Prophecy Girl (Angel Academy) (24 page)

“You know I won’t let you die,” I said.

“It’s not your choice.”

“I’m your Channeler, Jack. ‘Wither thou goest—’”

He shut me up with another kiss that sent explosions to my toes and made me forget my middle name. Every nerve in my body lit up like a power station. My legs twined through his, my hands pulling his shirt up over his head, but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t get close enough to him. In all the times I’d watched him fight, it never occurred to me how that physical power might translate to…other stuff. Now all I could think was that I couldn’t wait to find out. The problem was, I didn’t just want him for one night. I wanted him forever.

We kissed until my lips felt frosted and worn and my hair was damp with sweat. It was like every dream I’d had about him, only this time I knew I wouldn’t wake up. His hands stroked my back with urgent tenderness as I trailed my fingers over the scar on his chest. Scary how close I’d come to losing him.

“What are you thinking?” I whispered.

“About weapons,” he admitted, sheepish. “Whether you have any here.”

“Well, the toilet brush is probably the most lethal thing we own. You can call Luc. I’m sure he has a spare surface-to-air missile you could borrow.”

Jack grinned. “Thanks, but it’s not for me. I meant for you. They’ll come soon, once I’m gone. Luc will help you if he can but, Ami, they won’t give up. You’re too dangerous.”

“I still seem dangerous to you?”

“Well, maybe not
now
, while you’re all warm and…” He made a vague gesture at my body, pajamas clinging in rumpled disarray. “
This
version of you is terrifying in a completely different way.”

I pinched him hard on the belly. “Watch it, buddy. I
am
dangerous, and don’t you forget it. Now hold still.”

My intent was just to heal him, maybe patch up the rough spots before we headed off to face the enemy…again. No way could I have known what would happen when I opened the healing channel.

Or tried to.

It was like pulling on a tug-of-war rope, only there was no one on the other side of the ditch and the ground behind me was an endless pit of ice cold fire. I felt my grip slide off the power strands, vertigo slamming into me. The first thing to hit was confusion. It made no sense why such a small healing channel should make me so sick. Every muscle went rigid. Blackness ripped through my head like gunfire.

“Amelie, no! Shut it off! Close the channel!”

I heard him in the back of my head, yelling for help, but I couldn’t stop it. My head flopped backward, a cacophony of shouts rising as people hurtled into the room. The air oozed fire, hot and musty at the same time, with a metallic tinge that turned my stomach. I could smell it, like wet, burning leaves. It stung my senses.

I tried to give the darkness to Jack, the same way I had at assembly, but for every rohm of power he drained off me, five more flowed in. I couldn’t shut the channel.

“Henry! Bud!” Jack shouted. “I need help!”

There was a clatter in the hallway, then my father’s voice erupted. “What the–? What in God’s name did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Jack insisted. “We were just kissing—”

“You bastard, get your hands off my daughter!”

“Bud!” Henry cried.

All at once, Jack lurched away from me and a popping sound like broken glass exploded against the wall. I tried to reach out for him but my arms were lead.

“You were supposed to keep her from channeling. That was the deal,” Bud yelled.

“Sir, I didn’t—” Jack was silenced by another crash.

My body convulsed on the bed, and coppery blood pooled inside my mouth. I wanted to ask what “deal” they were talking about but nothing would respond. My brain had short-circuited.

Jack scurried back to my side, his fingers trailing over my hair. “Ami, you have to close the channel. Now!”

“She can’t,” Henry interrupted. “Jackson, you’re her conduit. She can’t close it with you here. Not with that much Otrava in her.”

Jack’s fingers froze on my forehead, terror seeping into me through the bond. “I can’t leave her. Not like this.”

“If you stay, she’ll die.”

“But—”

“Boy, you have five seconds to get out of my house.” Dad raised a fist, ready to knock Jack out the window.

“Jackson, I’m sorry,” Henry concurred, “but you need to go. Now.”

Jack hesitated only a moment. I could feel the conflict in him, his desperate desire to stay with me sandwiched between waves of wordless terror. I flinched as his fingertips left my forehead in a velvet sweep of pain.

No!
I wanted to shout.
Come back!

Before I could pry my mouth open, a new presence emerged beside me. It wasn’t so bright or warm as Jack, but it pulled on the darkness in steady, even tugs.

Slowly, the pain receded and my room came back into focus. It looked like a smashed antique toy store. My Hello Kitty lamp lay in pieces on the ground; the mosquito netting over the bed had been ripped down in wide strips. My pillow lay in a blood-covered heap beside the bed.

“Henry?” I croaked.

“Shh.” He put a wrinkled hand over my forehead to draw out the last of the dark energy. “You have a huge dose of Otrava in your system. It’ll fade in a few days, but for the moment, you’re grounded.”

I sat up, immediately wishing I hadn’t. “J–Jack needs me. The Graymason—”

“Amelie, Jack was the one who gave you the Otrava,” Henry said quietly. “He didn’t want you following him tonight. He wanted you safe.”

I stared at him, struggling to make sense of his words. No matter how hard I tried, they wouldn’t fit together. “That’s ridiculous. Jack would never do that.”

“People do ridiculous things for love,” Henry sighed. “I’m beginning to think Judy was right with all her talk of destiny. There may be only one way this can end.”

Before I could comment, one of the cell phones Luc gave us started ringing. Not a big deal, since he was the only one who had that number. Honestly, my heart was already shredded. Did I really need to add to the trauma by interacting with the undead?

I powered it off.

A perfect orange moon cast odd patterns through the lace curtains, like a haunted doily on the carpet. Eleven eleven p.m.

So that was it, then? In forty-nine minutes, Jack would be dead? He’d be
dead
, I would be digesting poison, and there was
nothing
I could do about any of it?

“You’ll be okay,” Henry assured me. “You two were only partway bonded—”

“You were only partway bonded with Smalley,” I said. “Are
you
okay?”

He didn’t bother answering—just sat on the edge of the bed, holding my hand while I sent hate vibes into the world. This sucked…more than
anything
had ever sucked in the history of the whole sucky universe. I might have cried myself to sleep like that, too, if things hadn’t gotten so loud downstairs. Footsteps crashed, furniture cracked. My father boomed expletives.

“Stay away from her. She’s done enough for you people!”

I sat up straight as the door to my room exploded inward. Dane stood behind it—but not any version of Dane I’d seen before. Moonlight shimmered under his skin in a thousand glittery shards, as if he held the moon inside him. His face was mid-transformation from human to pure nightmare, teeth bared and fingers extended into knife-like claws.

“Amelie.” My name emerged as a growl, like the things you hear on Animal Planet that make your skin crawl. If it hadn’t been Dane I might have freaked out completely. Henry and I watched as his body convulsed like a wild dog being electrocuted, and the transformation dissolved.

“Dane, what’s going on?” I demanded.

He shook himself once more until his face came back into focus. “The phone,” he said. “Luc called. He says it’s not the prophecy they’re after. It never was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Peace Tenets,” Dane said, still a growl, but slightly less terrifying. “Jack’s the last living petitioner. If he dies, it’s all over.”

I looked at Henry, waiting for translation. He looked like he’d been kicked in the stomach. “Mr. Delinsky, are you sure?”

Dane nodded. “This is what they wanted all along. If Jack doesn’t sign, the truce ends. It’ll be Guardians against Inferni all over again.”

“But, Mr. Smith-Hailey is gone,” Henry said. “What choice do we have—”

Dane shuddered again, obviously struggling to keep his form. “There’s no ch–ch–choice. Unless you want us all to die…you h–h–have to save Jack.”

My gaze flitted from Dane to Henry, then to the window where Luc’s car had just screeched to a halt on the front lawn.

“Well,” I stood, ignoring the newly furry Dane-creature clawing my carpet, “it’s about freaking time.”

Chapter Twenty-one:

End Game

Luc hit the accelerator as we flew through another red light. Cars fishtailed behind us, swerving into each other to avoid his meteor-like path.

“Luc, two-thirds of the people in this car are not immortal,” I yelled. “Slow the hell down before I kick your ass sideways!”

“Silence!” he commanded. “Your blather distracts me.”

“Don’t distract him, child,” Henry muttered from the backseat.

Ever since we left the house, Luc had alternated pretty steadily between bouts of stony silence and spurts of wild complaint—with most of the complainy bits centered around what a pathetic excuse for a Guardian I was. Likewise, I alternated between guilt for not taking his call sooner and a burning desire to slap him silly.

We bounced onto the sidewalk, skirting around a four-way stop sign. I screamed.

“Newsflash, Luc! For some people, life consists of more than just your little problems, you know?”

“
Little
problems?” he sputtered. “My people are facing extinction!”

“Well, maybe you should have planned better.”

“Maybe you should answer the blasted
phone,
” he yelled back, his fist slamming into the steering wheel.

“Mr. Montaigne,” Henry broke in with a nervous glance at the fractured steering wheel. “If you could calm down for a moment, I think it might behoove us to discuss our strategy—”

“That’s ‘Lord Montaigne’ to you,
peon
,” Luc fairly spat. “Do you even know who I am?”

If I had to guess, I’d say yes, Henry knew, since Luc had been throwing titles around since he arrived.

“Royal dauphin.”

“Heir to the Immortal throne.”

“Future Sovereign of the Southern District.”

It sounded impressive…until the image of him and Beatrice Boudreaux squeaking around in the backseat of a Ferrari popped into my head.

I shut my eyes as the last of Dad’s emergency Queller dose worked its detoxifying magic on my body. It wasn’t as excruciating as the first time at school. Maybe the Otrava dose wasn’t as high, or maybe I just knew what to expect. Either way, my pain had a purpose. My bondmate—the guy I would swim naked through jellyfish for—was scheduled to die in twenty-three minutes. If I wasn’t in perfect channeling shape by the time the clock struck midnight, I could lose him forever.

Luc careened onto the I-10, nearly crashing into a concrete pillar. Not that mere concrete could have stopped him. He probably would have ordered it out of the way and kept driving.

“This is more than a mere tragedy! This could mean death to my people, not to mention the end of our Crossworld brethren. Dane’s pack will be hunted like dogs! My people slaughtered at the hands of madmen! Do you wankers have any idea of the gravity of this situation?”

“No. And don’t bother explaining again,” I snapped. “We’re far too feeble-minded to get it.”

At this point, we’d have to be blind, deaf, and completely moronic
not
to get the “gravity of the situation.” Under threat of his mother’s wrath, Luc and his royal guard had managed to track down the last remaining Guardian petitioner for the Peace Tenets, one Vincent Fiori, former trainer at St. Michael’s.

Luc was ecstatic (read: less annoyed) to find Fiori—a bona fide Guardian of a respectable bloodline, former Enforcer—recently retired from his academic post. Unfortunately, he was also dead.

His soul had been taken.

Since Fiori’s bloodline was Remiel, not Gabriel, Luc concluded there must be more to the case than just a prophecy. So he combed through all the deaths we’d originally classified as “collateral damage,” only to discover that every single victim had been on the Convergence peace petition. Including Headmistress Smalley.

“This is preposterous.” Luc swerved around a corner, narrowly missing a lamp post. “If you’d heeded my call in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

“If you’d put it together sooner, you could have avoided the whole thing.”

“If you hadn’t dragged all your bloody drama into my home—”

“Could we, perhaps, keep our focus on the task ahead?” Henry begged. “Or at least on not dying before we arrive?”

Luc’s foot hit the accelerator so hard I thought the needle might pop off the odometer. It was a miracle we hadn’t picked up a police tail yet. Maybe they couldn’t see us since the car was traveling faster than the freaking speed of light.

By the time we screeched to a halt on Prytania, the commencement gala was in full swing. The whole main building seemed to dance with light. Paper-bag luminaries lined the front walkway, casting haunted, quivering shadows over the wide front porch. Beams of muted gold coursed out of the vaulted front windows. Even the thick vines twined around the oak trees seemed to writhe like restless snakes.

A chill crept down my arms as Luc, Henry, and I approached the front gate. If the wards were up, Henry and I could probably still get through, but for Luc it’d be like walking into an electric fence.
Not that I’d mind seeing him nose-dive into one.

Before he’d had to shift again, Dane suggested we dress to blend, so Henry grabbed Dad’s funeral suit and I snagged one of my mom’s old formal dresses that I kept in the back of my closet. Black, stretchy, slit up the side for fighting…with a couple of rhinestones thrown in for effect. Sexy, yet functional.

Luc, on the other hand, looked like a Calvin Klein ad come to life. Pale light gleamed off his violet eyes, casting shadows along the elegant hollows of his cheekbones. Every silky dark hair in place, every line of his tux flawless. He wasn’t especially tall—maybe six-feet on a good day—but he had a presence that would fill up a banquet hall. I could see why people might want to follow him…when he wasn’t acting like a complete ass, that is.

“I thought you said this was a huge event. Why are the wards down? And where are the guards?” Luc sniffed the air. “And why do I smell blood?”

“Blood?”

I took a deep whiff. Maybe a nice magnolia scent underlying the familiar burn of magic, but certainly no blood. I was about to diagnose him officially psycho when I saw it—the heel of a black leather Guardian boot sticking out from under a bush near the side gate. My elbow dug into Luc’s ribs.

“Look,” I said, pointing. “I bet they’re down all over the place.”

Luc frowned and closed his eyes. “I hear their heartbeats,” he said. “Four weak ones along the front, three on each side, and two in the back. There are too many to count inside.”

“Mr. Smith-Hailey must be here,” Henry observed.

“How do you figure?”

“Well,” Henry reasoned, “if it was the Graymason who took them out, you wouldn’t hear heartbeats, would you?”

“How much time do we have?” I asked.

“Thirteen minutes,” Luc replied, “give or take. What’s the plan?”

A sick feeling slid through my stomach. Crap, we needed a plan. “Let’s split up. We can cover more territory, maybe find Jack a little faster.”

“Splendid idea,” Luc said. “If we hurry, we might be in time to collect his body.”

I sneered at him. “Not helpful. What about my classmates? They could look for him—”

“Or they’ll start screaming and the guards will kill you on sight. Lovely plan.”

Did I mention how much I hate stupid, know-it-all vampires? “I see, and what do you propose, exactly?”

“I’m not a strategist. My objective was to get us here quickly. I accomplished that.”

“You,” I pointed out, “are precisely why politicians should not be allowed to run empires.”

Henry ignored us completely as he slid through the gate and stalked up the main path. The weapons belt under his coat was loaded with throwing knives, glyph-carved grenades, a few canisters of tear gas, and Jack’s curved short sword. I recognized it immediately by the marks etched into the blade.

“Henry?” I called out.

He stopped barely long enough to tug Jack’s sword out of his belt and hurl it into the ground at my feet. It stuck in the mortar between two cobbles, wagging back and forth.

“Give that to Jackson when you see him,” he called.

“Where are you going?” Luc asked.

“To pull the fire alarm,” Henry hollered.

I exchanged a sheepish glance with Luc. The fire alarm. Why hadn’t we thought of that?

With a look of exasperation, Luc snatched up the sword and shoved me into the bushes. In the distance, the main door cracked under Henry’s boot, followed by the soft hiss of tear gas and a banshee-yowl that could only be the fire alarm.

“So it begins,” Luc said.

Students flooded out of the main building. Veronica Manning hurtled past in a frothy pink dress, Keller Eastman at her side. Skye Benedict and Ty Webster followed with panicked expressions, alongside a handful of visiting dignitaries from the European consulate. But no sign of Matt, Lisa, or Katie. And no Jack.

“This isn’t working.” I shoved Luc to the side and yanked the sword from his hand. “I’m going to find him.”

“Amelie, wait—”

Without a backward glance, I bolted for the stairs. I had no idea when I’d be able to channel, or if I could channel at all. I had about eleven minutes to figure it out. Light and warmth ignited in my chest as I pushed my way through the flood of terrified younglings. Jack was in there. Somewhere.

My mind was so focused on the path in front of me I barely noticed Creepy Daniel until he was on top of me. Literally.

A flash of light burst out of my periphery as something flat and hard cracked against my temple. Bright pain bloomed above my left eye and I stumbled to my knees, Jack’s sword suddenly huge and unwieldy.

“Welcome back, Guardian Bennett. I worried someone else might kill you first.” With a few quick jabs, Daniel flicked the sword from my grip and brought the tip of his blade to my throat. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

That earned him my best
go-screw-yourself
look. “Really? That’s what you fantasize about in your personal therapy? I’m flattered.”

“Insolent child,” he said in a low voice. “Thibault was wrong to let you live.”

I tried to wipe the blood from my eye, but only succeeded in smearing it across my cheek. So, Daniel knew about Thibault, which meant he must be part of it, too. “Yeah, well, maybe y’all can discuss it from your adjoining cells at the mental hospital.”

Daniel laughed crazily.

The lights from the trees twinkled in his sword’s smooth surface as he drew it back. I leaped sideways, avoiding the strike by mere inches.

“
Desarmé
,” I screamed, flinging out a hand. The air buzzed a little and Daniel’s sword leaped, but he kept its hold.

“You can’t even channel, can you?” Daniel’s lip tugged into a sneer. “A pitiful excuse for a warrior.”

I frowned. “As pitiful as you letting your bondmate get killed?”

Daniel’s laughter evaporated instantly. He strode forward and with a snarling grunt, planted his foot so far up my ribcage, I swear I heard something crack. I fell backward onto the hard dirt, unable to breathe. I’d just begun to wonder if I could manage a scream sans oxygen when a tuxedo-clad blur knocked Daniel sideways into a concrete garden bench.

At first, I assumed it was Luc. But as I peered more carefully at the two tussling figures, I could tell the newcomer wasn’t quite graceful enough—or pretty enough—to be the vampire.

The bench overturned and the two men hit the ground, rolling across the lawn in a melee of dirt and flying fists, each trying to get a stranglehold on the other’s neck. It was artful—like a synchronized swimming demonstration, except with rampant bloodshed instead of Speedos. Both wore tuxes, both had brown hair, both about the same size. And I had no idea who the other guy was.

I scampered to where Daniel’s sword had fallen, intent on helping, but in the dim moonlight it was impossible to tell the men apart. So that’s how I stood, Jack’s sword in one hand, Daniel’s in the other.

Finally, one of the men got the other in a chokehold, ready to snap his opponent’s neck. Suddenly, I smelled it. It was faint, barely enough to detect under all the smoke and magic searing the air.
Drakkar Noir
. Dripping off the boy who was about to die.

“Lyle!”

I lifted both swords and ran at Creepy Daniel. The first sword came down in a diagonal slash, cutting through his hamstrings. The second, Jack’s sword, I used as a club against the back of his skull, the way I’d seen Jack do before. Daniel gave a gurgle and fell to the ground, unconscious.

“Thanks,” Lyle rasped and collapsed on the ground.

I dropped to my knees beside him. “Hey, Lyle. Next time you want to impress a girl, try a box of candy, okay? It’s better for your health.”

He croaked back laughter, his windpipe still half-crushed from Daniel’s grip. Whatever he might have said next was lost under a symphony of coughs. His cheek was already turning purple from the fight, and one eye had begun to swell shut.

He spat out a mouthful of blood. “Ami, I’m so sorry. I never should have—”

“Save it.” I handed him Daniel’s sword. “If we’re both alive at sunrise, we’ll discuss it over breakfast. My treat.”

“So, we’re dating?” he asked, hopeful.

“Better.”

His eyes widened. “Bondmates?”

“No, dorkus,” I said, smiling. “Friends.”

My blood-covered fingers curled around his lapel as I bent to kiss his bruised cheek, trying not to inhale. If he and I were going to hang out, we’d need to have a serious talk about aroma moderation.

I moved quickly as I scouted around the main hall, scanning the faces of the fallen guards. Henry wasn’t among them, thank goodness. I wasn’t sure why, but something warm and magnetic pulled me toward the Hall of Angels. That
had
to be the place, right? It even fit with the line from the prophecy, “under angels’ gaze.”

Normally, I preferred to have someone watching my back. But since Luc was MIA and Henry was probably dead, it looked like I’d have to do without. Most of the office doors had been left open because of the alarm, which just upped my paranoia that I might get jumped at any moment. So basically, until I had my full powers back, I was no safer than a clay pigeon waiting to be launched.