ARC: Cracked (8 page)

“Cool, cool!” Uri again.

“Go make sure it’s clear,” Chi says with a nod towards the door and a paternal smile. Uri practically glows with the privilege bestowed on him. He peeps out, then waves us into the hallway. Jo slips out right behind him.

Chi pauses at the door and quirks a blond eyebrow at me. “You ready to play the bad girl?”

I give him a vicious grin, all teeth, and he draws back. I wrinkle my forehead and ask, “Was that good?”

There’s a beat as he blinks, “Um, yeah, good.”

Hehe
.

He holds the door open for me and we join the others dodging from their rooms and down to breakfast.

And just that easily, this little half-demon learnt how to break into the Templars’ home base.

No, Mom, of course not. I would never!

She shakes her head; she knows me too well. I sulk.

The main box must be open to the public because it looks like any low-income, particularly crappy school. Not that I was ever allowed to attend one – Mom probably wanted to minimize potential negative influences. The walls are beige-painted cement blocks; the floor is black-and-white patterned linoleum. The halls have cork boards with seemingly benign reminders and advertisements.
Practice, Fridays 2–4
, one says simply. In a school for professional killers, I can only imagine practice for what. There is even a horrible collection of cheesy motivational posters. One brightly colored announcement contains a collection of smiling, gap-toothed children with the words “Be Yourself” in big block letters. Worst advice I’ve ever been given by a poster. I look at the deliriously smiling children featured. It’s probably a bad idea for them, too.

This hall contains boys’ dormitories, their names chalked on boards next to the doors, many of them horrifically biblical. Ezekiel, Abraham, Methuselah (really?). Even a Judas. Who thought
that
was a good idea? Mom was big on the Bible, now knowing she gave birth to a half-demon, I’m starting to see why.

We troop down to the first floor and the sounds of humanity get louder – talking, giggling, a few screams. Their origin is a pair of battered wooden doors at the end of the hallway. I smell breakfast and assume it’s the cafeteria, though there’s no sign. As we get closer, nervousness twists in my belly like a snake. I suppose it’s natural to be nervous on your first day of school, even if the other students won’t try to kill you.

We push through the doors.

It’s a typical cafeteria, if TV can be trusted. Long tables with attached benches stretch across a room dotted with cement pillars. The room teems with swarms of human larvae – there have to be over a hundred. Children are everywhere, outnumbering adults twenty-to-one. Anywhere from toddler to eighteen. They shout, tumble and fight, mostly in good fun. Like a room full of energetic puppies. One kid socks another who then dives on him, grinning madly. Wolf puppies.

The few adults here to handle them are unimpressive – two ancient geezers with more facial hair than muscles and a guy with one arm. They need whips and chairs, not walkers. Certainly all their limbs, at least. I can’t help but think I left one asylum for another, but this time the inmates were running it. Their free-range babies have gone feral. I guess the Crusaders figured their kids were the good guys, so how much supervision did they really need? Idiots. A good teenager is like a good demon – a contradiction in terms.

This is madness.

I wondered how they were going to explain my appearance to the adults. The chaos makes me stop worrying. Well, almost.

As we walk in, the other students turn to greet us. Or rather, greet Chi.

“Hi, Chi!”

“Chi!”

“Good morning, Chi!”

Apparently I’m the guest of the prom king of Demon Hunter High.

No one says hi to Jo. There’s a double take when they notice her at Chi’s side, right before their eyes slide away from her as if she’s coated in Teflon. I’d blame it on her less-than-charming personality, but their eyes snag slightly on the leg brace.

Even I get my share of attention.

“Who’s that?” one red-headed, freckled mess of a kid asks, pointing.

“Jo’s cousin, Emma,” Uri blurts out, rushing into the lie. There’s a gasp and some tittering, and just like that I’m the class pariah. They sneer and turn away. I bare my teeth in a convincingly evil smile.

What can I say? I’m a natural.

A line of empty-handed students disappears through a door on one end of the far wall and exit a door on the other, this time carrying plates piled with food. We join the end of it, collecting trays and silverware, napkins, crackers and condiments. Chi falls back, chatting with some friends. Uri, close on his heels, basks in the glow of his acquaintance. Gimpy stomps along behind me. I’d like to think it’s to protect me from her hateful classmates, but suspect it’s to keep an eye on me. I’m definitely going to have to lose her if I’m to learn anything.

The line ahead of me shuffles as students try not to stand near me, as if my imagined disgrace is contagious. Eventually someone slides a near-toddler in front of me and the line settles down. He’s obviously too young to care that I am evil. He turns as if to see what all the fuss is about.

I wasn’t allowed to play with children. Not since that little incident with Amelia. Hey – she bit me first.

I study the little creature in front of me. What is it about these dwarfish little humans? They lack smarts, lack skills and they never seem to have much money. Yet they are powerful little monsters – adults dance to the tunes played by their chubby little fingers. Is it the disproportionately big head? Or the eyes too big for that head? Did I have this effect on my own mother? Was that why she believed in my goodness, despite all evidence to the contrary?

Suddenly the lower lip pokes out and the eyes grow even bigger. I feel a tug in the region where my heart should be… I want to give it things…

Ahhhhhh! Look away! Look away! Evil, ensnaring, hypnotic monster
.

Just kidding, but it is kind of cute. I feed it a cracker.

We shuffle through the line, and I scoop food on to my plate. It’s all horrifyingly healthy fare, omelets heavy on the veggies, mixed fruit and Canadian “bacon”. Ha, it is as much bacon as I am human. We are both liars, but I feel it committed the greater offence. I spear a piece with a little extra violence as punishment. No wonder all the kids are lean and mean, eating this kind of food. They have to be kept in fighting condition, I guess.

I do eat. I mean, other than souls. When I am full with a fresh soul, I tend to eat less, but I eat a lot more when I’m running on empty. Usually I wouldn’t eat much the day after but, as they’d been pretty much starving me during my time as a happy inmate of the house of horrors, I’m hungry.

I’m first through the line and pause at its end, not knowing where to sit in the full cafeteria. I scan the long tables for empty seats and see eyes alternately dodge mine or glare. The message couldn’t be clearer if they’d shouted, “Seat’s taken.”

Jo limps up next to me, her plastic tray mounded with food. She, too, scans the room and halts when her eyes land on a table full of girls, bright with pinks and pastels and shiny with product-treated hair. She looks at me and a wicked little smile curves up her mouth. “Come on,” she says and leads the way. I feel eyes track our progress and the gym gets quieter as we reach our destination.

The girls pretend not to see us. No one wants to be seen buddying up to the class pariah. Or me, either.

“Hey, guys,” Jo says brightly. Too brightly. There’s a pause as the girls pray we’ll disappear. Not surprisingly, Jo’s not the prayer-granting type and she waits. A little blonde thing turns red.

A snooty brunette with offensively perfect eyebrows is the first to look up. “Jo,” her mouth says;
Loser
, her tone says. Our table choice suddenly becomes clear.

“Hannah, you remember my cousin, Emma?”

Their faces say they know all about Emma.

“Oh,” says the brunette. “You mean the other Buchard girl who’ll never fight demons?” Up goes a perfect eyebrow and she turns to me. “No, I don’t believe we’ve met.” Her face says,
Back off, I’m not afraid of you.

Being short, thin and female, it’s an expression I’m used to receiving. Being mean and borderline-indestructible, it’s also one I have no problem erasing. Without any prodding from Jo, I shove my leg between Hannah and the blonde thing, wedging myself between them on the bench, as they gasp and squeal.

Had I pooed in my pants, the table couldn’t have emptied faster, or by people with more disgusted looks on their faces. Hannah stands, tray in hand, and for a half-breath I think she’s about to smash Jo with it. I’m pretty sure everyone close enough to be eavesdropping joins in my mental chant:
Catfight, catfight!

Jo smiles a fat smile, leaning in. “Please, don’t get up on our account.”

Hannah’s hands tighten. Long pause. Then they loosen and she turns on her heel, the rest of the posies following her.

They’re beaten, but not beat. A blonde says, loud enough to carry, “What was Chi doing with
her
?” I assume they’re talking about me, but then she adds, even louder, “I thought he dumped her years ago.”

Jo turns a little pink.

“Some people can’t take a hint,” Hannah says, even louder. “It’s so pathetic.”

Ahhhh, I always knew I’d like high school.

We plop down at the now-empty table. Chi and Uri catch up with us, dropping on to the bench.

Chi waggles his elbows. “Roomy.”

Not for the first time, I wonder just how much he’s aware of.

I fork a scoop of eggs, but a sharp elbow from Jo makes me realize no one’s eating. There’s a loud clap and I twist around, searching for the sound. My eyes land on the table for grown-ups at the far side of the cafeteria where a compact, bearded man stands talking with a tall, frizzy-haired lady. They’re average grandparent age, but unlike any grandparent I’ve ever seen. Instead of squishy and bent, they’re lean and hard and decked out in denim and leather. His face looks as if it were carved by someone new to the craft. It’s uneven and heavily creased, with random lines where it looks like the tools slipped. I can only see half of the woman’s face, but it looks like it fared somewhat better. Wrinkled, but the creases are fine, as if in paper. Then the two stop talking and face the crowd. A scar drags across her face from forehead to cheek, twisting an eyelid that doesn’t open.

“Headmaster and the sergeant at arms, or ‘The Sarge’,” Uri volunteers. “Though don’t let her hear you call her that. She’s in charge of the field Crusaders based out of here.” Dreams of dealing with doughty administrators if my Emma cover gets blown go up in smoke. I hope Chi and Jo know what they’re doing.

The headmaster bows his head and the room, except me, follows his lead. He prays, something about duty, honor, yadda, yadda, way too long, then some Latin at the end I don’t understand. The crowd chants “Amen” and the room bursts back into noisy chatter and forks scraping plates.

We’ve barely started eating when a group of boys approach His Royal Highness, Chi the Magnificent. They’re a ragtag bunch – but really, who isn’t here? There are four of them, a little younger than us. Sweatpants and stained T-shirts seem to be the uniform.

“Chi,” the tallest one says meaningfully, looking from Jo to me and back again. I’m not sure which one of us appalls them more. “Don’t you want to sit with us?”

I glare at him and he shifts a step back. Side by side, Jo and I must be terrifying.

“Oh, that’s OK, guys. Not today.” Chi smiles like there’s nothing out of the ordinary.

“Are you sure?” he pushes. “We saved you a seat.”

“It’s cool.”

“But–” cuts in a younger, dark-haired kid in a green hoodie, looking at me in disgust. I squirt water at him through my teeth and I feel Jo turn to give me a look. Maybe I’ve overdone my performance, but her eyes dance. It’s fun to finally be myself, even if it is a lie. Mom was always making me play nice.

The boys sidle closer to their hero and change the topic.

“Chi,” the tallest one, who’s lanky but muscular, whispers excitedly. He tries to shove his shaggy brown hair behind his ear, but it’s not quite long enough and it flops back in his face. He must be trying to grow it out. Oh God, like Chi’s. “Where did you go last night? I swung by, but…”

Chi grins then looks around conspiratorially. “Can you guys keep a secret?” he asks and Jo rolls her eyes. They all nod, creeping closer to our table. Chi pitches his voice low, “I had to take care of a little demon problem.”

I didn’t know boys could swoon, but I swear to God one did. Jo meets my eyes and I try not to laugh as she rolls them again.

“What happened?” an awestruck youngster asks. Chi gives them a dramatic and barely true summary of the evening. Chi leaves Jo and me out of the story – presumably to preserve my cover. He includes Uri and somehow makes him sound like a helpful sidekick instead of a needless latecomer. Uri glows.

It occurs to me that Chi is probably the kid on the basketball team that never passes the ball – but who is never asked to since everyone acknowledges he is the best. I hope his inevitable crash with reality doesn’t hurt too badly.

A bell rings in the distance and Chi waves the guys off with a “Well, I gotta finish eating.” They’re dismissed, but in a friendly manner. I decide to take advantage of the free moment between supplicants to pump the boys for more information.

“So – what can you tell me about demons?” That earns me a suspicious look from Jo. Apparently our embarrass-the-bimbos truce is over. “What? Shouldn’t I know something about the people trying to kill me?”

Jo shrugs, accepting my argument but not buying it. Chi answers despite his full mouth. He’s having eggs. “They’re super strong, really fast – as you saw. They can rip a person, even a Templar, to shreds with their bare hands. But they need to, because fortunately they can’t use weapons at all.”

“What do you mean, can’t use weapons?”

“They can’t. They won’t touch a knife or a gun or anything. It’s always bare hands only.”