by Ali Cross
I saw the moment she changed her expression from bored and hung over to my personal student ambassador, ready to teach me everything there was to know about St. Mary’s—and not a sliver about herself. Akaros would have been proud of a student who could hide her soul like that.
Akaros always wanted more deception from me, but really he had no idea just how much I kept hidden, the secrets of my soul.
The moment gone, the room erupted with whispered speculation, judgments of my hair, my body, my skin—every conversation revolving around me and what my story might be.
“You must be Desolation,” Mrs. Park exclaimed, reaching out a hand to take mine. I forced my awareness of the students away as I focused on the teacher. She smiled, her blue eyes clear, honest and open. My hand clasped in hers, I learned several more things: Mrs. Park was crazy with happiness.
And I liked her.
And I hated that.
I yanked my defenses back into place just as I pulled my hand from hers. Mrs. Park’s smile slipped, but to her credit she tucked her doubt away almost as if the moment of fear she’d felt when she touched me hadn’t been there. Almost.
“So, Desolation?” Mrs. Park asked, picking up the roster from her desk.
“Uh, Desi, please, Mrs. Park.”
She sighed, and her smile grew. “Miri, your student ambassador, saved you a seat beside her,” she said, nodding in the direction of an empty desk and chair on the left side of the room.
Miri stood beside her desk, her eyes not quite able to join the smile on her lips. She rotated her wrist in a little wave. “Hi.”
I nodded and smiled, but didn’t trust myself to speak. My whole body hummed with nerves and awareness.
Miri in the dark, the Shadows surrounding her.
But here, she had a fighting chance against the dark. And that’s where I came in.
After we sat down, Miri leaned across the aisle and whispered, “We’re in Macbeth.” She held up her copy of the play and I nodded. A thread of pride wound its way up my throat and I had to bite back the urge to brag. I could easily theorize on Macbeth’s morals and similes, the truths and almost-truths, because Macbeth was a discourse on chaos—and Hell thrived on chaos.
But even as socially awkward as I was, I knew to keep my mouth shut.
“We’ll pick up where we left off,” Mrs. Park said as she wrote ACT 5, Scene 1 on the white board. “We need someone to read for the doctor, the gentlewoman, and of course Lady Macbeth.”
Before she could turn around, a falsetto voice in the back called out, “’Tis I! Lady Macbeth!” I turned to see the boy with the Shadows—pimples, glasses and unruly hair—pose with a hand on his hip. He raised his other hand high with his pinky finger crooked in the air. While the rest of the class burst into laughter, I narrowed my eyes. The boy wasn’t nearly as innocent as he appeared—his soul was as dirty as the Ganges River.
“Very nice to meet you, Lady,” Mrs. Park said without missing a beat. “Though it would be a great honor to hear you deliver the words yourself, perhaps we should let one of the students have a go.”
The boy did a decent imitation of a curtsy, then collapsed into his chair to another round of laughter.
“That’s Marcus Allen,” Miri whispered. “Class clown and band leader extraordinaire.” And Lost Soul, I thought. But what would cause a teenage boy to sell his soul to the devil? What possible reason would someone so young have to throw their life away?
But then again, there was Miri—wasn’t she doing the same thing?
I drew a curling pattern round and round the edges of the pages in my book of plays, thought of Aaron and all the ways humans could be misled.
“Desi?” The sound of my name shot through me like a lightning bolt. I jerked my head up, instantly aware that every person in the room was looking at me.
“Yes?”
One corner of Mrs. Park’s lips twitched into a smile, but the tightness around her eyes suggested frustration. She was already worried I’d be a problem. What have I missed? “Perhaps you’d be willing to read Lady Macbeth today?”
“Oh, okay,” I said in as contrite a voice as possible. I looked down at my page and tried to push the dark thoughts away so I could concentrate on not embarrassing myself any further.
“All right. Enter the doctor and the gentlewoman—they’re outside the Lady’s bedroom, waiting to see if she’ll sleepwalk again. All right then, go ahead,” Mrs. Park said, sitting down with her book open on the desk in front of her.
A boy cleared his throat and spoke;
“I have two nights watched with you,
but can perceive no truth in your report.
When was it she last walked?”
A warm breeze slipped across the nape of my neck, sending a shiver racing down my spine. Trying not to draw attention, I turned to look behind me so I could see who had spoken. I looked past the girl reading the part of the gentlewoman, trying to see who had spoken for the doctor.
“Since his majesty went into the field,
I have seen her rise from her bed . . .”
Everyone had their heads bent over their desks—I had no idea which boy had read.
Miri caught my eye and whispered, “Something wrong?”
“Uh, no,” I straightened in my chair and focused on the page, on blocking out the warmth, like mellow sunlight spreading inside of me, the feeling that I knew that boy. The girl continued reading the gentlewoman’s part and I waited for each of the doctor’s lines, hoping something the boy said would deny what I thought I knew about him. That he was that boy. The boy from my dream.
“More needs she the divine than the physician.
God, God forgive us all! . . .”
The boy spoke the words more slowly than the rest; spoke them in a near whisper, so the whole class had to hold their breath so as not to miss what he said. His words fell on my ears like a caress, and my heart raced. I did know that voice, could almost remember the sound of it near my ear, feel his breath on my cheek . . .
The bell rang and people sprang from their chairs all around me.
“We don’t have long between classes,” Miri said, stuffing her books into her St. Mary’s messenger bag. “And, you’re with me all day!” Her smile added dimples to her cheeks and this time her eyes shone with genuine good nature. I had trouble reconciling the girl in front of me with the one I saw in my father’s vision. It didn’t seem possible that a human could be so wholly desperate for darkness and yet still shine with such worth.
“What?” Miri said with a laugh. She looked down at herself. “Do I have something on me?”
I covered a groan by ripping open the Velcro on my bag and sliding my book and papers inside. “I’m sorry.” I stood up, my hands clasped onto the shoulder strap of my bag like it was a life preserver. “I guess I’m just not very good with people.” At least that was the truth.
Miri leaned toward me and linked her arm through mine so she could pull me closer for a conspiratorial whisper. “Dean Nelson told me about your family—I totally get it.”
My first reaction was to jerk away—she knew about my family! But then I noticed: shining eyes, slight smile, a human classroom. None of it a threat. There was no threat.
“You know,” she said, escorting me out of the room and down the hall, “royalty and all?”
Oh.
Oh.
“But don’t worry,” she hurried to add, “I won’t tell anyone—not if you don’t want me to.”
We walked arm in arm, while I concentrated on acting like this was totally normal, like every part of me wasn’t urging me to break away, to get away from her touch. Miri’s high, light voice ran in a steady narration of the school, the people we passed and what it must be like to be a real live princess (I’m pretty sure my experience in Hell wouldn’t meet her expectations). I had a hard time concentrating—I was reminded of Hell and the way the crowds would sweep past me as I cut a swath through the middle. It seemed things weren’t so different aft
er all.
Until someone brushed against my shoulder.
Fire shattered my usual cold calm and I gasped, my feet stumbling. I gripped my arm and looked around for the person who could make me feel—not exactly pain, but something—like that. The broad back of a tall-ish boy wove into the crowd in front of me—the same boy who I couldn’t get a read on in class. His shaggy brown curls, only barely meeting the school code, bobbed and disappeared in the sea of students.
The fire gave way to need—I needed to know that boy. Needed to know who could make me feel that warmth—who, with just a touch, could break through the defenses that even Akaros had never been able to breach.
“Are you okay?” Miri asked, peering into my face. Up close I could see the fogginess in her eyes, and smell her spearmint gum that didn’t quite mask the alcohol on her breath.
I opened my mouth, but couldn’t find the words. I nodded instead. After a brief pause, we resumed our trek to our next class and Miri continued her commentary.
I didn’t pay any attention to her words. My mind was occupied on a minefield sweep—hunting for any reference to the boy and his effect on me. But no matter how I tried, I couldn’t avoid the feeling that he was the boy from my dream—even though I knew that was completely ridiculous.
The thought that he might be here, someone I couldn’t control, couldn’t discern any of his weaknesses or shortcomings, filled me with dread. I hated the power being the devil’s daughter afforded me—but this feeling of helplessness, the complete absence of power? I didn’t like that at all.
chapter eleven
We arrived at our next class, just shy of getting a demerit for tardiness. Miri stuck her foot in the door right as the teacher was swinging it shut. She pushed back on the door and slid inside the room. I followed, and copied Miri’s contrite expression.
“Well, hello, girls,” Knowles said. “Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?” He peered down at me from across the vast expanse of his barrel chest and broad stomach.
“Sorry, Mr. Knowles,” Miri said, for which I was grateful because I’d suddenly found myself completely void of words.
The boy sat at the back of the room. The one with the soft curls and honey voice. The one who had bumped into me and thrown everything I thought I knew about myself upside down.
“Whenever you’re ready, Miss Black,” Knowles said, and most of the students laughed. My cheeks burned and I ducked my head as I slipped into the chair next to Miri. I didn’t care what anyone thought. Seriously, I couldn’t care less. But in the second before Knowles had prodded me to my seat, the boy had looked my way. And for a split second, I was somewhere else. . . . his hands on my face . . . his golden eyes . . .
But shame has a way of making a person go cold, and the warmth in my soul was relegated to a damp, dark corner as my classmates laughed. At me.
Calculus flew by in a blur of numbers, a desire not to draw any more attention to myself, and the feeling of eyes staring at the back of my head. And not just any eyes—his eyes.
The bell rang, signaling the end of my discomfort.
“What’s wrong?” Miri mouthed in a theater whisper (read: not a whisper at all), as soon as Knowles dismissed us. A wave of frustration skipped through me and I had to take a deep breath. I wasn’t accustomed to being monitored so closely and Miri’s attention set me completely off kilter.
Besides, she looked exhausted, and her hand on my arm shook a little—I should be the one asking how she feels. Instead, I stuffed my notebook and the heavier-than-granite textbook into my bag.
I knew I couldn’t defy Father. If I did, he’d likely provide some worse fate for Miri. It was time to embrace all I had Become last night. I thrust the memories of the dream deep, deep, deep—the price for suppressing them a lingering sense of inevitability. I had no choice but to follow Father’s path—there was only ever one destination for me now.
With purpose, I held the bag open a little wider than I needed too—just wide enough so Miri could see what I had, if she was looking.
She froze, staring into the dark recesses of my bag. Licked her lips. Then took a long, shaky breath. She’d seen it, then. A fifth of Black Malt Whiskey, brought especially for her.
“You want some?” I asked.
Miri hadn’t lifted her eyes from my bag, but she pressed her hands together between her legs in an effort to hide the shaking. She took a deep breath. Then another.
“No,” she croaked. Her throat sounded as dry and parched as a desert. “No,” she added with a shake of her head.
I closed the bag, stood and pulled the strap over my shoulder. “You sure? We could go to the bathroom . . .”
Miri jumped to her feet so suddenly she nearly knocked her desk over. “I’ve gotta go,” she said, and she ran out the door.
I watched her leave, unsure what to do. An unfamiliar feeling crept over me and it took me a moment to name it.
Regret.
Knowles chuckled. “You’re going to want to develop a little thing called finesse.” His eyes twinkled and he winked. Translation: . . . I had no idea. He hadn’t been a bad teacher just now—he’d been patient and thorough, never openly criticizing the students who got something wrong. Not for the first time, I wondered what his deal was.
Neck deep in Father’s business and yet somehow independent. He had to be working the long con on someone for Father—evil rarely takes the high road, and they don’t call my father Loki the Trickster for nothing.
Someone cleared their throat behind me, and Knowles actually stepped back. He, a demon of the First Order, backed away. I whipped around, wondering how Father could have snuck up on me—but it was only the boy.
“Oh,” Knowles said. “I didn’t realize you were still here.” Knowles cleared his throat, then tugged on his bowtie.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Honey.
Warmth.
Hope.
I felt all of these things at once, and each of them alone had the power to seriously freak me out. Count me triply freaked.
Three things happened simultaneously: Knowles mumbled something about needing to visit the teacher’s lounge and hustled out of the room. I turned to look at the mysterious boy whose voice made me want things I should never even imagine. And I finally saw his eyes.
I couldn’t deny it. I’d been seriously lying to myself by not admitting it sooner.
“You.”
He didn’t smile. “Yes.”
Now I backed away.
“We need to talk.” He stepped forward, but didn’t reach for me. No, he kept his hands planted on the strap of his messenger bag.
“No,” I said, moving away again.
“Yes.”
And finally I could break through the strange, grasping hold he had on me and reach the familiar cold of my Shadow. For the first time in my life, I wanted it.
Now it was his turn to back away.
“Please,” he said. His eyes, his deep-brown-flecked-with-gold eyes, searched my own. What he found etched his face with heartache. I knew nothing about him beyond what I felt in my dreams. Could discern nothing of who he was here on Earth or . . . anything. But I knew what he saw in my eyes caused him pain.
And with my Shadow straining against the limits of my human form, I reveled in his sorrow.
“Desi!” Miri called my name as if from a very great distance. Like she was on a mountain top, or underwater. Wherever I was and she wasn’t, I didn’t feel like turning around. I just kept walking.
Several moments later, she grabbed the strap of my bag and pulled me to a stop. I turned to her and smiled as she took a step back.
“Whoa,” she said.
And just like that, my Shadow receded and I was left empty, deflated. I sagged and stumbled forward. If it hadn’t been for Miri, I would have face-planted onto the pavement. She couldn’t have noticed my Shadow, or she’d be freaking. But that was way too close.
“Whoa,” Miri said again, her v
oice a whisper of tenderness. “What happened?” She brushed the hair from my face, then cupped my cheeks in her narrow, cool hands. “Were you drinking?” She asked this last in a sharp tone, almost like a cry, and I couldn’t figure out if the idea excited or repulsed her.
I shook my head and the elastic slipped from my hair letting it cascade over my face. I pulled back from her embrace, and wrapped my arms around myself instead.
“How did you even get out? Security said they didn’t even see you leave.”
I looked around, noticing for the first time that I was on the sidewalk in front of the school. I hugged myself tighter. Anxiety radiated from me like a tsunami.
“Oh man,” Miri pulled me to her side and turned me toward the back of the school. “You are seriously effed-up.” With her arm around me I started to shiver. Violent waves of frigid ice washed over my body again and again. My teeth clattered against one another so even when I tried, I couldn’t speak.
“And I thought I was bad,” Miri said with a sad little shake of her head. “Come on. Let’s get you fixed up.”
We walked behind the school and into the student parking lot. Miri leaned me against a bright yellow VW Beetle, complete with flower decals on the rear windows. She opened the passenger-side door and helped me climb in.
In a moment she had the engine started and the heating vents blowing hot air. I curled myself toward the heat, trying to suck it in, to warm myself on the inside. Except, there was no getting warm in there. That spark I’d nurtured for so long had completely gone away—I couldn’t feel it anywhere, no matter how hard I searched.
“Is your mom here? Can I take you to her?”
I think I might have shaken my head, but if I did it was barely any movement at all. I felt frozen solid, a block of ice. Immovable. Impenetrable.
“Anyone?” Miri asked.
“Lucy,” I said, my lips barely forming the shape of her name, my breath barely giving the word sound.
Miri sighed and leaned back in her seat, gripping the steering wheel with purpose. “Great. Let’s go to Lucy’s.”