by Emery Skye
“You're beautiful,” she sounded delighted.
“Thanks, but I feel like an idiot,” I tried to pull at the hem of the dress.
“You're not. Stop fidgeting,” she shook her head. “It’s a girl’s right to look pretty.”
It was dark outside. I hadn’t realized how long dressing had taken. The clock said it was past nine.
“We should get going. We’re going to be late.”
“Anna, you can’t be late to a party,” she shook her head.
I didn’t know what she was talking about, but seeing her composure, I relaxed. Since we had nowhere to go, I told her about Maion.
Earlier this week, Maion, and I had been asked to volunteer in Tactical Strategy. We had been best friends growing up and, maybe even developed some deeper feelings for one another. But then, we delved further in our training and everything else went away. We had hugged and, I had invited him to the Inverno.
Her eyebrows rose to her hairline once throughout the story—the part about our hug.
“Really? Do you think you’re interested in him, again?”
I shrugged, “Maion's only interested in training.”
“You don’t know that. Guys change. Especially when the girl is wearing a killer, red dress.”
I smiled at that.
“We'd better go before the hall monitor comes on duty.”
She jumped up when I said that, and practically ran out the door. I tried to follow, but, damn, these stupid shoes were hard to walk in.
Eventually, I made it to the maintenance shack. It was a box of deteriorating, split, brown wood. I expected a guard doing fingerprint checks but saw nothing of the sort.
Amalie had disappeared.
From the outside, I could hear the faint sound of music but nothing else. So far this secretive, so-called notorious party disappointed me.
I proceeded cautiously, unsure of what I was walking into. My entrance went unnoticed. I was relieved, but had expected, hoped for, at least a few stares.
As I moved among the knot of people, I couldn’t help but notice the music. It drummed loud enough to be painful. Prolonged exposure might cause damage. Hmm... How had they soundproofed this place? I let go of the thought.
At least they didn’t play rap. The sound of Motley Crue made my toes curl. I know, lame. Amalie didn’t even know who Motley Crue was, but I loved ‘em.
The first person who stopped when she saw me was Taylor. She wanted to talk. Lucky me.
“Look who decided to play dress up!” She grimaced.
Taylor wore a dress similar to Amalie’s. Amalie wore it better.
I thought about what Amalie would say in this situation.
“Jealous?” I mocked with my big girl voice.
“Of you? As if.”
I leaned forward. She started to piss me off.
“Why did you want me here if you're going to be a bitch?”
She started at that. I must have hit a nerve.
“I'm not being a bitch, Anna. Grow up.”
What?
“What does growing up have to do with anything?” I asked.
She shifted her weight toward me, a silver stiletto balanced on its heel.
“I don't have time to talk to you.”
“I was just leaving.”
“If you see that sister of yours, tell her she's uninvited, too." Taylor had a hand on her pointy hip.
I wanted to strangle her with everything in me. Instead, I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed. After a second, she whimpered.
“I won't tell her. Neither will you.” I squeezed a little harder. Taylor nodded curtly.
Done with Taylor, I, again, looked for Amalie. She wasn't here. I left to find her.
Chapter 6
“How stupid can she be? Noviates are going missing from everywhere, and she takes off, God knows where, and alone! Ugh!” I suddenly noticed I'd been mumbling my frustrations with Amalie for long enough that my throat was sore.
My feet were killing me! I’d taken off my shoes and been carrying them for what felt like forever. I was walking in the freezing gravel around the courtyard.
The combination of the cold and darkness was disconcerting. I wasn't scared of the dark or anything. The silence bothered me. My own footfalls made me nervous. Even though I knew I was alone. Possibly. I walked until my feet stopped killing me.
Suddenly I heard a noise.
I stopped.
Maybe I only thought I heard a noise.
Nothing.
I walked more and swore.
I heard it again.
I stopped, but I don't know if it was in the instant I heard it or just after.
Something.
Something closer.
Someone was following me. I put my back against the nearest tree and took the ready stance in which I kept my lower body isotonic and balanced. I didn’t have a weapon, but it didn’t matter. I could be a weapon. I wanted to be, hoped to be. I trained to be a weapon. God's weapon. Right now, I needed to be a weapon. This day had shredded my last nerve.
“Who’s there? Show yourself!” I shouted into the dark. I had no reason to be stealthy. I was at the Academy. Academies were protected. Demons couldn’t waltz in and tear out noviates’ hearts. I squinted, trying to force myself to see something. Anything. “Either come out on your own or I will force you to and rip your throat out in the process!”
“Okay, okay. Just don’t kill me!”
Hans. He stepped out of the darkness into the little bit of light that spilled onto the pathway from the moon hanging overhead. He walked slowly toward me. I almost had half a mind to hit him and apologize later. I could pretend he'd scared me so bad I didn't recognize him until after rearranging his face, but the other, sane half had better judgment.
I decided, begrudgingly, to use it.
“What the Hell, Hans?”
“Look,” he took three steps closer. “I just wanted to apologize... about the other day... in class..." he trailed off.
Yeah, I remembered all too well what Hans did. It’s a stupid story but the gist is that he embarrassed me in front of Dr. Ezekiel (totally incredible Swordsmanship professor).
Sure. Hans. Apologizing… Biggest. Joke. Ever.
“And you thought following me into the bitter cold was ... what... penance? Contrition?”
He stepped still closer. We stood only a half-step apart. Too close.
“I wanted to tell you at the party, but you left too fast.”
I wanted to believe him in spite of myself.
“That was, like, two and a half hours ago,” I spat.
“No shit," he spat back.
I grinned, but I drew back to punch him.
He raised his hands in an "I surrender" gesture.
"You made me search for you," he said.
He relaxed. His hands went to his sides.
“Uh-huh. Bye.”
I turned, and he grabbed my arm. I lifted my arm in a lightning-fast upper cut that broke his grip. I managed not to hit him, but I'll be damned if I know how.
“Don’t touch me,” I snarled.
He backed off.
“Don’t be that way.”
“Be what way, Hans?” I rolled my eyes, unsure if he could see my sarcasm in the dark.
“I said, I was ‘sorry.’” He pursed his lips. I could tell he was either hiding something or lying outright, but I wouldn't deal with that until after I knew Amalie was safe. Maybe not even then.
“You can go. I am busy.” I turned toward Michael's Citadel. Instead of grabbing my arm, he quietly strolled beside me.
“Busy with what?”
“I need to find Amalie.”
“You might want to put your shoes back on.” I looked down at my bloody feet and decided that enduring the shoes was better than continued slicing in the gravel. Amalie would be pissed about the stains.
Good. I decided to put them back on.
I tried to put them on, but they wouldn’t fit. My feet
had swollen. I actually whimpered. I felt so helpless. So girly. I was going to kill Amalie.
Hans looked at my feet. His face softened. He knelt. He didn't touch my feet, but his hands were close enough that I could feel the heat of them. Then, suddenly, they got warm. He lifted his fingers up and down in a way that made me think of playing the piano, or typing, except faster. My feet warmed. I could feel the swelling reverse itself. I looked down. The bleeding stopped.
After a second or two of breathless watching, the cuts closed. I gasped. He put the shoes on my feet, which felt wonderful, and stood up. I looked away.
Those were some serious upperclassman tricks he just pulled. Tricks not many angels could do. Of course, he’d have to be a totally sick healer on top of awesome sword fighter. Of course.
“Where have you looked?” I could see him looking at me from the corner of my eye. What? How? Had that just happened?
I told him.
He mumbled something indiscernible.
“We should try Michael's.”
“That is where I was going.”
We walked quietly. Almost. He made weird mouth noises and kicked rocks. If ever I had to be stealthy, in a pair, I hoped he wasn't my partner.
When we reached Michael's, he opened and held the door for me. That was nice. Paranoia reared its ugly head.
I searched every room. I called her name in a voice slightly louder than a whisper. It echoed off the walls. Hans did the same. She wasn’t here.
“Let’s try the library,” I suggested in the nicest voice I could muster under the circumstances.
We turned right, walking toward the door. Every step I took, my trepidation increased. Treacherous thoughts inundated my mind. She can’t be hurt, I kept telling myself. She's fine, I repeated mentally.
The library was a single room filled with hundreds of shelves lining the walls, and another dead end. I called her name over and over, too many times to count. Hans echoed me. Nothing. Finally, angry at her and Hans, I shouted.
“Someone will hear you!” Hans cautioned in a too-loud whisper while stroking my shoulder. His touch felt grimy against my skin.
“I’m sorry. It’s just, where is she? There are Warriors everywhere, so, tell me, where the hell are they when I need one?”
Discouraged, I sat on a chair at a table in the middle of the room and began retracing steps. This reminded me of when my mom and I were in Colorado, driving. We drove a whole five miles above the speed limit and we got pulled over. As we were driving off, we witnessed a guy mug an elderly lady and run off. Of course, there was no cop in sight.
Hans sat beside me, pulling me out of my reverie. He leaned in close. I smelt his minty breath.
I dropped my head into my hands, threading my fingers through my hair that fell over my shoulders like a blonde waterfall.
“It’ll be okay, Anna,” His voice warmed up, deepened. Maybe that was his breathe getting closer to my lips.
I sighed deeply, and he smiled. His forehead stayed crinkled.
There was something caring in his expression.
I dipped my head lower and cradled it with my hands as the first tear rolled down my check like a disobedient child refusing to stay back.
He lifted my chin with his fingers, slowly. I should have been happy to have him close, or maybe irritated after what happened in class. I couldn’t decide how I felt about him. My mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of Amalie. He pulled me into a hug. His tight, strong body warmed my own. I hadn’t realized how cold I was.
His scruffy face nudged mine, and I lifted my eyes to his. I started to stand. He pulled me back down. He grabbed my face and forced his lips on mine. I froze. My lips stayed closed. I didn’t know what to do.
I considered. Hans was kissing me. He was cute, wasn’t he? I didn’t want to kiss him. Did I? For about a millisecond I thought about this.
Kiss him or not?
Not. I pulled away, trying for a subtle message.
He pushed into me. What the hell! I shouted mentally.
I tried again, and he pushed in again.
He put his hand on my thigh. I tried pushing his hand away, but he’d grabbed my wrist. Both my arms were pinned.
“Stop!” I shouted.
He didn’t. I was about to knee him.
Suddenly, big hands grabbed Hans’s shoulders. Hans’s lips peeled off mine. He was jerked to his feet wicked fast. His face was worth a million bucks.
Hans swung around with a fist raised.
“What the—” I heard Hans gasp.
“Stand down!” roared a hauntingly delicious, familiar voice. Hans was tossed to a nearby bookshelf.
Once Hans was out of sight and out of mind, my fear was confirmed: Legite Deror, Nathaniel Deror, stood over me. We both knew what he had just seen. This night was getting better and better.
“What were you doing?” Legite Deror growled. There was a small glimmer in his eyes and a slight arch in his left brow.
I kept my mouth shut.
“We were just having a little fun!” Hans said like the worthless, lying piece of shit he was.
Rage swelled inside me. Hans's voice ignited a flame. I clenched my fist, angry.
Deror ignored Hans's statement.
“What's your name?”
Hans swallowed hard. Deror was at least a head taller than Hans, and, side-by-side, there was no comparison. He could grind Hans to dust with one thumb.
“Hans Matthews,” Hans's voice squeaked, like a little girls. I hoped he'd piss himself.
“It is past curfew. You both know better,” he glanced at me suddenly and gave a lazy half smile that I didn’t think Hans saw. “You do know better, don't you Noviate Matthews?” Hans wouldn't look at him. The legite raised his right fist.
“Ye-ye-yes, Sir.” Hans stuttered, still looking at the floor.
Deror extended his arm until his fist was under Hans's face. He turned his fist thumb up. Hans looked at him. Deror lifted Hans's chin with his thumb until the boy was straining against the force.
"Conduct unbecoming for just the curfew violation. What if I were to report what I interrupted?"
Hans closed his eyes and began trembling.
“Are you injured, Noviate Hasdiel?” He looked at me.
I sighed.
"No."
"Are you inviolate?"
That was fancy way of asking if I hadn’t screwed the guy. Lovely.
"Nothing happened." In that sense.
"Will you make a formal complaint?"
Hans finally pissed himself. It was a satisfying moment. I let him sweat.
"No," I answered finally with a slight shake of the head.
Deror dropped Hans. He slipped on the wet spot and landed on his back.
I stood up.
Deror turned to me.
"I have to report your curfew infraction, Anna." His voice dripped with curiosity.
“Hang on!" I said, and then I remembered my dress was...disheveled from Hans's attentions. I looked down as I straightened it. "I've been looking for my sister. We left my room together, but I haven't seen her for hours. I didn't see her leave. And this,” I gestured at Hans, “forced himself on me.”
"Was he helping you look for your sister?"
“To get me alone," I dragged out the last word.
Deror frowned momentarily.
"You're sure you won't make a formal complaint? You can’t change your mind unless you do it now." True to the angel ways and following protocol.
"With what's been going on, I don't want to put the Academy through anything else."
Deror seemed surprised.
"That is very…noble.” His face said something else like maybe he wanted me to report it. “Is there anything you wish to... say to Noviate Matthews?"
"Yes please."
Deror lifted Hans to his feet with one hand.
"Face her like a man, boy. Improve my opinion of you." Deror was only three, maybe four years older than Hans, but at the moment he se
emed far older than his years.
Hans shuffled over, but stayed just out of arm's reach. Fine with me. I kicked him in the balls as hard as I could. His feet came three inches off the floor. I watched him land on his face.
The bitter cold was a reality check. I had to find Amalie. Fast. This was the Worst. Freaking. Night. Ever.
“Anna!” Deror’s voice… I walked faster. “Anna, please stop,” He'd gotten awfully close, awfully fast. I tried to walk even faster, my legs moving like the pistons of a hemi at full bore.
“Anna!” he called louder than before.
He was farther away. He’d stopped. I inhaled and shook my head. Just my luck. Why did he have to come after me? And why the hell did he have to move so damn fast?
I stopped. I turned.
“I need to find Amalie. Are you going to help me, or is this really about a curfew violation? I can give you about a hundred more,” I paused. I wasn’t really the type to rat someone out, but I would for Amalie’s sake.
He studied me silently, probably wondering if my statement was true.
“Protocols must be followed. That does not mean justice is blind. When we find your sister, everything will go into my report. If you're reprimanded at all, it will be informal.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “One shouldn’t trust blindly.”
Protocol. This guy was seriously talking protocol right now. You have got to be kidding me. My blood simmered, and my vision turned a red haze, but I took a deep breath steadying myself.
“Well, congratulations. You were right.”
The skin of his forehead wrinkled suddenly, and he rubbed his eyes with his palms. When he dropped his hands, he looked immediately, overwhelmingly, exhausted. He looked like he was being tired for about fifteen people.
“I didn’t want to be right. I just—” he paused. Scanning the immediate area, I saw a tick in his jaw as his teeth ground together before he sighed, and his eyes ran over me again. “You must be cold,” he took off his black coat that hugged his torso, revealing a black T, and held the coat out to me. Peace offering, maybe.
I felt my left brow rise up. I wanted to take the coat. My whole body shook, and my teeth chattered. I really wanted to take the coat, but I wondered if this was another one of his tests.
Would it be seen as a weakness if I took the coat? Hell, if I died of hypothermia we’d never find out anyway. I reached for it.