The Wicked Awakening of Anne Merchant (9 page)

The Smiths, as thrilled as ever, cling to each other, welcoming this unearthly synthesis. I shield myself from the flying spots of blue and white light. Dia’s grin spreads. Hiltop’s eyes glisten—she almost looks emotional. No one can tear their gaze away as a human is recreated before us, re-created in a spectacle that is like all things on Wormwood Island: terrifying and hypnotizing at once.

And then, in a whirl that leaves me choking on my own breath, it’s done.

Damon Smith stands in the suit they buried him in. His back is to me and Hiltop; he’s next to Dia. His parents reach for him, but Dr. Zin holds them back.

“Not yet.” Dr. Zin clears his throat and, flipping open a small notebook, reads to the boy, “Damon Archibald Smith, welcome to Cania Christy Preparatory Academy. You died of leukemia approximately five days ago in Boston, Massachusetts. You have been granted a second chance at life here on Wormwood Island by the venerable Headmaster Dia Voletto. To give you this chance, your parents have agreed to the following terms of admission: to finance the construction of Cania College on Wormwood Island and to guarantee its completion by the end of this school year.”

For the first time, the mention of Cania College interests me. What if there’s a chance that Ben can go there? If he’s decided not to throw himself on Garnet’s mercy—to date her and leave me—is there any chance he could graduate, move along to the college, and try his hand at winning life there?

But, no, surely that’s not possible.

Dia wouldn’t give us more time on Earth. Why would he? Is he the devil with the heart of gold? He sent Teddy away to look for a new home for Mephisto. Is this all just about broadening their reach? High school students weren’t enough. Next up? College students. And then what? A junior high on whatever island Mephisto takes over? An elementary school? A bank, hotel, grocery store, airport, stock exchange?

As Dr. Zin finishes his robotic speech, Hiltop joins Dia at his side.

“Please take a moment to absorb this information, Damon, following which we will reunite you with your mother and father, answer your questions, and proceed with the rules of the school, the assignment of your Guardian, and the declaration of your
prosperitas thema
.”

“It’s your turn now,” Hiltop tells Dia with a nudge. “Take control.”

She’s broken her cover, but the Smiths would never know it. Tears stream down their faces and run into their mouths as they look at the boy they surely thought they’d never see alive again, a boy who is free of cancer. You can see them restraining themselves, clenching their fists and gritting their teeth to keep from flinging themselves at him.

“Oh, Damon!” his mother cries.

Damon, I notice, has been rocking on the spot. And now, with the cry of his mother, he pivots toward her in a slow, swaying motion. He faces Dr. Zin and his parents. I can’t help myself: I sigh with joy for the Smith family. I get it. I get why parents give up so much for this opportunity.

But he doesn’t stop. He pivots toward me. Only when he faces me does my stomach turn. Damon looks so frail and lost.

Too frail.

And far too lost.

When I was vivified yesterday, I felt wonky for a while. But not for long. Did I look like Damon looks? His face is ghostly pale. His jaw is slack, his head tipped unnervingly to the side. His irises are thin yellow lines circling his oversized pupils.

Something is very, very wrong.

When the Smiths stop sobbing with joy long enough to realize that there may be little to be joyful for, the only sounds in the room become the low wheeze that leaves Damon’s mouth in choppy spurts and the creaking of the floor as he turns toward new noises.

“What’s going on?” Dia asks Hiltop through a clenched smile. “Why does he look like that?”

Mrs. Smith echoes his concern, but louder. “Damon?”

Damon shifts on instinct toward each new sound he hears, pivoting in the center of the room.

Mrs. Smith stumbles back. Away from her husband. Away from what should be her son but clearly isn’t. The blood has drained from her face just as it’s drained from Damon’s. Mr. Smith is no less horrified by the possibility of what has happened here than his wife; he’s just slower to react, slower to believe it could be so.

“Tell me this sometimes takes a while.” Mr. Smith’s deep voice fights a tremble. “Tell me it’s normal for my boy to seem so…
soulless
. This will change. He’ll be his old self soon. Tell me, Dr. Zin. It just takes a minute for his soul to meet his body. Isn’t that right?”

“It looks to me like the
body
of your boy is with us,” Dia says like some sort of rookie policeman poking around the scene of a murder, “but his soul’s long gone. Probably moved on to its next life.”

Dia raises an eyebrow in Hiltop’s direction, and I realize that Hiltop’s walking our new headmaster through the vivification process; this is Dia’s first time. Hiltop steps up swiftly to calm the Smiths, though her message does little to end Mrs. Smith’s whimpers. The child they thought they’d be holding is, once again, being taken from them.

A lump is in my throat. I can’t swallow it down.

“My apologies, but this happens from time to time, as I’m sure Dr. Zin told you,” Hiltop says, flicking a stony glare as she walks by an unfazed Dr. Zin. “Cania Christy cannot guarantee that every child can be vivified. Naturally, understanding that we could not fulfill our end of the exchange, your contract is now null and void.”

“What do you mean
this happens
? What do you mean
no guarantee
? Why can’t you do what you said?” Mrs. Smith looks frantically at each of us. She bounces on the spot as if torn between rushing to hold the animated body of her son, a body that appears far healthier than Damon must have been in his last days, and cowering from the dismal monster that teeters in confusion. “Where’s Damon? Where’s my baby boy? What is this atrocity? Zin didn’t tell us anything about—
what the hell is this
?” She shoots a stinging glare at me and Hiltop. “Did you know this would happen, you little freaks? Is this some sort of edgy story for your stupid paper?”

My tongue knots. Hiltop looks expectantly at Dr. Zin, who, inebriated, shrugs like it’s not his problem.

“Would you like me to walk them out?” Dr. Zin asks Dia.

“No!” Mr. Smith insists. “No. That’s not the answer. There’s no
walking us out
. No. No, make Damon
be here
. It doesn’t get simpler than that. You said you would. What more do you need? What more can I give you?”

I drop my eyes the moment Mr. Smith fumbles to remove his watch, as if this is one of those problems you can solve by hocking your Rolex. When I dare to look up again, I find him with his hands fidgeting helplessly at his sides; his fingers are stripped of rings; his jewelry is pooled in Dia’s hands alongside the vial of blood.

His wife bolts from the room. She slams the door and attracts Damon’s vacant stare.

Mr. Smith’s reddened gaze falls on the boy. “Why is he like this?”

Hiltop nudges Dia, who hands the jewelry back to Mr. Smith and says, “Each of our souls is on a continuum. It stops in bodies— in different lives—along the way. Being Damon was just one stop on his journey. Usually we’re able to vivify before the next stop. That wasn’t the case today.”

“Are you talking about reincarnation?”

“Exactly.”

“So, wait,” Mr. Smith sniffles, taking a silk handkerchief from his coat and blowing his nose as his gaze rolls to and from the rocking boy. “Are you saying that Damon—hold on, can you please do something to get rid of this abomination? It breaks my heart to see him like this. Even if it’s just his body.”

Dia holds the vial up and, without a thought, tosses it into the fireplace. In moments, the glass heats enough to shatter, drizzling blood into the flames. Damon Archibald Smith gradually vanishes; Mr. Smith turns his eyes away like he’s been slapped, and I’ve gotta say that, as cool as I think I am with death thanks to growing up in a funeral home, even I have to glance away.

Again, Mr. Smith blows his nose. When he turns back to Hiltop and Dia, he looks more composed.

“I don’t want the contract to be null and void,” Mr. Smith says. “I died the day cancer took Damon, so I’ll be happy for the distraction of building your college.”

“We can’t bring your boy back,” Dia says.

“I will give you what you wanted—that college in the village—if you will tell me this: Who has my son been reincarnated as? When we’re finished building your college, I intend to move to wherever he is and watch him grow.”

Dia begins to protest, but Mr. Smith holds his hand up to silence him and turns instead to Hiltop.

“You,” he says to her. “You’re the one running this, right?”

“Until recently, yes. Now I’m more of an advisor.”

“And you, too?” He looks at me.

I stammer, “No. Not me. Not at all.”

“So you’re just a dead kid this actually worked on?”

Hiltop brings the conversation back on track. “I’m the one you want to talk to.”

“Have you still got what it takes to track a deceased child’s soul? Can you help me?”

I’m stunned at how much Mr. Smith knows. Do all parents know there’s more to Cania Christy than a magic show?

“I am always open to…interesting exchanges.”

“Good,” Mr. Smith says. He glances at Dia, too. “Good. I’m not here to judge. I just want to know what my boy is doing. Where he’s living. Who he was reincarnated as. Tell me that, and you’ll get your college.”

I
FOLLOW
D
R.
Zin, Hiltop, and Mr. Smith out of Dia’s office, leaving Dia staring after us with a particularly unsettling glow in his dark eyes. Only the clamor of the hallway filled with Guardians can tear my eyes from his. I snake through them until I spy Pilot.

“What are you guys doing here?” I ask him.

“We heard the Moron Parade was about to begin, and—voilà— here you are,” he says. “Why should I tell you?”

Just as he finishes his question, his face crumples. And I turn to see Invidia standing behind me. She flips her thick black-and-green hair and, to my surprise, asks Pilot to answer my question properly. He looks tongue-tied at first, but, with his eyes downcast, he eventually gets it out.

“Dia’s making a change to the Big V competition,” he explains.

“And what do you have to say to Miss Merchant?” she asks him. Before he answers, she turns to me and touches my hair. “You have the loveliest hair.”

“Um, thank you.”

I catch Pilot’s stare out of the corner of my eye. He looks a little less weirded out than I am, but pretty much pushed to the edge. Around us, other faculty members—those who serve Mephisto and those who serve Dia—are turning to watch Invidia twist one of my curls around her slender finger. Standing this close to her, I spy a tattoo under her clavicle; it’s an unbalanced scale, the heavier side stacked with emeralds; the longer I stare at it, the more it seems to gleam. I think my heart skips a beat—just a slight palpitation, but noticeable.

“Pilot,” Invidia keeps her gaze on me, “you were saying?”

“
I’m sorry
,” he says to me.

“For…?”

“For saying you’re a moron, Anne.”

“Because, in fact, Miss Merchant is…?”

“Very”—he looks like he might choke on this—“smart.”

Invidia smiles, releases my lock of hair, and saunters to the door. Casting one last smile at me, she swings the door in and leads the Guardians into Dia’s office.

Certain everyone here is crazier than a squirrel in a nuthouse, I zip through the atrium and push open the doors of Goethe Hall, stepping into a rare sunlit morning. I catch a short glimpse of someone just on the other side of the gates. A brown-haired girl. She’s not wearing a school uniform. She’s simply standing there, looking in, with sunlight through the trees casting shadows over her face.

“Hello?” I call. “Is someone there?”

The girl steps backward and vanishes into the shadows.

“Miss Merchant!” a woman calls.

I whirl to see Garnet Descarteres stomping my way. I’ve barely had time to gulp when she halts before me, raises her hand, and moves to slap me. I just duck out of the way—to the hoot of that strange, unseen girl outside the gates—but, even still, I feel exactly what Garnet wanted me to: embarrassment, pain, intimidation.

“Take it easy,” I say and dodge around her.

That’s not gonna happen. She tugs my arm until I can’t help but face her again. Anywhere else, a teacher would be fired for touching a student like this; here, it’s a dog-eat-dog world, and I’m going to need to bite back to survive.

“What?” I snap at her.

“He’s
mine
.”

“I’m not going to fight over a guy. Not with anyone, least of all you.”

“What does that mean,
least of all me
?”

“It doesn’t mean anything! Look, I’m sorry—”

“You’re gonna be sorry.”

“Shouldn’t you be inside with the rest of the Guardians, Garnet?”

“Shouldn’t you be making out with
my
boyfriend somewhere? He’s not going to fight for the Big V because of you! Do you understand that, you selfish cow?”

She pushes her enviably pretty face toward mine, and waves her fist near my face, so close I see the faintest shadow of a shackle on her wrist. It throws me. I’ve barely had time to process the fact that she surrendered her soul for this time with Ben.

“If you had a heart, you’d force him to be with me, Merchant. Without me, he’s dead. You know that. But you sit quietly while he slowly kills himself.”

“No one’s stopping
you
from helping him! You could be inside right now getting the scoop on whatever Dia’s telling all the other Guardians.”

She flinches like she hadn’t thought I’d see things so clearly. Rather than arguing the point, she pushes me hard in the chest. She might have kept pushing, and that pushing might have led to an actual fight, if we weren’t interrupted. Behind us, all at once, a stampede of Guardians tramples out the doors and down the steps. Like a herd of wildebeests, they race around us; they envelop me and Garnet. I check to see if they’re being chased and hear my name just as I spot Pilot, who’s calling for me. Sidestepping the throng, Pilot reaches for me, yanks my arm, and drags me away from Garnet and total pandemonium.