by Claudia Gray
Verlaine nearly always wore vintage, or at least vintage-inspired clothing. Today she had on a dark blue pencil skirt, white shirt, and belted periwinkle cardigan that she had one hundred percent intended to create a late ’50s feel. But she ducked her head. “I’m not a secretary. I’m an intern.”
“A sexy intern vibe, then. Whatever it is, I approve.”
“Didn’t do it for your approval.” If she waited for people to like what she did, Verlaine knew she’d be waiting forever. And as good as it felt to see Asa, as eager as she was to repeat their one perfect kiss, it was time to stop flirting and deal with the facts. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know,” Asa said quietly. “But we’ll see each other in school later today, and I thought—I thought maybe we should get it over with.”
“What, you thought it would be easier like this?” Verlaine tried to smile, but it felt crooked and fake. “It’s not going to be easy no matter what.”
“No. It’s not.”
They stood there for a few long moments, knowing they should come no closer, but unable to turn away.
Asa was a demon. That meant he wasn’t a willing servant of the One Beneath; instead, he was enslaved to Him, and by extension, to Elizabeth. Verlaine had realized that Asa usually didn’t like obeying the evil orders he was given, but he had no choice in the matter. In the struggle ahead, when Verlaine fought alongside Nadia and Mateo to try to stop the end of the world, Asa would have to fight alongside Elizabeth to bring about the apocalypse.
They would battle each other, and only one side would survive.
“Have you learned yet?” Asa said.
Verlaine toyed with her one loose strand of silver hair. “Learned what?” she said, although she already knew.
His voice was hard as he answered. “How to kill a demon.”
“Of course not. It’s not like you can look that up on Wikipedia, you know.” Verlaine stared down at the loop of hair around her finger, unable to meet Asa’s eyes. “And you can’t tell me.”
“If I tell you how to kill me, I’m telling you how to destroy one of the weapons of the One Beneath. Which would be an act of disloyalty to my master. Which would lead to permanent exile to . . . a hell within hell, a place so dark I can’t even describe it to you.”
Asa had been to that place once before, for only a few days—but days that had felt like centuries. It had been his punishment for helping Verlaine escape harm. He’d endured that for her.
Leaning against the doorframe, doing a good job of acting casual again, Asa added, “I mean, I’m fine with you killing me so that I go to hell. I’ve been in hell for a few centuries now, and I know I have to return to it. But I’d rather not piss off the devil right before I meet him again.”
“I’m trying to learn how. I’m looking.” What a crappy thing to have to promise—that you’d kill the guy you were crazy about. Even worse was being that guy, knowing that no matter what, there was no way out for you.
“Keep looking,” Asa said, and vanished.
He didn’t go POOF or turn into a ball of smoke or anything like that; he’d explained that he could simply move much faster than the human eye, which gave him the ability to seemingly disappear in the blink of an eye. Verlaine walked to the place where he’d stood; the heat of him still emanated gently, like a warm shadow he’d left behind.
Then, just in case he was still near enough to listen, she called out, “Next time, shut the door!”
The crow circled in the sky over Captive’s Sound, higher than birds were meant to fly. The air was thin under its wings, light in its lungs, and yet it kept on, unknowing. Its eyes were grayed over, as though covered by cobwebs.
From her place below, where she sat by her woodstove, Elizabeth saw what the crow could not. Shimmering around her was the vision of everything surrounding the bird . . . by now, the clouds. They were heavy and fat, deeply cold, waiting to shed snow.
There would be no snow in Captive’s Sound today, and probably never again.
She folded her right hand around her left; on her left middle finger was her ring of jade. Touching it, grounding her spell, Elizabeth summoned the ingredients:
Going without food when there is plenty.
Staying awake when it is time to sleep.
Withholding love though it burns within.
Then she brought up the specific memories that would fulfill those ingredients, remembering each so fully that it was like living them again.
“You won’t have any? Are you sure?” Her mother, holding out a cup of a stew that smelled so delicious that hunger seemed to claw within Elizabeth’s empty belly. But the child Elizabeth shook her head, thinking that if she just kept refusing to eat, they’d realize coming to the New World had been a terrible idea and get on the next ship back to England.
Knowing it was midnight, knowing she would have to rise with the dawn to help care for her nieces and nephews, but sitting up by the fire anyway, because only then would she have the privacy for her first tentative efforts at black magic.
“Come and give us a kiss, then.” Aunt Ruth smiling at her on Elizabeth’s wedding day—a marriage she hadn’t wanted, to a man she despised, just because her family couldn’t afford to support her any longer. Elizabeth normally hid her true feelings, but that day she’d turned her head sharply away from her aunt, pretending not to see the hurt in her eyes.
It was done. The clouds around the crow subtly changed. They went still in a way that defied the winds, almost as though they were painted instead of real.
When the time came for them to burst forth, it would be with a deluge that would serve Elizabeth’s bidding, and mark the beginning of the end.
2
ISAAC P. RODMAN HIGH SCHOOL HAD HAD ITS SHARE OF problems since the school year began. A group of juniors had been caught cheating in AP Calculus. Someone had vandalized Mr. Crane’s van. The football team was finishing their season with two wins, eleven losses. A chemical reaction gone wrong in Mrs. Purdhy’s classroom had caused a number of students to lose their inhibitions, creating a scene that led to chaos, a follow-up session by school counselor Faye Walsh, several parent-teacher meetings, and, on a brighter note, the formation of Rodman’s first LGBTQ Student Alliance group. Mrs. Purdhy, former homecoming queen Riley Bender, a student’s father, and any number of students had all collapsed from the mysterious illness that had swept through town in November, two of them on school grounds. This same illness had led to class cancellations and an extremely high absentee rate. Then, just before Thanksgiving, a minor earthquake had caused further academic disruption and damaged most of the AV equipment. And the school had been turned down as host of the regional show choir championships yet again.
Had any single teacher or student been asked their opinion, they would have said it might be better for Rodman to start over fresh in January. But time, tide, and AP exams would wait for no man.
They had to make up for a lot of lost ground. So, for the remaining three weeks before Christmas, class was back in session.
Nadia shouldered her backpack as she walked inside Rodman High. Maybe it was stupid to feel more nervous about coming back to school than she did about facing down Elizabeth, but she did.
She couldn’t let herself freak about Elizabeth. So she ended up channeling all her fear into high school. Nadia hadn’t seen Mateo since the horrible day everything fell apart—or Verlaine, or Faye—and she wasn’t exactly sure how to handle that. Act casual? Hi, how have you been since I was ensnared by the forces of evil?
As soon as she reached her locker, she saw Verlaine standing nearby, waiting. To her surprise, Verlaine smiled. “Hey. I was wondering if you’d show.”
“Kinda have to. Dad doesn’t know about—” Nadia’s voice trailed off as she thought of the many secrets her father didn’t and couldn’t know, because the First Laws forbade even telling him that magic existed in the first place.
“—about your extracurricular activities,” Verlaine finished f
or her. “So, you get to return to the unparalleled joy that is Rodman High just in time for the nonstop adrenaline rush of exams.”
Nadia smiled crookedly. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Acting like everything’s normal.”
Verlaine shrugged. “Hate to break it to you, but dark sorcery ruining our lives right and left? That pretty much is the new normal.”
“I wish you didn’t have a point.”
At least her best friend was still with her. Nadia hadn’t been sure of that when they parted, but Verlaine had simply needed a couple of days to get her head together. She’s stronger than I realized, Nadia told herself. Verlaine doesn’t let this weirdness affect her. She’d never let herself get carried away with any of this.
Yet it was hard for Nadia to truly believe it. Darkness separated people from the world; already, she could feel it. Sooner or later Verlaine would feel it, too.
And then . . .
She didn’t see Mateo come in. Didn’t hear his voice among the dozens around her in the hallway. Instead she felt his presence, like electricity racing along her skin.
It was as though she knew he would embrace her from behind even before she felt his touch. When he did, Nadia leaned against him, relishing the strength of his arms and the feeling of his strong chest against her back. The only times she felt safe now were the moments she was with Mateo.
“Hey,” he murmured, before kissing her on the cheek. “Missed you.”
“Missed you, too,” Nadia said, turning her head sideways toward his. They couldn’t be around each other as much now; as her Steadfast, Mateo multiplied her magical power tenfold just by being near. This had been wonderful when he was supercharging her good spells. Now that he had the potential to do the same for the destructive spells she had to cast with Elizabeth? Not so wonderful. Nadia was still figuring out exactly what that meant for both of them.
It couldn’t mean being apart from him always, forever. That was impossible; it had to be.
Verlaine cleared her throat. “Three o’clock.”
“Huh?” Nadia straightened up slightly; Mateo, finally realizing Verlaine was there, flipped her a quick wave.
“Three o’clock,” Verlaine repeated in a stage whisper, then stood up straighter as someone else walked directly toward them.
“Gage!” Mateo let go of Nadia to step slightly in front of her, placing his body between her and Gage.
Which was totally unfair in some ways, because Gage Calloway was friendly, funny, and about ninety-five percent less neurotic than the rest of the populace of Captive’s Sound. (Though, Nadia figured, growing up in a town completely inundated with black magic was pretty good reason for neurosis.) Even now he was grinning, his backpack slung over one shoulder as he walked up to say hi.
But they knew something about Gage he didn’t know about himself. Gage was in thrall to Elizabeth Pike.
According to Mateo, Gage had always had a crush on Elizabeth; obviously they’d never told him the truth about who and what Elizabeth really was. Nadia had never dreamed Elizabeth would misuse Gage’s feelings by seducing him and putting him in her thrall—which meant that, at any moment, Gage might stop being himself and start doing absolutely anything Elizabeth told him to do, no matter how evil. Afterward he wouldn’t even remember it.
Just like he didn’t remember trying to kill Mateo last week.
“Hey, guys, what’s up?” He slugged Mateo on the shoulder—not hard, just as a joke, but Nadia winced. Gage didn’t see it. “You feeling better?”
“Yeah, totally,” Mateo said. “Just, uh, had to get back on the meds.”
“Good, glad to hear it. And hey, Verlaine, your dad was one of the people who got sick, right? How’s he doing?”
Verlaine lit up merely from being remembered by Gage—by anyone. “Uncle Gary’s great. He still has to eat really boring food, like toast and chicken broth, but aside from bitching about that, he’s never been better.”
“Awesome.” Gage nodded, then seemed to realize how awkward the mood was. “Huh. So. Mateo, catch up with you in American History?”
“Definitely.” Mateo watched his friend go before turning back to Nadia. “How can we let him go on like that? Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“Maybe. I don’t know yet. I might be able to find out from Elizabeth.” The more Nadia thought about the idea, the more encouraged she felt. It would seem as though she were asking Elizabeth about dark magic—like she was starting to come over to Elizabeth’s side, really falling under the sway of the One Beneath. Elizabeth wouldn’t think to suspect Nadia of worrying about Gage; she never thought anybody really cared about anyone. “Tonight. I’ll ask her tonight.”
Mateo’s face fell. He must have wanted them to get together tonight.
Nadia took his hand. “Maybe after I come by La Catrina?”
He smiled—but Verlaine interjected, “Hate to be the . . . word that rhymes with ‘rockblocker’ here, but I actually really need to talk to you later on, Nadia. Think we could fit it in right after school?”
“Sure. Of course.” Nadia mostly felt irritated; she’d already promised to play with Cole that afternoon, which felt like enough on top of what she already had to deal with. But that’s just the black magic around Verlaine, she reminded herself. Trying to make you push her away. Don’t let it win.
“So, I’m going to head on to Novels class, where the hot demon sits in the next desk over.” Verlaine tucked a long lock of her hair behind her ear. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
“Okay.” Then Verlaine’s words sank in—a couple of seconds late, as they often did. Nadia frowned. “Wait. Did you say ‘hot demon’?”
Verlaine’s eyes widened. “Um, I meant literally. Literally hot. Asa actually heats stuff around him, remember?”
“Oh yeah. Right,” Nadia said. Mateo shook his head and smiled as Verlaine hurried away. More quietly, he said to Nadia, “Even Verlaine wouldn’t do anything as weird as date a demon.”
Nadia nodded, but there was something in the way Verlaine had become so flustered. And Asa did try to manipulate them all by promising what they wanted most.
She knew what Verlaine wanted most in the world was for someone to truly love her. Anyone.
Even a demon.
Verlaine knew Nadia really, truly did not want to hang out after school. By now she was good at picking up on the signs that people didn’t want to be near her.
Well, too bad, Verlaine thought. The conversation she and Nadia had to have this evening was too important to postpone.
Still, the battle against the forces of evil wasn’t the only thing on her mind. When her lunch hour rolled around, instead of going to the cafeteria, Verlaine smuggled her sandwich out to the parking lot and slid into her car. The enormous old land yacht had a great heater, which would have her feeling toasty in no time.
Besides, she had some temptation to fight. And probably lose.
Verlaine knew she wasn’t supposed to open the college recommendation letters from her teachers. But when they left the envelopes so invitingly unsealed—when the paper was right there winking up at you, letters almost visible—how could anyone resist?
With a grin, Verlaine slipped the notes from their envelopes.
And read.
And wanted to cry.
Instant karma, she thought. This is what you get for breaking the rules. A slap in the face.
But maybe it was better she’d done it. Because these letters? Were not good.
Oh, they weren’t bad. Nobody came out and said Verlaine Laughton is a serial killer in the making, also possibly a cough syrup wino, or anything similarly awful. She almost wished they had. At least being terrible was interesting, and hey, maybe Ivy League schools had a sociopath quota they had to fill. These letters were worse than bad. They were boring.
Verlaine Laughton participates in class discussion. Ms. Laughton satisfactorily completes all course assignments. School records indicate p
erfect attendance before a brief illness in October. And so on.
“Perfect attendance?” she muttered as she sat in her front seat, envelopes scattered across her lap, top half of her body freezing, bottom half seared by the volcanic heat spewing from the land yacht’s vents. “The nicest thing you can say about me is that I don’t skip?”
The thing was, Verlaine knocked herself out at school. She did more work on the school news site, the Lightning Rod, than the rest of the staff put together—including her journalism teacher. Every single extra credit assignment in every class. Volunteer activities, extracurriculars at the Guardian and a hiking club, AP History and Calc, even one dismal semester as hall monitor—Verlaine had done all these things hoping that at least her teachers might see she had something to offer.
They hadn’t.
By now she knew the reason for this was black magic. It was amazing how little knowing that helped.
I can’t get into Yale with recommendations like these. I’ll be lucky to get into URI with these. Verlaine had always hoped to go farther away for school, farther than that for grad school, as far away from Captive’s Sound as she could possibly get. But Elizabeth’s evil had even stolen that.
With a groan, she leaned her head against the steering wheel, her gray hair falling around her like a curtain that shielded her from the world.
Look on the bright side, she told herself. Chances are the world’s ending soon. So it’s not like you’d be going to college in the first place.
Nope. That didn’t help either.
“Tell me how to kill a demon.”
Nadia shot Verlaine a look, then nodded her head toward the living room of her home, where Cole sat in front of the television. Luckily he seemed enraptured by The Penguins of Madagascar, so she just whispered, “Keep it down, all right?”
“Oh, come on, he’d only think we were talking about a video game or something.” Verlaine was a lot more impatient than usual—not to mention more homicidal. Her hands were in fists at her sides. Nadia was just glad Verlaine wasn’t mad at her. “I have to know how to take Asa out. You can’t do it anymore, right? If you killed a servant of the One Beneath, it would backfire on you somehow?”