No Angel (4 page)

I hefted the weapon dubiously. It was a thin, whippy thing, dull on the edges like a fencing saber, but narrowing to a sharp, wicked point that would definitely
not
be legal in any sporting venue. “Safe from what?”

Silence answered me. Silence . . . and the growing sense of a watching presence. Try as I might to tell myself it was just my imagination, that there was nothing out there, sweat ran down my spine. I squeezed my eyes shut, determined not to give in to the irrational, rising sense of dread. There was nothing there. Nothing creeping up on me. Nothing—

A twig snapped right behind me.

With a yell, I spun around, lashed out with the sword in pure reflex. I caught the briefest glimpse of the Headmistress’s startled face as the weapon hit her solidly in the ribs.

And the blade blazed with white fire.

Chapter 5

T
he white flames writhing around the sword died as I flung it aside. I dropped to my knees beside the felled teacher, shaking her shoulder. “Headmistress? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!”

She didn’t move.

I was so very, very expelled. And I hadn’t even finished unpacking yet.

“Raffi?” Faith’s voice drifted down from an upper-floor window. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” I yelped, huddling over the Headmistress in an attempt to hide the evidence. Thankfully, Faith didn’t inquire further. I could only hope that she took a
really
long time to print out those maps.

“I saw a streak of fire!” Krystal’s low, excited voice sounded shockingly close. The beam of her flashlight swept over me, searching. “Was that you? What did—”

Krystal fell abruptly silent as the light hit the Headmistress’s slack face. The teacher’s eyes were rolled right up, showing only the whites.

She didn’t seem to be breathing.

“You killed the Headmistress!” Most students would have said that with at least some pleasure, however guilty, but Krystal sounded entirely horrified. Her voice shot up an octave. “You
killed
the Headmistress!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Okay, so some things—expensive electronics, kitchen utensils, dormitories—did have a habit of unexpectedly going up in smoke around me, but a sword? “It was an accident!”

Krystal took a deep breath. “Well, there’s only one thing to do,” she said firmly, sounding like a Girl with a Plan. I looked at her hopefully. “You’ll have to bring her back.”

Aaand so much for that. “Do what? How?”

“How should I know? However you normally bring people back from the dead!” Krystal flung up her hands in exasperation, glaring at me. “You’re the angel!”

I stared at her, mouth hanging open. “And you,” I said at last, “are insane.”

Krystal froze. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “You have no idea what you are, do you?” Letting go of my sleeve, she fumbled for her pentagram charm. “Raf, I know this is going to seem bizarre, but you have to believe me. See, I made this to summon a guardian angel—
Rafael Angelos
—because we needed help fighting the demons, and—”

“And I am
leaving
.”

“No! As your summoner, I forbid you!” Now it was Krystal’s turn to hang on to me. She was surprisingly strong for her height. “You at least have to heal the Headmistress!”

“What do you expect me to do? Lay hands on her,” I said, wiggling my fingers over the Headmistress in demonstration, “and yell ‘Arise!’—”

The Headmistress coughed and sat up.

I fell over backward.

“Mr. Angelos,” the Headmistress said, blinking at me and sounding vaguely puzzled. “What are you doing down there?” She glanced around, her frown deepening. “What am
I
doing down here?”

“Headmistress?” Krystal shot me a triumphant I-told-you-so look. Then she did a strange double take, alarm flashing across her face. She pointed her flashlight directly at my head while offering her other hand to the Headmistress. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Certainly, Miss Moon,” the Headmistress snapped, ignoring the assistance as she got to her feet. She brushed irritably at the dirt on her clothes. “I simply encountered a small obstacle on my way back to my house.” She glared at me as if I was personally responsible for this. Admittedly, I was, but
she
didn’t know that. “What are you two doing out of your dormitories after curfew?”

“Uh . . .” My mind had gone blank. “We were, um . . .”

Behind the Headmistress’s back, Krystal was making urgent throat-cutting motions. I fell silent, but she kept doing the cut-it-out gesture, for no apparent reason. I could really have done without the way she was spotlighting me with the flashlight.

The Headmistress waited for a moment as if expecting further excuses, but as I was already in the hole up to my neck, it seemed like a good idea to stop digging. She let out her breath in exasperation. “Miss Moon, I expected better judgment from you. Mr. Angelos, detention.”

“What?” I exclaimed indignantly. Krystal shook her head, but I ignored her. “That’s not fair!”

The Headmistress gave me a hard look. “
Two
detentions, Mr. Angelos.”

“But—”

“If you speak again, Mr. Angelos, I shall have you rusticated.”

I had no idea what that was, but it sounded painful. I shut up.

“Miss Moon, return to your dormitory at once. Your
own
dormitory,” the Headmistress added as Krystal showed no inclination to leave.

“Uh—can I take Rafael to the nurse, please?” Krystal sounded oddly desperate. “I think maybe he hit his head when he fell over.”

The Headmistress treated me to a cursory inspection. “Nonsense, he’s practically glowing with health,” she said. “I believe he will survive without your company.”

Krystal bit her lip, then dashed around the Headmistress to shove the flashlight into my hand. “Keep it pointed at your face,” she hissed into my ear. “And come find me tomorrow. I’ll explain everything.” She disappeared between the trees.

I was left alone with the Headmistress. The Headmistress I’d just hit with a flaming sword.

“Mr. Angelos.” The Headmistress’s voice was as level as always, but the skin between my shoulder blades crawled. I suddenly wondered just how amnesiac she really was. “I am neither a fool nor your enemy. Do not make the mistake of treating me as either.” I followed Krystal’s advice about the flashlight, to better display my deeply penitent expression. To my relief, the Headmistress started to walk away, her heels impaling dead leaves with every step. “And, Mr. Angelos,” she said over her shoulder, “Miss Moon is not a suitable partner for you. I do not expect to catch you in a compromising position with her again.”

“Don’t worry,” I muttered when I was certain she was gone. Picking myself up, I brushed dirt off my trousers. “You won’t.”

Soft, silver-gold moonlight made Krystal’s flashlight entirely unnecessary as I stomped my way back to my own dormitory. I was too tired to do anything other than kick off my shoes and collapse backward onto the bed. Craving darkness and sleep, I stuck out one arm to flick the light switch off.

The light stayed on.

“Aargh,” I groaned, not even having the energy to muster a proper obscenity. I forced my eyelids back open—and found myself staring at the overhead light fixture.

Which was off.

As was the bedside lamp. And the curtains were drawn, not allowing even a sliver of moonlight to penetrate.

I could see all this quite clearly, thanks to the golden, shifting light rippling on the ceiling like sunbeams glittering from the surface of the sea.

Blinking, I pushed myself up on my elbows. The light moved as I did, sending dark shadows scurrying in the corners of the room. The mirror on the far wall lit up with reflected brilliance; I squinted, automatically raising a hand to shield my eyes.

My reflection copied me. It had to be my reflection, given that it was moving like I did and looked just like me.

Except for the halo.

Chapter 6

I
finally managed to fall asleep facedown with my head stuffed under my pillow. I awoke restored and refreshed, firmly convinced that I’d hallucinated the whole thing.

And still glowing.

“Oh, come on,” I groaned at my resolutely haloed reflection. It wasn’t a flaming, floating circlet, at least, but a distinct glow outlined my entire head. I looked like I was being rather badly backlit by incompetent stagehands.

Maybe Krystal had been right, and I
had
cracked my skull on the ground last night. I leaned forward to inspect my eyes in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. My halo helpfully illuminated the fact that my pupils were the same size. As my medical knowledge of concussion began and ended there, further diagnosis was impossible. Vague worried thoughts about internal bleeding circling in my possibly traumatized mind, I finished getting dressed, then headed out in search of the school nurse. Which was where the Headmistress should have sent me in the first place. If I suffered from weird hallucinations for the rest of my life, it would be all her fault.

I cheered up. Maybe I could sue. At the very least, brain damage had to be worth half an hour of extra time in exams.

“Raffi?” called a timid voice. I turned to see a little girl sidling toward me with an apprehensive expression, as if approaching a large dog of uncertain temper.

I squinted at her, checking for any odd visual effects, but she seemed normal. Though for some reason her chubby, anxious face made me think of . . . dandelions? “Oh, right!” I smiled at her, remembering. “Hi, Lydie.”

Lydie stopped just out of arm’s reach, apparently in order to inspect her suddenly fascinating shoes. “You—you weren’t at breakfast,” she said to the gravel.

I checked my watch. “Damn. I overslept.” Shading my eyes against the bright morning sunlight, I started down the path toward the main school. “Sorry, Lydie, I’ve got to run.”

“Wait!” Lydie hurried after me. Still keeping her gaze averted, she stuck out a hand containing a napkin-wrapped package. “There’s never anything good to eat at the canteen, but Ms. Oleander likes me. She showed me the key code to get into the kitchens once. I snuck in and stole you an egg-and-bacon roll from the teachers’ stash.”

“Hey, thanks!” I took the lukewarm and slightly soggy snack from her and started unwrapping it. “That’s really sweet of you.”

Lydie went red from throat to forehead. She tagged along after me like a hopeful puppy, though she still didn’t quite dare to actually look in my direction. “Thanks for not telling on me,” she mumbled to the bushes lining the path. “To the Headmistress.”

“About the flowers?” I said with my mouth full. “No worries. Though,” I swallowed thickly, “you shouldn’t let the other girls push you into stuff like that. Maybe you should tell—er, not the Headmistress. Tell a nice teacher like Ms. Wormwood about it. The bullying, I mean.”

From Lydie’s horrified expression, you’d have thought I’d suggested that she solve her problem by calling in a SWAT team. “I couldn’t do that. I’d get a bad grade.”

I snorted. “What in, popularity?”

“Yes,” Lydie said woefully. “Claire and her friends are the prettiest and most popular girls in second year.” She hung her head even lower. “If I don’t do whatever they want, they’ll make sure everyone gives me a bad Peer Assessment score. My end-of-year results would be terrible.”

I stared at her. “Are you telling me that part of your marks are determined by
other students
?”

“Of course,” Lydie said, surprised. “How else could we get evaluated on our ‘leadership and teamwork skills’?” She sounded like she was quoting from a school handbook. She finally looked at me, her own expression quizzical. “Didn’t they have Peer Assessment at your old sch—” She stopped midword, staring up at my face. “Um,” she said after a second. “How are you making your hair do that?”

“It looks like that naturally,” I lied. Actually, it took three products and ten minutes every morning to stop me from looking like a blond sheep, but to admit that would be incredibly sissy.

Lydie appeared hypnotized by my hair. I wished it had the same effect on girls past puberty. “What,” she said, sounding bewildered, “on fire?”

“It’s not—
you can see it too?
”

“Um, yes?” Lydie flinched, looking uncertain. “Sorry? Is it meant to be subtle?”

I grabbed her shoulders, making her yelp, and dropped down to one knee so our faces were level. “Lydie,” I said as calmly as I could. Judging from her terrified expression, this was not very calm. “This is really important. What exactly do you see?”

“It’s all glowy.” Lydie’s hands described a circle around my head. “Like, like, a huge candle. It’s really pretty,” she added quickly as if this might be my main concern. “Just . . . um, I don’t think the Headmistress will like it.”

“
I
don’t like it!”

“Then why did you do it?” Lydie frowned. “
How
did you do it?”

“I have no idea!” I savagely ruffled my hair, and shot Lydie an inquisitive glance. She shook her head, which I took to mean I was still radiating. I pressed both palms to my forehead. “Right. Okay. There’s a perfectly rational explanation for this.”

Lydie looked at me expectantly.

“While I think of it,” I said, getting up again, “I need you to help me with something.”

“Nice hat, Raffi,” yet another of my classmates—Delilah or Deborah or something, I couldn’t possibly be expected to remember all these names—said with a wide grin. “Suits you.”

“Thanks,” I muttered. I really hoped she was being sarcastic. “I think.” I dodged past her into the rapidly filling classroom. History of Art hadn’t been that popular a subject at my old school, but it seemed everyone was keen on it here. Apart, evidently, from the one girl I needed to find.

Faith was sitting by herself at the very back of the room, shoulders hunched and face buried in a celebrity gossip magazine as if she could make herself invisible if she concentrated hard enough on the pages. I made a beeline for her. “Hey.” She jumped, flinching back as I slid in next to her. “You’re friends with Krystal, right? Does she take this class?”

“Krystal?” Faith clutched her magazine to her chest as if she thought I might try to tear it away. “No, she’ll be in Advanced Statistics.” Her expression of puzzlement deepened. “Why are you wearing a bright pink hat?”

“I’m very secure in my masculinity. When are you seeing Krystal next?”

“In Latin, this afternoon, I guess.” Faith was still distracted by my headgear. “Um, Raffi? Did you know that your hat is inside out?”

“It’s, uh, got a flaw on the other side.” Said flaw was a large appliquéd picture of Twilight Sparkle from
My Little Pony
. I wasn’t
that
secure in my masculinity. “Look, when you see her, can you tell her I really need to talk to her? It’s urgent.”

Faith bit her lip. “Raffi,” she said, turning to face me, her blue eyes wide and earnest. “Krystal means well, but she’s a bit . . . Well, she has some strange ideas about you. You aren’t taking her seriously, are you?”

“Um.” I tugged my too-tight hat a little more firmly down over my halo. “No. Of course not. No way.”

Faith gave me a relieved smile. “Good. I think it would be best if you left her alone.”

“I think it would be better if
you
left
him
alone,” Suzanne said, coming up to our table. “Sit with us instead, Raffi.”

“It’s Raf, actually,” I said coldly. “And no thanks. I’m fine here with Faith.”

“Oh my God.” Suzanne glanced around with exaggerated caution. She couldn’t have been more obvious about wanting an audience if she’d waved a sign saying
PLEASE EAVESDROP
. “So the rumors are true?”

My fingers twitched as I stopped myself from checking my hat again. “Rumors?” I said, attempting a casual tone. “What rumors?”

“About the real reason you’re at this school,” Suzanne said. Half the class was listening in now. “I mean, it’s beyond weird that only
one
boy would get in. No way that could just be a coincidence. And everyone can see you’re not an ordinary guy.”

I adjusted my hat again. “Um. I can explain.”

Suzanne gave me a sweet, sympathetic smile that failed to reach her eyes. “It’s okay, Raffi.” She raised her voice a little. “No one blames
you
for being a male model hired by the Headmistress to date Faith.”

My mouth hung open as whispers started to scurry around the room. Faith shot to her feet. “That’s not true!” she cried.

“Oh, come on, Faith, it’s obvious,” Suzanne said scornfully. “The only reason a guy would be interested in a nut like you is if he was
paid
to be. Your mother’s so scared you’re going to end up like your crazy, dead dad, she’s handpicked a guy to try to make you forget your imaginary boyfriend.” She leaned in close. “Personally, I’d just sit back and wait until you offed yourself like he did. Be less trouble for everyone.”

“For God’s sake, can’t you give it a rest for once, Suzanne?” snapped Something-Beginning-With-D, turning around from the row ahead. I was grateful to her, as I was still speechless. “Michaela’s not even here yet. Stop showing off.”

Whatever retort Suzanne might have made was forestalled by the arrival of the teacher. At least, I assumed it was the teacher, because stick insects didn’t get that big. The gaunt figure glared at the class. “Sit.”

I sank back to my seat along with everyone else. Faith had retreated to another table, whose occupants were pointedly ignoring her. Suzanne cast a speculative look at the now-empty chair next to me. I flipped her off from under the desk, and she turned away with a see-if-I-care toss of her head.

“Ms. Vervaine. History of Art. You will learn it.” Apparently deciding that this was all the introduction necessary, Ms. Vervaine stalked to her desk, her long limbs moving in jerky stop-start arcs like a broken clockwork toy. “Today we will—what is that?”

It took all my willpower not to cower away from the pointed fingernail stabbing straight at me. “Er, I’m Raf? Rafael Angelos? The new student?”

“Not you.” Ms. Vervaine’s finger jabbed the air again.
“That
.
”

With a sinking feeling, I realized where she was pointing. “It’s a hat, Ms. Vervaine. I, uh, get cold. Please, may I leave it on?” I gave her my best piteous puppy eyes.

Ms. Vervaine looked like she wanted to swat me across the nose with a rolled-up newspaper. “Remove it.” A class-wide snigger died a quick death as her glare swept the room. “Now.”

There was nothing for it. Bracing myself for the worst, I pulled my hat off.

“Good,” Ms. Vervaine said, turning away to fiddle with a remote control. I glanced around. A couple of girls were eyeing me, but with no more than the usual amount of interest.

I angled the metal lid of my pencil case, trying to use it as an impromptu mirror. I couldn’t get a decent look at my reflection, thanks to the glare of sunlight streaming in through the window behind me.

Sunlight
. Now I really was being backlit. The light must be strong enough to drown out my own glow. If I was still glowing. With a furtive glance to make sure no one was paying too much attention, I dropped my pen, then used the pretext of retrieving it to duck under the desk. Rippling light illuminated dry, ancient bits of chewing gum, and I cracked my still-haloed head on the wood in my haste to get out of the shadows.

Okay. I started to breathe a little easier. As long as the sun was behind me, no one would notice anything weird.

“Video lesson,” Ms. Vervaine announced. She pressed a button on her remote control and all the overhead lights went out.

And now I knew why this class was so popular. I never thought there would come a time when I was dismayed by the prospect of a video-based lesson—or as I liked to call them, nap breaks—but now I found myself longing for a nice pop quiz. Still, although the room was dimmer, she hadn’t turned off the sun. I was safe enough.

“Part one of fourteen,” Ms. Vervaine continued as automated blinds clattered down over the windows. “No tests—pay attention, Mr. Angelos!”

“Dropped my pencil case!” I squawked from flat under the desk.

“What is that light?” To my horror, I heard footsteps start to walk toward me. “Are you—Miss Dante, can you
ever
be on time?”

“No,” said Michaela’s unmistakable smoldering voice. “I have more important things to do.”

I was expecting Michaela to get rusticated—whatever that was—from now until next term for that bit of cheek, but Ms. Vervaine only growled. “Sit,” she said curtly. “Silence.”

The footsteps continued to get closer, and I found myself at eye level with a pair of ankle boots. I nearly got impaled by the stiletto heels as Michaela slid into the seat next to mine. My glow shone up her short skirt, granting me a perfect view of leather straps—
wait, what?
—curving across smooth thighs, leading up to
oh, hell yes—

My halo vanished, plunging me into darkness. And Ms. Vervaine gave me another detention for swearing.