but listening to Professor McDreamy say words like “passion” was not making it very easy.
“Heck, let’s interrogate that now,” he said performatively, as if the idea had just come to him. It was also kind of adorable that even in front of literal demons, he said heck. “Can anybody tell me about why we’re supposed to scare without passion? Why is our work supposed to be joyless?”
A few hands raised tentatively. Certainly not mine, given that I still only had the vaguest understanding of this whole fear versus Chaos thing.
“Yes?” Professor Frost said pointing to Morgan, whose hand was raised high in the air. Lucky her, getting some attention.
“Well,” began Morgan, “we only scare humans because it helps ward off Chaos. But since that makes humans feel, well, bad, we shouldn’t take joy in it. Making them feel that way shouldn’t be something we take pleasure in. It should be more...solemn.”
“Should it?” he challenged. “I’m not convinced that’s philosophically sound. Another way we can ask the question: is there any harm in taking joy out of what we do? Our colleagues over at Elysium Academy not only teach their students to inspire good in the human world, but they also encourage them to take joy in it! Sure, they’re doing their own part in creating balance, but why should they get to take joy out of their work while we’re alienated from our own labor?”
