Diabolical (22 page)

AFTER PHYSICAL FITNESS & COMBAT
, Ulman disappears again and Quincie lingers in the gym and chats with Evelyn. They’ll wait until everyone else has left. Then Quincie will help the injured Otter to her room.

The other girls wander toward the stairs, Nigel trailing them.

I motion to Kieren to follow me to the elevator so we can talk on the way up.

He begins. “About Quincie being the tenth —”

“I know,” I whisper. “If we could get to the roof, I could fly everyone to safety, one at a time. But I’ve gauged the width of the halls. My wings are useless inside.”

“Hey, guys,” Nigel calls. “Hold the door. I’ll ride up with you.”

I’d hoped to talk to Kieren in private, but Nigel is starting to grow on me.

Once he’s inside, I hit 2 and ask Kieren about trying a reversal spell. “That way, if someone tries to ring the bell or knock on the door, they won’t be magically electrocuted.”

“Electrocuted?” Nigel echoes. “Like,
electrocuted
?”

“Unless you’re an enrolled student, faculty member, or staff member,” Kieren explains. “It’s not exactly electrocution. It’s flashier than that.”

According to Quincie, Scholomance’s communication efforts on behalf of its students aren’t all that convincing. Sooner or later, somebody — like Kieren’s mom — is going to show up to check on him. I’d rather she not lose her life over it.

“Returning the building to its normal state should be easier than imposing a paranormal condition on it,” the Wolf explains. “My knowledge base is academic, though. Not practical. We have Lucifer’s library upstairs. But we can’t trust what’s in those books.”

The look on Kieren’s face says he’s doing good to trust himself. It occurs to me that this must be especially hard on him. He’s always turned to books for answers.

“About the resurrection spell,” Nigel begins, “the one we tried for Willa. It might’ve made a difference if the dragon eye had been fresh.”

“Because fresh dragons are lying around everywhere.” I regret the words as soon as they’re out. Sarcasm isn’t helpful. “Ignore me. I’m frustrated.”

“We all are,” Kieren replies.

The elevator doors open, and the three of us step onto the second floor.

On our way to the kitchenette, Kieren adds, “Dragon eyes are rare. Powerful. It might’ve been used in enchanting the building. In raising Ulman from hell. Or even in creating the mystic fires in the fireplaces.”

As we pass Bridget’s and Lucy’s rooms, I reply, “You’re saying there’s a chance that the dragon eye was key to the security spell on the outer building?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the Wolf reminds me. “The eye has been confiscated, too. I think we should visit the Bilovskis’ apartment. It’s a stone unturned.”

Lucy says, “Howdy” as we join the girls in the kitchenette.

“Kieren!” Bridget exclaims, drumming her fingers on the cover of her Bible. “Ask Vesper why she hasn’t started her term paper for Underworld Governments.”

He indulges her. “Vesper, why haven’t you started your term paper?”

The other girls are seated at the table. (Somebody broke out a deck of cards.)

Vesper is doing leg lifts. She’s using the counter like a ballet barre. “Because my topic is zombies.”

Nigel laughs. “Zombies don’t have a government. They just shuffle around.”

Vesper raises her free arm, rises on her toes. “That’s my thesis statement.”

The visit to the Bilovskis’ first-floor apartment is a strictly volunteer mission.

“No pressure,” Kieren emphasizes.

In the end, it’s decided that all of us together might be overwhelming, but nobody should go alone. So, it’ll be me, Kieren, and Lucy.

At our knock, Mrs. Bilovski opens the door. “Problem?” she asks. “Toilet overflowing? Lightbulb burned out? The mister isn’t here right now, but —”

“This is a social call,” Lucy says. “I’m sorry we’re unannounced. If you’d like, we’d be happy to reschedule.” She presents a tissue-wrapped package. “Regardless, I hope you’ll accept this hostess gift.”

It’s a shockingly effective southwestern-lady social pitch.

Mrs. Bilovski invites us in. “May I get you something to drink?” She takes a step toward a kitchenette similar to the one we share on the second floor.

“Please don’t go to any trouble,” Lucy replies. “You already do so much for us.”

Mrs. Bilovski fidgets with the gift. She takes a seat in a chair next to Lucy’s. On the sofa across from them, Kieren and I trade a look. We’ll let Lucy do the talking.

The décor matches the rest of the house. Unlike the students, though, the Bilovskis have a separate bedroom and the in-unit kitchen.

A gray sheet has been tossed over the print above the fireplace.

The bedroom door is open. I’m not surprised that the outward-facing, floor-to-ceiling window wall doesn’t include a building exit. But I feel that remote hope squashed.

Then I’m distracted by the framed family photographs. They cover nearly every visible inch of every surface. A mix of black-and-white and color pictures. Individual and group shots. Depicting babies, children and teens, boys and girls. Snapshots and school portraits. Taken at births, birthdays, holidays, and every days. Every kid has either Mr. Bilovski’s hooked nose or Mrs. Bilovski’s pointed chin, or both.

Four boys and six girls. They’re always well groomed, wearing clean clothes. At least two had braces. Firmly middle-class. The Bilovskis aren’t that old — late forties, maybe early fifties. With such a big brood, I doubt the kids would all be grown by now.

“While you’re here,” I begin, “who’s taking care of your children?”

Lucy glares at me. “What he means is, you have a beautiful family.”

“Each one my darling,” Mrs. Bilovski replies, carefully removing the tissue wrapping. “Each one my precious, precious babe.” She unfolds a red scarf with the image of a multicolor winged horse printed or painted on it.

“It’s a Hermès,” Lucy says like that means something. “From Paris.”

Mrs. Bilovski rubs it against her cheek. “Silk.”

The scarf was donated by Vesper. So was the tissue.

“Have you ever been to France?” Kieren asks.

“Me?” Mrs. Bilovski exclaims. “Gracious, no. I had my babes to look after, and George and I were so involved in the church. It was our pastor who warned us about the Nosferatu. George took it to heart, bless his soul. Bless all of their souls.”

Mrs. Bilovski glances at the digital clock above the door. It’s 4:30
P.M.

“Thank you for the scarf.” She stands. “I should get started on dinner. It’s not easy, feeding so many young people. If anyone knows that, it’s me.”

Lincoln Bee-Gazette,
June 16

BEHEADED CHILDREN DECLARED HUMAN

By Diana Larkin

Three medical examiners have independently confirmed that the bodies of ten murdered siblings, ages six to sixteen, were human beings. The children were found beheaded and hanged from a barn ceiling by their ankles Friday night outside Lincoln, Nebraska.

Although most experts on the supernatural concur that vampires have been extinct since the mid-twentieth century, a media frenzy arose when it was leaked that the word
Nosferatu
had been spray-painted in red several times on the walls at the murder scene.

Law-enforcement officials have not been able to locate parents Gladys and George Bilovski. Mr. Bilovski’s sister, Shirley Fieldman, has been quoted as saying that the handwriting matched that of her brother. She also claimed that he was mentally unstable and she had long feared for Mrs. Bilovski and the children’s safety.

I WATCH FROM MY HAMMOCK
as my angel joins the others after dinner in the casual lounge. They’re gathered in a circle on their mattresses. Mrs. Bilovski’s warning hasn’t been forgotten. But after last night’s events, sleeping separately doesn’t seem like such a bright idea either. They’re discussing how to reverse the spell on the building. Having run out of ideas for escape, they’re trying to bolster their hopes of rescue. It’s all they have left.

“Undoing magic that powerful will come at a cost,” Kieren says. “I’m thinking of paying with the heart of a hellhound.”

“Kieren!” Evelyn exclaims. She’s seated cross-legged in front of Bridget, who’s braiding her hair. “Last time, those things nearly killed you.”

“Last time,” he replies, “they caught me by surprise.”

Quincie starts to say something — either to protest or to offer help when, in a loud, clear voice, Lucy declares, “That was then. This is now.”

Only it’s not Lucy’s voice, it’s mine! Not an imitation,
my
voice. Not that I’ve ever talked like that. The tone is menacing, sexual, like it wants to seduce them all.

“It’s not possible!” Zachary gapes. “She sounds like Miranda. Exactly like her.”

The not-Lucy, not-me leaps to her feet. “Anything is possible with faith.”

The demonic force is using me, my angel’s love for me, to lash out at Zachary.

“That’s not Miranda,” Kieren exclaims. “Zach?”

The other students recoil. Kieren and Quincie position themselves to protect the rest.

Mumbling in — is it Latin? — Lucy peels off her T-shirt, reaches to unhook her bra.

My angel stands, gripping Lucy by the shoulders. “Leave her alone.”

Lucy — or whoever it is — knocks his hands away and lands an uppercut on his chin that sends him crashing into the wall. It’s the possession, giving her strength.

Lucy spreads her arms wide. “You all think you were recruited. Chosen. My, what high self-esteem!” She swings her hips to one side, then another. “It was you who chose me. Or at least came close enough to catch my interest.”

She slides her hands up her bare stomach. “It was you who said or thought or acted in such a way that put the fate of your souls in play. You revealed that you might give up anything, even the promise of heaven . . .” She cups, squeezes her breasts. “. . . for whatever it was that you wanted most.”

God is always with you, but the devil watches sometimes. Waits.

It’s a sobering thought.

Lucy sashays in a tight circle and meets each student’s gaze in turn.

“Kieren wanted to be wild, the predator untamed.

“Lucy wanted to know what happened to Miranda.

“And Zachary wanted Miranda in his bed.”

Bridget holds up her Bible in an attempt to ward it off.

The possessed Lucy throws back her head and cackles. “You, Bridget, wanted to be a winner. Nigel wanted to know where he comes from. Vesper —”

Quincie grabs the holy book from Bridget and smacks it across Lucy’s head.

Lucy’s mouth falls open, and six tiny gray snakes slither out. They’re hissing, tangled, falling to the black tile and onto her Fighting Coyotes T-shirt.

Vesper screams, and Nigel yells, “Not again!”

Suddenly, the serpents disappear.

Lucy drops to a mattress, unconscious.

“You can’t let it into your head,” Kieren says. “The demonic is built on lies —”

“They weren’t
all
lies,” Bridget says.

“We may have been tempted,” my angel acknowledges. “But that’s not what matters. What matters is that we each ultimately turned back to the Light.”

“Once,” Nigel whispers. “Or twice. Who knows how long that’ll last here?”

An hour later, I’m relieved that Lucy doesn’t remember anything about what happened. She appears unharmed, seated in the circle on her mattress. She keeps inundating everyone with questions, using
The Exorcist
as her point of reference.

When Nigel alludes to Lucy’s stripper routine, her hands cover her face.

That’s when Vesper says, “The devil didn’t mention what you wanted, Quincie.”

“Or you,” Quincie replies. “Or, for that matter, Evie.”

Evie is in the restroom, but I know what she wanted: to be wholly human. She confided as much to Kieren on the first night.

When Vesper won’t stop staring at Quincie, the neophyte gives her a half smile — just for kicks — and asks, “Why? Do you have some O positive to spare?”

“Willa wanted to matter,” Nigel declares. “She wanted to become more than something her parents could cut out, cut up. More than their paper doll. She wanted to matter to someone besides me.”

Desperate to clear my head, I stomp down the promenade. How dare the devil do that to Lucy — using my own voice! What I wouldn’t give to crush his horny, scaled head under the heel of my incorporeal tennis shoe.

I’m about to declare that — loudly and proudly — to anyone who’ll listen when I spot my victim in the
ARTEMIS GYROS
T-shirt. He’s sitting off by himself next to a koi pond.

He looks heartbroken.