Diabolical (7 page)

But my being corporeal makes sticking around seem, at most, perverted and, at least, like I should get a life.

At 3
A.M.
, Freddy pours us each a cup of coffee and adds a shot of Baileys to his. “The devil himself, eh?”

Freddy is firmly human, about forty with bleached hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Each night at the restaurant he plays Count Sanguini, leading dinner guests in a midnight toast.

He was raised in the human servant community that caters to upper-echelon vamps. As an adult, Freddy made a life for himself on the fringes of that underworld. He stuck around only because his twin, Harrison — the same Harrison who’s keeping my girl company upstairs — was the personal assistant to the undead king. Freddy’s not the kind of guy who could just walk away. He couldn’t leave his own brother to the monsters, even if Harrison was staying by choice.

“About your plan to rescue this Lucy,” Freddy begins again. “If this Scholomance Preparatory Academy doesn’t allow visitors or calls, how do you plan to contact her? Do you have an e-mail address? Are you connected on some social-networking site?”

I open Quincie’s laptop. “I’m not a detail guy.” Or, for that matter, a Web guy.

“Hmm.” He hands me a steaming mug. “Some years ago, I had the occasion to encounter an alumnus of the Scholomance’s Carpathian campus — a necromancer — at one of His Majesty’s galas.” Freddy slides into a kitchen chair. “He was coming on to an Old Blood aristocrat. You know how it is with eternals and necromancers.”

I’m willing to take his word for it.

Freddy adds, “He claimed the building’s physical structure was impenetrable. Unless you’re an enrolled student or a staff or faculty member, simply touching the outside — a door knocker, a chimney, or a window — is enough to trigger a fatal magical charge. That defense system is a Scholomance trademark. You can bank on it.”

“How does anyone get in?” I want to know.

“An incantation making individuals immune to the charge is routinely completed for students upon admission. Faculty and staff, too, I’d assume.”

I don’t want to find out what it means for an immortal angel to be magically electrocuted. “Any suggestions?”

Freddy shoos me from the computer. “If it were any other demonic establishment — any other not potentially affiliated with Lucifer, that is — I’d suggest we ask for the eternal queen’s assistance. But in this case, I recommend faking it.”

“Stick to your real names. That’s how you’ll be identified in the spell. You don’t want to end up in a coma or worse because you used an alias.”

Freddy is a genius. Anyone on the receiving end of that note would assume Kieren and I — like him and Harrison — had been raised off the grid among the living servants to the high-class vamps. “I’m still not sure about taking Kieren.”

Freddy’s hand hovers over the keyboard. “Would you like me to go instead?”

I think it over. He is a grown-up. The school’s target market appears to be older teens. I look about twenty, which may be enough of a problem. Besides, as a human, Freddy is more physically vulnerable than the Wolf. “Nah. Thanks anyway.”

Freddy hits a link to download the admissions application.

WITH WEATHER DELAYS
and pit stops, we don’t drop off Quincie until after 5
P.M.
Sunday. She gives me a quick hug in the living room of the historic B and B in Montpelier. “How long will you two be gone?”

“It depends on Lucy,” I say. “How quickly we can convince her of what the school is really about. Whether after finding out, she’s willing to leave with us.”

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Kieren asks. “Any sane person would run screaming.”

Quincie’s phone ringtone goes off. It’s Pavarotti singing “Mamma.”

“There’s a reason you-know-who is called the Prince of Lies,” I reply. “He figures out what people want most. He uses that information to tempt them.” I don’t say what we’re all thinking: that the devil has managed to lure Lucy there in the first place.

“Howdy,” Quincie says into her phone. “Damn.” She bites her lower lip. “Are you sure? What was the number? Thanks.” Quincie raises a finger and makes a quick call. Covering the receiver, she looks up at me. “That was Yani from the hostess desk at Sanguini’s. Sabine left a message for you at work. She said it’s important.”

Sabine, the vamp queen. Crap. The school must’ve checked our references.

Quincie asks for Her Royal Majesty and hands over the phone.

I gesture at the young couple to stay put and step outside Norma & Harry’s B and B. It’s getting chillier every minute. “Zachary here.”

“Friend Zachary, I am confused. If you have fallen, why would you go to the American Scholomance and not instead come to me?”

“Sabine . . .” She’s helped me in the past, when it was in her best interests. I’m tempted to let her think that I’m a fallen angel now. It would make my enrolling at the school more plausible. But what was I just saying about lies and temptation? “I need to talk to one of the students. A friend of Miranda’s. What can you tell me about the place?”

“You should stay away from it.”

“Sabine —”

“Non!”
she exclaims. “You should not have involved me. Do you know what happened to the last eternal royal who tried to deceive Lucifer?”

I couldn’t care less. “Not exactly.”

“Neither does anyone else! This afternoon I received an electronic letter from the school, requesting confirmation of my previous correspondence. I will not reply for twenty-four hours. Consider it a gift to celebrate the annulment of our association. I will assist you no further, Zachary. That is all.”

She beeps off. The vamp queen fears the Big Boss, but she fears his adversary, too. Still, for a damned undead royal, it’s a pretty generous offer. Twenty-four hours.

Back inside the B and B, it occurs to me — not for the first time — how hard it will be for Quincie to wait here alone. She’s not a sidelines kind of girl.

Even if she weren’t worried about me and Kieren, doing nothing is contradictory to her nature. What’s more, it’s almost painful for her, being away from Sanguini’s.

In the living room, my young assignment is seated with her beloved Wolf on the piano bench. They’re talking in hushed tones. When I come in, they stand.

“We’ve got twenty-four hours,” I announce. “If we’re not out by then, we have to deal with Sabine ratting us out.” I glance at Quincie. “Will you be okay here?”

“You’re asking me?” she replies, walking us to the door.

“I’m surprised you’re not putting up more of a fight about being left behind.”

Quincie shrugs. “Call me crazy, but I’d rather you not ‘renounce the Big Boss and march us both straight to hell.’” With that, she hugs me again like I’m going off to war. Then she gives Kieren a kiss that could melt snow.

THROUGHOUT THE AFTERNOON
, Vesper has chattered at Lucy nonstop, which is how I know Vesper took extra classes to graduate early last semester from a private girls’ school in Georgia. She doesn’t have a particularly Bostonian or southern accent. It’s more of an affected mix.

The sheer volume of her belongings is staggering, and this is coming from me, who, as eternal royalty, used to toss away million-dollar gowns after one wearing.

In terms of gloves alone, she’s unpacked pairs for driving, skiing, weight lifting, and kickboxing in leather, suede, and knit, in patterns and solids, in various colors, with fingers and without, in classic and opera lengths.

“They barely fit in my drawer with the mittens and muffs!” Vesper exclaims.

“Do you think you’ll need all that?” Lucy asks, removing one of two identical uniforms from the closet. It’s an ash-gray oxford-style shirt and matching pants. The embroidered logo is based on the devilish monster depicted above each fireplace.

Vesper glowers at the outfit. “Did you see the shoes?”

Zooming in on the closet, I consider the terry-cloth robe and matching slippers. They’re not heavy enough for winter in Vermont. Lucy, who unpacked herself in about three minutes, opens yet another of Vesper’s trunks, this one filled with silk bedding.

“Don’t you love the color?” Vesper asks. “It’s Persian plum. I adore the contemporary furniture and design. Monochromatic is always chic, but it can get tiresome after a while. The color will give it punch.”

I don’t think Vesper is a demon, just incredibly boring, superficial, and spoiled.

According to Seth, they’re the only two students who’ve checked in thus far, because of the weather. He left when the caretakers arrived.

The Bilovskis are a married, middle-aged couple, who’ve been given an apartment to themselves on the first floor. It has a separate bedroom and its own kitchenette but is otherwise designed and decorated like the student quarters. The couple seems rural, polite, and in no way remarkable.

As headlights flash against Vesper’s windowed wall, I zoom out to watch a compact car slow to idle in the circular front drive. A petite girl exits. Her long, blue coat looks worn. She has chestnut-colored hair under her knit cap and carries only a backpack.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Lucy, who worked as a hotel maid last summer, has Vesper’s bed made in record time — skirt, mattress pad, shams, and throw pillows. Lucy tosses an extra Persian plum pillow on the black leather Euro recliner.

Vesper looks impressed. “Are you always this quiet? It’s Lucy, right? Earlier, it looked like you’d been crying or had pinkeye, but it’s better now.”

“I got in an argument with my parents before I left home,” Lucy explains. “They didn’t want me to change schools. Or leave Texas. And my gerbil died. Actually, he was my best friend, Miranda’s, gerbil.”

Vesper seems baffled. “You were crying over your friend’s dead gerbil?”

The newcomer steps out of the elevator, and the two girls peek into the hallway.

“DO ALL ANGELS
know each other?” Kieren asks from my front passenger seat.

“Nope,” I say. “We’re talking about a lot of angels. GAs alone solidly outnumber mortals. But with the earthly population soaring and tensions rising around the globe, it wouldn’t surprise me if the Big Boss created more soon. Why?”

Kieren flicks his wrist, unleashes his claws, and retracts them.

“Are you pretending to be Wolverine for a reason?”