Acca

by Christina Bauer

  What I am is about to give him crap about his fake name—Mr. Prince, really?—when I realize people are staring. “I’m Mysteria Cross.”

  “What an unusual name.”

  Ugh. He beat me to the name jab. I hate it when Lincoln wins.

  “I was about to say the same thing to you.”

  “Such a shame I got there first.”

  Does my guy know me or what?

  I take care to speak so quietly only Lincoln can hear me. “Enjoy victory while you can, buddy.”

  “I plan to. I still have my kiss to look forward to.” He looks at me like he’ll call it at any moment.

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Wouldn’t I?”

  He totally would.

  I quickly raise both my tray and voice. “I’m really hungry, Mr. Prince. So, if you don’t mind…”

  Lincoln is totally not letting me go so easily. “You have gym class with me today. Not sure how well you’ll perform with that kind of breakfast in you.”

  I’m sleepy, hungry, and grumpy at getting yet more hassle about my eating habits. The words tumble from my lips before I can stop them. “Bite me, big guy.”

  Aaaaaaand I said that a little too loud.

  The whole hall seems to fall silent. A few moments ago, about fifty students and teachers were milling about and getting breakfast. Suddenly, all eyes are on me and Lincoln. Based on the looks of shock and horror, I’m guessing people don’t mouth back to teachers very often.

  I lift my tray again. “I’ll go eat now. Nice to meet you, Mr. Prince.”

  “Until gym class, Missy.”

  I grip my tray so hard the silverware starts to rattle. “Mysteria.”

  “Right.”

  Oh, he is so going to get it later.

  The hall fills with chatter once more as I find a vacant seat next to—surprise, surprise!—another group of terrified girls who won’t say dick to me, no matter how much I try to start a conversation.

  I give up on chitchat and focus on scoping out the room instead. Across the hall, Lincoln sits at the faculty table. He’s one of the few male teachers here and definitely the only hot one. Although, I suppose that’s a matter of taste. Some might think Prescott is yummy, if you’re into older dudes who play golf and grope your ass for no reason.

  I chow down on more bacon and take a closer look at Prescott. What a loser.

  My last bite of bacon is history when Prescott rises and strikes his fork against his water glass. The room falls silent. Guess it’s speech time.

  “Good morning, students,” says Prescott.

  “Good morning, Headmaster,” says everyone in unison. Their voices hold an excitement level that’s one notch above finding dog crap in your shoe.

  “Today, I’d like to talk about an important subject. Archangology.”

  I refold my napkin. What an interesting subject.

  “The patron of our school is none other than the archangel Xavier. As you know, there are some ancient texts that say an artifact of the archangels has been hidden on this very island. It’s been a hobby of mine to search for it.”

  Hobby? Try total obsession inspired by your Lady, whoever she is. Which come to think of it, considering that his Lady is involved with Aldred and ordering demons around, means that the Lady is possibly demonic. Definitely evil.

  “I’ve recently been fortunate enough to receive some new information about the hiding place of this artifact. It may be buried somewhere on the east side of the island. I’ll need a good number volunteers to help me dig it up.” Prescott scans the room. “What do you say? Do I have any volunteers?” All the students are staring at their plates. No one seems interested in his offer.

  Smart girls. Handling Lucifer’s coin is not something humans should do.

  “Perhaps I need to sweeten the opportunity a little,” says Prescott. “Whoever volunteers may have a two-minute phone call with a loved one next week.”

  Everyone raises their hands. I’m so shocked I almost fall out of my chair. My inner wrath demon writhes inside me. He’s tricking girls into doing something dangerous in exchange for a phone call? That’s it. I’ve had it with sitting around and being quiet, even if I could get more bacon for round two.

  I rise. “What are you talking about? We students can’t contact our families?”

  Prescott gives me a grin worthy of a Ken doll. “It’s what their loved ones agreed to when they came to this school, including your father. We’ve covered this before. You’re here to learn, not chat the day away and fritter on technology. We do things traditionally here, by using books, discussion, and healthy exercise. There are no computers, Internet, and only one phone. It’s in my office and only for emergencies.”

  “Wow. I tap my chin, as if seriously considering his words. “That’s a terrible idea.” I gesture around the room. “I mean, look at these people. They’re two neck puncture wounds short of being in a vampire movie. If they want to talk to their parents, they should be able to.”

  Half the student body looks at me with shock. Others seem hopeful. I take that as a super-good sign because, honestly? I was worrying that they were all under some sort of spell.

  Prescott’s voice lowers. “You’re new to this school, so I’ll only say this one more time. Students speak when spoken to, and they follow the rules.”

  I fake a cough, but it sounds a lot like kiss my ass.

  Prescott’s takes a half step backward. The entire room gasps and falls silent. “What did you just say?”

  “I’m sorry.” I twiddle my fingers across my neck. “One second. I think I ate a bug or something. Let me try that again. I said…” I clear my throat. “Kiss. My. Ass.”

  If Prescott were a cartoon, he’d have steam coming out of his ears. “Miss Cross! Into my office. Now!”

  Mission accomplished.

  I point in a few different directions. “Which way is your office, exactly?”

  Prescott grits his teeth and makes a growly sound. For such a put-together-looking dude, when he falls apart, it’s really spectacular. “Miss Cross!”

  I step toward the door. “You know what? I’ll find it.”

  “I have to finish my faculty briefing, but rest assured, we will have words.”

  “Got it.”

  The room breaks out into animated chatter. About five teachers surround Prescott. They all wave their arms around and glare in my direction, evidently discussing how much I suck. As I head to the exit, a student pulls on my sleeve. I pause. “What’s up?”

  “Prescott’s office is the cabin to the right of Jamboree Hall.” She’s got big eyes, red hair, and some attitude. Leave it to a ginger to break ranks and talk to me. I remember her from yesterday. She was the only girl in Prescott’s class who seemed to have any life in her.

  “You’re Harper,” I say.

  “And you’re Mysteria.”

  Not Missy. “Damn right.”

  Harper lowers her voice. “Thanks for standing up to him. I get that this is supposed to be an old fashioned and immersive learning experience.” She makes finger quotes when she says that last part. “But he takes it too far.”

  I eye the door. “Let’s talk about it later, okay? I don’t want to…” I stop myself before saying “waste this opportunity to peep around his office.” Instead, I put on my best guilty face. It might look a little like I’m constipated, but I’m not a really expert in feeling guilt, let alone showing it. “I don’t want to anger the headmaster any more than I already have. I’m totally new and all.”

  “Sure. I understand.” She raises her hand. “Don’t rush. His faculty briefings take forever, even if he is angry about someone.”

  “Good to know.” Great, actually.

  I saunter out the front door. This is going to be fun. If the headmaster’s angry now, wait until I get done with his office.

  18

  Once I leave Jamboree Hall, it isn’t hard to find Prescott’s HQ. It’s a traditional-looking log cabin, only on a huge sca
le. Two human guards stand at the front door, both of them men. What a sausage party. That can work to my advantage, though. I do my best to seem super-mopey as I slog my way closer. I pause before the guards. “I’ve been sent” —sniffle, sniffle— “to the headmaster’s office.”

  One of the guards pushes the door open. “You should watch your mouth, girly. Headmaster doesn’t like it when the students sass off.”

  I purse my lips. I have to admit, hearing about my little incident already? That’s impressive.

  “You know what just happened in Jamboree Hall?” I ask.

  The guard’s eyes narrow. “It’s a small island. We know about everything that happens on our side of it.”

  Our side. Interesting. Guess the humans really do stay away from the north side and the Acca patrol.

  I speed into the log cabin; the guard slams the door behind me. Inside, the place is basically one large room whose walls are lined with books. A large brushed-steel desk sits on the center of the floor. There’s no kitchen, reading area, or bedroom like with my place. The only windows are located on either side of the front door. Unfortunately, the blinds on both of them are open.

  For what I plan to do, those windows need to get covered.

  Tiptoeing forward, I carefully pull the blinds down, making sure that I whimper loudly as I do it. Hopefully I won’t have to keep playing the “I’m a girl and I’m crying” card as the excuse for what I’m up to.

  A guard pounds on the door. “What’s going on in there?”

  Then again, I might have to play it up even harder.

  “I don’t want you to see me cry.”

  “Pull up the damned blinds, girly.”

  Huh. My initial plan isn’t working. Now I’ll have to call out my super-secret weapon. “Whatever you say. I’ll just…Oh, no!” I whip open the front door and pop my head out. “Hey, do either of you guys have a tampon?”

  They stare at me, their mouths falling open. “Uh…”

  “Because I like, really, really, really need one.” I glance over my shoulder and shudder. “I’ve got a gusher going on in here.” I’ve found that for this tactic to work, it’s absolutely critical to look sincere when saying the word gusher.

  Am I evil to do this? Why yes, yes I am.

  Does it work every time? Why yes, yes it does.

  The guards look panic-stricken. “We, uh…”

  I snap my fingers. “Wait, I’ve got it. Maybe there’s something in the bathroom.” I slam the door shut and wait. Here’s where I see if my favorite non-battle battle strategy works yet again. A few seconds pass, and there’s not a peep from the guards.

  Another mission accomplished. That will keep them out of my hair for a while.

  With the guards safely outside, I return my attention to the office. Harper said Prescott’s briefings take a while, but I still want to hustle here. I scan the shelves of books and massive desk. What’s the best way to go about this? Last night, Prescott said the codex was hidden in the library.

  Books first, then.

  I run my hands across and behind the books, looking for anything out of place. Nothing seems odd, unless you consider it a little strange that everything is dusted to perfection. Prescott is a total neat freak. Other than that revelation, the library shelves are a total bust.

  On to the desk.

  The brushed-steel desktop holds a neat pile of books. I recognize these as the same volumes that Prescott got from Acca last night. Now, I’m no scholar. I do know people, though. The headmaster seemed super-excited about these books. In fact, he mentioned them this morning as being crucial for his search, so I’ll check them out next. The thick volumes are encased in heavy leather bindings. They look hundreds of years old. I flip open the first few books and scan the contents.

  Great. They’re all in Latin.

  Sure, I can understand spoken Latin. It’s a weird side effect of becoming the great scala. I would have preferred the ability to fly or have laser beams shoot out of my palms, but whatever. Understanding spoken Latin is fine. Reading it is another matter, though. I can’t make out a word of what’s on these pages.

  Fortunately, Prescott has already read these books for me. In fact, he’s even gone ahead and marked a few pages with Post-its. How helpful. I stare at the ancient sheets of parchment. Lincoln would know how to read them, easy peasy. I finger the worn edges of the pages.

  One of these days, once Purgatory gets more technology and Antrum gets any, I could get a functioning cell phone of my very own. Then, I could take pictures of stuff like this. After all, these books belong in a museum. I should be super-careful here. I stare at the books and ponder before coming to a momentous decision.

  Meh. The super-careful way is way too much hassle right now.

  I tear out the marked sheets, slip them into my jacket pocket, and refuse to feel guilty about it. After all, a demonic army means the end of the human world, including all museums. So there.

  With my inspection of the books behind me, I decide to tackle the rest of the desk. Plunking down in the headmaster’s chair, I pull open the drawers.

  Aaaaaaaand it’s official. The man is a crazy-ass neat freak.

  There are pens arranged by color. Post-its stacked by size. Quill pens arranged by manufacturer. Some kind of wax thing, probably to perfectly seal envelopes. Tissues. Mini wipes. Hand sanitizer. I shake my head. At least I know I didn’t get any germs on me when he groped my ass. I eye the largest drawer hungrily. It’s a big one. The codex could easily fit in there.

  I yank the drawer open. Small envelopes sit inside, all of them arranged into neat little piles. There must be a thousand of them in here, all jammed in tightly and with infinite care. In fact, the rows are so neat and straight you couldn’t actually shove another envelope between stacks.

  It’s official. Prescott just graduated from nutjob neat freak to OCD. I pull out a random envelope from the top. It reads:

  To: My Dearest Prescott-kins.

  From: His Lady.

  My stomach sours. I get the Lady part, but Prescott-kins? This is going to be gross. Still, I need to read this nastiness, just in case there’s a clue hidden somewhere. The envelope has already been opened, so I pull out the letter.

  My dearest man,

  I’m sitting alone, missing you, and thinking of our last time together. Remember how I twisted my fingers through your long, sweaty chest hair right after we—

  Whoa.

  I fold up the letter like it holds the contagion for a zombie apocalypse. No way am I reading another word. I only got through two sentences, and now I’ll never unsee the image of my headmaster’s nest of sweaty chest hair after getting intimate with his so-called Lady. I jam the letter back into the envelope and slam the drawer shut.

  My inspection of the desk is officially over. I pat my pocket. Although I did have to read about Prescott-kins, I still got these sheets for Lincoln. Go me.

  Voices sound outside the front door. It’s Prescott, and he’s talking to the guards. I can’t tell everything they’re saying, however the word tampon comes up quite a bit. I haul ass so I’ll be standing before the headmaster’s desk when he comes in.

  The door opens slowly. “Missy?”

  “Yup.” I don’t even correct him this time.

  Prescott slowly steps into the room. “The guards, uh, told me about your situation.”

  Mr. Neat is freaking out about the tampon-thing. Nice. I make a great point of wincing.

  “Whatever they said, they didn’t do it justice.”

  “You know what? We can have our conversation later. I know you have…Things to do. You realize your error at breakfast, correct?”

  “Absolutely.” Not.

  “Excellent. Don’t let it happen again.” He opens the door wide. I see my chance and take it. Without so much as a goodbye, I hightail it out of Prescott’s office. The door shuts behind me with another slam. Frustrated mumbles sound from behind the closed door. I can just imagine Prescott talking to himself
while he pulls out his wipes and sanitizer, ready to go to town on every surface I may have come in contact with.

  Cool. That’ll keep him busy for a while.

  For my part, I now have gym class with Lincoln. Although I did grab the sheets from Prescott’s book, I can’t celebrate too much. After all, my big goal was to find that codex, and I came up empty. Even worse, today is Friday. If we don’t find the codex today, then Lincoln and I can go to jail.

  I stomp across the grass. Hells bells. I was so sure that the codex was in his office. It’s beyond maddening. Both the codex and the coin are definitely on this island, but we haven’t found either one yet. And worst of all, the Earl of Acca has something special planned for our wedding, according to the Acca warriors from last night. In Aldred-speak, that means trouble.

  A small wooden sign has been tacked to one of the trees. It reads “Practice Field” and has an arrow that points toward a path through the forest. I take off at a run.

  19

  I race through the forest. The path that I follow is all gnarly roots and jutting rocks. Random tree branches loom over the trail. A few almost whack me in the face.

  Important point: I’ve seen enough Earth-made TV shows to know that, in this situation, most human females would trip on a rock, fall on their ass, and lay there like a lump. Makes no sense. Time was, I thought it might be some phenomenon about woods on Earth. Enchanted anti-feminine rocks, maybe? But now that I’m here, I find that it’s super-easy to run along without falling. Not sure what’s up with that.

  Something to ponder. You know, when I don’t have to haul ass to find a magical codex and Lucifer’s coin to keep me and my fiancé out of jail and the world from ending.

  So, you know, much later.

  The trees open up to a large round swath of flat grassland. About twenty girls march around the periphery in three neat rows, military style. They’re all wearing these weird one-piece zip-front jumpsuits. It’s surreal.

  Lincoln notices me the moment I step onto the green. Unlike the students, he’s still wearing his low-slung khakis and blue blazer. Somehow, he makes it look good. “Mysteria Cross. You’re late.”