Conspiracy Boy (Angel Academy)

by Cecily White

  “Amelie,” Marguerite whispered from the hallway below my room. “Come. Quickly.”

  I held the railing tighter.

  The idea of following some human variant of dog commands really didn’t appeal to me. All I wanted was to get to my room and climb under a blanket until the world stopped turning and my body felt normal again. Seriously, whatever Jack had in mind, I hoped it was good. Because I was fresh out of ideas.

  “Amelie,” she hissed again. “Come.”

  “Arf,” I said but backtracked down the stairs anyway.

  The tiny hallway seemed to loom larger as I shuffled toward her like a child wandering an empty castle. It was weird. Even the most familiar things seemed complex and confusing. Doorknobs molted into lumps of glass and metal, and the floor molding bent oddly over the hardwood slats. Eventually, I made it into her quarters and collapsed onto a blue-upholstered chair.

  “Am I too young to start drinking?” I asked.

  “Quite,” she said. “Master Luc is in his study. I hope you don’t mind, but I rang your father. Annabelle said it was best not to ring Mr. Smith-Hailey, though I believe Mr. Delinsky has already done so.”

  “Why?” I asked, then, “Wait, Dane’s here?”

  “Darling, they’re all here.”

  As she chattered on, I dropped a glance at my hands, cold and colorless next to the muted charcoal of my coat. The weight of this prophecy thing was starting to hit me. Realistically, I could be a murderer by midnight. I could be dead by the morning. Or worse, I could be living in the Nether with Petra. Ugh. At the moment, however, all I could do was stare at my fingers, all fragile and brittle, like white twigs overlaid with papier-mâché.

  “Amelie, did you hear me, love? You must get ready.” Marguerite shook my shoulders, knocking me out of my freak-out. “It’s nearly time to go.”

  “Go?” I said. “Go where?”

  “That’s the mystery, isn’t it?” she said. “The Immortal Synod arrived just minutes ago. Claimed they’re moving up the Sovereign Trials, though I’ve no idea why. Honestly, it’s a wonder his Lordship’s still willing to serve as sovereign.” An annoyed breath escaped her chest. “Come on, then. Let’s get you dressed. The Immortal populace isn’t going to rule itself.”

  The Immortal populace?

  I stared at her, uncomprehending. The Sovereign Trials weren’t scheduled for another week. How could the stupid Immortals just decide to move them up when we were clearly dealing with an apocalyptic prophecy here?

  “I can’t go anywhere,” I told her. “I promised someone.”

  Marguerite didn’t seem to hear me. She bustled around the room, gathering clothes and shoes and weapons. In the back of my head, it registered that those things were for me, for the Trials, but I had no idea what to do with them. I steadied myself as she speed-stripped my coat and T-shirt off then tugged a black long-sleeved shift over my head. It was made out of some plasticky fabric, probably flame retardant. By the time she tugged on the stretchy leggings and zipped up a Kevlar-looking vest, I’d started to wake up.

  Sort of.

  “Can you please stop doing that?” I swatted at her hands, my body still splayed uselessly on the bed. “I need a nap. Two hours, tops. Then we can talk.”

  “Amelie, dear.” Marguerite cupped my face in her hands. “I don’t know where you’ve been, but I’m afraid this isn’t a choice. You cannot fail the Trials.”

  “I’m not going to fail,” I assured her, “because I’m not going to participate.”

  “Right, then,” she said. “Get up. They’re waiting for you.”

  Okay, clearly I was speaking English. I’m fairly sure she was, too. But for whatever reason, the words I spoke simply could not penetrate the compliant British organization of her brain. Exhausted from the effort, I flopped deeper into the bed and pressed a pillow over my face.

  “Marguerite, I’m going to need an espresso.” I sighed. “And make it a double.”

  Chapter Sixteen:

  Evil Wears High Heels

  There’s a fine line between treading water and drowning. As I gazed out the Montaignes’ parlor window, it was safe to say I’d crossed it.

  “Amelie, it’s time.”

  Luc poked his head into the drawing room, but I didn’t look up. Already, the bond thread that had snapped off from Jack was reaching out, seeking connection to him. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing it to come back to me. If the prophecy was right about Luc dying—especially if I had to kill him—then the last thing I needed was an active bond with him. And where the hell was Jack? Wasn’t he supposed to be hatching a plan to save us all?

  I drew a breath and stilled myself. Outside the picture windows, a concrete cityscape unfolded beneath the snow flurries and faded into an endless sky. Yeah, I had no idea what would happen tonight, but there was one thing I knew for sure. It would change everything.

  “Where’s Jack?” I asked. “Have you heard from him?”

  Luc shook his head. “He called a bit ago but hung up before we could talk. He did mention you found the last of Gabriel’s line. Was it an Immortal?”

  I nodded.

  “Brilliant,” Luc said. “Did you get a name?”

  “Yup.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  I nodded.

  His eyes narrowed, probably in response to my silence. “Anyone I’m related to?”

  “You could say that.”

  “I see,” he noted, clearly annoyed. “So, it’s someone I’m intimately acquainted with, possibly related to, and yet you’re not telling me the name. Why is that?”

  I bit my lower lip until blood pooled on my tongue. Not the clearest response, but given the situation, it was the best I could do. Apparently, it was good enough.

  “Oh.” Luc’s face took on the impassive, expressionless look I’d grown so familiar with. “Are you quite sure?”

  “Well, it’s coming from the Prince of Lies, so I’m sure it’s safe to assume this is completely true and factual information, right?” I hiked my pack higher on my shoulder and patted the knife at my hip, trying to stay upbeat. “Look, nothing’s certain until it happens. So let’s just cross the bridge we have in front of us, and we’ll worry about the rest later. Okay?”

  He nodded, his lips in a taut line. “Are you ready?”

  “Nope. You?”

  “Always.”

  “Then let’s go,” I said and took his hand.

  As soon as our fingertips connected, a burst of energy shocked my skin, zigzag bolts of power zipping up my veins. Bond threads snaked in wild loops around my wrists then tightened, like one of those bracelets I’d seen on the statues of Greek goddesses.

  I firmly believe that life is made up of moments. Some are significant, and some are disposable. Some sit at the edge of your awareness and taunt you when you’re trying to sleep, and others fade into the background noise of life. But every moment, no matter how small, has the potential to create or destroy you.

  Luc still had a loose grip on my hand, his eyes trained on the swirls of pale light looping up his forearm. Familiar, yet strange against his skin.

  “Amelie—”

  “No,” I said.

  “When the time comes—”

  “Luc, shut up.”

  “—I need to know you won’t hesitate,” he said. “I would do it myself if I thought it would be enough.”

  Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the sound of a door slamming at the end of the hallway. I knew who it was even before I turned.

  “Jack,” I said, so quietly only Luc could hear. “We’ll talk later, okay? Don’t give up yet. There might still be a way out.”

  He hesitated. In some ways, I wanted him to lie to me—to tell me yes, there could be a way to save him. But the truth was, I knew how this had to end. Someone had to die.

  As we separated, power threads untwined and faded to vapor, but an invisible sheen remained. It felt so foreign, yet I couldn’t argue with it. As Jack’s stride leng
thened, closing the distance between us, I felt myself pulling away from Luc, moving toward him.

  “They’re about to start,” I said, hushed. “What’s the plan?”

  “Still working on it.” Jack’s eyes flickered over Luc, but he didn’t smile. “What’s happening? Why are the Trials moved up?”

  Luc shook his head. “Annabelle’s being cagey. Is it possible she knows?”

  “Knows what?” I asked.

  Jack laced his fingers through mine protectively, his skin lighting up in a soft golden hum. Underneath my skin, everything shook. Muscles, bones—like an earthquake had ruptured the fault lines inside me. “Ami, if the worlds are sealed, we aren’t the only ones who lose access to its power.”

  “But we won’t need its power anymore. If there are no demons to fight, it won’t matter if we can’t channel, right?”

  Luc spoke this time. “The Crossworlds isn’t only about fighting. For some of us, it’s about life.”

  It took me a few beats to register what he was saying.

  Losing contact with the Crossworlds would render the average Guardian about as capable as an athletic, well-trained human. Which, as I mentioned, didn’t matter if we weren’t fighting demons anymore. But Immortals also drew their strength and longevity from the Crossworlds. That was different. They not only wouldn’t be strong any longer, they also wouldn’t be immortal.

  “You’ll die?” I said. “The whole species—”

  “Will become irrelevant, yes,” Luc confirmed.

  “So you think Annabelle is trying to stop it?”

  “Or possibly my mother, or anyone on the Synod,” Luc said. “That would certainly explain the Trials being moved up. If any of them discovered my involvement in the final prophecy—”

  There was no way he could finish, because before he even got the sentence out, Annabelle and Tyrannus appeared with Blake under the arched entry at the end of the hall. Behind them, a cadre of black-clad guards lined the walls, their weapons sheathed but ready.

  Jack grabbed my arm, tugging me gently back. “Try to buy more time.”

  “How?”

  He hiked an eyebrow at me. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve never had trouble thinking of creative ways to disrupt the organizational hierarchy. Is this really going to be a huge issue for you tonight?”

  I hesitated. “No, you’re right. I’m good.”

  As if on cue, Hansen popped her perfect head in and said, “Guardian Bennett, they’re waiting for you.”

  “Lori, we’re having a conversation—”

  “Obviously,” Hansen cut him off, glaring at our hands still laced together. “Akira is here. Amelie and Luc need to go.”

  To his credit, Jack at least had the decency to look annoyed.

  As Hansen slithered out of the hallway, I stepped closer to Jack. “Someday, I’m going to kick her ass sideways.”

  “And someday, I’m going to let you.” He dipped his head to kiss my forehead. “Don’t die, okay?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “And I shall try not to vomit.” Luc sighed, waving a hand. “Can we go forth unto my death now, if it’s not too much trouble?”

  Before he could get weird about the whole impending-doom thing, I hustled down the hall and stood safely between Tyrannus and Blake. Not settling, exactly, but at some point, the concept of safety becomes relative.

  Behind me, Luc muttered a few words to Jack, then hurried after us.

  It wasn’t until we got into the library and the guards had filed out that I started shivering again. It began in my hands and traveled up my arms until everything inside me quaked. I sank onto the couch and willed it to stop. Across the room, Annabelle led Luc to a leather captain’s chair and sat at the conference table beside him.

  “I can do this,” I whispered, half to myself.

  “Miss, may I offer some advice?” Tyrannus spoke from his spot beside me.

  “Shoot,” I said. “Not literally.”

  He laid a reassuring hand over my fingers and squeezed. “Don’t forget who you are. And play along.”

  I held my breath as he opened a brown leather box on the coffee table. It was about the size of my old pencil box from elementary school, but instead of scratch marks and stickers, it had glossy gold stitching at the edges and the Guardian Council’s crest embossed across the top.

  In silence, Tyrannus opened the box, staring at its contents.

  “I’ll be done here in a minute, then I can finish her,” Annabelle cut in from the conference table, where Luc sat staring at a similar box. Only his was red leather instead of brown, and with the Synod crest.

  “I’ll get it,” Blake called back.

  Annabelle frowned. “Lady Arianna told me—”

  “—to make sure all goes well,” Blake said. “Yes, my sister told me the same. Do you think me incompetent?”

  The handmaid opened her mouth to object, but Tyrannus cut her off.

  “Annabelle, Lord Fassnight outranks you and I am here to supervise. Now, I suggest you hold your tongue before someone cuts it out for you.”

  The last sentence came out smooth, half joking, yet frightening enough to circumvent any further argument. Like I said, Tyrannus could be a sweetie, but no one in their right mind would go up against him willingly.

  After a second, Annabelle said, “Make sure you give her enough. The Council was specific.”

  Blake didn’t reply.

  I wanted to ask what she was talking about giving me, but something about his expression told me not to press. In slow motion, he reached into the box and pulled out a small bottle of yellow liquid. It glowed under the dim torchiere, almost like it held a light of its own. It wasn’t until he pulled out a syringe that I recognized it.

  “Otrava?”

  Blake gave a quick nod.

  That made sense. Neither the Immortal Synod nor the Council of Elders knew what kind of power I had—or didn’t have. They also had no idea what a basket case I’d been lately. If they started doing nasty things to me and Luc, and I turned up with anywhere near the power Lisa had demonstrated last fall, they’d be toast.

  “What’s he getting? Arsenic?” I nodded at Luc as Blake ran the pad of his thumb along my inner elbow. It didn’t hurt, but it did leave a trail of goose bumps.

  “Trilauden,” Tyrannus said. “It’s a poison like your Otrava, but nonfatal to most Immortals.”

  “Not that it’s any of your affair,” Annabelle contributed. Which wouldn’t have bothered me if I’d been talking to her.

  “Trilauden dampens our healing abilities,” Luc jumped in before I could rip off one of Annabelle’s stupid fake press-on fingernails and stab her with it. “It also saps any strength I have beyond that of a normal human. A bit like whiskey, but without all the fun.”

  “So, no random hookups with inappropriate skanks tonight?”

  Luc winked at Annabelle. “Sorry, love.”

  She didn’t even try to be gentle when she jabbed the needle into Luc’s arm, twisting at the point of entry. He flinched slightly as she depressed the plunger but didn’t make a sound.

  When it was my turn, I offered Tyrannus a grin. “Bet you’ve been looking forward to this for ages, huh?”

  “That transparent, are we?”

  “Nah,” I said. “But since most people try to either kill me or toss me in prison after they meet me, I figure there must be something wrong with anyone who doesn’t.”

  Tyrannus winked. “At least we’re consistent. Lord Fassnight?”

  Without another word, Blake stretched the skin over my elbow and inserted the needle…into his thumb.

  Yep, that’s right.

  His thumb.

  The first thing that registered was how ridiculously painful that must have been—to stick something that pointy into a joint. It actually took me a second to realize that, as he depressed the plunger, the yellow liquid wasn’t going into my bloodstream. It was going into his.

  I looked at Annabelle. She glared watc
hfully over his shoulder, observing the plunger depress. Of course, from her angle, it would have looked like he was shooting me up, not himself.

  And suddenly, it made sense why Tyrannus had told me to play along.

  “Blake—”

  “Pax paritur bello,” he said as he drew out the needle. He’d already started looking woozy but managed to keep his cool—not hard, since he had a lot of it. “Good luck tonight, Miss Amelie. We’re all with you.”

  Obediently, I rubbed the spot on my arm where the needle would have gone in if he’d followed his orders. As I did, the full meaning set in.

  Peace gained through war.

  Since Tyrannus had been in Arianna’s circle for forever, and Blake was her brother, I could also assume they both knew what was about to happen tonight, maybe even about the prophecy. So whatever was going down, something made them decide to risk their lives for it. Because unless my history lessons were totally flawed, what Blake had just done and what Tyrannus had just witnessed amounted to treason—punishable by death if they got caught. Assuming the Otrava didn’t kill Blake first.

  “Remind me to get you a gift card for Christmas,” I said.

  “I prefer chocolate,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go rest.”

  After that, time seemed to slow.

  Annabelle kept Luc and me apart as much as possible, which wasn’t much given that we were being held hostage in the same room. At some point, Luc moved away from her to sit next to me on the couch, which made smoke blow out of her ears. That’s when she muttered something in French and stomped out of the room.

  When the door finally clicked shut, I heaved a sigh. “Luc, something’s wrong.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Your sister’s a serial killer, I’m scheduled to die by your hand, the next room is filled with our enemies, and neither of us have powers. Something’s wrong, you say?”

  Moonlight trickled in through the frothy curtains, bathing the wood-slatted floor in soft paleness. Even the furniture looked softer somehow. Without breaking stride, I picked up one of the firmer-looking chairs and hurled it at the window. It bounced off and skittered across the floor.