Diabolical (20 page)

“She put on an eye patch. She ran up to me and bellowed, ‘Ahoy, matey!’

“Quince was adorable. I loved her, even then. I didn’t care when other boys teased me about having a girl as a best friend. After everyone else went home, I told her the whole truth about what I was. My parents had warned me to trust no one. Every day. Like a mantra. A prayer. I put my faith in Quince anyway.”

The girls are hooked. I excuse myself to go to the restroom.

I stroll through the formal living room and foyer toward the restroom past the Bilovskis’ apartment. I can’t hear any voices or see any light beneath their door.

In the men’s room, I splash my face at the sink. When I look up in the mirror, the devilish face is superimposed on mine. Like with Ulman, only the fit is better. As if it’s a custom-made mask.

“Dude!” whispers a voice. A hand clamps on my shoulder.

“Gah!” I exclaim, turning to face Joshua. “You scared me.”

“Yeah, I got that from the way you jumped and the girly shriek.”

“I did not shriek.” I glance back at the mirror and my face looks normal again. “Where have you been? Can you tell me —”

“Where have
I
been?” He folds his arms across his chest. “I am not your genie. I’m not your feisty redheaded assignment’s genie either. I’m an angel of the order guardian and deserving of some respect. You and your young ladies”— he uses air quotes around “young ladies”—“got me into this mess, and —”

I shush him. “What are you talking about? I’m the one who’s —”

“Yeah, uh-huh, it’s all about you. The famous, fantabulous, slipped Zachary.”

While he’s ranting, I peek outside the restroom door to make sure no one’s eavesdropping. All clear. Except maybe for whatever the hell that was in the mirror.

“Well, I’ve got news for you, dude. It’s just a matter of time before Michael hauls my ass into his office for a full review of your file and shows up to check on you himself.”

That would be bad. “Can you stall him?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing? Meanwhile, I’m trying to babysit your —”

“Is Quincie okay? I thought she was watching movies at the B and B.”

“Now you ask. It’s been three days. She’s conniving a way into this place so she can rescue you and her hirsute honey, or try to anyway. Kieren told you this would happen. You know as well as I do that you can’t expect that girl —”

“I warned her how dangerous the school could be. Especially to a neophyte vampire, wholly souled or not. She doesn’t belong here.”

“Neither do you. Find a way out, Zachary. Get back to Quincie, and start doing the job you’re supposed to do. Now.”

At about 2
A.M.
, Bridget whispers, “Why do bad things keep happening?”

“We’re being schooled,” Vesper replies. “It’s all part of the curriculum.”

“I was under the impression,” Lucy says, “that they’re trying to graduate the strongest, the survivors. Like some unholy reality television game.”

“If that were true,” Bridget counters, “why would Dr. Ulman be teaching Physical Fitness and Combat, of all things? She doesn’t even have a physical presence.”

“Why only one faculty member?” Kieren asks, as if surprised it didn’t occur to him before. “Granted, we’re not a big class. Maybe only ghosts are eligible to teach because we can’t fight them.”

I see what they’re getting at. “How hard could it be to find a gym teacher in hell?” I ask.

“Not very,” chimes in every other student in the darkened room.

I fall asleep sometime after four. Bridget shakes us awake before the alarm goes off. She brought her Bible from home. She suggests holding a makeshift church service.

“You may want to carry that with you,” Kieren suggests.

Lucy joins them in an impromptu prayer group.

Meanwhile, Vesper announces that she wants to take a shower. Evelyn goes along so Vesper won’t be alone on the second floor.

Nigel and I duck in to the kitchen. Mrs. Bilovski has laid out her traditional breakfast spread. “What are you children all doing downstairs?” she asks.

“Safety in numbers,” Nigel says. “We thought —”

“There is no safety,” the cook replies. “There is only prodding the Beast or not prodding the Beast. I’m warning you: do not provoke it. Do not invite it further in.”

Transcript of Call:

Vampires Quincie Morris and Queen Sabine

1/9, 7:43
A.M.

Sabine: What is this about another letter of reference? After what I said when we last spoke, you nevertheless dare to invoke my name with the Prince of Darkness?

Quincie: What are you so nervous about, Your Majesty? He’s a prince. You’re a queen. Doesn’t that mean you outrank him?

Sabine: Do not be insipid. You know it does not. It occurs to me that, because I graced your quaint little restaurant with my royal presence on Halloween night, you assume we are friends. We are not. Whatever your heavenly associations, you are still a vampire, and that makes me your sovereign.

Quincie: I thought you’d kicked me out, waived my taxes and everything.

Sabine: I have reconsidered.

Quincie: Because?

Sabine: I have news for you, young gentry-woman. My consort Philippe spoke personally to a Scholomance representative. In an unexpected turn of events, the administration is, and I quote, “delighted” by your application and “honored” by my recommendation. In fact, you were described as having been targeted as “a prospective student of highest interest” for some time, and your application approval process is being expedited.

Quincie: So it’s a trap. Fine. I’m going in anyway.

THIS MORNING
, Kieren decides not to risk Ulman’s wrath by bringing his axe to class. Using shifter strength and hardware from our luggage, he mounts it in the chimney of his room’s fireplace. He singes the hair on his arms in the process.

In Underworld Governments, we’ve been assigned to do semester-long independent studies, to culminate in oral reports. I pick the old-school Chicago mafia as my topic. Now that Kieren’s Wolf heritage is public knowledge, I want to make a point about what
human beings
are capable of. Besides, Moran and Capone feuded as much over acquiring demonic knowledge as they did over money, territory, and bragging rights.

Evelyn backs me up by choosing the National Council for Preserving Humanity, and Lucy does the same by selecting the Ku Klux Klan. Kieren calls Wolves. Nigel, the kingdom of hell. Bridget and Vesper defer their decisions.

Ulman herself seems at a loss in Physical Fitness & Combat. It isn’t just that she has no corporeal presence. I suspect she’s never physically faced off against anyone or, if she did, won. For the last two days, she’s assigned us to do calisthenics and to jog around the track.

It makes me wonder about her employer. Lucifer is known for his ego, Michael for his work ethic. My angelic performance may be short of the archangel’s expectations, but I’m sure he carefully considers each mission he assigns. From what I can tell, the adversary stuck Ulman in this class, without a whole lot of thought, to fend for herself on his behalf. She doesn’t matter. The class doesn’t matter. This so-called school is a joke.

“Kieren,” Ulman calls as he limps around the far curve, “your performance is insufficient. Minimum standards must be met.” Without further warning, she extracts her lace-trimmed handkerchief from her bodice. “My available discretion is limited.”

Crap. For a moment everyone freezes, remembering what happened to Willa. The Wolf is on the opposite side of the room. If Ulman flicks her wrist, there’s no way I can make it across the gym in time to block her attack with my immortal body.

Lucy’s hand shoots up. “Dr. Ulman, I, um, I . . . have a green belt in tae kwon do. I volunteer to share my knowledge with my fellow classmates.”

For the first time, Ulman smiles. “Very good. Do take over. I will supervise.”

I don’t remember Lucy studying tae kwon do. It’s possible that she took a class or two after Drac Radford made off with Miranda. I can see where that experience would inspire her to learn more about self-defense. Plus, she went through an obsessive period of watching the entire
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
TV series in back-to-back episodes during the summer after seventh grade. But Lucy’s never been much of a student.

On the other hand, she gets an A in distracting the teacher.

We gather in two staggered rows, a few feet in front of the parallel bars. Nigel, Kieren, and Bridget in back. Me, Evelyn, and Vesper up front.

Lucy faces us as Ulman hovers above the track behind her and to the right. Ulman hasn’t tucked the handkerchief away, but she doesn’t seem mindful of it either.

“Tae kwon do,” Lucy begins with only five minutes of class left, “is a Korean martial art. It has an emphasis on kicking. . . .” She glances at Kieren’s bandaged calf. “And punching.” She grimaces at his shoulder injury. Still, she’s kept him alive this long.

Trying to mimic Lucy’s demonstration, we punch thin air. I can’t see Kieren in back of me, but I hear him suck in a sharp breath on the first punch.

Nigel whispers to the Wolf, “You’re bleeding again.”

“Kieren.” Glancing at the cloth in her hands, Ulman apparently remembers what she was saying when Lucy’s arm shot up. “Your performance is insufficient. Minimum standards must be met. My available discretion is limited.”

A wave of her wrist, and he’s gone. Completely. Unlike Willa, whose body remained after her life was extinguished, there’s no trace of him left in the gym.

“You killed him!” Evelyn exclaims as the initial shock begins to dissipate.

“I did no such thing,” Ulman replies. “I merely relocated him to his personal quarters. His situation did not parallel Willa’s. He did not willfully defy me. My available discretion is limited, but I do have some.”

Ulman vanishes. The digital clock on the wall reads 2:45
P.M.
We’re excused.

Everyone sprints for the elevator. We’re silent as it rises to the second floor, and then we all trip over each other, barreling to Kieren’s room at the end of the hall.

Lucy tries the door — locked. She and Evelyn beat their fists against it. Seconds pass, a moment, then the door opens.

Kieren’s blurry, confused. Swaying a bit. “What?”

Everyone crowds in, laughing, cheering. Nigel calls the Wolf bro. Bridget wraps her arms around him from the back and bursts into tears.

In light of Mrs. Bilovski’s warning, the students voted four to three to sleep upstairs tonight, though Bridget, Lucy, and Vesper are all staying in Vesper’s room.

A couple of hours after dinner, I find Nigel alone downstairs. He’s positioned himself in a chair in front of the fireplace in the formal living room. As usual, he has a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He’s wearing his slippers, and his silk robe reminds me of a smoking jacket. Hugh Hefner Jr.

I wonder if Nigel has, even for a moment, had a stimulant-free system since he staggered through the front door. Has he always been this way? Or is this a self-medication strategy?

“Want one?” he asks, holding up an unopened bottle from the table beside him.

“Sure.” He’s grieving Willa. Silently. Privately. Trying to man up or some such nonsense. “You loved her. As in, you were
in
love with her.”

“It wasn’t mutual.” He shrugs. “Anyway, she turned out to be every bit as disposable as I was. Like a live mouse that you buy to feed to your pet snake. Not that I’m surprised.”

“Because?” Assuming you knew what was in store, sending your kid here is the de facto equivalent of infanticide. Someone like Vesper may have been raised to compete in this environment, but Willa was fragile.

“Her parents, the Wimberleys, they were a piece of work. They had this prenup where if Mrs. W. ever topped 105 pounds, Dr. W. could divorce her free and clear, including child support.”

“Doctor?” I prompt.

“Plastic surgeon,” Nigel explains. “You know, Las Vegas. There’s a lot of money to be made off the showgirls alone. The doc did all the work on his wife and Willa, too. She got breast implants for her last birthday. The procedure was mystical or maybe just experimental. I’m not sure. But when something went wrong with them, Daddy took the originals out and put in new ones.”

I’m disgusted by the thought of a father cutting into his own child that way, putting her at risk for no good reason. “You two had some idea of what you were walking into. Why didn’t you —?”

“Run like hell?” He takes a puff. “You can’t run away from this place. Or at least, you can’t run from where it leads. Or at least, I can’t.”

I twist off the cap. “What makes you say that?”

“Destiny,” he replies, like it’s funny somehow.

“Crystal ball?” I stroll around the room to make sure no one’s lurking around a corner. “Psychic?” I snap my fingers. “Let me guess: somebody read your cards.”

No reply. “Tea leaves?”

Once I’m satisfied we’re alone, I take the chair across from his. The beer would taste better cold. I’m surprised that Nigel’s stash wasn’t confiscated like our weapons.

I gesture to his cigarette. “There’s a reason people call those things coffin nails.”