No Angel

by Helen Keeble

  “Yes, of course she does,” Ms. Hellebore said, glancing from me to Michaela. “What’s the problem?”

  “The problem?” I yelped. Behind Ms. Hellebore’s back, Michaela was checking over the monstrous weapon with rapid, practiced movements. “No one else sees a problem with the fact that the school psychopath just wandered out with a damn AK-47?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Ms. Hellebore said. “That’s not an AK-47. It’s a Saiga-04 M3 7.62mm assault rifle.”

  Somehow, I failed to find this reassuring.

  “It really is all right, Raffi,” Faith said, getting to her feet as Michaela headed off without a backward glance. “She’s taking it to the range. If you get a time-out from gym, you have to practice rifle-shooting instead.”

  “An excellent discipline for unsettled minds,” Ms. Hellebore said happily. “It teaches control and focus.” The fact that it also taught how to head-shoot a man at two hundred paces evidently had not occurred to her. The gym teacher blew her whistle. “All right, excitement over! Back to work, girls!”

  Faith stared after Michaela’s retreating form as the class drifted back to basketball practice. “Well, we’ve learned something important.”

  “Yeah, Michaela’s not only a demon, she’s a demon with a gun.” My heart was still pounding from the adrenaline surge. “And she knows how to use it. Wonderful.”

  Faith shook her head. “Not that.” Despite everything, she started to smile. “She’s afraid of me getting to the Ball. She knows I can close the Hellgate with my true love. My father was right!”

  “And so’s Raf,” Krystal said sharply. “Faith, this is not a good time to look on the bright side. Michaela knows we’re onto her, and she’s obviously not afraid of Raf. We’re in deep trouble.” She looked at me. “Reconsidered that smiting thing yet?”

  “No,” I said firmly. “I’m not a murderer.” My gaze went to Ms. Hellebore, who was now exhorting girls to hurl their balls harder. “I think it’s time to invoke the aid of a higher power.”

  Chapter 11

  Congratulations, Mr. Angelos,” the Headmistress said without looking up as I entered her office. She turned another page in my school file. It already seemed to be quite thick. “Three detentions in your first forty-eight hours. You have set a new school record. We may have to commission a plaque.”

  “Um.” I sat gingerly on the chair opposite her desk, trying to ignore the really disturbing scuff marks on the arms that suggested at least one previous occupant had been handcuffed to the thing. “I’m sorry. Things kind of haven’t been working out as I expected.”

  “Yes, I am aware of that. Obviously.” The Headmistress cast me a level look over the top of her reading glasses. “Is that a nervous tic, Mr. Angelos?”

  “No, Headmistress!” I yelped, straightening up from my surreptitious attempt to check that my wings hadn’t slipped out. “Er, when you say that you’re aware of my, um, issues . . . ?”

  The Headmistress sighed. “Mr. Angelos, there is nothing that goes on in this school without my knowledge. Much as I would prefer to remain blissfully oblivious to the mind-bogglingly mundane dramas that so traumatize your teenage lives, it is my job to observe, guide, and—alas, all too occasionally—punish. So yes, I am fully aware of your problems.”

  “Actually, I don’t think you are.” I was pretty sure that not even the Headmistress would describe unexpected angelhood as “mundane.”

  “If I am not already aware, then I have no desire to know,” the Headmistress said crisply. She flipped my file shut. “Now, while Ms. Wormwood has already complained to me about you absconding from your detention last night, I am not thinking of expelling you. Yet. So, Mr. Angelos, it is quite unnecessary for you to grovel before me. You may leave now.”

  I nearly launched myself out of the chair in sheer relieved reflex at being dismissed, before remembering that I was here about something else. I sank back down again, miserably. “Um, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s Michaela Dante. I think she’s dangerous.”

  “You have a remarkable talent for discovering the obvious, Mr. Angelos.” The Headmistress steepled her fingers. “If only your grasp on the English language was so masterful. Let me repeat myself, in words of one syllable: I know all at this school. What exactly do you think you know about Miss Dante that I do not?”

  “She’s a demon!” I blurted out.

  The Headmistress looked at me.

  “Uh, that is, I found her doing black magic out in the woods. With pentagrams and candles and stuff.”

  The Headmistress looked at me some more. One hand reached out to pick up what on initial glance appeared to be the hollowed-out shrunken head of one of her past pupils, but on closer inspection was just a lumpy pottery mug. It had a blobby heart and World’s Best Mum painted on it. Poor, poor Faith. The Headmistress took a long, slow sip, still regarding me unblinkingly over the rim. Then, “Come with me, Mr. Angelos,” she said, putting the mug aside and rising. “I wish to show you something.”

  I was halfway convinced she was going to escort me to her own demon-summoning pentagram, but instead she led the way to a long corridor lined with framed photographs. “Observe, Mr. Angelos,” the Headmistress said, standing back to let me go first. “What do you notice?”

  Hesitantly, I walked down the corridor, eyes staring disapprovingly down at me as I passed. Deep crimson carpet ate the sound of my footsteps. The place had the hushed, reverential air of a cathedral or an art gallery.

  All the photos were of women. I thought at first that they were previous Headmistresses, but then I recognized a Hollywood actress and realized they had to be alumni of the school. Farther on, there was a former prime minister; a couple of senior politicians I remembered seeing on TV; a prominent engineer who was always in the news for lobbying against environmental policies; a famous businesswoman who had her own show, crushing the dreams of aspiring entrepreneurs.

  All the women bore the smug, sleek expressions of people who had everything. Just seeing their photos made me feel weak and unimportant. Trying to shake off the odd sense of inferiority, I looked at the brass plaques under the photos. Each one had a name and a number, and as I drew closer to the end of the corridor, the numbers got bigger. 15,000. 20,000. 120,000 . . .

  “Donations?” I said, getting it at last.

  “Indeed, Mr. Angelos,” said the Headmistress from right behind me. I jumped. I hadn’t even heard her move. “These are all benefactors of Saint Mary’s. Past pupils who have reason to express gratitude to their alma mater.”

  I summed up the amounts listed under just the closest five pictures, and got an eye-watering figure. Multiply that by the length of the corridor, and . . . “You get all this on top of the school fees? Man, you should be paying us!”

  “And have you take your education for granted?” the Headmistress said. “You will find in life, Mr. Angelos, that nothing concentrates the human mind quite so wonderfully as money. But I did not bring you here merely to demonstrate how extraordinarily fortunate you have been to be admitted to such elite company.” She pointed to the very end of the corridor. “There.”

  A portrait hung in splendid isolation on the far wall—not a photograph, but a huge oil painting in an ornate golden frame. It was the only picture that showed a man. A stern-faced old guy, wearing weird black robes.

  FATHER DANTE

  2.5M

  “So, let me see if I have this straight, Mr. Angelos,” the Headmistress said as I stared at the figure in disbelief. “You wish me to expel the ward of the most generous benefactor this school has ever had, on the grounds that, while illegally stalking her without her knowledge, you came across her exercising her human right to free expression of her spiritual beliefs. Do you wish to add anything to this summary?”

  “But she’s a troublemaker, Headmistress,” I said hopelessly. Krystal had told me that Michaela had been adopted by a rich family, but I hadn’t realized they were that rich. “She’s late to everyth
ing, and talks back, and doesn’t pay any attention at all in class. And she gets away with it too. None of the teachers will punish her for anything.”

  “Two and a half million pounds,” the Headmistress said. “Which I only receive if Miss Dante satisfactorily completes her education. It somewhat ties my hands. I cannot risk Miss Dante finding any reason to fault either her teachers or this school.”

  I paused, studying her face. The Headmistress wasn’t looking at me, but rather at the painting. There was a certain sour twist to the set of her mouth. . . .

  “You don’t like her either, do you, Headmistress?” I said. “You’d rather she wasn’t here too.”

  “I could not possibly comment, Mr. Angelos.” She paused. “If, however, you were to discover something of rather more import than a few chalk lines and candles, I would of course be duty-bound to take the matter seriously. Very seriously.”

  “She’s threatened to kill me. Is that serious enough?”

  “Words, Mr. Angelos. Only words.” She tilted her head to one side a little as if struck by a thought. “It does suggest an intriguing possibility, however. I have reason to believe that Miss Dante may indeed be carrying lethal weaponry around the school.”

  My mind flashed on the memory of the daggers Michaela had drawn in the shrine . . . and on the straps I’d glimpsed around her thighs when I’d looked up her skirt in History of Art. “She really is. I can testify to that.”

  The Headmistress sighed. “Mr. Angelos, I will need a little more evidence than your word alone. Your bloody corpse would be convincing, but alas, that presents certain logistical difficulties. Alternative proof is required. I do not have the power to demand Miss Dante submit to a strip search, but if you were able to liberate her weapons from her person, I would be able to expel her immediately. And demand the bulk of the Dante bursary as a penalty fee.”

  “I’ll get you the proof, Headmistress.” I lifted my chin, staring into Father Dante’s painted eyes. He certainly looked like a leader of an evil cult, with his black robes and grim expression. No doubt he’d sent Michaela here to take over the Hellgate and summon more demons to do his bidding. But I wasn’t going to be cowed. I was a guardian angel, and I was going to do whatever it took to stop the forces of Hell.

  I was going to get into Michaela’s pants.

  Chapter 12

  You want me to help you do what?” Krystal stared at me in horror over the lung we were meant to be dissecting.

  “Seduce Michaela,” I repeated in an undertone, leaning to peer past her shoulder. Michaela was staring at us from the far side of the room, toying with a scalpel in a rather disturbing way, but I didn’t think she could overhear us. The rest of our classmates were fully engrossed in attempting to make their animal organs fall apart into neatly labeled schematics without actually touching them. “It’s the only way to get my hands under her skirt.”

  Krystal looked down at her gloved hands as if only the fact she was covered in blood to the wrists was stopping her from face-palming. “Raf, no offense, but you are the worst guardian angel ever.”

  “No, he’s a genius.” Faith smiled at me from her lab stool, where she was perched making drawings of our offal. “It would be so much better to get rid of Michaela without hurting her. I think it’s a wonderful plan.”

  “And that’s your big, red warning flag right there, Raf,” Krystal said with a sigh. “Look, leaving aside the problem of actually carrying out this idiotic idea, what makes you think we can trust the Headmistress to do her part? If she really wanted Michaela gone, she could have expelled her months ago just for the bullying.”

  “My mother can’t do anything that would look like favoritism,” Faith said. “She can’t risk punishing Michaela just because of how she treats me.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you,” Krystal muttered, stabbing our lung with her scalpel.

  Noticing Ms. Oleander’s eyes on us, I passed Krystal another instrument. “Open up that bit next,” I said loudly. “Let’s get a closer look.” I tried to appear deeply interested in the horrible roadkill splayed out before us. “Anyway,” I said, lowering my voice again, “I have to get my hands on Michaela’s daggers, but there’s no way I can take her in a fight. I need a more subtle approach. I thought you could tell me the best way to go about it, Krystal.”

  “Oh, because I’m obviously the authority on seducing girls,” Krystal snapped, slicing at the lung with such force that the whole thing collapsed with a wet fart. “You of all people shouldn’t listen to gossip, Raf. Just because I’m not obsessing like an idiot about getting a boy for the Ball doesn’t mean—”

  “What are you blithering about?” I finally managed to jam a sentence edgeways into the torrent. “I meant you’re the one who told me all that stuff about Michaela in the first place, so I thought you might have some idea of what she likes. You know, what sort of approach I should take.”

  “Oh.” Krystal’s indignation deflated, rather like the lung. “Right. Of course.” She frowned down at her scalpel. “Personally, I’d recommend a net and a big stick.”

  “Krystal,” Faith said reproachfully. She looked at me. “I think the most important thing is to be genuine. Michaela’s smart. She’ll see through any act. But if you approach her sincerely with real feeling, I’m sure she’ll respond.”

  “Uh,” I said. “Are you sure flowers and chocolates wouldn’t work better?”

  “Imagine the possibilities,” Faith continued, her face brightening. “You could redeem her! Turn her to the side of light with the power of your true love!”

  Krystal groaned. “Faith, there are wood lice with more common sense than you.”

  “Yeah, I’m not going to actually fall for Michaela,” I said. Faith’s enthusiasm was starting to bug me and not just because it was patently insane. I hadn’t expected her to be wild with jealousy or anything, but . . . it would have been nice if she’d been just a little dismayed at the thought of me making out with another girl. “You do get that, right?”

  “But it’s obviously meant to be!” Faith clapped her hands. “Just look at the way you two hate each other!”

  “Could we have that again, this time in Earth logic?” I asked.

  “You two are sworn enemies caught on opposing sides of the war between Heaven and Hell,” Faith said patiently. “Clearly, you’re destined to be soul mates!”

  I stared at her. “You have got to be kidding me. I’m not even attracted to her!”

  “Don’t be silly.” Faith gestured at Michaela. “Of course you are. Who wouldn’t be?”

  “Faith, Raf isn’t going to have the hots for someone who wants to stab him in the kidneys,” Krystal said in exasperation. “Michaela’s not that gorgeous.”

  “Well, I think she is.” Faith gazed across at Michaela wistfully. “I had the biggest crush on her when she first arrived.”

  My brain hiccupped to a halt.

  “She was so beautiful, so strong and confident,” Faith continued, apparently oblivious to my frozen state. “I was dazzled by her.” She sighed. “Maybe it was just her supernatural powers, but it felt so real. All I wanted was to be with her, to join our—”

  Krystal snapped her fingers in front of my eyes. “Faith, I think you’ve broken Raf.”

  The end-of-class bell rang, shattering my contemplation of a frankly arresting mental image. “Time, my sweets!” declared Ms. Oleander. She’d become my new favorite teacher for her habit of handing out toffees as rewards for answering questions. I’d gotten one for giving the correct answer to “And what’s your name, my sweet?” Now she rattled the bag, smiling around at us. “You must all be ravenous after working so hard. Come and have a little something to sustain you on your way to the next lesson. Oh, and someone needs to stay behind to cut the organs into bite-sized pieces for proper disposal. Whose turn is it? Julia?”

  “Faith said she’d do it for me,” Julia said without looking up from packing her bag.

  Faith blanched a bit, looking ar
ound at the quivering, bloody lumps scattered over the work tops. “Yes,” she said faintly. “I’d be happy to.”

  “I’ll give you a hand,” Krystal said to her. She shot me an irritated glance. “Since I suspect this isn’t the sort of thing that merits angelic intervention.”

  “Sorry,” I said, already slinging my bag onto my shoulder. “Heavenly duties call.”

  I distinctly heard her mutter, “More like heavenly bodies,” as I headed to intercept Michaela, who was loitering near the door. My palms were sweating. How was I going to start this conversation? Hi, it’s me, the guy you want to kill! Let’s make out!

  “You,” Michaela said in greeting. She dismissed her usual entourage with a flick of her wrist. “We have to talk.” She leaned in a bit closer, body curving sinuously, and dropped her voice to a throaty purr. “In private.”

  Well . . . that was easy.

  “I’m glad you’ve decided to stop attacking me on sight,” I said as she led me away from the crowds rushing to get to the next class. She was definitely swinging her hips a bit more than was strictly necessary . . . not that I was noticing. I made my own voice darken with a hint of smoldering passion. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

  “Not as much as I’ve been thinking about you,” Michaela answered. We’d reached a deserted corridor, which, from all the dust on the floor, didn’t see a lot of traffic. She opened a door to reveal a small, dim storeroom, the walls lined with shelves of obsolete computer equipment. “In here.” She licked her lips slowly, looking me up and down. “I don’t want us to be disturbed.”

  “Right,” I said, the word coming out as a bit more of a squeak than I’d intended. As nonchalantly as I could, I sidled past her. Get in, get the knives, get out, I chanted to myself. I could do this. “So you’ve been feeling the sparks between us too, huh? I mean, you’re the queen bee here, I’m the only guy. . . . It makes sense for us to get together.”

  “Save your breath.” Michaela shut the door behind her with a very solid-sounding click, her seductive attitude dropping away in an instant. “Your wiles won’t work on me.”