Diabolical (16 page)

“The only chance that Willa has,” Vesper argues.

“If Willa had died a natural death,” Kieren begins again, “I wouldn’t consider trying to undo it. But Dr. Ulman struck her down magically.”

“Besides,” Bridget says, “if a dress-code violation is a capital offense, who knows what’ll happen if we blow off our first Alchemy and Incantations assignment.”

Lucy gestures to Willa’s body. “What about . . .”

Evelyn scoops up the dead girl and gently lays her on the conference table. The Otter shouldn’t be revealing her strength like that, but everyone’s too upset to notice.

“Should we leave her here alone?” Bridget asks. “What if something happens?”

“What worse could happen?” Vesper mutters.

Nigel laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You had to ask. You just had to ask.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Kieren announces. “You heard Dr. Ulman. We have forty-five minutes.” The Wolf glances at the digital wall clock. “Make that forty-one minutes.”

Bridget pauses, clearly reluctant to be left alone with the body, torn between her sense of propriety and her rising fear.

“I’ll stay with you,” Nigel offers, regaining his composure. “She’s counting on us, me. I’ve composed incantations before.”

“I’ll stay, too,” I say, recalling Willa’s stories about Nigel’s sacrificing lizards with sharpened Popsicle sticks.

The shifters trade a look, like they’re weighing their respective abilities. Then Evelyn offers to remain behind, too.

I glance at Kieren for confirmation. “You’re just going downstairs to fetch some eye of newt or something, right?”

“That’s the theory,” he replies.

LUCY BOLTS OUT OF THE CLASSROOM
. Vesper and I dog her heels.

From behind, I hear Nigel saying, “We should start by free-associating words related to our goal. Like
revival, restoration, resurrection
. . .”

He’s either the most manic of the group or the sanest.

That said, saving Willa isn’t half as important to any of us as it is to him. I don’t think they’re
together
together. But sometimes that just deepens the ache.

Mr. Bilovski holds the elevator door. “Mornin’, kids. I’ve got your list here.”

INGREDIENTS

Lavender candles
River rocks
Eye of dragon

We ride down. When the elevator opens again, we’re faced with a shadowy subterranean space. It’s not a natural cavern. It looks like a warehouse with a blue-gray rock floor and ceiling. The room may have been blasted out. Or conjured.

“Did you two catch the elevator code Bilovski keyed in for the subbasement?” Vesper asks. “It’s 666.”

I should’ve guessed. I make a mental note of it.

The storage area is filled with long rows of high metal industrial shelves. We pass shelves of school supplies, toiletries, cleaning and laundry supplies, prepackaged food.

Everything it would take to run a boarding school for at least a year.

Moving on, the selection gets more interesting. Whole animals and individual organs in jars of formaldehyde. Fetal pigs, octopuses, toads, ape brains.

Lucy moves in for a closer look. “Are those human fetuses?”

Vesper shakes her head. “Demon. See the little horn buds?”

“Forgive the dust,” Mr. Bilovski calls. “It was all I could do to get the shelves assembled and stocked by New Year’s.” Punching a button, he adds, “I’ll send the elevator back to fetch you. Mind your step. Wild —” The doors close.

“Anybody else wonder how he got that job?” Vesper asks, tucking in her Scholomance Prep shirt.

It’s a rhetorical question. The three of us weave deeper into the storage area. We pass containers of sweetgrass, salt, tobacco, honey, cedar, sage. Candles are an easy find. They’re stocked in all colors, sizes, and scents. I identify jasmine, vanilla, cinnamon, coconut, caramel, pumpkin, lime, salt, gardenia, the required lavender, lilac, apple, eucalyptus, and a few more unpleasant-to-nauseating things I can’t quite place.

“I hear water,” Lucy says, pointing. “From over there.”

Me, too. An underground stream, probably connected to the lake that wraps around the building. I hear a clicking noise, too, like nails — or claws — on rock. The overhead lights are the same fluorescents as the ones upstairs. But beyond this area, it’s dark.

I should’ve brought my flashlight.

Most of the jars are labeled in broad, clear strokes. Like from a Sharpie.

“Dragon’s eye,” Vesper reads.

The iris is a flaming orange. The pupil, a long slit. I’m fascinated by the size. I’d been assuming that we were looking for the eye of a Komodo dragon, like at the San Antonio Zoo. This is bigger.

“Dragons are real?” Lucy asks.

I nod. “Or were. In Asia, Europe . . . In Persia, a long, long time ago.”

As Lucy reaches for the bottle, I add, “Careful. Every aspect of this is delicate. Forget what Dr. Ulman said. Nothing we’re doing is ‘beginner level.’”

“We can handle it,” Vesper insists.

I hope so. The last time anyone in my life attempted a major spell, the roof of my house blasted off. That involved far less risky Wolf healing magic.

At the end of the row, we come upon the stream. No place where you’d expect to find river rocks. But here they are. I hold the candles. The girls stuff their pockets.

“We’re being set up,” Lucy says. “Dr. Ulman planned to kill one of us this morning. She’d already dictated the ingredients to Mr. Bilovski and told him to wait. These stones were planted here for us to find.”

“You just figured that out?” Vesper replies.

Lucy ignores her. “So, it’s a test. Hell of a way to open classes.”

“Speaking of hell.” I inhale brimstone. “Something’s coming.” I would’ve noticed it sooner except for the competing candle scents. The clicking is closer, too.

We sprint for the storage area.

“Please tell me you mean
someone,
” Vesper says.

A low
woof
echoes through the chamber. “You two should go,” I say.

“What is this,” Lucy scoffs, “some kind of sexist —?”

A slobbering, growling hound lands on the top of the nearest shelf. Its paws are bigger than my face. Its canines? Six inches long. The eyes are reddish like a vampire’s.

The monster looks like a cross between a bulldog and a hyena, only larger, more formidable. This thing isn’t undead. It’s never been what we’d consider alive.

I hand the candles to Vesper. “Go! I’ll buy you some time.”

The girls trade a glance. Hesitate. Under other circumstances, I’d admire their loyalty. I hate having to reveal my secret. But I’ve got no choice.

I call up my Wolf within. “Hurry! Get out of here.” My fangs aren’t as fearsome as the hound’s. But they’re convincing.

Lucy’s mouth drops open. “You’re —”

Vesper grabs her arm. “Come on. He knows what he’s doing.”

The girls take off for the elevator.

Fur ripples across my body. My bones grind. Ache to rearrange. My elbows pop out of joint, and I suck in a breath. I’ve been in fights before, but only once in Wolf form. I’ll be better off midway. Moving on two legs. It’s more familiar.

I fight to manage the shift. Pace it. Maintain my control.

The hound crouches, snarling lower. That can’t be good.

My jeans strain. My shirt splits.

A second hellhound leaps onto the same shelf. Saliva drips in long strands from bared teeth. Agile, muscled, the beast didn’t even need a running start. The scent of brimstone is overwhelming.

Demon dogs usually appear in churchyards, cemeteries, along hillsides. In gateways to hell. I might’ve had a chance against one. But two? I can’t placate them by acting submissive. I can fight and die. Roll over and die. Run and take my chances.

Paws slam into my back. A third hound pounds me into the stone floor. My nose breaks. Blood pours into my eyes. Claws tear open my right shoulder.

I try to push up, but it’s no use. The monster must weigh more than three hundred pounds. The claws hit bone. Snarling, the other two hounds leap down. One lunges for my leg. It sinks its canines through the denim. I can feel it chewing.

The other huffs at me, like it’s thinking. I fight to do the same. I’ve read of them in England and Latin America, in Tennessee, on Long Island. Along what used to be U.S. Route 666. They’re often harbingers. It’s said that if you see them once — maybe three times — you’ll die soon. Three at once doesn’t bode well for me.

I hear a whistle from deep within the cavern. The monsters freeze. They cock their heads. Waiting. I try to twist free. A paw shoves me down again.

I hear distant footsteps. Hoofsteps? Scraping the rock, they come closer. The hound pinning me shakes its head. Panting. Drool drips onto the back of my neck. More whistling. I recognize the song as “Auld Lang Syne.”

Shouts drown it out. My rescuers stampede the hounds. I smell smoke. I hear Zach, Evelyn. I’m not sure who else. Blood floods my eyes. The hound at my leg yelps.

Suddenly, I can’t hear it anymore. I can’t hear the voices. Or the whistling. I’m losing consciousness. I can’t feel anything.

WE’RE BACKING
into the elevator — waving flaming mops in defense — and the burliest of the devil dogs attacks. Jaws gaping, fangs eager.

I slam my mop into its muzzle and knock it into the beast at its heels, and both go tumbling. They turn on each other and draw more blood. We’re forgotten.

Almost. The third charges — frothing and furious. A formidable paw blocks the doors from closing. I kick it — hard — and break claws.

There’s a yowl, and the doors shut. Lucy punches the button for the third floor.

Inside, Evelyn and Nigel adjust their hold on Kieren.

We’re all breathing heavily. The Wolf looks awful. He’s cut, mauled, and bitten. Blood masks his face. He’s passed out.

If Kieren were human, he’d be dead. He may still die.

What would I tell Quincie? I’m supposed to be watching over her 24/7. The least I can do is keep the boy she calls Wolf man alive.

Kieren’s wholly regained his human features — not that it matters. Vesper outed him as a werewolf to the others when she and Lucy went running for help.

I peel off my T-shirt and tear it in half. “Here,” I say, handing a piece to Evelyn. “Press this against his forehead.”

I tie the remaining material like a tourniquet around his calf. The muscle looks gnawed. Shredded? The shoulder, worse. But it’s the head injury I’m worried about.

Fortunately, shifters heal fast.

“He needs a doctor,” Lucy says.

“No chance of that,” Vesper replies, blinking at my abs. “Unless one of you has a medical degree that you haven’t mentioned. What time is it?”

“It’s 9:56,” Nigel answers. “Willa is dead for good.” The edge in his voice says he’s not looking for sympathy, at least not from us.

That’s just as well right now. We don’t have time to grieve.

Evelyn says, “We should let Kieren rest in his room until —”

“Until Dr. Ulman kills him or someone else for tardiness,” Lucy puts in. “No, he has to be sitting in his chair by the time Demonic History starts.”

As we pass the second floor, Vesper exclaims, “Keys! We’ve got to grab some extra uniforms. We don’t just have to be back by 10
A.M.
, we have to look the part.”

Right, because defying the dress code is what started this particular nightmare. It takes some doing in the cramped space, but I manage to fish my key out of my front jeans pocket and toss it to Vesper. Ditto Evelyn and Nigel.

It’s decided that Vesper and Lucy will ride back to the second floor, grab the extra clothes, and dispose of the mops. On the way down, it was Bilovski who handed them to us from a supply closet. He’s the one who suggested we light them in the nearest fireplace and use them as weapons. I don’t trust him. But the look on his face said he didn’t have a choice about being here. That he’s trying to help, the best he can.

The others exit onto the third floor, and I lift the Wolf in a firefighter’s carry.

“You know, he might be a werecat,” Nigel theorizes as we hustle through the hallway. “Vesper only saw him shift partway and —”

“Wolf,” Kieren mumbles. “Definitely Wolf.”

“That’s disturbing,” Nigel says.