Prophecy Girl (Angel Academy) (15 page)

Jack’s voice was husky in my ear as he encircled my wrists with his hands and gently pushed me away. Soft and reluctant, the threads of light dissipated. I sat back, dizzy.

“Are you okay?”

“I think so,” I said, half-knowing it was a lie. “Give me a minute.”

I stumbled to the bathroom, willing my heart to slow. The tile wall felt cool against my forehead, but my thoughts still raced. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe I really was dangerous. At the very least it made me wonder if I shouldn’t be more careful sharing power with him.

By the time I returned with Lisa’s first aid kit, Jack was upright on the edge of the bed, poking a tentative finger at the area that used to be black and blue. I could still see a faint outline of the bruise, but it had faded to the greenish brown of an old wound rather than the vicious hue of a mortal injury. Color had returned to his face as well. As I knelt next to him again, a silent wave of gratitude washed through me.

“Does this hurt?” I pressed the tips of my fingers to his abdomen where the bruise had been.

“A little tender, but it’s okay.”

“How about your face? Looks like it stings.”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t get paid for being pretty.”

“As of this morning, I doubt you get paid at all.” I dabbed at his forehead with an alcohol swab. “I could just heal you without permission.”

“You could try.”

I frowned at him. “Does the word ‘stubborn’ mean anything to you?”

He grinned.

“Quit smiling. You’ll split your lip again.” Jack sat still while I smeared a glob of antibiotic ointment on his eyebrow then started on the cut at his lip. “Seriously, why didn’t you bond at graduation?” I asked, mostly to break the tension. “I get it if your first assignment was a flop, but what about other Channelers? Hansen, for example? She was totally into you. Before she tried to kill you, I mean.”

Jack made a pained face. “Yeah, Lori and I have an unusual relationship.”

“Why’s that?”

“For starters, she was in my graduating class at Monroe. She kind of mentored me through some hard times,” he admitted. “Plus, she was my flop of a bond assignment. Ow!”

“Sorry.” I put the alcohol swab away, trying not to hyperventilate. “So, why’d you refuse her?”

He lifted one eyebrow. “Do the words ‘none of your business’ mean anything to you?”

“Touché. But she can’t have been the only one.”

Jack shrugged again, his eyes flitting to the window. “There was someone else, but it was a long time ago. I doubt she remembers me.”

“You’re not exactly forgettable. Hold still.” With a Q-tip, I dabbed some antibiotic on his lip, then wiped off the excess with the back of a knuckle. As soon as I touched him, my body vibrated with his power, like an itch aching to be scratched. “Did you ever tell her how you felt?”

“Who?”

“The girl. Duh.”

He laughed. “It didn’t exactly happen like that. I barely knew her, just from the playground in elementary school. Then, one night at a PTA event, we got caught in the crossfire of a battle. I don’t even know what happened. One second, we were all playing hide-and-seek, then the next thing I knew the air was on fire and people were dying. I hid behind a couch with the other kids and watched our parents get ripped to shreds by a demon lord. There was nothing any of us could do. I remember how fragile she felt huddled next to me, but all I could think was that we were going to die.
I
was going to die.” Jack stopped, examining me. I waited a few seconds for him to continue, but he didn’t.

“Well, what did you do?” I asked.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said. “Most of the kids started running. I tried to run, too, but she wouldn’t let me. She grabbed a piece of broken glass and stabbed me in the hand.” He smiled as if the memory was a fond one. “I never saw it coming. She did the same thing to herself, then she wrapped her snotty little kid fingers around mine and opened a channel so powerful it took out the demon lord, his minions, and an entire city block of lesser fiends. I’ve never been so terrified in my life.”

Jack brought his right hand out from behind him and held it open. In the middle of his palm was a small, C-shaped scar curving through the center of his lifeline. It reminded me of the one I’d gotten when I fell off the monkey bars at Lisa’s house in second grade, only mine was more jagged.

I ran my thumb over the scar as I processed what Jack had said, a sharp wave of envy rising in my throat. If he and this girl had exchanged blood
and
shared that level of power, then according to what I’d overheard in the locker room they were two-thirds of the way done with the Guardian bonding ritual. All they had to do was say the right words to each other and they would be bonded. Forever.

“So, what happened?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. When I woke up she was gone, my folks were dead, and the Elders had reassigned me to residential in Monroe. They said we were too young. It was deemed an illegal bonding and I never saw her again.”

His words hung in the air, hollow and sad. The sounds of distant traffic snaked in through cracks around the windowpanes, and I expelled a soft breath. Chills ran up my arms, an odd contrast to the warm slant of afternoon light through the transom windows.

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Jack gave a tight, humorless smile and rose from the bed. “Miss Bennett, I don’t mean to be rude, but I also need to wash up before we leave. If you don’t mind…”

I rocked back on my heels, trying to pretend he hadn’t just driven an icicle into my heart. Not like I was expecting him to kiss me again, but I at least hoped to graduate to a first name basis. I sat perfectly still, studying him carefully.

“Jack, what about me?” I asked.

He gave me a strange look. “You can shower on your own. I may be stuck with you, but I’m not your nanny.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I mean, what if I wasn’t a student? What if you’d met me next year and there wasn’t all this stuff with murderers and demons and people dying? And don’t say you’re too old for me,” I warned, before he could start in with excuses. “There are only three years between us. By the time I graduate, three years won’t mean squat. I’m just asking, if things were different, would you consider…Would you ever, you know, think of me? That way?”

I could tell my face was red. It burned like someone had lit a fire under my chin. Jack stood motionless, brilliant light streaming behind him like something out of the Sistine Chapel. Sunbeams curved around his body, carving out the peaks and valleys of each chiseled muscle. Jeez, this would be so much easier if he wasn’t so beautiful.

After the longest, most painful five seconds in the world, Jack let out a slow exhale. “Miss Bennett—”

“Never mind.”

It was all I needed to hear. Nothing that started with my surname was going to end in a passionate declaration of desire. And given how today had gone, I didn’t think I could take another rejection.

“It’s okay. Forget I asked.”

I rose in humiliated silence and hurried into the bathroom before the tears could fall. What an idiot I’d been, mooning over him at school, making an ass of myself at assembly. Everything I’d felt—the
déja vu
, the visions, the weird feeling like we’d known each other forever—it was all just a stupid, hormonal response to my unrequited crush.

The door securely locked, I huddled in the corner, porcelain wall tiles cold against my shoulder blades. A thin sheen of mildew covered the lower half of the shower curtain, its nastiness surpassed only by a few furry lines of black mold around the base of the tub. I spun the knob above the faucet until steam billowed out from behind the curtain.

“Miss Bennett.” Jack rapped hard on the wooden surface. “Please, open the door.”

I didn’t answer. What could I say? I’d had my share of humiliating moments, most of them witnessed by members of the school administration. But I’d always managed to escape with some shred of dignity. This time, not so much.

“I know we’ve had some mixed signals,” Jack said through the door, “but the situation is complicated. There are things you’re not mature enough to understand.”

“By all means, then,” I called through the door, “keep lying to me. It’s worked brilliantly so far.”

“Miss Bennett—”

Overcome with impatience, I stormed to the door, twisted the lock, and yanked it open. “Look, I’m having kind of a rough day, okay? Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the rescue and all, but in the past twelve hours I’ve been starved, drugged, tortured, chased, shot at, ripped from my family and friends, and forced to watch helplessly while the only guy I’ve ever—” I stopped, uncertain. “While my substitute teacher nearly had his brain melted by a psychotic former cheerleader. All in all, not one of my top ten Wednesdays.”

Jack scrubbed a weary hand down his face. “Lori was never a cheerleader.”

“I. Don’t. Care.” I started to close the door again but changed my mind. “And my name is Amelie.
Ah-muh-lee
. If we’re going to be stuck with each other the least you can do is quit acting so pompous and treat me like an equal.” I gave him my sternest look, then slammed the door as hard as I dared, lest it fall off its termite-riddled hinges. Little flecks of paint chipped off at the impact.

Angry and embarrassed, I stripped off Lyle’s shirt and stepped out of my underpants, balling it all into a tight missile. They made a satisfying
thunk
against the door, right where Jack’s stupid face had been a moment ago.

I didn’t know why I was so angry. This wasn’t his fault. With the way he looked, girls probably threw themselves at him all the time. So his big crime had been what? That he kissed me? What was he supposed to do, beat me away with a stick?

More than anything, I was upset with myself. I’d long held the credo that the best way to be disappointed was to set high expectations. So, what did I think was going to come out of a crush on the most unattainable person in the galaxy?

The water felt amazing against my shoulders, as if it could burn off all the sweat and horror of the day. I spent nearly an hour in the shower with the secret hope that I might use up all the hot water before Jack got in. Unfortunately, my hands and feet started to prune long before it showed any signs of cooling. My clothes were still in Lisa’s backpack, so I settled for one of the oversized white bath towels. For all the economy of our accommodations, the motel certainly spared no expense on towels. They were thick and heavy, like angel clouds you could disappear into. I wrapped one around my head and tucked the other like a strapless gown under my armpits, leaving Jack nothing but a hand towel. Petty, yes, but it made me feel better.

When I emerged, he was waiting silently by the door, hands jammed in his pockets.

“Your turn,” I said coolly as I brushed past him.

Lisa had forgotten to pack a hairbrush, so I did what I could with my fingers and a tube of de-frizzer while Jack showered. I’d just slipped into a lace-edged black tank-top and jeans when the bathroom door squeaked open.

Jack slouched against the doorframe, steam pouring out behind him. He was barefoot and shirtless, frayed jeans riding low on the deep grooves of his hipbones. Water dripped off his hair, tracing thin lines all the way down to his belly button. Even the tattooed glyphs on his arms seemed to stand out more than usual, slick and dark against his tanned skin.

“You’re dressed,” he said.

“Yup,” I confirmed. “More than I can say for you.”

He paused toweling off to scan me from head to toe, just as he’d done the first day I met him. Of course, this time I knew it wasn’t romantic interest motivating the scope-out. He was probably looking for places to conceal a weapon.

“Get your shoes on,” he said. “We leave in ten minutes.”

“I thought you said we didn’t have to be anywhere ‘til nightfall.”

“We don’t.” He finished drying his hair and chucked the hand towel at me. “But if you want to be treated like a ‘grown-up,’ then there are a few things you need to know,
Amelie
.”

The last word he said with a dry smile. It crinkled the corners of his mouth but didn’t reach his eyes.

“Where are we going?”

“I need to show you something. Something you should have seen a long time ago.” Jack padded across the room to Lisa’s backpack and emptied all but the most essential things: money, keys, weapons…a flashlight?

“We,” he said, “are going sightseeing.”

Chapter Thirteen:

Impossible Things

It would have been easier to hate Jack if he weren’t so nice. The way he kept his hand securely entwined with mine as we crossed into the French Quarter reminded me of those old movies where the dashing hero is charged with protecting the entitled-yet-important heroine. That’s how I felt with him—important.

Creole townhouses rose up on either side of us, cast-iron galleries crawling up the brick walls like vines. Antique shops and art stores huddled at every corner with tourists spilling out of them. For a city that had been burned and rebuilt as many times as this one, New Orleans had an amazing sense of flow. Even the people seemed to float down the street, their pace leisurely and calm. It was the kind of place you could get lost in.

It was perfect.

Jack took care not to hurry. The cut on his lip had already started to heal and his sunglasses covered the scratch on his eyebrow. I guess we looked normal. Or tried to, anyway. I stopped for pralines once so he could scan the street behind us to see if we were being followed. We weren’t. A few blocks later, he thought he recognized someone on the street, so he pulled me into a gift shop and made me try on silly hats until the guy had passed. It was hard not to get sucked into the illusion that we were just two regular people on a date—a little hand-holding, a little conversation. Of course, instead of sweet nothings whispered in my ear, I got brief lectures on evasive techniques.

Stay out of alleys, unless you can identify at least three viable exit routes.

Don’t be afraid to use humans as a shield. A Guardian won’t attack if there’s a human around.

Guardian trackers can only sense you when you channel. Stay dormant, and you’ll be no more visible than a human.

And my favorite,
They have orders to execute us on sight. If anything happens to me, run fast and don’t look back.

Not exactly words designed to make a girl feel cozy.

By the time we reached St. Mary’s Church at the old Ursuline Convent, my last nerve was shot. Jack crossed himself out of habit then held open the heavy gray door for me, his hand never leaving the small of my back.

“The Great Books used to be housed in the convent itself,” he said as we traversed the atrium. “When St. Mary’s was added in 1845, the Elders moved them here.”

“The Great Books?”

“Guardian holy writ. The
Book of Life
. The
Book of Blood
. The
Book of Days
. The
Book of Omens
.”

“So, Guardian beach reading?”

“If you’re into apocalyptic prognostications and genealogical charts.”

I wasn’t sure if he was making a joke. All he got was a blank stare. “I don’t know what you just said.”

“That’s because you never listen in class. Follow me.”

As soon as we stepped into the church, the smell of candle wax and incense wrapped around me in a tight hug. Apart from the hush of air-conditioning vents, the church was silent and nearly empty. Rows of wooden pews filled the sanctuary, their smooth, oiled surfaces reflecting the warm glow of crystal chandeliers above. Flecked rainbows shimmered through stained glass windows, casting pink, gold, and blue beams across Jack’s face as he strode through the center aisle of the church. He reached back and caught my hand.

“Be ready to run. If anyone attacks, I’ll take care of it. You get back to the safe house and stay there.”

“In your dreams,” I whispered back. “And seriously, ‘safe house’? I prefer to think of it as the ‘flophouse,’ since it’s really only safe for cockroaches.”

An elderly Hispanic woman in the front row turned her head at our voices, but Jack pretended not to see her. Without pausing at the front, he vaulted the low gate to where the altar stood. Two wide columns rose on either side to form an arch across the coved ceiling and a series of ornate gold spires rose like stalagmites at the back of the sanctuary.

“Are you sure we’re allowed back here? It feels kind of sneaky,” I said. Granted, I hadn’t been to church in years, probably not since Mom’s funeral, but I was pretty sure God frowned upon people sticking their fingers in the Eucharist.

“This from the girl who arranged for six tons of personal lubricant to magically appear on the volleyball court during gym class last year? Since when is ‘sneaky’ a problem for you?”

I grimaced. “I’m going to hell, aren’t I?”

“Hopefully not for a few more years.”

Jack smiled as I raked a stray lock of red hair into my stupid bun. He’d made an offhand comment earlier about what a pity it was that my hair was so “conspicuous.” Much as I wanted that to be a compliment, it didn’t quite feel like one.

He knelt on the marble floor and lifted the cream-colored linen at the back altar. His fingers groped under the ledge, finally lodging in a groove in the bas-relief carvings. As if on a spring, something clicked and the rectangular panel slid backward, revealing a narrow entrance to what looked like a tunnel that descended straight down. My imagination conjured random scenes from Dante’s
Inferno
: baleful screams of the tortured souls, gruesome sounds of joints breaking and limbs being ripped apart. Needless to say, it wasn’t what I’d envisioned when he said we’d be “sightseeing.”

Before I could caution him, Jack had swung his feet into the opening and dropped out of sight. I felt a wave of panic roll through my belly.

“Jack?” I whispered into the void. “Where’d you go?”

“The bowels of hell,” his voice echoed back. “I thought we could go apartment hunting for you…since you’ll be moving here, and all.”

“I think I liked you better when you were laconic.”

“Laconic, huh?” His head popped back into view. “That’s a pretty big word for someone who bombed her verbal SATs. Are you coming?”

I nervously scanned the sanctuary, my eyes meeting the Hispanic woman’s suspicious glare. In a swish of black fabric, she stood and hurried toward the rectory, her knuckles white over the wooden beads of her rosary. Heart pounding, I muttered a quick prayer of my own, then followed Jack into the abyss.

Once I’d gotten a foothold on the metal ladder, Jack inched back up alongside me to pull the linen cloth down and close the panel. It clicked shut, and we were plunged into a darkness so complete it pretty much rendered my eyelids useless. The air smelled dank, like dirt and river water, and far away I could hear the thick sounds of sewage from the Quarter—exactly the kind of place where rats might live.

“Dude, you seriously need to pick up a copy of
Where Not to Take Your Date,
” I whispered as Jack’s arm looped around my waist. Instantly, my heart rate spiked. “So, what is this place?”

“It’s called the catacombs. This was an old escape route the sisters used during the Civil War to hide mistreated slaves. After the war, the tunnels started to collapse, so rather than lose the church to a sinkhole, they gave the space to us. Our wards maintain the structure and keep anyone but angelbloods from finding it. Fascinating, don’t you think?”

“Thrilling,” I said in the most lackluster voice possible. “I’ll be sure to write an extra credit essay when I get back to school.”

“That’s the spirit.” He chuckled. “The ladder runs out in a few feet. Can you hold onto me?”

Sigh. “I think so.”

Jack shifted Lisa’s backpack to his chest, and then helped me get positioned between his shoulder blades. I hooked one arm over his shoulder, the other around his ribcage so as not to choke him, and tried to ignore the small cache of weapons tucked inside his waistband. The timing could not have been worse, but even with the mold and the germs and the threat of impending death, I couldn’t quite quash that little thrill at being close to him. I wrapped my legs around his waist and inhaled deeply. As usual, he smelled amazing.

“Are you sniffing me?”

“No,” I lied. “That would be weird.”

As soon as he started moving, my fingers tightened into his skin. It’s not that I was afraid of the dark, per se. It was more the creepy things shrouded by the dark that I feared. Zombies and demons and other beasties hell-bent on gnawing off my pinkie toes.

Jack’s chest puffed with laughter beneath my iron grip. “Relax. This isn’t the scary part yet.”

“Mmm, not helpful.”

“Try to think about puppies,” he suggested. “No wait, not puppies. Think about kittens. Demons don’t eat kittens. Too many hairballs.”

“Hey, maybe we could try not talking for a while.”

Jack was still laughing at me as he lowered himself slowly, hand over hand, until it seemed like we must’ve been well below sea level. I knew the French Quarter was situated at one of the highest points in the city, but that doesn’t mean much in a town built on swampland. Finally, his feet touched something solid, and he lowered me onto the ground. I don’t know what I was expecting. Water, I guess. Concrete. The brittle bones of my dearly departed Aunt Verna. It took me a second to find my balance on the surface of uneven cobbles. The air was like ice, but still humid enough to leave a cool sheen of sweat along my neck.

“Gosh, this place is darling.” I sniffed. “And what a lovely stench. Do they have timeshares?”

There was a soft rustle as he fished around in the backpack. After a few seconds, a flashlight switched on, the beam flaring like a torch in his hand.

Smooth gray walls extended up as far as I could see, as if we had dropped into the bottom of a mile-deep, cylindrical missile silo. Five tunnels radiated off the main room, each with a rotted wooden door and a unique carving etched into the stone arch above: a shield, a chalice, an hourglass, and a half-risen sun. The fifth door was smaller, its carving less ornate. It was a serpent, tightly coiled, eyes slit shut, and the end of its tail tucked snugly between its teeth. A smattering of odd glyphs was etched across the backdrop in the same pattern as the creature’s scales.

“Okay, what am I looking at?” I asked.

“These are the chambers of the Great Books.” He approached the first door, the shield, and touched a hand to it. “This tunnel holds the
Book of Life
. It records all the births of Guardians since the beginning of time. You’re listed in there, so are your parents, and your grandparents. Like a massive family tree.”

“Sounds fun,” I commented. “Next.”

Jack continued to the next carving, the chalice. “This holds the
Book of Blood
. Each Guardian was formed from the flesh of one of the seven archangels, right?”

I nodded.

“Well, this tells the story of our bloodlines. Who your ancestors are, which bloodline is dominant in you. Because the bloodlines don’t follow familial patterns, this is the only way we can keep track of them. We mostly use it to watch out for Lucifer’s resurfacing, but it’s important for bonding as well,” he explained, in answer to my questioning look. “That’s why the Elders always have to approve bond agreements. Some of the bloodlines don’t mix well.”

“For example?”

“Well, Gabriel and Michael. Too much of a power clash. Same with Michael and Raphael, and Raphael and Gabriel.” He grinned. “The biggest issues are with Lucifer’s offspring. Serious problems with authority. And they can’t follow a rule to save their lives.”

A sick feeling settled in the pit of my stomach, shrinking it to the rough size and hardness of a walnut. “I hate you a little, you know that?”

Jack’s dark eyes shone with reflected light. “I wish that were true.”

In silence he moved to the door with the hourglass above it. His fingertips traced the grooves of the carved stone. “This is the
Book of Days.
It’s the story of our war against demonkind. Every battle since our genesis is recorded here.”

“Wouldn’t a military record be better kept in, I don’t know, a
military
outpost, or something? This seems awfully inconvenient for the scribe.”
Not to mention bloody creepy
, I added silently.

Jack frowned. “No, you misunderstand. Every battle is recorded here, with complete accuracy,
as it occurs
. There is no scribe.”

“No scribe, huh?” I tried not to look impatient. “You know that’s impossible.”

“Lots of things are impossible. Doesn’t mean they don’t happen every day.”

“Actually, that
is
what ‘impossible’ means. You should Google it,” I suggested. “Wait, does Google qualify as an impossible thing?”

He muttered something under his breath. I couldn’t quite hear him, but I did catch the words “faithless” and “insufferable.” I paid him no mind. As my lawyering father often says, “You can’t reason with crazy people, no matter how sane they look in a suit.”

After another moment, Jack came to a stop in front of the fourth door, the one with the rising sun. He lifted a fist and gave the door a good, hard rap. “This is what I wanted to show you: the
Book of Omens
. It’s where we keep the Guardian prophecies, oracles, et cetera.”

“And by et cetera, you mean…?”

“Anything foretelling the end of the world.”

“Ah.” I nodded. “So, the usual bedtime stories.”

“Pretty much.” He knelt in front of the sun carving, his fingers probing at the edges just as they had the altar in St. Mary’s. Impatient, I walked toward the fifth door and lay my hand against the glyphs behind the serpent. Despite the cool air, the stone felt warm under my fingers, as if it were alive.

“What’s this one? The
Book of Missed Dental Appointments
?”

Jack glanced up, his face graying in the pale light. “Amelie, you shouldn’t touch that.”

“Why not? It’s just a piece of rock.” I looked back at the stone carving to find the serpent staring at me, two glassy black beads where its eyes should have been. Odd. I’d swear its eyes were closed before.

“It’s not just a piece of rock, it’s—” His voice caught. “That’s the chamber to the
Book of Lies.
The symbol you’re touching is called an ourbouros,” he explained. “In some traditions, it symbolizes the cyclical nature of the universe—death and rebirth. In others, it’s the self-defeating nature of humanity. It’s not evil…exactly. But you, of all people, shouldn’t touch it.”