Angelbound

Chapter 12-1

12

I march across the greenish-yellow lawn at school. Setting my thumb into my mouth, I bite down on my nail and wince. Yowch. I’ve chewed every fingernail to a nub. The stupid thrax tournament is coming up this weekend. It’s been one week, four days, and six hours since I last spoke to Cissy.

I’m starting to crack.

I glance at my watch. I’m due at the muddy field behind school in two minutes. I step around the back of the building and scan for my class. My eye twitches as I spot a group of kids standing in the center of the sloppy green.

Jogging up to my gym class, I jam my hands into my hoodie pockets. I don’t say hello to anyone and no one greets me, either. You’d think after almost two weeks, I’d start to make new friends. Sure, I tried talking to other kids, but we form groups by our deadly-sin powers, and wrath’s pretty rare. And Furor-wrath, like me? Rare to the level of freaky.

I tried chatting up the few wrath-quasis at school, but they just wanted to kick my butt. It’s a wrath-thing; you like to see how you rank in the hierarchy. Unfortunately, that would’ve ended with them in the hospital, not a new best friend for yours truly. Zeke’s lust-bunny buddies always ask me to join their lunch table, but Cissy’s there too. And every time we make eye contact, her envy demon roars to life. It’s just weird. All in all, I’ve spent a lot of quality time eating Demon bars in a corner.

The Old Timer and Tank step into the center of the group. Tank blows a long tweet from his whistle. Everyone falls silent.

Our gym teacher sets his monstrous hands on his hips. With his skyscraper build, bald head, and solid chin, he’s a tower in his black robes. Beside him, the Old Timer looks like a gray stick in a blanket with half a moustache.

“We’ve big news for you today,” says Tank. “OT-42 wanted to combine our classes for this special announcement because…” He looks down at the Old Timer. “Why are we doing this again?”

The Old Timer pats the raw skin above his lip. “Security.” He scans the field nervously. “You never know who’ll stop by.”

I hide a snarky smile under my hand. After the Papilio demon attack, the Old Timer hasn’t been the same ghoul, in a good way. The obnoxious lessons on ‘serving our masters’ have disappeared, replaced by study halls where we read demon self-defense books. He doesn’t even give tests anymore.

Tank slaps the Old Timer on the back with such force that the rickety ghoul almost tumbles into the crowd. “That’s right,” says Tank. “Safety in numbers. Very important.” He presses his huge hands together. “As you know, quasis are tested Senior Year and assigned a lifetime service. Testing hasn’t yet started for this class.” A low groan rises from the group of students. Tank raises his arms. “Don’t worry. There’ll be no tests today.”

The Old Timer wraps his cloak around him more tightly. “In fact, we’re here to tell you there won’t be any testing this year.”

The groans change into happy chatter.

No testing? I pump the air with my fist. That’s freaking awesome!

Tank folds his huge arms over his barrel chest. “Now, quiet down.” The students instantly fall silent. “The Department of Quasi Learning has decided that this year, all students will be assigned the same service. Everyone will join the new Ghoul Protection League. Going forward, gym class will train you for this service.”

In the back of my mind, I remember Cissy telling me something about gym class changing. Fighting in a Protection League sounds pretty cool.

I raise my hand. “What battle skills will we learn?”

The Old Timer wags his bald head. “None. The GPL teaches you how to best lay down your lives for your ghoul masters, giving us time to escape in case of attack.”

A stunned silence falls over the group. No one moves.

Holy Hades! Sure, I wanted ghouls to realize demons aren’t allies, but I assumed they’d do something logical with the information, like leave Purgatory or build up some kind of army. But asking us to lay down our lives while they portal their asses out of here? Incredibly lame.

“OT-42 is exaggerating,” says Tank quickly. “You’ll learn other things too. Angel warriors will teach you some defense skills.”

My brow arcs. Angel warriors? Battle skills? This class just got upgraded to somewhat lame.

The Old Timer nods vigorously. “Angels have been giving us advice on how to prepare for, well, just to prepare in general. They’ll help with training.”

A memory pops into my mind: the day the Old Timer asked me to make worm soufflé. Cissy pointed out angels on the lawn. Everyone was shocked, but I was too excited about avoiding squishing worms to think about it too much. My eyes stretch wide with understanding. So that’s why angels were hanging around school. They’re helping ghouls to—what did the Old Timer call it again—to ‘prepare in general?’

Of course. The angels are here to help the ghouls prepare for another demon invasion. A shiver runs across my shoulders. Mom said Armageddon would never be happy with puppet-rule of Purgatory, and she was right. Again.

Cissy raises her hand. I feel a pang in my chest; I miss her. There must be some way to snap her out of this demon envy thing. She clears her throat. “Who exactly are we protecting and preparing for? Demons?”

The Old Timer sets his arms out, palms forward. “No, no, no. Nothing like that. Demons are our friends. Everyone knows that.” His eyes glow bright red.

I roll my eyes. Suuuuuuuuure they are.

“Let’s get started.” Tank blasts his whistle again. “I want you all to practice running around the yard, flailing your arms, and screaming ‘Take me! Take me!’ On my mark. Set. Go!”

The other kids break up into small groups and start walking around the field. Some get into the exercise and really ham it up. Cissy and Zeke stroll nearby, chatting and smiling. My heart finally cracks.

I walk over to Cissy and stand directly in her walking path. Our gazes meet. Her irises flare bright red.

Zeke scratches his neck with his hand. “I’ll leave you two to talk.” He quickly slips away.

Cissy keeps glaring at me, her eyes flaring brighter. This has so got to end, and much as I hate to do this, I think there is only one way to get her envy demon to go bye-bye.

“I may possibly consider going to the tournament. Maybe.” I flip my finger back and forth between her eyes. “But I need to talk to my friend Cissy and not envy-demon girl.”

Cissy inhales a long breath, her eyes slowly turning back to their original tawny brown.

Good. Now we’re getting somewhere.

She shakes her head from side to side. “That’s better, now.” She lets out a few breaths. “I think my envy demon got a little out of control there.”

I plant my fists on my hips. Now it’s time to let loose. “A little out of control? You didn’t talk to me for two weeks. You’ve been a b***h on wheels. And about what? Some guy.” I waggle my finger at her. “I’ve been totally patient with you through the whole Zekie-poo lovey-dovey boyfriend festival. All I do is get into a few fights with a guy and you LOSE IT. For the record, you totally and completely suck as a friend right now.”

Her hands pop over her mouth. “Oh my goodness. I do suck.”

“Completely.”

“I don’t know what to say, Myla.” Her eyes are lined with tears. “I lost control.” She wags her head. “You don’t have to go to the tournament if you don’t want to.”

I scratch my neck and frown. “No, I’ll go to the stupid tournament.”

Cissy grins, bouncing on her heels. “Thank you, Myla, thank you!” She wraps me in a big hug.

I stand stone-still, allowing her to hug me but not returning the motion. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“I want some serious apologizing for this totally unreasonable fit of extended jealousy.”

Cissy nods sagely. “You’re right. Way over the top.” She wags her eyebrows up and down. “How many, then? Two? Three?”

“Five.” I fold my arms over my chest. “You make me five pans of brownies. Different flavors. And no conning your Mom into doing it.”

“You got it. Thank you. So. Much.” She moves to give me another hug; I raise my palm, stopping her.

“And one last thing. If I’m going, I’ll do it my way.”