by Abbie Lyons
The chattering rose to a room-filling hum of conversations. Morgan moaned. “I’m starving. Anyone ready for some brek?”
“Absolutely,” I said, realizing I was starving too. That, at least, was a feeling all my own. “Teddy?”
He nodded. “Sorry. Yes. I’d just forgotten about the exetases, with everything going on, you know?”
I had too, I realized. You’d think that something like “the tests that determine whether or not I even have the powers needed to stay at Hades Academy” would have stuck in my memory. Normally, anyway—especially considering Wilder was presumably still the one in charge of mine.
But then again, there was no such thing as normal anymore.
As we walked in the mass of students flooding towards the refectory, one thing was clear in my mind.
I had to know what Wilder wanted with me.
Chapter Four
I was almost embarrassed how excited I was for the first day of new classes. Sure, after a few weeks I might begin to tire of them, but right now I was happy for anything that could take my mind off all the other bullshit going on in my life, even if it was only for an hour-long block. It wasn’t like I could get whatever investigating and digging into what the hell Wilder was up to done during class, so I was going to savor every second of the mental break.
“You like school,” Morgan teased me as we got ready in the morning. “There’s a skip in your step. Face it, dear, you’re a bit of a dweeb.”
“So what if I am?” I asked, smoothing some rosemary-scented lotion over my hands. God, I loved the amenities. “Maybe if you had to experience New York City’s joke of a public school system, you’d be psyched about demon classes, too.”
“Nerd.”
Maybe classes were a little more redundant for people like Morgan, who’d known she was a demon for much longer than I had. I personally found all of my first semester classes—with the exception of Remedial Latin—to be pretty damn eye-opening. Looking at myself in the mirror, outfitted in the Hades uniform of blue blazer, plaid skirt, and white blouse—plus the Nova Donovan signature Doc Martens—I was almost surprised. I liked what I saw. A girl—a demon—who was going places. A girl who was also having a pretty good hair day and had managed to keep a steady hand when drawing on her cat-eye liner.
Can I get a literal hell yeah?
First on the docket was Theories of Demonological Hierarchies, which I was hoping might be the class to help me actually understand a bit more about how the wider demon world actually worked. I knew way more about demon stuff now than I had when I arrived at Hades completely clueless a few months back, but there was still what felt like an impossible amount to learn—I could only spend so much time asking Morgan dumb questions like “do demons have a president or something?”
I just had to hope the class wouldn’t require too much prior knowledge.
As if answering my prayers, Professor Mantel immediately put my fears at ease. “Forget everything you think you know about demonological politics and power structures,” she began her lecture. “We’re starting at square one here.”
Professor Mantel had the whole “hot nerd” thing going for her: a short, snow-white pixie cut, glasses, and an outfit that was equal parts professional and fashionable. Kind of a sexy librarian vibe, aside from the fact that she wasn’t a librarian. She was on the younger side, nowhere near as ancient as Professor Stultior and definitely at least a decade younger than middle-aged Lattimore. It didn’t take anything near my powers of intuition to see that the guys in the room were into it.
She also made the classroom look completely her own, like something you’d see in a catalog for a chic store rather than in the confines of a demon school. There were the standard medieval-looking windows, of course, but the walls were painted a calming peach color and decked with what looked like abstract paintings. I wondered about the origins of the artists: human or supernatural?
“I get the feeling this class might be more relevant than ever,” Professor Mantel continued. “What with the academy being on probation from the Regents and all.”
Her manner of speaking jived perfectly with her look—refined, yet casual.
Almost like a lady Wilder, I couldn’t help but think. Just a little.
“So let’s start with some of the basics,” she said. “Why are we calling this class Theories of Demonological Hierarchies rather than something like Demonological Politics or something less of a mouthful? The answer is actually pretty simple. As many of you are well aware, we demons are obsessed with hierarchies. We just love sorting everybody into tiers. It’s at the very heart of every one of our important systems.
“It could be as simple as something like Hades Academy. Junior professors report to senior professors, who in turn report to the dean. The dean, as we know, reports directly to the Regents. As far as these things go, that’s a rather simple hierarchy not all that different than one you might see in the human world. But we take this many steps further—demon society is built on the belief in leaders and followers. Or the powerful and less powerful.”
I remembered back to when Wilder said something similar to me, just before all hell broke loose at the ball with the Elysium students. He told me that the outlaw’s crossing on my palm represented that I must be descended from a parent of extraordinarily strong power—one who would occupy a high tier in the hierarchy. If any class were to shed some light about where I came from, it would be this one.
Don’t get your hopes up, idiot.
A hand flew into the air. Teddy’s, surprisingly.
“Professor Mantel, can you explain to us what’s going on?” he said. “I mean with the probation, and everything. I...I can’t be the only one who didn’t really get Dean Harlowe’s speech. Right?”
Professor Mantel pursed her lips, like there was something she desperately wished to say—or like she was pissed at being interrupted in her grand speech.
“Yeah,” piped up a girl with long, dark green hair I recognized as Zelda, one of Camilla de Locke’s cronies. “Is the school going to close?”
My heart squeezed in my chest.
“It will never close,” said a cool voice from the back of the room. Aleksandr, the blonde Russian demon who made up 1/3 of the Infernal Three. I hadn’t even realized he was in this class until I turned around to see him—him, Collum, and Raines. “Those lazy bureaucrats will never get off their asses.”
Of course. Just my luck. My heart squeezed again, and now it was just irritating.
“That’s quite enough,” Professor Mantel cut through. “First of all, Mr. Voronin, this is a class studying precisely what those ‘lazy bureaucrats’ do, so I’d advise you not to bring up their asses, or any other body parts, unless you want a failing grade. Second of all...” She paused, and folded her arms. “...second of all, there is no second of all.”
“Um, but you were going to say something,” said Zelda, her voice almost a whine.
Professor Mantel’s eyes flashed, an icy green the color of sea glass. “Fine. Let me put it this way. My job is to teach about demon hierarchies, not spoon-feed you gossip. But if you pay attention, and learn the way things work, and have a semblance of a work ethic, you’ll be able to put things together yourself. Got it?”
“Unless the school closes,” Zelda muttered.
Professor Mantel snapped her fingers. Zelda’s eyes bugged, and she clutched her throat. She looked like she was trying to speak, but nothing was coming out. Panicked, she glanced at the front of the classroom, where Professor Mantel was standing straight-backed, yet relaxed, like she could watch all day.
She snapped her fingers again. Zelda gasped, and whispered what the hell, her voice clearly back.
“See what I mean?” Professor Mantel said. “Powerful, and less powerful. Now, where were we?”
I could barely hold back a smile. Professor Mantel was my kind of tough broad.
The rest of the day was more of a blur. Beginning Fulguration—aka lightning class—turned
out to be a lot of rubbing carpet squares together in an effort to produce static electricity, which was less than thrilling and kind of made me wish we could just go outside with kites and keys. Next was Applied Methodology of Terror with Professor Riggs, a demon who could only be described as “jockish,” complete with track pants and a whistle around his neck for no apparent reason, and who had us spend our first session literally making the scariest faces we could think of and critiquing our technique (“More eyebrows! Flash your teeth!”). And, as if that weren’t enough, we had to change into straight-up gym uniforms of a Hades Academy T-shirt and matching shorts. Then, last and honestly least, was Remedial Latin 2, AKA me, Teddy, and a professor we had to make sure was actually breathing every few minutes.
“Phew,” Teddy said as we settled into our usual classroom. “Nice to have a little break, isn’t it?”
“Ita vero,” I replied. Teddy gave me a blank stare. “It means ‘yes,’” I explained, and held aloft my copy of The Latin Language and You. “Maybe we should get to studying, huh?”
I HAD NEVER BEEN SO happy to head to the refectory.
“Gods, I’m knackered,” Morgan said, setting down a tray loaded with chicken korma and a heap of jasmine rice. “Sumerian is going to kick my arse. Who came up with all those little scribbly letter things anyway?”
“Probably the Sumerians,” I said. Morgan rolled her eyes, chewing.
“You smartass. How was Latin?”
Teddy closed his eyes and rested his head on his hands like he was sleeping. Morgan snorted.
“In other words, riveting,” I said.
Teddy woke himself back up. “Still, what a first day, right? Professor Mantel seems tough. I thought she was going to kill Zelda for a minute there.”
“That would’ve been badass,” I said. “Just take her out and be like: voilà, power.”
“Now, now, Nova, let’s not get homicidal on our social enemies just yet,” Morgan said, grinning. “Ooh! Speaking of, who’s ready for the latest hot goss?”
Teddy and I exchanged a look, then a shrug. We both knew Morgan was going to tell us anyway.
“Well,” she went on, “I heard that everyone’s favorite Irish Infernal Three-ster had a hot winter fling with a third-year.”
“Who, Collum?” I said, flicking a glance to where Raines and his friends were sitting, in the very corner of the refectory—of course—and looking especially antisocial. Where Raines was a moody Heathcliff type and Aleksandr was like a Russian Draco Malfoy, but with admittedly better hair, Collum was broad and strong-looking, with russet hair and a few freckles.
“The very same,” Morgan said. “But that’s not the good part. Apparently she dumped him in spectacular fashion.”
“You don’t say,” I said, really only half-interested. Teddy had already dove back into The Latin Language and You. “Define spectacular.”
“Right, so this is Aramind Bradbrook—which, have you heard such a ridiculous name? I swear. She’s the willowy one with the dark hair down to here”—Morgan pointed at her butt—“and almost pure black eyes. Basically something out of Twilight. Maybe nice enough, I don’t know. But she took him down in one of the carriages on the way back in. Ripped into him, said he never should’ve assumed they were going to be a thing, gave him a whole dressing down.” Her eyes gleamed. “Awful stuff, really.”
“I can tell you’re all broken up about it.”
I looked back at Collum with the rest of the Infernal Three. We’d spoken a few times, not for long, but enough that I thought he seemed decent, even if he chose to hang out with the world’s most infuriating half-demon, half-angel. And now that I was really looking, he did seem kind of bummed out. Eyes downcast, pressing his lips together a lot.
A wave of sympathy flooded over me. I felt bad.
Or, maybe, Raines felt bad.
God, this was exhausting.
“Be right back.”
I stood up to grab another cup of coffee, because half-demon or not, I was still in thrall to the wonders of caffeine, and was not going to make it through my first night of homework without a fix. As I threaded my way through the carved-back chairs and long wooden tables that filled the refectory, I caught a glimpse of someone else.
Wilder.
He was sitting alone, immersed in a book, with no food or drink besides a glass of wine. As if my staring summoned him, he looked up, and set the book down.
“Nova,” he said. I was only steps away from him, and he motioned me over.
I couldn’t not go over to him. He was still my professor, and the one in charge of my exetasis at that. But this would be the first time we’d spoken since before the break.
Since after he’d almost admitted to throwing me into Chaos.
I took my first step as slowly as I could, and instantly a riot of emotion flared inside me. Panic, anger, fear, curiosity, even (ugh) attraction...it was like fight-or-flight mixed with horniness. I closed my eyes as I walked, hopefully just looking like an extra-long blink, and inhaled through my nose.
evilmonstertriedtokill—
canttrustevenfora—
Strongarmscheekbonescurvinglips—
“Nova?” Wilder’s voice had a tinge of concern in it this time. I opened my eyes, with any luck not looking too weird about it, and found myself at the edge of his table.
“Hi,” I said. Probably best to keep it simple.
“Hello,” Wilder said. “Trust you had a good break, then?”
“I survived,” I said, before I could stop myself. Way to show your hand, Donovan.
A small smile teased at Wilder’s lips, sending electric waves of overwhelming feeling through me. It was all I could do to stay normal and relaxed looking. “Well, then. Excellent. I trust you’re ready for our next exetasis session, then? Nothing you’d need for me to know?”
Oh, like the fact that I’m soul bound to your half-brother who hates your guts and vice versa?
I shook my head. “Nope.”
Wilder’s smile widened a fraction of an inch. “That’s good. I’ll see you soon, then. Welcome back.”
He nodded, as if dismissing me, and I backed away, the intensity ebbing slightly with each step I took in the opposite direction. By the time I reached the coffee urns, I was practically panting for breath.
What the hell was that? I wondered, and almost instantly hit upon my answer.
...the fact that I’m soul bound to your half-brother who hates your guts and vice versa...
I was soul bound to Raines, and Raines hated Wilder. Every interaction I had with Wilder was going to get all mixed up as soon as Raines felt what I was feeling. Getting a clear view of anything Wilder was doing was going to be almost impossible. And that was under the best of circumstances, let alone once I figured out how I was going to get him to confess to my almost-Chaos-murder.
In retrospect, this was totally obvious. How could I not have realized this before?
I gripped a mug, willing my fingers to stop trembling.
Forget coffee. I needed whiskey.
Chapter Five
The bitch was back.
I hadn't seen much of Camilla de Locke up close since we'd been on break, and honestly, I'd almost forgotten about her. Until the next day, in Fulguration, when she sashayed into the classroom looking every bit the snobby prepster she was. Her handmaidens trailed in after her, and I found myself wishing that I had Professor Mantel’s ability to silence them with a snap. I wasn’t one to make enemies, I really wasn’t, but Camilla had decided that she and I were forever at odds, and I wasn’t a turn-the-other-cheek type.
Still, I wasn’t about to start a fight. I’d leave that bullshit to her. So I put a damper on my feelings as best I could and went up for my supplies.
"Don't touch that."
I withdrew my hand from where I'd been reaching for a set of carpet squares and the wrist strap that was supposed to ground me against the "pulse of intense electrical power you will be producing," according to Professor Donne
r.
"Sorry?" I said. I wasn't at all sorry; she just caught me off guard.
"You heard me." Her perfect beauty-queen face curled into a snarl. "Get your human hands off of those."
She snatched up the carpet squares and flounced away. I sighed and did a whole-body eye roll back to my friends. Morgan was using the end of an electromagnet to clean her nails, and Teddy was diligently scrubbing his palms over his carpet square.
"I can feel it," he said. "There's really some energy there."
I plucked at my own carpet square and sent death glares at Camilla.
"I hate that they make us start with this," she was saying loudly. "This is basically only worthy of a science fair for human children."
I glanced at Morgan, who didn't even look up from her electromagnet to roll her eyes.
"That’s enough, Miss de Locke," Professor Donner said. He was what you might call a silver fox—strong features, pretty fit under a tight-fitting black T-shirt and blazer, gray-white hair, and probably old enough to be my dad.
Hell, he could have been my actual dad. It’s not like my mom ever told me who my dad was, let alone whether it was him or her who was the demon. At this point, anyone was a possibility.
Next to me, Teddy startled. "Ow! Oops."
Morgan sighed and put down her impromptu nail file. "Theodore, did you forget your grounding strap?"
"My what?"
I held up my wrist to demonstrate. "Safety first, Teddy. You're still made of flesh and blood. Uh, I think." Was there going to be a demon physiology course at some point? It was starting to feel like covering all there was to know about demonkind in just three years was going to be a bit of a time crunch.
"Oh, yes." Teddy nodded, the ends of his hair fizzing a little. "Be right back."
"Steady does it," boomed Professor Donner. "Get a sense of how the electricity travels. Learn its patterns."
