No Angel (7 page)
M
ichaela can’t be possessed.” Faith tossed a basketball halfheartedly at me, her face whiter than her gym outfit. I was grateful that we had P.E. first thing today. Under the cover of warming up, I’d been able to drag Faith and Krystal off to one side of the playing court to fill them in on what I’d discovered that morning. “It can’t be true.”
“I’m telling you, she is,” I said, bouncing the basketball back. I kept glancing around nervously, but Michaela hadn’t appeared yet. Guess it took a while to commune with demons. “The Hellgate must already be open.”
“No, I’m sure I’d know if it was.” Faith twisted her hands together, the ball flying past her to smack straight into one of our classmates. “But my father told me there were more Hellgates in the world besides this one. The demon must have come through one of those, possessed her before she ever arrived here. She must have been tricked into it, maybe she agreed to the binding so the demon would get her out of that horrible orphanage. . . . Oh, poor Michaela!”
“I always knew she was pure evil.” Krystal looked as if it was Christmas Day and she’d just unwrapped a pony. “Can I watch when you smite her, Raf?”
“When I
what
?”
“Smite her,” Krystal repeated, a distinctly bloodthirsty gleam in her eye. She took aim at Suzanne, across on the other side of the court, and let fly. The blonde girl yelped as the basketball bounced off her back. Luckily for Krystal, our gym teacher, an enormous woman named Ms. Hellebore, hadn’t noticed the deliberate foul. “Burn her up with your holy fire. Like you smote the Headmistress, only more so.”
“You smote my mother?” Faith exclaimed.
“It was an accident,” I said to her, then rounded on Krystal. “And I’m not going to murder her! What do you think I am?”
Krystal shrugged. “I think you’re a guardian angel. Check out the Bible sometime. The angels in there aren’t exactly nice.” She paused to deflect an incoming basketball and flip off the girl who’d sent it at her. “And we have to do whatever it takes to stop the demon. Don’t you see, Faith, this is why we could never find any hint as to how your dad was keeping the Hellgate closed! He
wasn’t
doing anything—at least, nothing mystic. He was just stopping demons like Michaela from sneaking in and trying to open it up to summon more of her kind through. We’ve got to stop her.”
I hadn’t thought Faith could go any paler, but she did. “But my father said . . . once a demon is bound to a mortal, that’s it. There’s no way to exorcise it without, without—” She stopped, swallowing hard. “Without killing the host.”
“We’re talking about demons being set free to rampage all over the world, Faith!” Krystal retorted. “We can’t get squeamish.”
That was easy for her to say.
I
was the one who’d find himself trying to explain to the jury that the angels had made him do it. “Forget it. I’m not smiting anyone.”
“Then you’d better think of another way to get rid of her,” Krystal said, staring over my shoulder. “Fast.”
The next thing I knew, I was sprawled on the ground, feeling as though my brain had been knocked out my ears. “Now that’s just pathetic,” I heard Michaela say, through the ringing pain. She strolled over to us, her brief gym shorts showing off her endless legs. “I thought it would be easy to defeat you, but I didn’t think it would be
this
easy.”
I scrambled to my feet, getting between her and Faith. “You just took me by surprise.” Our classmates were too busy chasing balls to notice the confrontation, but I lowered my voice anyway. “I’ll give you one chance. Leave this school, or I’ll make you leave.”
“I know what you are now, Michaela,” Faith said. Her voice trembled, but she came to stand at my side. Krystal, I noticed with irritation, had buggered off at the first sign of trouble. “And Raffi’s going to stop you.”
“I’m terrified,” Michaela said. “See me quake. Oh, no, wait.” She folded her arms, her black eyes mocking. “See
Raffi
quake.”
Hellfire breath licked my hidden feathers. I couldn’t help cowering, my invisible wings clamping tight to my back as I was driven to my knees.
“Stop it!” Faith was cringing too as if she also felt the demon’s hidden presence. “Leave us alone!”
“Never.” Michaela leaned in close, staring directly into Faith’s terrified eyes. “Now that you know about me, I’ll give
you
one last chance, Faith. No matter what your little pet here says, you won’t close the Hellgate. One way or another, I’ll stop you from getting to that Ball. Run away while you still can.”
“Get away from her!” The demon was still breathing down the back of my neck, but the sight of Faith in danger was enough to get me back on my feet. I lunged for Michaela, but she swayed on the balls of her feet, effortlessly turning my momentum against me. I slammed against the wall of the court, Michaela holding my arm painfully twisted behind my back.
“You want to do this here and now?” Michaela snarled into my ear. She was inhumanly strong. She only needed one hand to pin me in place, her other tracing a pentagram on my back as she spoke. “Happy to oblige.” She whispered something in a foreign language and I cringed . . . but nothing happened. Burning heat still washed over my wings, but I felt Michaela’s grip slacken fractionally, as if she was surprised by something.
“Is there a problem here?” boomed Ms. Hellebore, looming over us. Michaela released me in a hurry. Evidently, not even a demon wanted to tangle with someone who looked like she swigged steroids for breakfast.
“Like I said, Michaela attacked Raf! Totally unprovoked!” Krystal bobbed at the teacher’s side like a tugboat next to a battle cruiser.
“I know how hot teenage tempers can run, Michaela, but you must learn to channel your aggression productively,” Ms. Hellebore said severely. A circle of girls was forming around us as the class sensed imminent drama. “We are not brutes, settling differences with mere fists.” She pointed back into the gym. “Go to my office and fetch the disciplinary equipment. I think you need to spend this lesson on your own, practicing your self-control.”
“Yes, Ms. Hellebore,” Michaela replied dutifully, though her black eyes flashed with leashed rage. “This isn’t over, Rafael,” she breathed. She stalked back into the gym, the crowd drawing back hastily to let her through.
“Let’s hear some balls bouncing!” Ms. Hellebore roared, nearly scaring my own off me. Our audience scattered. Under the sudden din of rubber hitting asphalt, she said to me, “I could give you some tips on combat techniques, if you wanted. Looks like you could use them.”
“Thanks, miss.” I got to my feet, brushing dirt off my grazed knees. “But actually, my dad’s already taught me a load of self-defense stuff.” Unfortunately, how to defend yourself from invisible demons hadn’t been on the curriculum.
“Self-defense only?” Ms. Hellebore sniffed in disdain. “Useless. The best defense is a good offense. I can show you how to take down your enemy before they even know you’re there.”
“Uh, thanks, but really I’m—SHE’S GOT A GUN!”
Faith squawked as I knocked her off her feet. I spun, intending to tackle Krystal as well—and discovered that she, along with everyone else, was staring at me as if I’d gone insane.
“Yes, of course she does,” Ms. Hellebore said, glancing from me to Michaela. “What’s the problem?”
“The problem?” I yelped. Behind Ms. Hellebore’s back, Michaela was checking over the monstrous weapon with rapid, practiced movements. “No one else sees a problem with the fact that the school psychopath just wandered out with a damn AK-47?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ms. Hellebore said. “That’s not an AK-47. It’s a Saiga-04 M3 7.62mm assault rifle.”
Somehow, I failed to find this reassuring.
“It really is all right, Raffi,” Faith said, getting to her feet as Michaela headed off without a backward glance. “She’s taking it to the range. If you get a time-out from gym, you have to practice rifle-shooting instead.”
“An excellent discipline for unsettled minds,” Ms. Hellebore said happily. “It teaches control and focus.” The fact that it also taught how to head-shoot a man at two hundred paces evidently had not occurred to her. The gym teacher blew her whistle. “All right, excitement over! Back to work, girls!”
Faith stared after Michaela’s retreating form as the class drifted back to basketball practice. “Well, we’ve learned something important.”
“Yeah, Michaela’s not only a demon, she’s a demon with a gun.” My heart was still pounding from the adrenaline surge. “And she knows how to use it. Wonderful.”
Faith shook her head. “Not that.” Despite everything, she started to smile. “She’s afraid of me getting to the Ball. She knows I
can
close the Hellgate with my true love. My father was right!”
“And so’s Raf,” Krystal said sharply. “Faith, this is not a good time to look on the bright side. Michaela knows we’re onto her, and she’s obviously
not
afraid of Raf. We’re in deep trouble.” She looked at me. “Reconsidered that smiting thing yet?”
“No,” I said firmly. “I’m not a murderer.” My gaze went to Ms. Hellebore, who was now exhorting girls to hurl their balls harder. “I think it’s time to invoke the aid of a higher power.”
C
ongratulations, Mr. Angelos,” the Headmistress said without looking up as I entered her office. She turned another page in my school file. It already seemed to be quite thick. “Three detentions in your first forty-eight hours. You have set a new school record. We may have to commission a plaque.”
“Um.” I sat gingerly on the chair opposite her desk, trying to ignore the really disturbing scuff marks on the arms that suggested at least one previous occupant had been handcuffed to the thing. “I’m sorry. Things kind of haven’t been working out as I expected.”
“Yes, I am aware of that. Obviously.” The Headmistress cast me a level look over the top of her reading glasses. “Is that a nervous tic, Mr. Angelos?”
“No, Headmistress!” I yelped, straightening up from my surreptitious attempt to check that my wings hadn’t slipped out. “Er, when you say that you’re aware of my, um, issues . . . ?”
The Headmistress sighed. “Mr. Angelos, there is nothing that goes on in this school without my knowledge. Much as I would prefer to remain blissfully oblivious to the mind-bogglingly mundane dramas that so traumatize your teenage lives, it is my job to observe, guide, and—alas, all too occasionally—punish. So yes, I am fully aware of your problems.”
“Actually, I don’t think you are.” I was pretty sure that not even the Headmistress would describe unexpected angelhood as “mundane.”
“If I am not already aware, then I have no desire to know,” the Headmistress said crisply. She flipped my file shut. “Now, while Ms. Wormwood has already complained to me about you absconding from your detention last night, I am not thinking of expelling you. Yet. So, Mr. Angelos, it is quite unnecessary for you to grovel before me. You may leave now.”
I nearly launched myself out of the chair in sheer relieved reflex at being dismissed, before remembering that I was here about something else. I sank back down again, miserably. “Um, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s Michaela Dante. I think she’s dangerous.”
“You have a remarkable talent for discovering the obvious, Mr. Angelos.” The Headmistress steepled her fingers. “If only your grasp on the English language was so masterful. Let me repeat myself, in words of one syllable: I know all at this school. What exactly do you think
you
know about Miss Dante that I do not?”
“She’s a demon!” I blurted out.
The Headmistress looked at me.
“Uh, that is, I found her doing black magic out in the woods. With pentagrams and candles and stuff.”
The Headmistress looked at me some more. One hand reached out to pick up what on initial glance appeared to be the hollowed-out shrunken head of one of her past pupils, but on closer inspection was just a lumpy pottery mug. It had a blobby heart and
World’s Best Mum
painted on it. Poor, poor Faith. The Headmistress took a long, slow sip, still regarding me unblinkingly over the rim. Then, “Come with me, Mr. Angelos,” she said, putting the mug aside and rising. “I wish to show you something.”
I was halfway convinced she was going to escort me to her
own
demon-summoning pentagram, but instead she led the way to a long corridor lined with framed photographs. “Observe, Mr. Angelos,” the Headmistress said, standing back to let me go first. “What do you notice?”
Hesitantly, I walked down the corridor, eyes staring disapprovingly down at me as I passed. Deep crimson carpet ate the sound of my footsteps. The place had the hushed, reverential air of a cathedral or an art gallery.
All the photos were of women. I thought at first that they were previous Headmistresses, but then I recognized a Hollywood actress and realized they had to be alumni of the school. Farther on, there was a former prime minister; a couple of senior politicians I remembered seeing on TV; a prominent engineer who was always in the news for lobbying against environmental policies; a famous businesswoman who had her own show, crushing the dreams of aspiring entrepreneurs.
All the women bore the smug, sleek expressions of people who had everything. Just seeing their photos made me feel weak and unimportant. Trying to shake off the odd sense of inferiority, I looked at the brass plaques under the photos. Each one had a name and a number, and as I drew closer to the end of the corridor, the numbers got bigger. 15,000. 20,000. 120,000 . . .
“Donations?” I said, getting it at last.
“Indeed, Mr. Angelos,” said the Headmistress from right behind me. I jumped. I hadn’t even heard her move. “These are all benefactors of Saint Mary’s. Past pupils who have reason to express gratitude to their alma mater.”
I summed up the amounts listed under just the closest five pictures, and got an eye-watering figure. Multiply that by the length of the corridor, and . . . “You get all this
on top
of the school fees? Man, you should be paying us!”
“And have you take your education for granted?” the Headmistress said. “You will find in life, Mr. Angelos, that nothing concentrates the human mind quite so wonderfully as money. But I did not bring you here merely to demonstrate how extraordinarily fortunate you have been to be admitted to such elite company.” She pointed to the very end of the corridor. “There.”
A portrait hung in splendid isolation on the far wall—not a photograph, but a huge oil painting in an ornate golden frame. It was the only picture that showed a man. A stern-faced old guy, wearing weird black robes.
FATHER DANTE
2.5M
“So, let me see if I have this straight, Mr. Angelos,” the Headmistress said as I stared at the figure in disbelief. “You wish me to expel the ward of the most generous benefactor this school has ever had, on the grounds that, while illegally stalking her without her knowledge, you came across her exercising her human right to free expression of her spiritual beliefs. Do you wish to add anything to this summary?”
“But she’s a troublemaker, Headmistress,” I said hopelessly. Krystal had told me that Michaela had been adopted by a rich family, but I hadn’t realized they were
that
rich. “She’s late to everything, and talks back, and doesn’t pay any attention at all in class. And she gets away with it too. None of the teachers will punish her for anything.”
“Two and a half million pounds,” the Headmistress said. “Which I only receive if Miss Dante satisfactorily completes her education. It somewhat ties my hands. I cannot risk Miss Dante finding any reason to fault either her teachers or this school.”
I paused, studying her face. The Headmistress wasn’t looking at me, but rather at the painting. There was a certain sour twist to the set of her mouth. . . .
“
You
don’t like her either, do you, Headmistress?” I said. “You’d rather she wasn’t here too.”
“I could not possibly comment, Mr. Angelos.” She paused. “If, however, you were to discover something of rather more import than a few chalk lines and candles, I would of course be duty-bound to take the matter seriously.
Very
seriously.”
“She’s threatened to kill me. Is that serious enough?”
“Words, Mr. Angelos. Only words.” She tilted her head to one side a little as if struck by a thought. “It does suggest an intriguing possibility, however. I have reason to believe that Miss Dante may indeed be carrying lethal weaponry around the school.”
My mind flashed on the memory of the daggers Michaela had drawn in the shrine . . . and on the straps I’d glimpsed around her thighs when I’d looked up her skirt in History of Art. “She really is. I can testify to that.”
The Headmistress sighed. “Mr. Angelos, I will need a little more evidence than your word alone. Your bloody corpse would be convincing, but alas, that presents certain logistical difficulties. Alternative proof is required. I do not have the power to demand Miss Dante submit to a strip search, but if
you
were able to liberate her weapons from her person, I would be able to expel her immediately.
And
demand the bulk of the Dante bursary as a penalty fee.”
“I’ll get you the proof, Headmistress.” I lifted my chin, staring into Father Dante’s painted eyes. He certainly looked like a leader of an evil cult, with his black robes and grim expression. No doubt he’d sent Michaela here to take over the Hellgate and summon more demons to do his bidding. But I wasn’t going to be cowed. I was a guardian angel, and I was going to do whatever it took to stop the forces of Hell.
I was going to get into Michaela’s pants.