chapter fourteen

When class ended, I packed up my things and bolted. I felt a stab of remorse when I heard Miri say my name just before I left the room, but I didn’t let it slow me down. Instead I hurried through the halls, head high, bag clutched to my side and did my stone impersonation. Sure enough, the sea of students parted in front of me as I walked straight down the middle.

“Your Highness,” Knowles said when I entered his classroom. He even bowed his head slightly, his gaze falling to my shoes. That snapped me out of it—sort of.

I hurriedly glanced around, but we were alone. Normally, people didn’t hurry to get to calculus.

“I see you’ve returned to your usual stony glory,” he said. I narrowed my eyes, cocking my head slightly. That was awfully perceptive of him. I wondered just how far his talents ran. “Yesterday I thought time in the human realm might make you soft.” His eyes darkened, but his thin lips didn’t show any emotion at all.

I gave up trying to read him—I wasn’t in the mood for it, anyway. “Shows how little you know.” I sat at my desk and pulled out my things, letting the heavy calculus book slam on the table with a loud thwack.

A couple girls came in, talking in conspiratorial whispers, and took their seats on the opposite side of the room. I didn’t bother to look up. If I kept my head down I figured I could pass the entire class without making eye contact with anyone.

I knew the second Michael entered the room. The air grew heavy, warm, maybe even a little sultry. Noise faded away until the voices of the students sounded like a distant hum, and all I could hear was my heart beating. Though I kept my eyes glued to the desktop, I knew he stood at the front of the class for a moment, likely staring at me, waiting for me to look at him. But I didn’t. I wouldn’t.

I felt him approach, walking down my aisle. I saw his feet, normal feet, normal guy. Except not. I knew he was about as normal as I was. He definitely wasn’t human, not even part human like me. He felt powerful, like Akaros, like a First Order demon—I could see that from the brightness that clung to him like barely-there threads of sunlight. Michael was no demon though—he was a Gardian. An angel.

The minute I said the word to myself, Michael passed by. He let his fingertips graze my arm and I gasped as heat, the most pleasurable kind, seared through me.

The garden, his breath moving the hairs at the base of my neck, his hands as they come to rest on my shoulders. His lips kissing mine.

I tore myself out of the Remembering with brutal force and resisted the urge to look at my skin, to see if his touch had actually burned me.

My skin might not be burned, but my hands shook like a junkie overdue for a fix, and I shoved them under my armpits to hide them. I fought to clear my head, to understand why the Memories were plaguing me. Why are the lines between here and there blurring?

During class, Miri cast me sidelong glances laden with hurt and confusion. Knowles’ eyes kept drifting toward me, the questions he wanted to ask hanging like a cloud over his head.

Anger and resentment burned through me. Too many questions, too many demands of me. And through it all, I felt Michael’s gaze on my back, like a warm hand on my shoulder.

Just too much of everything.

My muscles tensed in anticipation of the bell, ready to jump up from my seat and hurry to my next class before anyone could snag me. But then I remembered I didn’t know where my next class was, because it was this time yesterday that I’d freaked out and run away.

I spread my hands flat on the desk. I’d never been one to run away. Or to cry. And yet, both things seemed to be the hallmark of my time here on Earth. I looked at my hands, pale skin and clean, well-kept fingernails. Very serviceable. Beneath my splayed fingers, the black numbers in my calc book peeked up at me, almost like a code I couldn’t figure out. That’s what I was—a code. A totally indecipherable code.

Shouldn’t I, at least, be able to decode it? To figure myself out?

Because I was decently good at being the devil’s daughter when I was in Hell—when all that was required of me was to survive, to exist. But here—here there was just so much. Knowles and his supposed training—though I doubted it would come to anything. Miri and her addiction, her need for a friend—which I felt in her as surely as she felt it in me. And Michael. I could only guess what he might want from me, but he had no idea just how unreasonable that was. Whatever we might have promised each other before I left Asgard, I belonged to Hell now.

When the bell rang, I jumped to my feet and was almost out the door when something made me glance back. Miri still sat at her desk, her head in her hands. The sunlight framed her face and her obvious sorrow awakened the spark, erasing my resolve. I’d kept that part of me hidden for centuries, fought the possibilities it suggested. That I was more than a demon. Because what demons, with souls like frigid glaciers, held a piece of warmth at their core? That would be none. Warmth had no place in me. And yet . . . there it was.

So I moved. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I was doing it—like my body was on autopilot.

“Hey,” Miri said, when she looked up and saw me watching her. There was a wild look in her eyes, and the bright spots on her cheeks were gone—now she just looked pale and worn out. I wondered if she’d even be able to stand.

I walked to her side. “Come on.” She looked at my hand, then at my face, before letting me take her elbow and help her up. She barely had any strength to lift herself at all.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Knowles asked as I led Miri down the aisle and toward the door.

“I’m just gonna . . .” take her to the nurse I was going to say.

Except, James was there. Leaning against the classroom doorframe, looking for all the world like he had every right to be there.

“James,” Miri breathed, but it wasn’t a sigh of relief—it sounded more like exhaustion, weariness.

“There you are, bright eyes.” James made no move to touch her or help her. His eyes flicked to me and for a moment there was something in them, something that left me reeling. Something like regret. “Princess,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“James, Miri’s not feeling well. I’m gonna take her to the nurse so . . .” Get the hell out of the way, I wanted to say. Instead I looked at him pointedly. He didn’t budge.

Miri sighed again and straightened her shoulders, pulling away from me. “It’s okay Desi, I need to talk to him, anyway.”

I glanced at Knowles who was busy pretending not to be listening, his nose pointed toward a book on his desk. I knew he wasn’t reading. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I won’t be long.”

I slipped past James, careful not to let my body touch his, and stepped into the hall. I walked away, but stopped by the water fountain and turned to face James and Miri who stood just outside of Knowles’ classroom.

Miri leaned against the wall and James joined her, blocking my view of Miri. Damn him.

But centuries of sitting silently beside my father in the throne room of Hell had taught me a lot about body language, and I could tell that pretty soon James wasn’t feeling nearly as confident as he had when he’d come in.

His shoulders lifted higher. His hips straightened out, making him look stiff and awkward. Finally he stepped away from the wall and raked both hands through his hair. For her part, Miri looked broken, like it took every ounce of her strength just to remain upright.

“You’re joking,” James said, his voice loud enough it carried down the hall so well you didn’t need to be a demon to hear it. “Seriously.”

“I’m not,” Miri said. It sounded like she spoke through a curtain of tears, and sure enough I could see her shoulders shaking in silent despair.

“Please, give me another chance,” James said, this time his voice raised into a high pitched sound of . . . something unexpected. For a moment I thought he felt something. Like maybe he actually did love her. Like maybe Miri was breaking his heart.

With a frustrated huff of air, James threw his hands to his side and stared at Miri for a second before turning and stalking toward the door.

Knowles came out of his room then and I hurried toward Miri.

“You’d best get her to the nurse,” he said, giving Miri a critical look—I couldn’t tell if it meant he disapproved of Miri’s condition or her personal problems, but I didn’t care.

“Sure,” I said, even though I had no intention of doing anything like taking her to the nurse. No school nurse was equipped to deal with the kind of sickness Miri had. I didn’t even know if I did—but I was on autopilot, the golden spark filling my heart like sunshine.

I looked forward, toward the exit—and saw Michael standing there. He smiled, a slow and crooked tug at his soft lips so achingly familiar, even though I only knew him from my dreams. He nodded a little, like he gave his approval of what I was about to do, and stepped back so Miri and I could pass.

I smelled oranges, and before I could stop myself I took a deep breath and sighed.

Damn autopilot.