by Cecily White
Very weird, indeed.
“Amelie?” Hansen shook me out of my reverie. “I asked you a question.”
“I’m sorry?” I blinked up at her.
“You’ve done the reading,” she said. “Allegedly. What do you think is the one virtue Homer glorifies above all else?”
How’s that for a loaded question? I mean, what was I supposed to say? Loyalty? Sanity? Not murdering your ex-boyfriend over some stupid prophecy, which may or may not be true?
The only sound in the room was my pencil scratching at my notebook.
I knew I was supposed to answer her. That’s what Jack would want me to do. Play the nicey-nice schoolgirl and go along with this utter crapfest. But I couldn’t. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, or the attempted murder, or my classmates’ ignorance. For whatever reason, I just couldn’t do it.
“No clue,” I said. “Sorry.”
“Well, that’s disappointing, though not exactly a surprise. How about you, Miss Benedict?”
Skye shifted uncomfortably in her seat beside me. “I’m not sure. Love?”
Veronica’s hand shot into the air. “Actually, ma’am, it was glory. Love was important to Homer, but only by conquering in battle could a man show his true worth and win the affection of his woman. So war glory had to be the greater virtue.”
“Yes, Veronica.” Hansen smiled. “Thank you.”
Despite my lack of interest, I snorted. It wasn’t intentional, but quite loud, nonetheless.
“You have something to add, Miss Bennett?”
I shook my head, earning another tight-lipped glare.
“Then maybe you should keep your uninformed noises to yourself.”
My pencil continued scratching glyphs into the notebook cover. Silently. Hatefully. I despised that woman. Like, hated her. The kind of hate that made me want to dip her in honey and throw her on a demonic ant pile. The kind of loathing that made tar and feathers seem reasonable.
Despite my best efforts, a tiny zip of power flared between my fingers. Angry power. “Actually, I do have something to say.”
Hansen raised an eyebrow and waved a hand through the air. “Enlighten us.”
My pencil quit moving.
“In my opinion, both the Achaeans and the Trojans were a bunch of testosterone-saturated, sword-wielding idiots who could use a swift kick in the nuts. If they even had nuts.”
Katie made a noise like a choked pigeon.
“Veronica’s partly right,” I continued. “Homer did force his characters to choose between love and their quest for glory. And they always chose glory. Always. Was that the right choice?” I shrugged. “I don’t think so. War is about self-aggrandizement. It’s big and pompous and arrogant. Love—true love—is small, and it’s about self-sacrifice. Love is not a justification for war. Anyone who uses it as such doesn’t know squat about being human.”
“Maybe Homer thought duty trumped love,” Hansen suggested, rather contemptuously. “Maybe he realized there’s a more noble path than simply following your heart.”
“Or maybe he failed to realize that pride without compassion causes everyone’s downfall—that if people could just pull their heads out of their glorious asses and let go of their righteous indignation for five seconds, they might see what useless, brainless, glory-obsessed barbarians they’d become. You wouldn’t know anything about that. Would you, Ms. Hansen?”
Dead silence. Not even crickets.
“Guardian Bennett.” Everyone turned as Jack’s voice floated in from the back of the room, quiet yet doom-filled. “Are you trying to earn another incident report?”
I half turned, just enough to shoot him a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look.
“No?” he said. “Then I suggest you apologize to Ms. Hansen and pack your things. Now.”
Duty?
Loyalty?
True love?
They all meant diddly compared to the glory of an educational bureaucracy. I swallowed the rising bile in my mouth and turned back to Hansen.
“My apologies, ma’am. I’m terribly sorry if I offended you or implied you’re an ignorant evildoer.” It came out nicely enough, though I’m pretty sure she got the hate-filled subtext. You’d have to be a blind moron to miss it.
On second thought, maybe she missed it.
My temper seethed quietly as Jack made his way to the front of the class and bent his head close to Hansen’s. It didn’t matter that they were just talking business. I had to call every ounce of self-restraint not to channel her into a demon realm.
After a minute, Hansen unglued herself from my boyfriend and stepped back to the front of the class.
“Miss Bennett, your presence is requested in the front office,” she said. “You’re excused for the remainder of this class. I’m assigning you a zero for today’s discussion. In the future, I suggest you think twice before lecturing your superiors on matters concerning humanity or anything else. Are we clear?”
I stared at my desktop while the rest of the class twittered laughter.
A zero. A freaking zero.
I couldn’t wait until we discussed humankind’s propensity for vengeful crimes of passion. Zeros be damned, I’d have a bloody diatribe to say on that topic, let me assure you.
It wasn’t until we’d made it halfway down the hall that I gave myself permission to speak to Jack.
Okay, speak might be too mild a term.
“What…the…hell?” Each word was punctuated with a fist to his shoulder. “Did that seriously just happen?”
“Omelet—”
“Don’t Omelet me, you filthy traitor. That was beyond uncool. That was unspeakable. That was abhorrent. And you didn’t even bring me coffee, you cheap, neglectful bastard.” I smacked him once more for good measure.
He shrugged my hand away, smiling.
“You realize if anyone else had mouthed off like that, they’d be in detention right now. Or expelled. On a related note, Elder Akira sent out a memo last week that if any faculty member defies her no-coffee orders regarding you, they’ll be charged with treason. And since when do you know what abhorrent means?”
“Damn skippy, I know what abhorrent means,” I snapped. “It’s got Hansen’s picture next to it in the dictionary.”
“Babe—”
“Don’t pretend what you did was right. She’s an idiot, and you know it.”
“She’s a teacher.”
“A homicidal, smack-talking, violent, moronic, sociopathic—”
“Teacher?” Jack finished, lacing his hands over his chest until his biceps bulged.
I met his smiling eyes in a cold glare. “So, what am I supposed to do? Let her be a giant hypocrite in front of the whole class?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” Jack nodded. “Because you of all people know there are more important things than winning a classroom debate. Much more important things. Epic things. Because one mistake now can make everything fall apart, and you’re smart enough to know showing Lori up in an academic argument isn’t worth it.”
His tone had darkened as he spoke, but his voice stayed muted.
Much as I hated to admit it, he was right.
If Petra was anything close to what I thought, then this was bigger than a stupid classroom argument. And sure, if I didn’t start focusing on the goal, I could mess things up. But did he have to be such a jerk about it?
“Fine,” I grumbled. “But I wasn’t wrong.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“And I did do the reading.”
“Yes, you did.”
“And if all the fighting had really been about romance, there would have been a lot less fighting and a lot more kissing.”
“True that,” he agreed.
“Furthermore, Lori Hansen doesn’t know her ass from her elbow when it comes to matters of the heart. If she even has a heart.”
Jack smiled. “I’m crazy in love with you.”
“I know,” I said. “Me, too.”
“Great. Now can w
e go, or do you want to deconstruct all my ex-girlfriends?”
“Like you have other ex-girlfriends.” I squinted at him. “Wait, do you?”
It might have been my imagination, but I swear he laughed a little as he strode toward the main office.
Chapter Six:
School Daze
It was an uneventful walk to Headmistress Smalley’s office. And yes, I still thought of it as Smalley’s office. Henry obviously did, too.
After Judy Smalley got murdered last fall and Elder Akira gave him the title of headmaster, Henry McFarland had obediently moved all his stuff in from the archive room. Unfortunately, he had yet to move any of Smalley’s stuff out, which resulted in a bizarrely crowded workspace—figurines they had collected together, pictures of them holding hands. Even their nameplates still sat side by side on the desk: Headmistress Judy Smalley and Headmaster Henry McFarland. Like at any moment she might spring back to life and suggest they run this place together.
A nip of guilt—coupled with a stab of failure—took up residence in my belly.
“Did you tell Henry about last night?” I asked quietly as we approached the huge, carved oak door. “About Lyle dying? And me bringing him back?”
“I did tell him, but not about Lyle,” Jack said, his voice softening. “I didn’t think you needed more pressure.”
I looked at the ground, but said nothing. Maybe I did need pressure. Or something, anyway. I should be able to revivify anyone. Headmistress Smalley. My mom. Ringo Starr.
“Maybe Bertle was right and all my powers are useless.” I sighed. “Maybe I should just hang it up and relocate to an abandoned cave.”
“Caves are cliché,” he said.
“And they smell funny,” I added.
“You wouldn’t want to be a smelly cliché.”
Jack’s lips touched my forehead in a soft gesture I knew he meant as comfort. And it was comforting, for about four seconds. That’s how long it took for the light threads of our bond to gather. For the flickering pyrotechnic display to charge up under my skin. For the wicked hum of Crossworld power to surge through every nerve ending in my body. God, I loved this part—the feeling of utter completion. Like everything was exactly as it should be and I was right where I belonged.
He hesitated before taking a step back. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I said, shaking off the light remnants. As much as I hated to feel them fade, I knew the dangers of having a live bond connection at school. Especially between me and Jack. Too many people already suspected there was something going on between us beyond just dating. If the Guardian Elders ever confirmed the unauthorized bond, there was no telling what they’d do to try to stop it.
“C’mon.” I sighed. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
The huge oak door to Smalley’s office creaked open as we made our way down the hallway. Light spilled across the floor in a stark beam, and rainbows danced off the hallway chandelier in moon-shaped streaks.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re here.” Henry emerged from the office, his arms overflowing with loose-leaf paper and stained parchment the color of playground dirt. “They’re waiting for you in the conference room.”
“They?” I asked.
“Immortals and Elders. They’re here for the peace summit,” Jack said. “Akira called it about a week ago to address some issues she has with the prophecy not being properly fulfilled.”
“What prophecy? My prophecy?”
“I prefer to think of it as my prophecy, but yes. That’s the one.” Jack swiveled to wink at me.
Near the conference room, a small crowd had gathered. And when I say “small crowd,” what I mean is ten to twelve people wearing black academic robes, half a dozen men in suits, two heavily inked Enforcement agents, a gaggle of women with austere buns, a white-haired guy in a red cloak. And Annabelle.
For the first time since I met her, Annabelle wasn’t the freakiest person in the room.
Henry shuffled past her without a sideways glance and dumped his wad o’ paper on a massive mahogany table, scattering half of it onto the floor. The bun women exchanged disapproving glances, and the cloak guy gave a hearty chuckle.
“D’ya need a hand, Hen-reh?” he bellowed in a thick Scottish brogue.
Henry gave a tight smile, but didn’t meet the man’s eyes. “Thanks, Seamus. I’ve got it.”
I hung back as we approached the doorway. “Is that Seamus McRoy? Or possibly the guy from Braveheart?”
Jack nudged me. “Shush.”
Seamus McRoy had served as the features editor of Guardian Times since we were kids, and I knew he’d covered some major stories. He’d actually interviewed my mom a few times in her heyday.
“If he’s here, it means someone’s got an agenda.” Jack’s brow furrowed. “Looks like Enforcement came, too.”
“Yeah, but Jack—”
“Call me Mr. Smith-Hailey,” he reminded me, moving his hand an inch farther away. “I’ll try not to touch you too much. You do the same, okay? Luc’ll be here soon, so if you start to feel anything glowy or if your allergies act up—”
“Mr. Smith-Hailey?”
Jack stopped.
“This is a peace summit in a heavily warded room. What’s the likelihood I’ll sneeze up a rift and we’ll end up accidentally channeling?”
He seemed to consider for a second, then said, “I’m afraid to answer that.”
“Touché,” I whispered. “For the record, if you let them execute me this time, I will carve out your kidneys, summon you back to life, then torture you until you correct it. Are we clear?”
Jack smiled, making my belly do giddy, little somersaults. “That sounds like preferential treatment.”
“Indeed.”
I watched his gaze play over my face for a second, the pulse in his neck spiking. This couldn’t be easy for him, either, keeping his distance, pretending all the time. “Amelie,” he whispered.
“It’s okay. Later,” I promised.
He exhaled deeply and nodded. “Later.”
As we entered the conference room, I noticed it’d been strung with white-lit holiday greenery and silver bows. The garlands lent the air an intoxicating musk of pine and cedar, along with something sweet—baking cookies and peppermint canes.
“Jackson Smith-Hailey. Good to see you, boy.”
“Good morning, Elder Horowitz.” Jack greeted an older man in a long cloak. “Thank you for coming.”
The man’s hand was extended, and I could see the faded outlines of old glyph marks up his forearms. Around his wrists, he wore ceremonial cuffs that covered the symbols tattooed there. I had to fight the urge to curtsy like I did when I was a child.
“Likewise.” He nodded. “Amelie, how is your father? Well, I trust?”
“I assume so,” I said. “I haven’t seen him in a while. Akira’s rules.”
“Well”—the man smiled—“when you see him, tell him I asked after him.”
“Will do.”
Maybe it was the Christmas decor, but something about this man brought back images of grown-ups laughing together, shared meals over a roaring fire—all the good things I’d held on to from childhood.
Before Horowitz could say anything more, Henry stood at the front of the conference table, his hair in the usual disarray. The pile of paper seemed to have migrated across the table and now littered the entire surface in snowy scraps. At least it was off the floor.
I still had trouble seeing Henry in an authority position. Since I arrived at St. Michael’s nearly a decade ago, Henry had always been the archivist. And trust me, he was perfect for the job. Seriously. The man spent his days surrounded by books—browsing them, looking up random pieces of info that might help a student ace a test or kill a rare and deadly demon. If he talked to one or two people in a day, that was mega-social for him.
Now, practically overnight, he’d become the person everyone complained to. Constantly.
When the toilets overflowed, when the libra
ry got infested by a poltergeist, when demons ransacked the cafeteria during fall break, Henry heard about it. The poor guy not only got called to witness every wretched, deadly catastrophe in the southern district, he also had to deal with endless unrealistic demands that he fix it.
It totally made me appreciate what Smalley must have endured.
“Um, ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention.” Henry cleared his throat, sounding stressed. “In just a moment, we will be convening over the matter of Guardian Bennett and her role in the fulfillment of Gabriel’s prophecy. I’d like to remind you this is neither a hearing nor a disciplinary action. It is merely an attempt to find a solution to a growing problem in the Immortal and Guardian community. If everyone would please take their seats.”
At the sound of my name, blood I didn’t know I had flooded my face. “Convening on the matter of what now?”
“Sir?” Jack took a step toward me, igniting a snap of bond energy. He inched away before it could explode. “I thought this was a peace summit.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Then why is Amelie—Guardian Bennett—involved?”
With a sharp scrape of chair legs on wood, a small Asian woman stood at the far end of the table, across from Henry. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall—five-one on a good day. But as soon as she stood, her presence filled the room. Gray-black hair framed her wrinkled oval face, and her dark eyes sparked with a cavernous intensity that seemed to absorb light.
Like a black hole. A gut-clenching, queasiness-inspiring, happiness-sucking black hole.
“Good morning, Elder Akira.”
“Guardian Bennett. Agent Smith-Hailey.” An icy shiver trickled down my spine as our High Elder bowed to my boyfriend. “Forgive me, it’s Guardian Smith-Hailey now, is it?”
Jack nodded.
“We were surprised to hear of the career shift,” she said. “We rather thought you enjoyed the Enforcement Guild.”
“I’m needed here.”
“I see,” she said, and her eyes flicked over me. “A disappointing circumstance. You could, of course, request reassignment. I’m quite certain the Enforcement Guild would welcome your return and grant you a more appropriate assignment.”