Diabolical

by Cynthia Leitich Smith

  The archangel motions for me to follow him to his desk and hands over a piece of paper labeled PETITION FOR FULL-STATUS ANGEL REINSTATEMENT: ORDER GUARDIAN.

  It’s one of hundreds of different color-coded forms, citing official tasks performed by angels in heaven and on earth.

  “Fill this out and give it to Yasmeen. I’ve got somewhere else to be.”

  WE DESCEND. WE RISE AGAIN. Our path narrows. The rock wall is uneven. Occasionally pitted. Steep, jagged to either side.

  Nowhere to climb to safety. Nowhere to wait in attack.

  “I hear water,” I announce, glancing at the Otter. “Not the stream.”

  Evie can’t swim out of here without revealing to everyone that she’s a shifter. But she’s taking time to psyche herself up.

  “Could it be the lake?” Quince asks.

  “The lake where the fire-breathing dragon lives?” Bridget puts in.

  Shining the beam ahead of us, Willa whispers, “I can’t swim.”

  “I’m a great swimmer,” Evie assures her. “I’ll . . . Kieren?”

  “I smell it, too.” Brimstone, from behind us. “Light the mops.”

  Evie does it with shifter speed.

  I take the sheet from Willa. “Get behind me — back, farther back.”

  The approaching claws click against the rock. I unfurl the material. Quince hands Evie the matches and hair spray.

  “Bridget, Willa, run! Quince —”

  “Come on!” she urges the other two.

  Hopefully, they won’t have to battle the dragon without me and Evie.

  Once they’re off, I explain my plan to the Otter. “Then, with or without me, find the others. Find a way out. Let your inner animal take over. Trust your instincts.”

  As she finishes dousing the sheet in hair spray, Evie’s eyes widen. “Kieren . . .”

  I turn to confront the approaching hounds. “You know the ironic thing about our relationship?” I ask them. “I’ve always considered myself a dog person.”

  The first bounds at me.

  I slam the flat of my axe blade into its skull. I try to take the head.

  The hound’s neck is thick, all muscle and magic.

  The second one creeps closer. My blade is still stuck in the first.

  Number two is about to spring but loses its footing on the slippery material.

  I let go of my weapon. “Evie, now!”

  She lowers the mop head. Flame flies across the material. The first hound catches fire. Its companion retreats, howling.

  I catch Evie’s hand, pull her forward.

  “Slow down!” she shouts. “You’re going to yank my arm out!”

  Moments later, I see light ahead.

  “Kieren, look out!” Evie pants. “We’ll crash!”

  We skid to a stop inches before the passageway narrows. It’s nothing for Evie to squeeze through. I rip open my shoulder again.

  “Quince!” I call. The cavern is big enough to house the dragon. By the firelight, I can make out Quince’s silhouette. She’s with Willa and Bridget. They’ve found the lake.

  We’re not a PDA kind of couple. But I lean in to give Quince a quick kiss. And linger despite the audience.

  “Uh, Bridget,” Evie begins. “Willa. If I sprout whiskers, don’t panic.”

  It’s not the most elegant way to declare your species. But it gets the job done.

  “Hell’s bells!” Bridget exclaims. “Am I the only human person here?”

  “Nope,” Willa replies. “What about the dragon?”

  Suddenly, the cavern fills with an enormous splashing noise.

  “That’s it!” she adds.

  “I don’t think so,” Quince yells. “I think . . .”

  Then the Light is everywhere.

  “YOU?” LUCIFER SNEERS AT NIGEL. “I don’t want you. I arranged for you to be raised by perhaps the two most twisted parents in all of the American suburbs, and you still turned out a disappointment. You’re pure of heart, Nigel. Pure. Of. Heart. The only thing worse than you is your pseudo-incestuous crush, that vapid weakling you call Willa. She doesn’t love you back, you know. Nobody has ever loved you. Nobody ever will.”

  Nigel tosses his cigarette and launches himself at Lucifer.

  “No!” I yell, lunging to stop the boy — too late.

  The devil swings my sword into his son’s chest. The flash of pain in Nigel’s eyes tells me this is the first time his life has ever felt real. It also says he has no regrets.

  Nigel’s body falls in two pieces onto the carpet.

  I whisper, “Bless his soul.”

  The adversary reaches to drag Lucy in front of him. “Ready to see me kill another one? Let’s be real here. You’re a slipped angel, already half mine. Why delay the inevitable? Trade places. That way you can tell yourself you’re a hero. Miranda’s hero.”

  “They have a saying up on earth,” I reply. “No means no.”

  He tightens his grip on Lucy’s arm, and she whimpers beneath the tape. “Zachary, you’re a vampire lover who craves earthly pleasures. Your soul isn’t worth the fight.”

  “I managed to piss you off,” I reply. “So, not a total loss, I suppose.”

  I stretch my shoulders, extend my wings, and blast him with my radiance.

  I have no idea what, if anything, to expect. The pretense of a building dissipates. The furniture and art disappear. The carpet returns to lava stone. A final lie revealed.

  The surface beneath my feet isn’t wider than fifty feet in any direction. The drop on all sides is endless. Lightning flashes. The damned wail. Millions of them, millions upon millions, naked and desperate, try to claw themselves to the platform.

  The tape over Lucy’s mouth is gone. She turns her wrist, so I can see that her SP key is threaded between her first and second right-hand fingers like a claw.

  It’s another useless but valiant effort. I already see Satan’s army of hellions rallying to his defense in the distance. We’ll lose. That’s a done deal.

  But maybe it’s how we lose that matters.

  “You’re barely more than a child, Zachary,” the adversary sputters, raising my blade to rest against Lucy’s neck. “Hardly old enough to make me break a sweat.”

  Suddenly, lightning erupts across the sky. The wind shifts. The damned tremble.

  “What about us?” calls Michael, riding in on the devil’s own one-eyed dragon. Chariots driven by Gabriel and Raphael flank him to either side. Soldiers of heaven — some on flying horseback, others via their own wings — swoop in behind. It’s a veritable tidal wave of holy forces, of glory and light.

  Because Michael is just cool that way.

  Satan’s jaw hangs open in fury.

  Then as he orders his soldiers to war, Lucy slams her SP key into his balls.

  He howls, dropping my sword.

  I scoop her up, take to the air. “I cannot believe you did that!”

  “Couldn’t reach his eyes,” she replies. “He’s too damn tall.”

  I could’ve tried for my weapon, too, but Lucy is far more crucial. Not just because she’s a mortal or even because of her long history with Miranda.

  Lucy is my friend now, too. If only I could somehow find Vesper. . . .

  “Zachary!” Michael yells, as the dragon careens closer. “Retreat!”

  “On it!” I dive toward heaven’s approaching soldiers.

  A bat-size winged demon rakes its claw across Lucy’s cheek. She throws her hands up, beating it away.

  “Hold on!” I strain my wings against the winds. I fly us away from the fray.

  The Big Boss created me to serve as a GA. Offscreen. Off the grid.

  How did I end up like this? Ego. The temptation to step onstage.

  That’s what I did, that night in the cemetery, in showing myself in full glory to Miranda. That’s what I did, abandoning Quincie in an attempt to save Lucy. First from SP and then from hell itself.

  I wanted to play by my own rules. I wanted more power than the Big
Boss allows GAs.

  I ended up with far less.

  Miranda nearly lost her soul. I can only pray that nothing horrible has happened to Quincie. Michael had to lead his premier battalion here to rescue my ass.

  I’ve been wrong about a lot, but I’ve learned something: being a good GA is a tougher, more important mission than I ever realized.

  I’m flying Lucy to the life that she deserves. Then I’ll pay penance to all that’s holy. I’ll fall — hopefully no further than my knees — and beg to keep my job.

  From now on, I’m going to respect the wisdom of the Big Boss, embrace the limits of being a guardian, and probably end up doing a lot less damage.

  WHEN I BOOT MY MONITOR-COM in Michael’s office, I still can’t see anyone at Scholomance. Yet the reception is better. I can even make out the fourth floor. It’s largely unfinished, unfurnished. However, there is a small office with boxes stacked against one wall. I suspect Lucifer used the space to meet with the Bilovskis and Dr. Ulman, perhaps even to make recruitment phone calls.

  Then I attempt to locate Zachary. No luck. Next, I try Quincie.

  “Do you think I should dive in after her?” the neophyte asks.

  “Give her a minute,” Kieren says, his arm around Quincie’s shoulders.

  My monitor-com shows a subterranean space, bordering a lake. It’s shadowy, but I can make them out, along with Bridget and Willa, standing at the edge of the water, by the light of two flaming mops. The maps are propped up between rocks, like torches.

  Where’s Nigel? Lucy? Is Zachary still in hell?

  “It’s been at least three minutes,” Willa says.

  “I don’t see any bubbles,” Bridget adds, shining the flashlight over the water. “How long can Otters hold their breath?”

  Suddenly, Evelyn, midshift, pops her head out of the lake.

  Willa jumps back, startled.

  “No sign of the dragon,” Evelyn announces. “I can’t see the glow anymore either . . . whatever it was. But, awesome news! If you swim to the far wall and dive about ten feet down there’s a huge opening that leads to the outside.”

  “We should go now,” Kieren says. “Swim for it while we can.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” Bridget says. She drops the flashlight and plunges in.

  Evelyn reaches for Willa, who’s frozen in place. “It’s okay,” Evelyn assures her. “I’m stronger than I look and the fastest swimmer you’ll ever meet. All I need you to do is trust me and, when I say so, hold your breath.”

  Willa stands there. “Are you sure —”

  “Your chances of success are best in a full-immersion setting,” announces Dr. Ulman’s voice, as she materializes behind them. “Therefore, you will not be leaving the building or contacting the outside world until you graduate.”

  Kieren tosses Willa into the water. “Evie —”

  “Got her!” the Otter calls, and a moment later, both girls submerge.

  The ghostly teacher tries her handkerchief trick on Quince. It’s no use. Quince is undead. That’s more than enough to mess with the magic.

  “Dr. Ulman,” Mrs. Bilovski interrupts, emerging from the crevice into the cavern. “These are my children now.” She strikes a match and lights of a bundle of what appears to be smudge. “Each one my precious, precious babe.”

  She begins chanting in Latin. At least I assume it’s Latin. Blood is streaming from both of her wrists and palms. To pay for the magic, she’s offering up herself.

  “Kieren,” Quincie whispers. “Go!”

  “We can’t leave Mrs. Bilovski,” he argues. “She’s a human being.”

  “I’ll protect her,” the neophyte replies. “Dr. Ulman can’t hurt me.”

  The cook’s mystic repellant appears to be working. The Scholomance teacher fades in and out, in and out again, almost to nothingness.

  Then she returns one last time, her handkerchief ready, and zeroes in on the Wolf. Her available discretion may be limited, but she’s going to use it to kill him.

  She waves her hand, and Kieren crumples, dead, to the ground.

  DR. ULMAN IS GONE, banished to hell where she belongs.

  “Kieren’s death is a magical death,” Mrs. Bilovski calls to Quincie. “You have an hour to reverse it. Get the boy to safety. With river stones, the scent of lavender, and the fresh eye of a dragon, you can bring him back.”

  Quincie, in shock, stares at the cook. She has the presence of mind to say, “Come with me. We —”

  “George is dead,” she replies. “Let this be our final resting ground.”

  Quincie doesn’t waste time debating. She stands, lifts Kieren, and hurries into the water.

  Outside the academy, Kieren’s lifeless body rests on the snowy lakefront.

  Bridget has surrounded him with smooth river rocks and lavender candles.

  Willa runs to her with a pack of matches. “I found these in Andrew’s car.”

  They begin lighting wicks.

  Evelyn pushes herself out of the water. “No luck,” she announces. “The dragon is still gone.” She blinks rapidly. “How much time is left?”

  “A couple of minutes,” Bridget says. “Is Quincie coming up?”

  Evelyn shakes out her fur, retracts her shift. “Not yet. She . . .” The Otter glances at Kieren. “It’s no use.” Visibly pulling herself together, she takes a gulping breath. “But Quincie is desperate, and she doesn’t have to breathe.”

  The girls stare at the smooth lake. Then, suddenly, the academy is ablaze. Glass explodes from the fourth-floor windows, smoke billows, flames lick the night sky.

  The front door falls out and slides down the outside stairs.

  My angel appears with Lucy in the doorway. He’s carrying Kieren’s battle-axe.

  He’s returned — victorious — from hell.

  The floors begin crashing down, one onto the next, and Zachary lifts Lucy with one arm. They land in a heap near the SUV.

  A moment later, the other girls are helping Zachary and Lucy to their feet.

  “Nigel?” Willa asks in a tight voice.

  Zachary’s voice is raw. “He’s gone.”

  Willa did love him. She collapses into Bridget’s embrace.

  That’s when Zachary sees Kieren, laid out on the cold ground.

  “It was Ulman,” Evelyn says. “Quincie’s fishing for a dragon eye in the lake. I can’t reason with her. She won’t talk to me at all.”

  My angel hobbles over. He half-sits, half-falls in the circle of candles and stones, next to Kieren’s body. “The dragon is busy. There’s a war raging in hell.”

  Quincie climbs slowly out of the water. “It’s too late anyway.”

  When Zachary moves to comfort her, she says, “Not now.” The neophyte stands. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she assures him. “Lucy, too.”

  “Heads up!” Evelyn shouts as a flaming metal beam spins off the building.

  They all duck as it crashes into what was Andrew’s hearse.

  I have to do something! Biting my lip, I scan the stacks of color-coded forms on Michael’s desk.

  WITHOUT WARNING, the dragon bursts out of the lake. It’s carrying Michael, who launches himself off its back. As his boots touch snow, I notice that the archangel is wearing two scabbards. In one smooth motion, he draws a sword — my holy weapon — and formally presents it to me. “Try to hang onto this,” he says.

  I will. “Quincie, this is the archangel Michael.”

  “The wholly souled vampire!” he exclaims.

  I’ve never seen Michael smile at anyone like that. He’s impressed by her.

  Quincie, on the other hand, is barely registering him. She moves to sit vigil beside Kieren’s body. She takes his cold hand in her own.

  I introduce the other girls. Michael praises Willa for her bravery and Bridget for her intelligence. He assures Evelyn that the Big Boss loves her, whiskers and all.

  They’re all starstruck. Bridget is annoyed that she can’t get her waterlogged phone t
o boot so that she can take a picture.

  Then Michael says, “Lucilia Castillo Lehman, stay out of trouble from now on.”

  Her reply is a sharp “Yes, sir.”

  “Michael has come to take Kieren’s soul to heaven,” I explain.

  “No,” he replies. “I have not.”

  I’m outraged. It’s not my place to question, but there must have been some kind of administrative mix-up. “That boy is a hero. He is one of the finest —”

  “Silence!” Michael thunders. “Quincie Patrizia Morris, stand back.”

  “Forget it,” she replies. “If you’re taking him to hell, I’m going, too.”

  The archangel’s hand falls to the hilt of his sword. “I do not take anyone to hell.” He pauses. “Except occasionally heaven’s warriors, but only to rescue wayward angels and troublesome mortal girls who do not leave Fate well enough alone! At least lately.”

  “He’s telling the truth,” I assure Quincie. Which doesn’t explain why Kieren’s translucent blue soul isn’t already cradled in the archangel’s arms.

  But I just resolved to be more trusting of my superiors, to have more faith. Apparently, it’s a work in progress.

  “Let it be known,” Michael begins, “I did not file the requisition on this particular holy act. Despite the fact that, traditionally, only an archangel may file it. Despite the fact that it bore my official seal.” He kneels, placing one hand over Kieren’s heart and raising the other toward heaven. He begins to glow, radiating warmth.

  For a moment, the Light blinds us all.

  When it fades, Kieren’s body is still here, but the archangel and, for that matter, the dragon, are gone.

  “What did he do?” Bridget exclaims, reveling in the experience. “What was that?”

  Kieren moans. He begins coughing, sputtering. He rolls to his side and throws up water.

  Quincie gasps and bends to rub his back. She starts laughing, a little hysterically.

  “He’s alive!” Willa cries. “He was dead, truly dead, and now he’s . . . not.”