by Abbie Lyons
Things were going just as smoothly for my faux boyfriend. Aramind Bradbrook threw us glances whenever Collum and I were spending time together. I couldn’t tell if she was angry, sad, or something else entirely, but she was definitely paying attention to us. As far as I could tell, that was exactly what he wanted.
And as for me: I enjoyed the cuddling and the company. Not so much that I was longing for him to actually fall in love with me or anything. That was the rock-bottom last thing I wanted right now. But still, a girl has needs, and a sexy guy wrapping his arms around you while you lie around on a plush leather couch was pretty damn nice. Especially because neither of us was really taking it seriously. I mean, we were both 100% committed to the act, but it wasn’t grim and intense or stiff and awkward.
“You all right there, Donovan?” Collum said one evening. He shifted in the seat next to me.
I grimaced. “My arm’s falling asleep.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Is that allowed? Like are you cool if I’m just like hey, dude, move your giant muscled man-arm off of my delicate shoulders?”
He chuckled. “Maybe not in so many words, but sure. Don’t worry about what’s allowed or not. I’ll tell you if something’s wrong.”
I settled back, letting the cozy fire-and-parchment smell of the common room float back over me, and realized something. I was asking these things because I really didn’t know what I was doing. Physical affection is in short supply in foster homes. I was learning how to be literally close to someone, something I’d never done before.
Except for the soul binding ceremony. But that didn’t count.
And that was the thing. The other factor here was Raines. Whenever Collum and I spent time one-on-one, I could feel the jealousy, just the way I could feel everything. But was he jealous because I was taking his precious friend away from him, or because he wished he was the one snuggled up with me? I hoped for the first, but I feared the latter. Not that he had a right to either, because, hello, this was his idea in the first place. Every time I felt his jealousy, I tried to amp up my own feelings of contentment, just to send back the message that I, for one, was fine with this arrangement that was, again, Raines’s idea.
Eventually, I didn’t know if it was the lack of pressure from Camilla, the oxytocin from all the human contact, or the fact that nobody suspected Raines and I were soul bound, but I was gaining confidence. My fears of being found out and getting kicked out of the school were falling, and my eagerness to figure out Wilder’s whole deal was growing.
I was feeling so bold these days that I wasn’t afraid to pry a little further in Demon Hierarchies. Professor Mantel often started the class by asking if we had any specific questions about the reading or previous lectures. Without making it too obvious, I wanted to explore my theory that Wilder and I were demons of the same rank—and what that might mean.
“Just a few things I was curious about,” I said when Mantel called on me. “I still feel a bit in the dark when it comes to inverses. What would happen, say, if a demon met their exact inverse?”
I regretted the question almost immediately after I asked it, feeling it might be too suspiciously specific. Nobody seemed to bat an eyelash, but I needed to remember to be careful. Big questions like that one could draw attention to me, and attention was the last thing I wanted while the school continued to be on probation.
“Ah, an interesting question,” Mantel observed. She stared out over the class, almost fluttering her eyelashes if that were something she did. “And I like your train of thought. It makes sense to think there might be some sort of special relationship between rankings and their inverses, right? And you’d be right. Forgive the cliche, but there would be a kind of magnetic attraction between them.” She gave her pure-white pixied head a little shake. “I’d really love to go into more depth—trust me, I could go on about complicated details for the next hour, but we have dozens of sigils to memorize.”
The class gave a collective groan. Asking a follow-up would be too bold. I was just going to have to be satisfied with what she’d already said—which did, of course, lend further credence to my theory about me and Wilder. Polar opposites, literally. A lot of force pulling us together and pushing us apart.
Another hand shot up: another first-year girl with red hair and a face full of freckles.
“Yes, Mandy?” Mantel called on her.
“I still don’t quite get the whole inverse thing. At all. So they’re maybe evil but maybe not?”
Mantel sighed. “I’m not really sure how many more ways I can break this down.” She drew in another deep breath, then seemed to be lit up with an idea from inside. “All right. Did any of you play Dungeons and Dragons growing up?”
I was shocked at the number of hands that shot up. Somehow, I had no no idea that demon teenagers were such nerds.
“Excellent,” she murmured. “Well then think of character alignments. Inverses are a bit like the chaotic alignment. And that’s small ‘c’ chaos, just to be clear, not Chaos the way we think of it. If a duke were to be lawful good or neutral good, their inverse would be something like chaotic good. Does that help at all?”
And surprisingly, it did. An inverse wasn’t necessarily bad, they were just more...unpredictable.
“Inverses tend to be more capricious,” Mantel explained. “More volatile, more unstable...Gods, I sound I’m reading from a thesaurus. Apologies.”
She was met with understanding giggles.
It hit me that she was describing perfectly the kind of demon who might see throwing one of his students into a void as a valid solution to a problem. My investigation was slowly but surely getting somewhere.
“If there are no further questions, let’s move on to the new material,” Mantel said, taking a spot by the blackboard. “So, as we discussed, sigils represent—”
There was a loud purposeful knock, knock, knock at the door. Before Mantel could even say “come in!” the door swung open. Dean Harlowe walked in wearing her customary all-black outfit, accompanied by two kyrioi on each of her sides.
“Students,” she said, nodding at us in acknowledgment. “I hope you don’t mind if I borrow Professor Mantel here for a few minutes. Just a few routine matters for us to discuss is all. Nothing to worry about.”
That “nothing to worry about” sure made it feel like there was something to worry about.
“That is, if this is a good time?” Dean Harlowe asked. Though it was hard to hear it as anything other than a command.
“Of course,” Professor Mantel agreed tightly, after which they promptly disappeared.
Conversations immediately bubbled up throughout the room. During this tense period, it was difficult not to see a sudden appearance by Dean Harlowe in the middle of class as a very bad sign.
Was it something about the question I asked? I wondered. It was doubtful, I reasoned, but it felt so natural to come to a scary conclusion like that.
Morgan turned to me. “Quick question for you while we wait. How would you feel about a double date?”
That...wasn’t what I was expecting.
“A double date?” I asked. “With who?”
She rolled her eyes, as if this should’ve been obvious. “You and the Infernal Irishman. Along with me and this tall drink of water from my Sumerian class who I’ve taken a bit of a fancy to. Nothing serious, mind you, but I think seeing you and your boy snuggling has me in the mood for a little male company. Somebody to keep me warm on a cold winter night, you know.”
I didn’t really know what to say. Dean Harlowe had my mind racing, so I wasn’t exactly thinking her idea through. “Sure, sounds good,” is what I mustered out.
“Aces! I was thinking Westrock? Something cozy and romantic. Just imagine!”
I honestly really couldn’t.
Chapter Twelve
Saturday dawned crisp and bright and totally freezing. I raked through my Hades-appointed wardrobe to find something suitable to wear for our
day out in Westrock. With the exception of the ball last semester, I had never really been the kind of girl to get dolled up in anything fancy, and having spent plenty of winter days out in the open, being warm was my first priority. At the same time, though, I didn't want to show up to meet Collum bundled up in a giant parka and looking like a Gore-Tex marshmallow. I finally settled on my Docs, jeans, a thermal under a cardigan, and a huge puffy blue vest, with a scarf for good measure. That, and a black beanie and matching mittens—whatever, they're warmer than gloves—seemed like it'd be enough to at least get me from Hades to the nearest Westrock watering hole.
I was in the bathroom, trying to tame my giant mass of hair into something...presentable, when Morgan banged on the door.
"Swear to Gods, Noves, have you had a stroke?"
I sighed and pulled open the door to see my roommate sparkling in her finest all-black-leather winterwear and absolutely beaming.
"Oh, good, you haven't kicked it," she said. "I was worried you'd hit your head in the tub or something, what with how long you'd been in there."
"What do you mean?" I said. "I just wanted to fix my hair."
Morgan dangled a decorative but apparently functional silver hourglass that she was wearing around her neck like a pendant. "Hullo? You've been in there almost a half hour! We're going to be late, and I don't mean fashionably so. I've still got to do my eyeliner and everything."
Half an hour? I had never spent that long on my hair in my life, not even when one of my foster sisters spat a cheekful of Bubblelicious into it and I had to pick it out strand by strand.
"It's all right, Noves," Morgan went on, pushing me gently but firmly out of the way of the mirror. "I know you're excited to be out and about with your boyf. It's cute, honestly."
I opened my mouth, all ready to say I'm not, but then remembered that I was supposed to be. That maybe I actually was.
"Too bad your necklace isn't a Time Turner," I said, clearing out of the bathroom to give her her space.
"A what?"
I shook my head. Maybe only some demons bothered with Harry Potter.
Another twenty fashionably late minutes later, we traipsed down to the front hall to meet Collum and Morgan's date, the quote-unquote tall drink of water who turned out to be more like...her exact height, a friendly-looking guy with brown skin and dark hair who couldn't seem to believe his luck that he was going out with Morgan. Which I had to respect, since anyone dating my best friend should be excited to be around her infectious sense of joy and ridiculousness.
"Matthias," he said, extending a hand, which I shook in my mittened one.
"Nova," I said. Then I turned to Collum.
"Hey, baby," I said, just for the fun of really laying it on thick. I saw that mischievous twinkle in his eye—the one that I'd come to appreciate meant "don't go overboard on this, you lunatic." The twinkle that made me just want to tease him and push his limits a little more.
"Hiya yourself." He bent his head close to mine and whispered ever so quietly in my ear. "Gonna kiss your cheek—that all right?"
I nodded imperceptibly, and he did it. You had to dig a guy who asked for consent. And the feeling of his lips on my cheek was not at all bad either.
"Right!" Morgan clapped her hands together—she had on those fingerless gloves like a Dickensian orphan might wear, except hers were leather and covered in tiny studs. "Shall we?"
I hadn't really spent much time in Westrock beyond shopping—unsuccessfully—for a gown to wear to the ball last semester. But besides being banned, possibly for life, from one of the boutiques after I socked Camilla in the nose, I felt like I belonged there, and was looking forward to just poking around the shops and cafés and just...being a normal person for once.
Or a normal demon. Whatever.
"How've you been, then?" Collum said as we crunched down the snow-covered path that led to the village.
"What, since the last time we spoke twelve hours ago?" I said. "Is this really what boyfriends do—constantly check the status of their girlfriends?"
Collum shrugged. He had on a suede jacket in a dark brown, and a forest-green scarf that made his eyes absolutely gleam. His face had gone pink almost as soon as we'd come out into the cold, but it was a good look on him. Made him look...healthy. Strong. In a friendly way. "I spose so. Haven't had too much practice, have I? I might be terrible at it, given my track record."
Behind us, I could hear Morgan having a fake-loud conversation with Matthias that coincidentally fell silent every time Collum and I said something to one another. Oh, Morgan. Never change.
"I don't think that's really a fair way to judge," I said. "That might just have been...user error on the other party's part."
"Mm." Collum pressed his lips together, a faint smile coming over them. "Well, just be sure to give me a good review on Yelp, eh?"
"Oh, of course. Five stars—treated me like a princess."
That made him laugh.
"What?" I demanded.
"Sorry," he said. "It's just...you're not the kind of girl I'd think of as wanting to be princessed."
"Oh trust me," I said. "I don't."
"Didn't think so," he said. "And it's a relief. Awful lot of work, that."
We walked a bit further in relative silence, save Morgan's immediate rush to pretend that she'd been having a complex and intricate conversation about Sumerian or whatever with Matthias.
"Do you think she'll be here?" I said, lowering my voice just as Matthias launched into a blessedly loud anecdote about clay tablets or something. "Aramind?"
Collum kept his eyes dead straight as the path through the trees widened and we approached the wrought-iron gates of the town. "Could be. Don't really keep too many tabs on her schedule, you know?" He darted a glance at me. "But if we do see her..."
"I've got you," I said, and then, because I couldn't resist. "Baby."
He groaned, but a fake groan. Then he smiled.
"I know you'll put on a hell of a show, Donovan."
"You know I will, Tavish."
ONCE WE ARRIVED IN town, it became apparent that no one had actually thought about what activity we would do in Westrock. Matthias suggested a trip to the rare book store, which sounded fine, if a bit boring, but Morgan immediately vetoed it on account of it being "basically the library, which need I remind you, we have back up at school." She then proposed instead that we go to one of the crystal boutiques and try out some different stones to see which ones complemented our auras—"a fun kind of get-to-know-you thing, right?"—but the memory of my exetasis with Wilder was still too fresh, so I nixed that.
"Fine," Morgan said. "What do you two lovebirds want to do?"
I looked at Collum, and Collum looked back at me. He shrugged. I shrugged.
"Eat?"
"Well, that goes without saying," Morgan said. "Come on, let's think of something fun!"
"I like eating," Matthias said cautiously. Morgan all but rolled her eyes. This guy wasn't not hot, but he wasn't exactly the sharpest sickle in the carrying case either.
"How about this," Collum said. "You ever been to the Bronze Blade?"
We all shook our heads.
"A bit out of the way," Collum said, "but it's good fun."
"What is it?" I asked.
"You ever thrown an axe, Donovan?"
Ten minutes later, we were set up in a basement room that looked sort of like a bowling alley, if the walls were stone, the pins were actually targets, and the whole thing was lit by torchlight. As it turned out, the Bronze Blade was located beneath the town's biggest general store, the one where you could buy wands—sorry, rhabdoses—and other small magical trinkets like crystal balls, dowsing rods, and every kind of tea leaf imaginable. The axe-throwing operation was underground in practice and in attitude, and as soon as we'd settled into our little axe-lane with a giant flagon of mead each and a wooden trencher loaded with cured meats and cheeses, I realized I'd basically found myself in the demon equivalent of a dive bar.
Collum was saying something, perched on the stump-shaped stool next to me.
"What's that?" I said, watching Morgan try to untangle her metal-studded gloves from her first axe.
“I said, it’s an awful lot of chucking things at targets lately, isn’t it?”
I frowned, not getting what he meant. “Uh, I guess?”
“Only this time it’s a lot lower stakes,” he said.
Lower stakes than what? Presumably this was some kind of demon in-joke I wasn’t privy to, and Morgan was too far away to explain.
"Anyway,” Collum went on. “I know it's not much to look at, but it's a laugh. Especially once the mead gets flowing. I promise."
"You don't have to promise me," I said. "It's not your job to make sure I have a good time. Besides, axe throwing is totally baller."
Collum looked relieved. "Oh. Well, yeah, it is. So long as you're not worried you'll chip a nail or whatever."
I got the sense that that had been an issue for his dates in the past.
"Usually I just come 'round here with the guys," he went on. "But it's really good for any group, I think. And you can't beat these." He lifted his flagon of mead, which was shaped like a gigantic horn. Hell, maybe it was a literal gigantic horn.
I picked up mine and took an exploratory swig. It was sweet, and also kind of...awful.
"Blech," I said. "I mean, sorry. But am I supposed to enjoy this? Or is it more like Hellwater?"
Collum laughed. "That's right. Guess you've never had it before. It's basically the demon equivalent of...PBR. Cheap, but'll get the job done."
"Hellooooooo!" Morgan hollered. "Check this out!"
She took a swift step forward, snapped her wrist, and sent her first axe cartwheeling towards the target. It stuck dead center.
"Wooo!" She flung her arms into the air, and I cheered with her too. Matthias leapt up, sensing an opportunity for a little physical contact, but Morgan was now too preoccupied with drinking her mead.
