Archon (3 page)

“Where are you going?” Angela stood alongside of her, casually scanning the hallway for the novice with the pale skin.

“Oh, just back to my dorm. I’ve got some reading to do before lights out. Thought I might steal a smoke in the bathroom on the way. Care to join me?”

No. He mustn’t have been half as interested in her as he seemed. All thoughts of a forbidden romance aside, it would be nice to question someone about her brother. Learn where he lived and what classes he oversaw as a teacher’s aide. Hopefully,
without
this Stephanie finding out. Angela pushed the hair from her eyes, trying to peer through the crowd.

“Hello?”

A cigarette dangled in front of her face.

“No thanks.” Angela swatted it away, still trying to see. A ripple was passing through the large bunches of people, the students pulling back from either side of the exhibits to let a band of blood heads pass through. There were ten of them, but the woman at their head was obviously the leader, her heeled boots clicking across the tile with measured precision. Her skirt was at least two inches too short, and she wore a black overcoat over her blouse, its breast pocket embroidered with a five-pointed star surrounded by a circle. A pentacle. With every step, her thick ponytail swung side to side, shining beneath the wall sconces.

She stopped for a second, whispering to one of her friends—another blood head with layered hair and thigh-high tights. Then they both caught sight of Angela and strolled toward her fast.

“Shit.” Nina’s voice sounded like an ominous gong in Angela’s ear. “We’re done for.”

Before anything more could be said, the ten students were ringing Angela’s exhibit, silent and oddly forbidding. The lights in the room began to flicker.

“Well, hello,” the leader said to Nina.

Nina kept her mouth shut.

“So I guess you couldn’t stay away from an opportunity like this. Not that I blame you anymore. You see,” she said and smiled at Angela, “Nina here has a fascination with angels, demons, spirits. She even says she talks to them. In her sleep, or something.” The leader laughed gently. “She tends to gravitate toward new blood heads who don’t know any better, eventually wearing them down with a million useless, overly imaginative questions.” She glanced at Nina. “Right?”

“Who are you?” Angela said, trying to ignore Nina’s strange silence. This had to be Stephanie. But it took more than a funny symbol on her coat to make her a witch. And right now, she couldn’t be more mediocre. “Why are you here?”

“Why am I here?” She laughed again, some of her friends joining in. They all looked the same: heavy makeup and red eye shadow. More like bad mannequins than people. “I’m here to welcome you to Westwood, of course. I’m Stephanie Walsh, head of the Pentacle Sorority on the campus. I make it my personal responsibility to meet every new blood head who steps onto Academy grounds.”

“That’s nice of you, but I’m not too keen on sororities. Or being recruited.”

“Oh, that’s fine. But you might want to reconsider your opinion.”

“Why is that?” Angela said, aware that her eyes were narrowing to slits. The girl with the thigh-high tights was poking at her favorite picture, tracing the line of the angel’s long neck with a finger.

Stephanie nudged Tights sharply with an elbow, snapping her back into position. “Because you might find life to be a little easier here at the Academy when you have sisters to lean on. Otherwise, it can be hard.” She glanced at Nina, a frown twitching on her mouth. “You don’t want to start off on the wrong foot, acquainting yourself with people who don’t have your best interests at heart.”

“So you’re saying that if I don’t join your sorority, I should prepare to be miserable?”

“I’m only trying to help.” Stephanie stretched out a hand, and the blood head with the thigh-highs handed her a paper. She offered it to Angela. “If you change your mind, our house is in the Western District of the campus, close to the Tree. We have group nights every Tuesday and Thursday where we initiate new members if they decide to join.”

“This Thursday is Halloween,” Nina said, muttering.

Stephanie lifted an eyebrow. “So it is.”

She turned and headed for the exit at the far end of the hallway, the other blood heads gathering behind her. Angela crumpled the paper, tossing it on the floor when they were out of view. “She’s crazy if she thinks I’m going to spend my college years handing her papers.”

“Thank God.” Nina ruffled her hair, messing it even more. “I thought you were going to cave.”

“Why would I have done that?”

“So many people said the same thing. Until they met Stephanie face-to-face. The one in the thigh-high tights, Lyrica Pengold—she was stupid enough to spread rumors about her. Then her hair began falling out. Now she’s Stephanie’s most devoted slave and has hair that would make a shampoo commercial jealous.”

Angela let the matter rest, keeping her thoughts to herself while she opened her portfolio case and began taking down the paintings, one by one. The exhibit had an hour to go yet, but she felt sick, and exhausted, and really didn’t want anything to do with people until tomorrow. She wasn’t used to so much attention, good or bad, and the strangeness of it all had left her in a daze. Almost forgetting that Nina was still present, she picked up her favorite picture—a gorgeous oil portrait that focused on the beautiful angel’s sapphire eyes—and snuck a kiss on the edge of the canvas.

This was all for him anyway. Her last hope at finding a reason to live.

“Hey, Angela, I’m going to go now.” Nina’s voice seemed to come out of nowhere.

“Leaving so soon?” A male voice joined her. “And after I made the time to take a closer look at your exhibit.”

Wonderful. More people.

Angela slipped the last painting into its case and turned around with a fake smile at the ready. But then it became a real one. The novice with the pale skin and honey-colored eyes was standing across from her, his long coat swishing as he swayed slightly, stealing a quick peek before she zipped up the case. He was even more handsome up close, and a flattering shelf of bangs hung carelessly in his eyes. It was a portion of these that he’d dyed such a shocking red.

“They allow that—even though you’re a novice?” Angela nodded at his hair.

“Not everyone in the Vatican is as backward as the authorities in Luz, Miss—what’s your name?”

“Angela Mathers.”

“Pretty. It suits your work.”

Nina had been a step away from leaving again. Now she sat back down and busied herself with a book, glancing at the novice whenever he wasn’t looking.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I’m sorry to bother you. I can see you’re packing up for the night.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. I wasn’t intending to leave so soon; I just . . .” Angela sighed. “It’s been a long day.”

“Would you like me to help you back to your room? I’m also heading in that direction.”

Nina was trying harder than ever not to appear engrossed with the conversation. But she was also turning the book’s pages much too quickly.

“No, that’s all right.” Besides, didn’t it occur to him that it might not be a good idea to be seen alone with her? Angela felt her cheeks starting to go red. She’d planned on asking him about Brendan, but now the thought of how and why was the furthest thing from her mind. It would be great to have a meaningful relationship with a person who either wasn’t part of her dreams, or hadn’t taken a vow of celibacy. But dating a priest in training certainly wouldn’t start things off on the right foot. “Thanks for offering though. Maybe next time.”

“Of course. Maybe next time.” He wandered away from the exhibit, gradually vanishing into the crowd.

The instant he was out of sight, Nina tossed her book aside and grabbed Angela’s arm. “Do you know who that was?”

“Should I?” Angela blinked, partially blinded by a nearby flash of lightning.

“His name is Kim, and he’s off-limits.
Don’t
get involved.”

“You know, he was the one who forgot about the whole vow of celibacy thing—”

“He’s involved with Stephanie,” Nina hissed.

Angela hoisted her own bag onto a shoulder, careful not to snag her arm gloves. “What? You said that Brendan is Stephanie’s boyfriend!”

Something she still found hard to believe.

“Yeah. The official one. The show-off boyfriend.” Nina pointed down the hallway, at wherever Kim had disappeared to. “He’s the real thing. And if you like guys and you go to the Academy, it’s the one reason you might wish you were in her shoes for a change. So listen to me this time and stay away from him.”

“And if he approaches me instead?”

Nina rolled her eyes and grabbed Angela’s smallest portfolio. “I can only warn you once.” She took a deep breath. “Now tell me where you live and I’ll help you cart your stuff. At least I won’t be flirting with you along the way.”

“On the east side of campus. Near the ocean.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Angela picked up the rest of her belongings, dragging her largest painting in a portfolio on wheels, sidestepping the dwindling crowd. The second she looked up again, there was Lyrica, standing a few feet away, a curious expression on her face. She must have lingered behind Stephanie, maybe to spy on Angela, maybe to get a moment to herself. But it was obvious she’d also seen everything that had taken place with Kim. Lyrica lifted her eyebrows, amused. Then she sauntered away to the exit.

Already, I’m under some kind of microscope.

Already, Angela was wishing the fire had worked.

T
he next storm swept in off the coast after dinner hours.

Luz vanished behind a screen of silver, raindrops battering mercilessly against old stone edifices, spouting in vast sluices from gutters that hung hundreds of feet above Angela’s dormitory. She’d been situated on the upper floor of an old mansion, half of its foundation angling perilously over the sea, the other half facing toward the center of the Academy where she could revel in the view of a hundred or more towers, most of them connected to one another by vast bridges of stone, or at the very peak, thick tunnels of carefully sealed glass. Candles flickered through countless windows, yellow eyes that glared out toward the sea.

The surf was breaking hundreds of feet below her building, and still it sounded almost as loud as the thunder. Angela must have fallen asleep without realizing it, because when a particularly loud
boom
shivered through the walls, she jolted in her seat, shocked to find the book she’d been reading was now lying on the floor.

She picked it up and set it back on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. The flames had muffled to a mass of burning cinders.

Angela stared at them, bitter inside.

Fire wasn’t enough. Or bullets. Or knives.

She rolled down one of her arm gloves, examining the grotesque patches of skin, most of them slightly raised and dark with scar tissue. Her legs had fared better, but not by much. When Angela set the blaze months ago, her arms had, of course, been nearest to the fire, but after passing out, she’d survived to find horrendous burns striping her legs to midthigh. The disappointment of seeing those wounds almost equaled her disappointment at being alive. She’d planned on waking up wrapped in the wings of her angel, not trapped for weeks in an infirmary.

Now you’re here in Luz, wasting your time so you can apologize to a brother who probably wishes you’d succeeded too.

It was hard to kill yourself when someone or something you couldn’t see was protecting you. At least, Angela had come to the conclusion that the supernatural was looking out for her after she tried stabbing herself, and the knife blade snapped when it met her skin.

Ten separate times.

Then there were the guns. All in perfect working order. All either misfiring or refusing to fire when the moment arrived. Nooses held tight until she slipped them around her neck. Then they unraveled and dropped to the floor. If Angela tried to suffocate, she’d simply black out and wake up to find herself breathing again. If she tried drowning, the effect was usually the same. Fire had been one of her last resorts, and that had ended the most disastrously of all, killing her family instead. That left two options: jumping off a building, or getting someone else to kill her. The latter choice usually either wouldn’t be fair or wouldn’t be right. Encouraging serial killers wasn’t the morally sound way to rid the planet of your existence. And most people didn’t want to be a murderer, even an accidental one.

And jumping off a building?

It never hurt to try. She’d just never been keen on surviving as a lump of shattered bones.

Angela turned from the grate, strolling over to the enormous bay window overlooking the highest street. Two of the windows had upper panes made of stained glass, their intricate designs adding a splash of brightness in the otherwise drab den. But they were also made solid from top to bottom, lacking a latch. Only the middle window was completely clear and tall as the ceiling, its lower half already cocked open half an inch.

She climbed over a large couch, its upholstery a disgusting mélange of flowers and crushed red velvet. The bay seat was behind it, but most of the wood had blackened from the moisture. Below, though, the porch roof stretched out into the night, slippery with rain and old shingles.