Conspiracy Boy (Angel Academy)

by Cecily White

  I hated it.

  Not the cookie dough—I liked that part. But what was the point of having all this power—claiming Lucifer as my bloodline and enduring all the crap from my fellow students—if I couldn’t even save a friend?

  “Okay, Wraithmaker,” I whispered to myself as I shook out the tension in my hands. They flexed into hard planes of power. “You’re Lucifer’s blood. You can do this.”

  I took a breath. Around me, the air tightened and my chest constricted like it’d been strung with rubber bands.

  “Inergio,” I called, tugging the channel open.

  Instantly, power sparked. Even though Jack wasn’t near me, his energy reverberated off mine in an echo chamber effect that made my bones hum and my muscles yawn with power. It was one of the most intoxicating feelings on the planet. Even amid the cold horror, hope trilled through me.

  “Ami, what’s your status?” Jack called.

  My status was awesome.

  Power threads flitted over Lyle’s skin then bounced back to my palms like tiny boomerangs. Occasionally, they’d make a wide circle toward Jack, but they always came back to me. Each circuit seemed to draw them tighter around me until I felt like one of those pictures of an atom in Gunderman’s science lab. In the distance, Lyle’s soul huddled in kaleidoscopic warmth—purples and blues and greens, all shifting together in panicked twists.

  It wasn’t anything I could describe, but somewhere inside me, a switch flipped into the on position.

  “Ami?” Jack shouted again.

  Ignoring Jack, I reached out to the soul blob. This was it. I could feel it.

  It was as if all the things that had made up Lyle—the strength and fear and courage—had all collapsed into this tiny, basketball-sized thing. Heat built in my bones as my skin vibrated.

  I could totally do this.

  With a final push of energy, I yanked the healing powers out of the Crossworlds and shoved them into Lyle’s body. Beneath my hands, the channel bucked and kicked like a living thing.

  “Lyle,” I shouted, as his eyelids fluttered. “Wake up!”

  “Nrrrngh.” He made a groany noise then shifted so his face angled into my skirt. A pool of drool dribbled down my knee in a mucus snail trail. Normally, that would’ve been gross. At the moment, I couldn’t be anything but grateful.

  “Lyle!” I jostled his head, and his eyelids popped open.

  The first thing to register was a look of shock, followed by a cloud of confusion. It was like watching a baby wake up—that moment where he’s not sure whether to scream or cry or shut his eyes and go back to sleep.

  “Where am I?” he began, but I smacked him across the cheek. Then I gave him a giant hug.

  “Don’t be an idiot. I just brought you back. There’s no way I’m letting you die again.” I withdrew the knife from my thigh sheath and shoved it at him hilt first. “Now, go kill something. And if you ever die on me again,” I added, “I’ll tell every girl in school about the My Little Pony action figure collection you keep stashed in your closet. Are we clear?”

  Lyle blinked at me for another blurry moment then hustled to his feet.

  I barely had time to watch him stumble across the rocks to the wharf before the howling began. It started as a low drone, like a distant swarm of bees, then increased to something decidedly more locomotive-like.

  “Jack? What’s going on?”

  My bondmate continued deflecting the stone assault as he assumed a back-to-back battle stance with Lyle. “I need you.”

  That was all he had to say.

  By the time I reached them, the onslaught had started to slow, and Jack and Lyle stood facing a wall of flames by the river. No humans had called the fire department—at least, no sirens were audible—which probably meant it was demon fire. Much harder for human eyes to see.

  “Protorum.” I positioned myself between them and threw up a shielding charm. “What’s happening? Is it a demon?”

  “Smells like it,” Lyle said. “But that could just be the river.”

  “It’s not a demon. Purcell, fall back,” Jack said. “Ami, keep shields up.”

  A light dust of snow had collected on his arms, and tightly corded muscles shivered under his thin cotton undershirt. Even the scar-pocked skin along his forearms prickled goose bumps.

  Unfortunately, the goose bumps weren’t just about the chill.

  Not twenty feet away, knee-deep in watery flames, stood a girl so striking I immediately felt like a human pimple. She was at least four inches taller than me (impressive, since I’m not exactly petite) and had iridescent hair that flowed in cascading, multicolored ringlets over her bare shoulders. Black fingernails jutted out from her hands in pointy, inch-long talons, as if they’d been specifically sharpened and painted for battle. Even her skin glimmered like liquid bronze shot with diamond dust.

  And I do mean all of her skin. As in, the only thing covering it was a skimpy black bikiniesque outfit with a bandeau top and a bottom that resembled a wad of shoelaces. Retro, but in a Charlize Theron Mad Max way. Of course, she managed to rock the look.

  “Who is that,” I whispered to Jack, “and can I please kill her?”

  With a disapproving noise, Jack shoved my frozen self behind him.

  In typical idiot fashion, Lyle leaped into an enthusiastic ninja stance beside us, effectively shutting me out of the action.

  And there it is—a snapshot of everything that’s wrong with guys.

  Don’t mistake me, I appreciate heroics, especially when it means I get to watch my boyfriend fight dark, demony things. But if push came to shove, I was pretty sure I could do at least as much damage as Jack and Lyle combined. Maybe more, considering they’d both gone into hormone arrest and started that adorable head-to-toe scoping thing boys do.

  “You could take a picture,” I suggested drily. “It’ll last longer.”

  “I was looking for weapons,” Jack explained.

  “Yeah, me too,” Lyle concurred, snapping his gaze off her shimmery cleavage. “She’s clean.”

  Nerves pricked like needles under my skin. Part of me wanted to offer her Lyle’s jacket. Another part wanted to run for my life. And yet another part wanted to ask how she kept her skin so flawless and her hair so shiny and voluminous. Seriously, the woman was like a magnet. A beautiful, sparkly, psycho killer magnet.

  “Petra,” Jack said in an even yet guarded tone, his sword still raised. “What do you want?”

  “What do you want?” the girl parroted. “Is that how you greet an old friend?”

  “We’re not friends.”

  “Family?”

  Jack scowled in response. “Petra.”

  “I want her.” Horrifyingly, the girl leveled a black-lacquered fingernail at me.

  I didn’t move.

  Jack didn’t, either—didn’t even flinch—though I felt his urgency rise through the bond. “She’s claimed by the Immortal Synod and the Council of Guardian Elders. She’s no danger to you.”

  “I didn’t say she was a danger to me. I just said I need her.”

  Jack raised his sword. “Why?”

  The girl smiled, but not an evil smile. It was one of those friendly, megawatt smiles that made you want to ask her out for beignets and coffee then buy her shiny things until she agreed to be your BFF. It kinda made me queasy. “Someone wants to talk to her. Think of it as a peacekeeping effort.”

  “A peacekeeping effort?” I stepped forward. “What the hell kind of peacekeeping classes did you have back in psychopath school?”

  “Amelie,” Jack warned. “Settle down.”

  “Lyle died,” I reminded him. “She can’t just waltz around killing people then claim to be a goodwill messenger. That’s insane. She’s insane. And her outfit is ridiculous.”

  “Don’t be rude.” The girl folded her arms over her ample chest.

  “Y’all, I’m not dead,” Lyle contributed. “Also, I like her outfit.”

  That earned him a nasty look. Especially since I co
uld already see him mentally splashing on cologne.

  I was poised to start griping about how body bronzers and hair extensions are only proper attire for skanks and Cirque du Soleil performers when the girl started closing the gap between us. Honestly, I’m not sure why Jack didn’t just cut her down right there. He had his sword raised and all. But for some lame reason, he hesitated, and by the time he got back into striking stance, she’d already kicked him a good five yards across the rocks. Right through my shields.

  Very peaceable.

  “Ami,” she said, dusting her hands. “Can I call you Ami?”

  “No.”

  “Fair enough.” She smiled. “I need you to come with me. The fate of the Guardians depends on it. On you, actually.”

  “What does that mean?” I demanded. “And while we’re at it, who are you? And how did you do that?” I eyed the ropy remnants of my energy shield. “That shield should have held anything demonic—”

  That’s as far as I got before she whipped a black-taloned fist across my face.

  It happened in an instant, too fast for me or Jack to react. But in the flash before she made contact, something caught my eye—a glyph etched into the delicate flesh of her wrist. Two overlapping circles with a jagged lightning-bolt slash at the center and a few twisted coils at the edge. It looked familiar, like one of the symbols Hansen had put on our last Advanced Wards exam, but I couldn’t be sure. I was too busy getting my ass kicked to be certain of anything.

  The girl’s left hook felt like getting hit in the face by a well-manicured freight truck. I flew through the air and landed on the rocks a few yards away, close to the river’s edge.

  “Amelie,” Jack shouted, scrambling toward us. He didn’t get very far.

  Lyle launched himself at the girl’s heels as she spun, raking her talons across Jack’s neck. For a second, it was just a scrum of arms, legs, and rainbow-colored hair, then the girl was up again, drop-kicking Lyle like an oversize soccer ball.

  “Stop fighting,” she snapped at him in a voice that made a rattlesnake’s sound friendly. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”

  Jack regained his balance quickly and rounded on her with his sword this time. Again, useless. Her skin was like a tractor tire. The blade bounced off her forearm, barely making a scratch. So, despite the shield thing, she had to be at least part demon. Which meant I was allowed to kill her.

  Right?

  Lyle hit the ground hard and rolled to his feet, tugging a new set of throwing knives from his belt. Jeez, was he on a Bruce Lee kick? How many sets of those things did he have? Before he could get the first one off, the girl snatched Jack’s sword away and hurled it at Lyle’s face. Or rather, just to the left of his face.

  He ducked, and the sword flew past him, stabbing into the ground between a cluster of boulders.

  “Stay down,” she said. “Wraithmaker, you’re coming with me.”

  “The hell I am. Desisté.”

  My command hit her in the chest, freezing her for a moment. I’m not sure why it didn’t stick longer. Or why I felt such a wave of unease as she shook it off. A wet stickiness had begun to drip down my forehead, matting a clump of hair to my cheek.

  “Get away from her, Petra,” Jack gasped. “Immortal business isn’t your jurisdiction, no matter what Dominic thinks. If he wants to talk to her, he can ask the Synod.”

  The girl wrinkled her nose. “Who said anything about Dominic?”

  “Dominic Montaigne? Luc’s dad?” I interrupted. “Jack, what’s she talking about?”

  Instead of answering, my bondmate tried to stand again. Unsuccessfully.

  Evil, dark bubbles had begun to surface around the incisions she’d made in his neck, and his voice sounded garbled and wet, like someone had stuffed tapioca pudding in his throat. As I watched, his neck began to swell, and his body went rigid against a boulder. It reminded me of the videos I’d seen of people who ate a bad blowfish and ended up paralyzed.

  “What did you do to him?” I demanded.

  “Don’t worry, he won’t die,” she said. “I mean, eventually he will, but that’s more of a fate thing. You, however.” She frowned. “Seriously, can you please just come with me? I’ll explain everything later.”

  As if on cue, Lyle bolted toward the girl again, his sword raised and mouth open in a battle cry.

  He’d barely made it two steps before she had her hand drawn back and talons flexed. This time she gave him a light mosquito slap that sent him careening twenty feet into the parking lot. He landed hard on the pavement, unmoving.

  Okay, I might be out of my league.

  I’d lost a decent amount of blood from the head wound, and the cut on my arm had started to burn. My body had already begun to tremble from the energy draw, and without Jack or Lyle to drain the Crossworld taint off me, there was no way I could dispatch this…whatever she was. Plus, since she wasn’t strictly demon, I had no idea what the rules were or whether I was even allowed to kill her.

  “Last chance,” she said.

  Blinking blood out of my eyes, I wobbled to my feet to see the girl’s fingers stretch open. And open. Within seconds, thin threads of darkness began to collect there, like rabid beetles swarming around her palm, scraping bloody lines into her skin. It was a nightmare come true. Easily the most revolting channel I’d ever seen. Her skin split open under the tail flicks of shadow, the stench of blood and dead things wafting out. Whatever power source that thing drew from, it wasn’t the same as mine. That stuff was dark.

  I flinched as she pulled it back, prepared to fling it at me.

  “Okay, I’ll go with you,” I said, backing up.

  I hated the backing up part, especially when all I wanted was to burn her face off, but it gave me enough space to sketch out a portal ward to the north of her. I couldn’t risk her hurting Jack and Lyle if things got violent. Maybe I couldn’t win in hand-to-hand channeling combat, but with a little luck, I might be able to send her back to whatever hell she came from.

  “I’ll do whatever you ask. Just leave my friends alone.”

  Her mouth fell into a frown as I edged to the side, sketching an eastern ward along the way.

  “Amelie,” she said, “I’m not trying to hurt you. Or your bondmate.”

  “Who says he’s my bondmate?” I shifted a few more feet to my left. The southern ward went up smoothly, also hidden from her view.

  She looked momentarily troubled but allowed the dark threads of power to crawl back into her skin. The surface knitted itself together under sparks of black energy.

  “No offense, but it’s kind of obvious.”

  I didn’t bother responding. The western ward had barely begun to flare when the girl leaped at me, her legs straddling my rib cage.

  In one smooth motion, she slammed a palm onto my sternum and pressed her face close to mine. Her black demon claws pressed into my throat like knives on an overripe peach.

  “It’s time to go.”

  I tried to push her away, but I swear, the girl’s bones must have been made of titanium. Either that or she was having a serious water retention day. Spots danced in front of my eyes as my lungs began to collapse under her weight.

  “Amelie, duck!”

  I turned my head in time to see Lyle stagger to his feet. When his knife whipped through the air, it reached its target, stabbing into the girl’s cheek like one of those magician’s daggers in a target dummy. Black goop flowed down her neck in a human oil spill. It splashed over my arms and left revolting, tar-like streaks in my hair. But the girl didn’t go down. If anything, she just seemed more annoyed.

  As her hand reached to grab the knife and hurl it back at my friend, the golden symbol on her arm came into view again. This time, I got a better look.

  It definitely had seraphic origins—a Guardian glyph. Which meant only a Guardian Elder or a wards specialist could have marked her with it. That realization almost distracted me from the sound of Lyle’s knife plunging hilt-deep into his solar plexus
.

  I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Maybe because the girl had tightened her fingers on my throat until my vision went dark and swimmy.

  For the record, I consider myself a pretty even-keeled person—the kind of girl who helps stray kittens and escorts old ladies across the street. Which is why I’m not entirely sure how this whole thing sent me so deep into meltdown mode. Maybe it was the feel of Lyle’s soul flickering again, or the sound of Jack’s body hitting the pavement. Whatever it was, all my helplessness and frustration and lack of caffeine over the past three months ignited into a full-blown nuclear event.

  I wiggled a hand free and lifted it to her face.

  “Malédictus!”

  For a second, nothing happened. Then, like a slow-rising tide, her features twisted into a mask of horror.

  Frankly, I was a little shocked it even worked, since I’d never used that command in a fight before. I was typically more concerned with blowing enemies up than torturing them. So maybe it wasn’t the nicest thing to do. But, in my defense, I’d had kind of a rough week.

  With a grunt, I hoisted her twitchy body off me.

  Across the jagged incline, Jack continued to convulse against a rock, the wounds at his neck gurgling sickly. He’d dragged himself to one elbow, but whenever he tried to sit up, his hands kept sliding on the blood-slicked rocks.

  “Desisté magnum!” I shouted. This time the girl froze on the ground, though I had no idea how long it would last.

  Moving quicker now, I launched a healing charm at Jack, another at Lyle, then finished the west ward for the demon dispersal portal. Lyle’s stab wound didn’t look fatal yet—neither did Jack’s scrapes—but I couldn’t risk letting the girl stay here. Demon or not, whatever she’d done to them still seethed under the surface of their skin, and until she was gone, none of us would be safe.

  “Caret initio et fine, ab initio, ad patres.” I called the channel, wincing under the portal’s vicious kick. I’d already wielded more Crossworld rohms than the Guardian Council allowed for students, and my allergies were starting to give me trouble. Unless a Watcher could siphon some power off me soon, I’d probably pass out.