“I am sorry you did not believe us yesterday, Ash. I told Nabila but…” He looked utterly dejected. “Is that why you’re in here?”
I sighed. For some inexplicable reason, I’d gone from abject panic to complete calm.
It was probably shock—or some form of denial—but I was grateful for it all the same. “I wouldn’t have believed you, no matter what you’d said. It sounded too crazy to believe—even for me. Though, it would’ve been a helluva lot better if I hadn’t gotten in Churchfield’s bad books.”
“You got into Churchfield’s bad books?” His eyes widened. “But you’re here?” His tone was one of absolute incredulity.
It was my turn to shrug. “I guess she enjoyed my pain.” I sent him a sideways grin. “Sure didn’t enjoy being called Churchmouse or being told capitalism was crap.”
Oscar made a distressed noise and clutched his chest, right above his heart.
A knock sounded at the washroom door. Nash’s voice carried through the wooden panel, “Ashley, can you come out? I’ve been sent to retrieve you.”
As the words reached us, Oscar looked even more terrified, he went so white that the washroom tiles looked healthy in comparison. He slunk into a stall and motioned frantically at me to leave. Shaking my head, I waved back at him. He hadn’t answered any of my questions, and now I had to go back out there?
No, I mouthed at Oscar.
His hands came together in a pleading gesture, like a prayer.
“Ashley?” Nash must be right outside the door.
“Yeah, Nash, I’m coming. Just gimme a minute,” I called, pleased to hear my voice returning to normal.
“Churchfield doesn’t like to wait,” he replied.
At the mention of her name, my heart pounded into overdrive. I stared widely at Oscar, wondering if we could both hide out in the third stall for the rest of the day. He gestured anxiously at the exit.
“You owe me answers,” I whispered at him as fiercely as I could.
In response, he cowered beneath his hands and bobbed his head in what I assumed to be agreement. Somehow Oscar’s fear made me less terrified. It was the oddest thing, but his sheer cowardice empowered my feet all the way to the dreaded door and out into the hallway.
I found Nash waiting for me with one shoulder propped against the opposing wall.
His lean face was a study of idle amusement, though he glanced through the washroom door before it swung shut behind me. As I approached, he uncoiled himself from the wall across the hall and sauntered towards me with easy grace. Watching him move was like watching a predatory ballerina, all grace, power, and the potential to be bitten without warning.
Crap. I’d just made a total idiot of myself in front of Nash.
It was going to take some serious work to dig myself out of the loser hole I’d just dropped myself into. I tried to casually straighten my uniform. “Sent you to haul me back for ritual tarring and feathering? With evil feathers, of course,” I asked sarcastically.
He grinned at me. “Not today. Keepers are supposed to make sure the fresh ones are informed before sending them off to school.” His eyes glittered, letting me admire how they had golden centers that disappeared into dark amber outer rings. “Enclave Milton’s not popular right now.”
“Keepers?” I forgot to act cool as yet another new term came up.
“Yeah.” He sent me a borderline suffering look. “They run the enclaves, make sure people are following their contracts.”
I thought about Mrs. Keats. Myrtle. Nabila said my music made her scream, I thought she’d been messing with me and that Myrtle had just been pissed off about something joyful in that building. But now, I believed my music had truly hurt her. Myrtle probably hadn’t told me about St. Damon’s because she’d either been in too much pain, or more likely, she set me up to punish me.
Well, tough shit. I wasn’t going to stop signing or playing my guitar, I promised myself. If it hurt her, she could go somewhere else while I played.
Or, better yet, my father and I could go somewhere else.
“So, the Bulldog is a Keeper?” I asked Nash.
“Bulldog? Hah.” This time a barking laugh accompanied his grin. “You got spine,” he said approvingly. “You can sit with me at lunch.” His grin faded and he tapped my chin with his forefinger, sending a streak of heat through my middle. “But you’ve got to watch it. Churchfield doesn’t make idle threats. And the other teachers will get involved if they think a student is stirring up dissension.”
Others? Were the other teachers as terrifying as…
No. I couldn’t think about that. Not right now.
“Listen, you’ve already gotten away with a lot,” Nash said. “So go along to get along, okay?”
I nodded and regarded the door to the classroom with all the apprehension a pig might the slaughter barn. Swallowing, I darted a sideways glance at Nash. He was studying me with poorly concealed amusement. My gaze swung back to the door and I swallowed again. Either I could save face and walk back into that room, or run to a fence and get tackled by demonic anti-nuns. Or electrocuted. Or both.
Lifting an eyebrow, I turned to stare him down, only to find his face hovering mere inches from mine.
“After you,” he said in a low voice.
This time my gulp didn’t have anything to do with Churchfield or her threats. It was all about the primal guy standing oh-so-close to me. He seemed to be smelling me.
Worse? I seemed to be enjoying it.
What the hell was my problem?
Get with the program, Ash.
Forcing my shoulders back and chin up, I marched through the classroom door and back into the demon’s classroom.
Sitting unobtrusively in the corner wasn’t a natural state for me. Particularly when it involved a fascinating, dangerous boy named Nash literally breathing down my neck. I didn’t object to the neck breathing. But I did object—silently—to the rest of the lesson content.
Their idea of studying business was basically a bunch of bullshit about maintaining the status quo. For the rest of homeroom, Churchfield blathered about stations and hierarchy. In the following, block Mrs. Thacker, a terrifyingly short woman who moved like a silverfish, lectured about power coming to those who did what they were told. Every time they talked about the higher order, the ones I’d mentally labeled the Ferals visibly preened themselves, while the ones who reminded me of Oscar slouched further into their seats. I guessed those were the Feeders.
It made my skin crawl.
Every last bit of it.
Lunchtime took a lifetime to arrive. I felt far older by the time the second block ended than a measly three hours should merit.
“Hey, Ash. Let’s go. You’re sitting with me.” Nash met me outside Thacker’s classroom, and I breathed a sigh of relief at not having to find my own way to the cafeteria—or worrying about where to sit.
Sure, he’d more told me than asked me, but whatever.
For the moment, my independent woman card could suck it—survival came first.
I walked quietly beside Nash as he led me to the cafeteria. My neck-breathing guide was by far the best thing I’d found in Vegas, even better than Lucas, my dream-starring hottie, because Nash was actually at my school and wasn’t hiding any stalker-worthy agenda.
He openly wanted to check me out. And it seemed I was into that.
Getting to know him better might be a worthy distraction.
I’d do the best I could with this nightmare—for now. But it was clear to me that Jim and I had to get out of this mess—and quickly. Clearly, Jim wasn’t a good judge of things; otherwise, we wouldn’t be in this festering shitstorm. So it was up to me. Mom had always called me her little Machiavelli—when I was twelve I’d looked that up and discovered Machiavelli was this old Italian dude who’d written a book on strategies for conquering the world. I don’t know if she’d intended it as a compliment, but I’d been thrilled. I was clever and I was going to take over the music world.
But I had to admit I’d no idea what to do with this demonic world I’d been dropped into.
Sighing, I rolled my shoulders. I needed information. I needed allies. I might even need help. I tried to subtly study Nash—was he someone I could look to? Maybe. I liked the idea of him being my ally. He’d have cool powers and fight off scary demons all to protect my honor.
I had to struggle not to snort aloud about that last thought. Would it be easier to have a knight in demonic armor? Probably. But I’d rather be the one swinging the sword—I didn’t want to be some princess in need of saving.
I’d rather be the dragon. Every. Single. Time.
And for that, I had to figure out how to save myself.
“Ashley?” A finger poked me in the side and I snapped back to awareness.
“Er, yeah?” Heat flushed my cheeks. I prayed my recent thoughts didn’t show on my face.
“I was wondering,” Nash took the time to elbow a fellow feral who was passing the hall before continuing. “Normals don’t attend Saint Damon’s, but you don’t smell like a Feeder…”
He trailed off expectantly and watched me with an expression that reminded me of my neighbor’s cat back in Portland when it was hunting pigeons roosting on the fire escape. As much as I usually hated the “what are you” questions, I needed some allies, so I sucked in a breath and said, “I’m not a Feeder. I’m half Latinx, half white and—”
Hold on, smell?
I didn’t smell like a Feeder?
“What are you?” I asked him.
Nash looked almost affronted that he had to explain this to me. “Shifter. Obviously.”
My head tilted to the side. “Like a werewolf?”
Yellow eyes rolled upwards. “Ugh, that’s so Hollywood. Reality is way cooler.”
So he could be my knight in shining… fur? Jesus.
Only, it wasn’t funny. I thought of every horror movie I’d ever seen featuring a bunch of Shifters in a single building and they were all bad. I tried to push the scenarios out of my head, because he could probably smell my fear and I couldn’t have that.
“So, you have like claws and stuff?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“I will.”
He sounded awfully happy about that. It was a bit unnerving. It was also distracting. I nearly missed the fact that we’d moved from the hallway into a large space full of regular food smells.
The cute guy beside me was looking forward to getting his claws.
Fucking claws!
For a moment, I stared blindly around the cafeteria. The combination of normal smells and sounds of kids jostling for food made me uncomfortable. Because it wasn’t really normal. None of this was normal. The walls were white and the long church pews had been converted to picnic-style tables. They’d taken out the main chapel and installed a long row of stainless steel food warmers. An army of five short, squat figures manned them with military precision. My eyes narrowed.
Forgetting my acting cool objective, I whispered, “Nash?”
“What?” He didn’t bother to whisper.
“What are the lunch ladies? I always thought the ones at my old school were trolls, and I think they’re related to these ones.”
He gave a barking laugh and I took momentary pleasure in having entertained him. “Kinda. We call them Minders. Durable and they travel in packs, so you don’t want to piss one off. They’re down the chain, but not walking food, like Feeders.”
Part of my mouth pulled inwards at the way he talked about Feeders, it reminded me of how scared Oscar had been earlier today. At the thought of my fellow Milton-sufferer, I scanned the room. A tall head of scruffy hair caught my attention; Oscar was hunched into the far corner of the room with a band of similarly positioned fellows. Our gazes met and I lifted a hand in greeting. In response, his eyes nearly bulged out of his face.
“Friend of yours?” Nash’s words were bland, his tone was not.
I shrugged. “Oscar’s in my building. He’s okay.”
“Okay?” Nash stuck an arm in front of me and ground to a halt. “Look, Ash, you’ve got too much spine to be a Feeder unless you’re a total freak. And you don’t want to be a total freak around here—bad for the health. Gotta pick your pack, Ashley.”
“That so?” I hated being pushed into any sort of corner.
Wasn’t a big fan of bullies either—cute or not.
I glared at him, letting him know I wasn’t going to be intimidated by his demon whoo-ha. “I don’t think I’m any of the things you’ve talked about. I don’t have claws, I don’t travel in a herd, ready to serve lunch, and I sure as hell don’t have a hankering for some demon to suck on my life-force.”
A wide, white-toothed smile graced me. “That means you’re something different. Otherwise, you’d be gibbering in a corner.”
I couldn’t help but stare at his teeth.
Why Grandmother, what big teeth…
The screwed up part about all of this was I still wanted to be near him. There was something about him. It drew me. Made me want to follow him into dark corners and explore every inch of him.
And let him explore me.
A cold flash of something I couldn’t name skittered up my spine. I’d just been having dirty dreams about a guy I’d only spoken a few words to, and now, here I was ready to go off into a dark corner with a werewolf.
A werewolf who was a bully to boot.
I needed to get my priorities in order.
I opened my mouth to tell him I saw things and that he’d better watch it, otherwise I’d take a serious look at him.
Be careful who you tell, my mother’s warning rang in my head.
“Well, I’m not anything,” I said. “I’m just stuck here.”
Those unusual amber eyes stared at me for a long moment, as if weighing the truth of my words. Clearly, he’d been expecting something more. “Fine.” He shrugged and nudged me back into the lunch lineup. “Let’s eat.”
While standing in that lineup it occurred to me that I really should be gibbering in the corner. I didn’t think my occasional visions were strange—or special—enough to preclude me from that. So why wasn’t I? It was a question I couldn’t answer on my own, not without more information.
What I did know was that I’d be having a long conversation with Nabila and Oscar—and Jim—when I got home to The Milton.
Chapter Twelve
The after school bus pulled up to where The Milton met pavement.
My unwanted, temporary home lurked in the shadows behind the towering casinos; all decked out with their neon call signs. Each promising riches they’d never deliver. As much as I’d wanted to leave school, I really didn’t want to go home.
The bus’s doors lined up precisely with the open gate.
Those open metal bars gaped into the next stage of my personal hell. All I could see through them were shadows. I wanted to get off the bus; I wanted to get out of the town. But I didn’t run. Couldn’t. Instead, I followed Nabila and Oscar as we made the short trip from bus to entrance.
Inside The Milton was dark, oddly soothing after my shitstorm of day, and a better match to my personal picture of how the demon world should look—no neon, all misery. The Bulldog was there, jealously guarding her territory. She leveled me with her beady gaze as I entered the courtyard, but she didn’t approach, didn’t say anything or crow in victory. Guess she’d gotten that warning. Perfect.
I smiled at her as we passed.
I let Oscar and Nabila reach the second-floor landing before grabbing the back of both their uniforms. “You’re going to answer my questions. Now.”
A pin materialized before my eyes.
I blinked but refused to back down.
Dark eyes regarded me impassively. “I already answered you. You don’t listen, Freshy.”
Deflating like a bad tire, I dropped my grasp on her shirt. “I’m listening now.”
“Nabila.” Oscar hovered behind us, no doubt ready to intervene if the pin moved closer to my
right eyeball. “We should speak with her.”
“Fine. Let’s go to your place,” she said, glaring at Oscar. He looked so uncomfortable I almost felt guilty for starting this. Did I really want these answers? Did I want to learn all the monsters I’d believed to be story and myth were real?
Yeah. Yeah, I did.
If I wanted to save myself, I needed information. Fast.
“Look, I need to check on Jim,” I said. “Take a minute. I’ll catch up. What’s your number?”
Oscar stared at me, wide blue eyes made wider by the glasses he wore.
“For your apartment,” I clarified.
His face changed color and his usual stoop became even more pronounced. “It’s… uh…”
Shit. He did not want us in that space. “Whatever,” I said. “You can both come to mine. Just give me five.”
“Thank you, Mist— Ash.” Oscar grinned in relief, and for a moment, his face was transformed, offering a glimpse of the remarkably handsome guy he’d be if he ever fed himself properly.
“Sure.” Embarrassed, I ducked my head and headed towards my apartment.
Hopefully, Jim was home. I’d barely seen him since we arrived. I didn’t even know where his job was or his schedule. He needed to tell me so I’d know what to plan for dinner and how much I’d need to make. I briefly wondered if he could cook, but if the amount of McDonald’s we’d eaten in the past few days was any indication, he might be able to make toast. Might. Sadly the best meal I’d had in days had been made by the trolls in the school cafeteria.
Another thing that has to change.
Sliding the key into the lock, I opened the door to find a dark, quiet—empty apartment.
“Jim?” I called out, without any real hope of a reply.
Silence was the only greeting I received.
Dropping my stuff in the small alcove, I considered the demon’s attempt at an entranceway closet as I flipped on some lights—too small to hold more than a couple pairs of shoes and some light jackets, how demonically vexing of them. I stuck my uniform into the depths and began searching the rest of the place.
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