Remember this when you’re tempted to read into the sweet things he says, Paige.
“Um...throw a punch at me,” he blurted out.
“Seriously?” I made a fist and held it up. “Why?”
“What if it’s hand-to-hand combat? I want to know you can protect yourself.”
“I doubt I can knock out a Regent, no matter how good of a teacher you are.”
“It’s a good skill to know, regardless,” Logan said, defensively holding his palms out so I could punch them.
“You’re recoiling your fist when you make contact with me. Don’t do that,” he instructed, taking hold of my closed fist and slamming it into his other palm. “Keep going. Really throw your weight into it. That’s the key to a solid punch.”
I nodded, and after the next three punches, he grimaced.
“Damn. That’s good.” Logan rubbed his palm on his shirt, then shook his hand, wincing. “Maybe you could take out a Regent.”
“Take him out for pizza, maybe.”
“I thought you were a secret ninja, remember? Show me what you’ve got. Or are your arms tired?” Logan frowned in an exaggerated pout as he held his palms up again. Oh, confident Logan had decided to show up again—and he was being merciless. “Poor widdle Paige.”
“Fine, let’s do this.” I knew he was deliberately goading me, but still, I narrowed my eyes, quickly targeting Logan’s palm again. Only this time, my aim was off—in my haste to show off, I missed his hand entirely and pitched forward, crashing into him like the smooth operator that I was.
“Whoa!” Logan exclaimed, grabbing me around the waist, stumbling back a few steps as he tried to steady me.
“Sorry!” I would have covered my face in embarrassment, except my hands were somewhat pinned between my chest and Logan. Considering how he reacted to the last accidental touch, I tried to bolt from his arms—but Logan wound his arms snugly around me, holding me upright.
“It’s okay,” he said, chuckling. “If you’d connected with my hand, I’d probably be in a lot of pain right now. That looked like a solid punch.”
“Oh, yeah, the air around your hand is crying in pain right now,” I muttered to the gray shirt button that was eye level.
“Totally has a broken nose,” he agreed in mock seriousness, giving me a barely perceptible squeeze.
“So much for my ability to beat up a demon.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Logan squinted at me, tilting his head to the side. “Maybe you could tickle them to death with one of those feather-topped pens you love so much.”
“I don’t hear you complaining.” I pursed my lips, giving him a “so-there” look.
“You caught me,” he replied with an infectious grin, and I found myself mirroring it, until Logan’s smile faded, a somber expression taking hold of his face.
“In fact,” he began, “I like them more than I should. I think I’ll miss them a lot when I leave.”
I had been holding myself rigidly against him—but I felt myself relax, my hands resting gently against his chest. His heart drummed out a soothing, steady rhythm underneath my palms—a light thudding that seemed to keep time with my own speeding heartbeat. I lifted my chin, locking eyes with Logan, who had a heartbreakingly sad smile on his face. Quickly, Logan dropped his hold, taking a step back as he shoved his hands in his back pockets and peered up at the sky.
“I should get going. Yeah. It’s getting late.”
“Not really,” I replied, confused by yet another sudden change in his demeanor, and my earlier resolve to stop reading into things fizzled.
There’s no way he was only talking about your pens, right?
“I should go,” he said again, like he was commanding himself to leave. When he spoke again, his voice had the same authoritative tone.
“Tomorrow, I’ll get to school early and save you a seat at assembly. Just stay in public places—hallways, classrooms, places where people are. I’ll cut classes after assembly and try to take out Della before lunch.”
“Okay.” I nodded, still reeling from the one-eighty in our conversation. One minute, I’m in his arms—the next, we’re talking about demonslaying.
“Don’t be scared,” Logan said. “You’ve had some practice. And you have a magical sword. And me. You’ll be fine.”
* * *
But the next morning, I felt anything but fine as I slid in the worn wooden seat next to Logan in the front of the auditorium—a new vantage point for me, since I was used to sitting in the back.
“It’s all about visibility—demons don’t want an audience,” he explained in a low voice. I glanced back at the darkened rear of the auditorium and realized anyone could be hiding in the shadows underneath the balcony. Anyone who wanted to kill me or kidnap me.
Students in varying degrees of melancholy trudged in. Some were visibly upset and sniffling—others were subdued but nevertheless consumed by whatever was on the screens of their cell phones. Andie sauntered in, undeterred by the somber mood, and glared my way—a glare more venomous than her usual panicked “Paige is a psycho, everybody run” schtick. And then a loud sob echoed through the auditorium, followed by the muffled slapping sound of shoes running on carpet as Pepper fled from the assembly, her hands covering her face, as Matt made his entrance with Della.
“How does he not remember his feelings for Pepper?” I asked, awed. “I thought any memory of a strong emotion could break her spell?”
“Maybe it’s one-sided. There has to be a deep connection between the two—something genuine, you know what I mean?” Logan explained, turning his back to me as his head swiveled to follow Pepper’s sprint out of the auditorium. “But whatever, it doesn’t surprise me that their link to one another is weak.”
“Well, Dottie did catch Pepper hooking up with her ex,” I whispered, and Logan huffed in reply.
“I’ve seen some variation of Pepper and Matt in every town I’ve been to. He’s the popular guy, she’s the popular girl.” He gave me a thumbs-down and blew a raspberry. “It’s like they have to be together or else the world will explode.”
Logan pointed toward the middle of the auditorium, where Matt clutched Della’s hand with both of his, devotedly following her to their seats.
“She’s already started feeding on him,” he observed. I gasped when I saw Matt; his skin was dull, a sickly shade of gray except under his eyes, which were ringed with purple bags. Matt sank into his seat next to Della and sighed in relief, as if the mere act of standing were painful. Meanwhile, Della looked even more radiant—all glossy hair and lush curves and seductive glances. She cast one of those signature looks at Matt, and they promptly began pawing each other like cats fighting over a piece of tuna.
The students in the row next to Della and Matt grimaced at the display and shuffled over a few seats, looking away in disgust.
“Aww, poor Matt.”
The unfamiliar voice came from the previously vacant spot next to me, and I twisted around to see Aiden casually sitting there, his violet eyes sparkling with mirth as he draped his arm along the back of my seat.
I sprang to my feet, and Logan moved quickly to put himself between us, his left arm reaching behind his back to protectively curve around me.
“Get away from her,” he snarled, and Aiden laughed delightedly, languidly stretching his long legs in front of him.
“Oh, really? What are you going to do? Threaten me in front of all these witnesses?” He waved his palm to the row of freshmen sitting behind us, who were openly gaping at us. “Really, proditori, that’s hilarious. I can barely breathe, I’m laughing so hard!”
“Don’t worry, you won’t be breathing much longer.”
“Ooh, you really burned me there,” Aiden said sarcastically, wiggling his fingers in the air before turning his eyes on Logan. “Do you practic
e one-liners in the bathroom mirror? Or did you hire someone to write those zingers for you?”
Aiden leaned back and jerked his thumb toward Logan as he loudly whispered to the freshmen, “He’s spent too much time with Bellevue Kelly. I guess crazy is contagious.” He spun his index finger in a circle around his temple while crossing his eyes.
“You don’t talk to her, you don’t even look at her,” Logan growled, taking a step forward. Aiden jumped to his feet, his eyes popping open. I couldn’t see Logan’s face, but judging by the look on Aiden’s face, it had to be menacing. It was enough to prompt the freshmen to scurry away, finding new seats far from Logan.
“Is there a problem here?” Vice Principal Miller waddled up to us, an angry frown on his sweaty face. “Are you boys aware that we’re at a memorial for a classmate? Or do you think we’re here for our health?” he bellowed, his ruddy face glistening with exertion.
“Of course, sir. We’re just sharing stories about the dearly departed. Such a shame.” Aiden sighed dramatically, sticking out his lower lip in a pout. I shuddered—I couldn’t believe I’d ever thought he was attractive—everything about him was sneaky, sleazy and just plain vile.
“You were one of the last ones to see poor Travis alive, right? In detention?” Aiden asked, his violet eyes open wide with innocence, and the color drained from Miller’s face.
“Take a seat, Adrian...Abe...whatever,” Miller growled, waving his hand toward the back of the auditorium. Aiden mimed tipping a hat to Miller, shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled away—turning back once to wink at me, mouthing, “See you soon.”
“Do we have a problem here?” Miller’s question was directed not at me, but at Logan. I hurried to stand at his side and saw that Logan wasn’t making any attempt to hide the venom on his face as he glared at Aiden’s retreating figure.
“Logan, answer him,” I said, elbowing his side. “We don’t want detention again.” At that, he snapped out of it, shaking his head quickly.
“No, sir. Sorry, sir.” Logan sat down quickly as Miller glowered at him one more time before shuffling away. As soon as I’d taken my seat, Logan twisted to face me, gripping the armrest so hard, I thought he might splinter the wood.
“Aiden’s bold—I’ll give him that,” Logan seethed, scowling at where Aiden had strutted away to join Della and Matt, who were fused at the mouth. Even from several rows away, I could see the thin veins trailing from Matt’s mouth, a dark spiderweb across his ashen skin. Aiden winked at me from his seat, and I turned away, a sickening shudder shooting through me.
I nervously pulled the sleeves of my blue sweater over the heels of my palms—a gesture I’d picked up from Dottie. “He didn’t seem that afraid,” I whispered. “Why didn’t he seem afraid?”
“He should be,” Logan scoffed, before a more thoughtful look crossed his face. “I shouldn’t have reacted—it’s not like he would attack you with all these witnesses. But instead, I gave him exactly what he wanted. He wanted to know how to set me off, and now he does. Ugh!” Logan leaned back, rubbing his face with his hands.
“Get it together, idiot,” he mumbled into his palms.
“What?” I asked, not sure if I’d heard him correctly.
“Nothing,” he said, dropping his hands from his face and folding his arms in front of him.
The lights in the auditorium dimmed, and Principal Branyan, clad in a smart, tailored business suit, took the stage, where a foam-board portrait of Travis from last year’s school yearbook stood on an easel. She spoke of the fire, Travis’s contributions to the science department at school, and the restriction on entering the fourth floor, until it was deemed safe by the city. A few freshmen cheered—the mandatory music class was held on the fourth floor, a mind-numbingly dull, forced mastery of the recorder—and Miller hurried over to threaten them with detention.
But as she spoke, I found it hard to pay attention. All I could think about were the two demons sitting just a few rows away—the imagined pressure of their eyes on me was like two weights pressing into the back of my skull.
After the assembly, students somberly filed out of the auditorium, headed to the next class. Logan stayed next to me, keeping his eyes trained on the demons, who ducked out the side door quickly with Matt in tow. Matt, whose previously dark hair was now lightly threaded with white.
“Remember, stay in public places. Hallways. Classrooms. Don’t go into a bathroom if you’re the only one in there,” Logan cautioned me in a low voice. I felt light pressure on my backpack and realized Logan was resting his hand on it as he helped usher me through the crowd to my next class. The chivalry was unnecessary: thanks to Logan and Aiden’s showdown, students gave us a pretty wide berth, avoiding us as if we were serial killers with the plague and a scorching case of head lice. Andie in particular scowled at me with remarkable hatred.
“Andie super-hates me today,” I commented, and Logan’s cheeks turned pink.
“What? Do you know something about that?” I asked suspiciously, and he just shrugged.
“Where’s your last class before lunch?” Logan asked, deflecting my question as we arrived on the second floor, huddled against a row of lockers.
“History, room three-sixteen,” I said, before remembering something, exclaiming, “Oh, damn it!”
“What? Are they here?” Logan’s eyes opened wide in alarm as his head whipped around, surveying the area as his hand automatically reached over his shoulder.
“No—no. Nothing like that,” I quickly said. “I just don’t have my history book. Blaise, um, incinerated it when I chucked it at her head.”
“Way to give me a heart attack, Paige,” Logan huffed, slumping against the locker and leaning his head back with a dull thud against the metal door.
“Sorry,” I said sheepishly as Logan slid his backpack off his shoulder to rummage around in it.
“Here, use mine.” He held out a battered copy of America: Our History I and gently shoved it into my hands.
“Are you sure? What will you use?” I asked as I slid the weighty book into my backpack.
“Oh, I think I can convince Malhotra to give me another one without fining me.” Logan grinned impishly. “I have a way of making people do what I want.”
“That hypnotism thing? Som-nom-nom or...whatever?”
“Somnorvik. And, yes, that’s what I’m going to do,” Logan said with a laugh, moving closer when a freshman interrupted us, needing to get into the locker Logan was leaning against. “I’ll be outside three-sixteen. Don’t worry, okay?” he whispered in my ear, and I nodded.
But I didn’t have anything to worry about in math class. Blaise was the only demon scheduled to be in Dr. Walsh’s class—but I knew firsthand that her name would never get a check mark in attendance again. Instead, I scanned the classroom for Dottie, who always made an appearance in Walsh’s class. It was right across from the third-floor bathroom, after all. I was tempted to make a midclass bathroom trip, but Logan’s words cautioning me to stay in public places echoed in my ears.
Matt’s seat was suspiciously empty, causing more than a few people to murmur about his appearance that morning. Shani Robinson, the news editor for the Holy Assumption Observer, was telling Tabitha that she’d heard Della had introduced Matt to some kind of scary new pharmaceutical, and she was planning an exposé in next week’s issue.
As the teacher droned on, I pulled out the letter I’d written for Dottie the previous night. I figured she could stand over my shoulder and read all about Dark Worlds and demons and, yes, demonslayers that were too charming and quick-witted and adorably shy for my own good—but my best friend didn’t make an appearance until fifteen minutes into history class.
Dottie peeked around the wood-frame doorway of three-sixteen just as Mr. Malhotra turned to the board to write in loopy penmanship about The New Deal.
“Paige. Paige! Paige!” she stage-whispered from the doorway, gesturing wildly for me to join her in the hallway.
I pursed my lips and jerked my head to the side, trying to indicate that she should come inside.
“Paige, come here!” she said. I wasn’t sure why she was whispering—it wasn’t like anyone except me could hear her. I shook my head briefly, one quick left-right movement.
“Please! It’s important,” Dottie pleaded, and then another blond head timidly appeared around her shoulder.
Travis.
My hand was in the air faster than you could say “guilty conscience.”
“Yes, Paige?”
“May I go to the bathroom, Mr. Malhotra?” I stared nervously at the door—Travis’s eyes were almost feral as they whirled around the classroom, stopping to lock on to mine in disbelief.
“Lunch is next. Can’t you wait?” Mr. Malhotra looked as uncomfortable asking me the question as I did hearing it.
“No, it’s an emergency,” I said, eliciting snickers from some classmates and a visible frown of discomfort from my teacher.
“Fine, Paige.” He hastily wrote me a hall pass, and I had to remind myself not to run to the front of the room to grab it.
“Let’s go to our bathroom,” Dottie said once I was outside, but I shook my head.
“No. We have to stay in public places,” I whispered, leading her down the hallway away from Mr. Malhotra’s open door, near the stairway. It was still close enough that one good scream would send teachers and students pouring out of the classrooms.
“Because of that psycho monster chick, right?” Travis spoke quietly.
I nodded, and Travis looked down at his scuffed brown uniform shoes—the shoes he was destined to wear until the time his natural life would have ended.
“Travis, I’m so sorry about what happened to you,” I said, my voice hoarse with regret.
“It’s not your fault.” He shrugged weakly, and I slumped against a locker at the end of the hall, guilty. “I’m just glad one of us escaped.”