by Cecily White
By the time Bud pulled in the driveway a few minutes before sunset, I had not only finished my classwork for the next three days (mostly correct, I think), I’d also boiled some pasta, baked a pan of chicken parmesan, and chopped up carrots and cucumbers for a salad.
Before I go any further with this, I should probably mention that, despite his overprotective tendencies, Bud’s a decent dad. He gives me my vitamins and allergy meds every morning (okay, most mornings), he makes me wear a helmet when I ride a bike, and he has never once told me I couldn’t watch my reality TV shows. However, according to the Internet, raising a healthy child requires actual food. Like, beyond popcorn and Lean Cuisine. So, about six months after my mom died I started cooking—vegetables and lean meats and all that stuff. Not bad for an eight-year-old. And once I stopped counting lime gummy bears as fruit, my mood improved dramatically. Over the last ten years, we’d found such an easy groove; I sometimes wondered if he missed Mom at all.
I definitely did. It still bugged me that I couldn’t remember stupid things about her. Like whether she was a good cook, or if she liked rainbow sprinkles with her ice cream, or if she minded when I played dress-up in her evening gown collection. I would have killed for a few memories, even the bad ones. The night she died, for example. All I knew was what other people had told me: that there’d been a demon attack, and I had blacked out somewhere in the middle of it. Dr. Evans, the school shrink, used to promise me those memories would return when I was ready. But after a decade of silence, I wasn’t so sure.
“Hey, Daddy,” I called as the back door opened and closed with a familiar click.
“Hey, yourself.” He sniffed the air, tossing his briefcase and jacket over the granite-topped island. “Dinner smells great. Extra garlic?”
“Keeps the vampires out.”
Bud grimaced. “That’s funny, sweetheart. Did you think that up while fleeing a graveyard?”
I decided not to explain about the vampire still parked across the street. Since my dad is such a liberal about human causes, I figured he’d probably support the Paranormal Convergence movement, in theory at least, if not vamp-snuggling reality. (Think supernatural ACLU with an interspecies truce thrown in.) Unfortunately, I’d never know. The Peace Tenets weren’t proposed until after Bud left the Guardians, which meant I wasn’t officially allowed to discuss them with him.
The premise was simple. Turns out the Crossworlders (excuse me, Inferni) we’d been hunting all these millennia—vampires, werewolves, etc.—weren’t as evil as we’d thought. Sure, they might have some demon blood from whatever infection they’d caught in the Crossworld but their origins were human. So were their souls, if you believed they had souls. The folks at Convergence did, which meant Guardians were now technically responsible for protecting them. Weird, right?
It wasn’t so bad. Werecreatures can be friendly when it’s not a full moon, and all the vamps really want is a little blood and a safe place to snack. Once the Peace Tenets recognized those needs, the random violence pretty much ended.
Still, I couldn’t get used to it. Vamps creep me out. If Bud found out we had one parked down the street, he’d probably impale himself trying to make a stake out of the kitchen table. Lisa once said Bud reminded her of a young George Clooney with a little extra paunch around the middle. Frankly, if I had to go up against a vampire, I’d rather have George Clooney.
I settled into the chair across from him, plopping my elbows on the antique table we’d salvaged after Katrina. My bare toes slid idly along one of the warped legs carved to resemble a lion’s paw, of course, with huge cat knuckles and claws as the feet.
“So, how was your first day at school?” Bud asked. “Any excitement?”
“Not a bit,” I lied. That was part of our agreement, by the way. He asked. I lied. “How’d your deposition go?”
“Eh.” He shrugged. “I have to deliver another appeal in Baton Rouge tomorrow. You have no idea what kind of monsters show up in the legal system.”
“Do any of them have claw-tipped wings and cloven feet?”
“No.”
I smiled. “Then I win.”
Incidentally, Professor Meeks claims that greater demons take government office all the time, especially here in Louisiana. So Dad might have been wrong about the cloven feet thing. Somehow, it seemed a bad time to point that out.
“Carol Anselmo called this morning,” he said after a minute of silence. “Lisa told her to remind me that the commencement formal is coming up. She says I should encourage you to go with someone named Lyle.”
“Good to know. Thanks for the vote.” Note to self: Kill Lisa.
“So, are you going?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I’ve got a report to write and that Druidic spellbook isn’t going to translate itself.” I gulped down some water and stuffed another bite of pasta into my mouth. I could tell from the twitch above his left eyelid that he had comments. He set down his fork. Not a good sign.
“You know, sweetie, you’re getting to the age where you need to start thinking about the future. I’m not saying you should rush into a blood bond prematurely. I just don’t want to see you left behind. Is this ‘Lyle’ person someone I should know about?”
I shook my head. “Definitely not.”
Dad nodded. “Well, you don’t have to decide right now. I just worry about you after—” He broke off, hesitant. “I just worry.”
“Daddy, I’ll be fine. Smalley says some people are late bloomers, that’s all.”
Actually, what she’d said was, ’Tis a marvelous bud that opens its petals at midnight—not so eager as the weeds of daybreak. I figured that translated to, Just because you’re not a slut like Veronica, doesn’t mean you’ll end up alone.
“If it’s any consolation, I did meet someone special,” I admitted. “He’s super smart, cute in a brutal-yet-bookish way, and a kick-ass fighter.”
His eyes widened. “Sounds terrifying.”
“Exactly.” I laughed. “The whole thing’s a little weird because he’s already graduated and I get the feeling we weren’t supposed to hook up. But we did, sort of, and now I’m in trouble.”
Dad’s face paled to a greenish tint like he’d swallowed expired milk. “I’m sorry, you’re in trouble?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward like he was about to take someone’s deposition. “Amelie, this is a very big deal. This is one of the biggest deals you’ll ever encounter. I’m just not sure you’re ready to raise a child.”
I blinked at him, too stunned to speak. A child?
“Not that your mother and I didn’t start young,” he fumbled on. “I admit we did. Some might say we were too young. But you have to understand, times were different. The passion we shared—”
My fork clattered to the table as I clamped both palms over my ears. Close as Bud and I were, this was not a topic we had ever, or would ever, discuss. EVER. “Stop! No visuals!”
“Sweetheart, listen to me. It’s natural to be curious. Sex is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“La-la-la-la.” I screamed louder.
“Every girl your age has urges, I’m just not sure you’re ready for the consequences of—”
“Dad, please!” I slammed my hands down on the table, nearly cracking a chunk off the edge. “I’m not having sex, okay? New topic, please.”
“You’re not?” Bud frowned. “I’m confused.”
In an effort to avoid speaking, I snatched the rumpled incident report from my pocket and tossed it across the table at him. Urges? Seriously? I would already have to bleach my brain. Did he want to damage me permanently?
I stayed quiet as Bud’s eyes scanned over Jack’s writing, a vein beginning to throb in his neck. When he was done, he set his elbows on the table and lowered his forehead into his hands.
“J. Smith-Hailey? That’s your ‘special someone’? You’re in trouble with Jackson Smith-Hailey?”
�
�Yeah,” I said. “He’s subbing as the new R.G. at school. The Examiner, too, unfortunately.”
Bud stared at me, eyes frozen, face rapidly darkening to an eggplant-like shade. My appetite had evaporated, but I stabbed at a clump of pasta anyway. The red and white swirls my fork made on the plate were easier to look at than him.
“All right.” Dad closed his eyes, the heels of his hands digging dents into his eye sockets. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this. You’ll stay home from school for the rest of this week and I’ll talk to Headmistress Smalley. I think, with a little pressure, I can get Smith-Hailey removed from his duties—”
“Removed?”
“It’s not meant as a punishment. I just don’t want him bothering you until after—” He broke off. “Until next week.”
“But he’s supposed to administer my field test tomorrow morning. It’s the most important test of the whole year.”
“Ami, honey, it’s just a test,” Bud soothed. “Maybe they can give you a different examiner. What about that Archivist guy, MacFarland? He can grade you, can’t he?”
“That’s not how it works.” I stared at him, stunned. “Is this because I said we hooked up? Trust me, it’s a non-issue. We didn’t even kiss. Besides, he’s on the faculty. He’d never be interested in—”
“He’s only twenty.”
I stopped. “What did you say?”
Bud shook his head. “Look, it’s not important. This isn’t about him. It’s about you being safe. If Smalley gives you any grief over missing class, just tell her to call me. Elder Horowitz from the Council still owes me a favor. I’m sure he’d be willing—”
“That’s not the point,” I said, thoroughly confused. How did Bud know how old Jack was? For that matter, how did he know Jack’s name? And why was he willing to tap one of our family’s last Guardian allies just to keep me home from school? “Daddy, I can’t miss my field test. Why are you freaking out so bad?”
“Because it’s not safe.”
“It’s a war. They are, by definition, unsafe.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Actually, Dad, I have no idea what you mean.”
The rain had started up again outside, branches scraping against the windows in an uneven rhythm. A crack of lightning sounded in the distance and the lights flickered, but Bud stayed silent. The set of his mouth hardened and I could tell I wasn’t going to get anywhere with this line of defense.
“All right,” I breathed, a new plan brewing. “Give me tomorrow morning. Just let me take my test, that’s all I ask. Then, I’ll come straight home and stay put until you tell me I can go back.”
“Amelie, it’s too—”
“Dangerous, I know,” I filled in dismissively. “What if I make chocolate mousse cake? And clean up all the branches from the storm? I’ll even wash your car. All I ask in return is to take my test.”
Bud glared across the table, stony-faced. “No.”
“Daddy, come on. Don’t you remember when you were my age? How crucial rankings were?”
He frowned. “It’s that important to you?”
“You have no idea,” I said. “If I don’t take my test, I’ll never get ranked, and I’ll never bond. Is that what you want? A desperate daughter trolling the streets, hunting demons alone because no Watcher is willing to fight by her side?”
He sighed and swore under his breath. “I’m not going to talk you out of this, am I?”
“Not a chance,” I said. “Please? I’ll do anything.”
I met his eyes in silence as he drummed his fingers on the wooden table. I was about to re-initiate the begging when, like a good, loving father, Bud picked up his fork and pointed it at my face.
“One day. Against my better judgment, I’ll give you one day, but that’s it. When I get back from Baton Rouge on Wednesday morning, I want you locked in this house until that boy is gone. Do you understand me?”
“Yes! Thank you!”
I planted a kiss on his cheek and hurried out of the room before he could change his mind. Wednesday morning…that gave me thirty-six hours to ace my field exam, figure out what Jack was hiding, and prove I wasn’t the useless, selfish brat he thought I was. Not too difficult.
Thank goodness I work well on a deadline.
Chapter Nine:
Lessons and Nightmares
“Do you need to stop by your locker before first period?” Lisa asked as we pulled up to school the next morning. “I don’t want to be late for Meeks’ Theories class. He’s assigning lab partners today, and if I get stuck with Zeke Abbott again I’m going to hurl.”
“Would this be the same Zeke Abbott you want me to ask to the dance?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t start, Amelie. Let’s just be on time.”
“You go ahead,” I told her. “I have to deliver something to Smalley first. Save me a seat?”
“Of course.” Lisa blew a kiss as she hurried off to lab, and I hustled toward the main offices.
It looked like a normal weekday morning. Students wandered the halls. Ty Webster bugged the cheerleaders. Zeke and Paul hid behind a bush chugging something out of a paper bag. Keller Eastman pledged undying devotion to some random sophomore whose name he probably couldn’t recall.
Despite all the familiar hoopla, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Way off. The sun was too bright, the shadows too long. I felt like someone had poured a bottle marked “drink me” in my mouth and shoved me down a rabbit hole.
Last night’s little father-daughter bonding session had ended with Dad retreating into his office while I prowled the Internet for “clues.” I periodically heard swearwords from behind Bud’s door (which I won’t repeat) followed by a few angry messages to Smalley’s voicemail. Finally, it vanished into a deep, yogic chant that meant he was probably meditating in the shape of a pretzel.
I still had my binoculars trained on the vampmobile across the street when Bud finally went to bed.
As I banged on Smalley’s office door, my hand tightened around the note he’d handed me at breakfast. The—wait for it—twenty page note stuffed in a manila envelope and sealed with wax, lest anyone wonder where I get my paranoia.
“Yes?” Smalley called.
I pushed open the door and peeked my head in.
Despite the four-zillion disciplinary lectures I’d heard in this room, the sight of it never failed to set me at ease. Giant carved bookshelves were set against two of the walls, the other two framed by ornate vaulted windows with cream-colored silk curtains. Even the painting of archangel Michael (covered in the blood of the infidels, of course) was comforting.
Smalley stood behind her massive desk, hands flattened on the desk blotter, her skin flushed as if she’d run a race. “Amelie, dear, this isn’t the best time—”
“Nonsense!” A booming voice cut her off. “Come in, come in.”
The owner of the voice stood, a puff of cigarette smoke encircling his head. He couldn’t have been more than forty, though something about him seemed to command a respect that usually accompanied an AARP card. He was handsome, with thick brown hair grayed at the temples and liquid-brown eyes. His charcoal suit was tailored and pressed, obviously expensive, and his hands were slim and artistic like a pianist’s. But what drew my attention were his legs.
Even under the dress pants, I could see how bent and knobby they were, one knee so hyper-extended I thought it might snap at any moment. He held a wooden cane with a carved ivory handle that he used to hobble forward.
“Amelie, this is Chancellor Thibault,” Smalley said briskly. “Robert, you remember Amelie Bennett, Charlotte’s daughter.”
“Of course.” He smiled tightly. “She takes after her father.”
“Uh, I guess,” I said, unsure how to respond. Bud’s reputation was too far down the toilet for it to be a compliment.
The Chancellor looked thinner than he had in the picture with Alec, yet more distinguished. It took a decent amount of
effort not to stare at his legs, unstable as they were. Despite his imposing presence, every time he moved I wanted to reach a hand out in case he took a nosedive to the ground.
He flicked the tip of his cigarette against a dish on Smalley’s desk, bits of ash scattering onto the smooth wood surface. “Well, my dear, your performance made quite an impression on my son yesterday. I could hardly keep him quiet at dinner last night.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Please.” He waved my apology away. “That’s why we’re here, yes? To end this demon blight on humanity?”
“Uh, yes sir.” My eyes flicked to Smalley. Chancellor Thibault obviously hadn’t heard the full version of yesterday’s little kerfuffle, otherwise he’d have known my “performance” was far from appreciated.
“The High Council is always interested to hear of new talent,” he continued blithely. “What are your plans after graduation? Teaching? Politics? Perhaps I could recommend you.”
“Uh—”
For some unknown reason, I kept looking at Smalley. Something about the man niggled at my brain like pieces of a dream I couldn’t recall.
“When the time is right, Amelie will enter the Enforcement Guild with her bondmate. She won’t need any help from the Council.” The headmistress turned to me with a tense smile. “Now then…did you need something, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” My fingers tightened around the envelope in my hand. “This is from my father. It’s about…the report yesterday. He said it’s self-explanatory.”
“Then I expect it is.” She stuffed the note into a desk drawer. “Anything else?”
“Nope, that’s all.”
With a mix of fear and relief, I beat a hasty retreat toward the door. I’d almost reached the hallway when Smalley’s voice stopped me.
“Amelie, one more thing,” she said. “Fides via vi, in infinitum.”
“Excuse me?”
She smiled. “Don’t forget. And good luck on your test.”
I blinked, suddenly nervous. With all the weirdness of meeting the Chancellor, I’d almost forgotten my test. I wanted to forget my test, especially now. It may sound like tea-bag superstition but in a school like ours, folks didn’t usually mess around with ancient languages unless it involved the Crossworld. I had no idea why Smalley would throw one at me this morning.