Chapter 39

This time when Godric turns, he keeps walking. At some point, a flash encompasses him, then he shoots up in the air.

I watch him until he disappears, my mind doing backward somersaults.

Me? A nuclear weapon? And of cosmic proportions, too?

This guy is out of his flipping-through-the-heavens mind!

He has to be. From the beginning. When he said I have the potential of being one of the most dangerous entities in existence. When he claimed I could play a role in ending the Eternal Battle. And now when he thinks that ephemeral thing within me, with its ineffective dream-time tantrums, could destroy the world, or even the cosmos.

He may look and sound totally put together, but his brain must be completely scrambled. It must be from constantly inhaling the fumes of his greatness and gorgeousness.

Deciding to save my energy and sanity, and dismiss everything he ever said about me, I run inside Fem. I have to join the others for breakfast, but I first need to shower, dress and attempt to tame my rioting hair. The hair they all think I dyed.

I didn’t. Of course, I didn’t. The most I’ve ever done with it was bunch or braid it out of my face. But in the times I bothered examining it, I thought I could see bluish/purplish reflections in its darkness. I always thought it was the light.

Turns out it wasn’t. I now have nebula-hued low and some highlights that are getting more pronounced after every Mindscape visit. They’re the only outward proof that something is changing within me.

But I can’t claim it’s a manifestation of my Grace. Godric forbade me to, saying the dye explanation is safer. I can’t even tell Sarah a more plausible story. Even if I’m no longer afraid of what Godric would do to her.

A couple of weeks ago, after that first time Godric exposed me to an almost-touch, to my hair, he withdrew his hand, his action and grimness leaving my every nerve rioting. He made it worse when he made that shocking announcement. That he exempted Sarah from dying at his hands, under any circumstances.

I had no idea what made him decide that. It sure wasn’t my persuasive skills. But he did make it a pledge, so I knew he meant it. Not about to look a gift executioner in the axe, I took the win. I also thought I could finally share some truths with her—for about two minutes.

He brought my new hope crashing down, telling me I can’t confide in her, and I’d better pray she never works anything out herself. My life would be in danger if someone suspects what’s going on with me, and Sarah, as my best friend, would share my danger. There’s no telling who can read her mind or manipulate her into exposing what she knows about me. Like that time the demoness influenced her into exposing personal stuff about me. Keeping her safe meant continuing to hide everything from her.

So I—the girl who used to wash her hair with dishwater, and now considers Academy-issue shampoo and conditioner the ultimate in luxury hair care—let everyone think I dyed it. Such a subtle, spectacular dye, too. How the others believed that, and that I spent any of my meager leisure time at the hair salon in Raziel Complex, I have no idea.

Yeah, the others. I now have to hang out with them. Because of Sarah,

Not only that, but increasing numbers of the Angel-Graced and the minority races now wave and smile and stop to talk with her. A lot of the Nephilim do, too. Those who don’t, I have no doubt it’s because of my presence by her side.

Even in our forced-proximity quintet, I’m still the odd-girl-out. Cara’s resentment has been simmering hotter every time she’s seen me with Godric. And since that’s at least twice a day, we’re talking a lot of acrimony. Ms. Archangelspawn—or Aela as those allowed to speak to her call her—ignores me, since I never trespassed on even her shadow.

As for Jinny, she continues to be my vicious rival for Sarah’s company. Which is funny, since she gets it all to herself while I’m with Godric. A fact I resent like hell.

But as I delight in how much stronger I feel, how I’m barely breathing fast by the time I reach our room, I have to grudgingly admit it’s been worth it. Every hour Godric has taken me away from Sarah and every minute of physical and mental torment he’s put me through has been for a great cause. Maybe I should thank him?

Nah.

I burst into the room to an unusual sight. All my roommates are still here.

I rush towards Sarah, suddenly alarmed. “I thought you’d be at breakfast.”

Sarah shakes her head with a forlorn expression. “We’re not having breakfast today. Azazel’s orders.

My heart drops to my left big toe. “But I’m starving!”

Jinny grins at me, the personification of malicious glee. “And if you die of starvation, his plan to weed out the weak and useless would be complete.”

Sarah scowls up at her. “Wen is the farthest thing from weak or useless. You know how hard she’s been working out.”

Surprisingly, Jinny doesn’t hand Sarah her head for daring to scold her, or come to my defense. Or maybe not so surprisingly. Jinny seems willing to allow Sarah anything. She really must be desperate for company around here. And who is a more accepting and accommodating company than Sarah?

Color darkening as if with embarrassment, Jinny only mumbles defensively, “We all work out hard. This place is worse than a hard-labor camp.”

Sarah tuts. “But Wen is human, and works out twice as hard, once with Godric, then in the regular fitness and combat classes. So she needs food more than any of us.”

“I still don’t get why Godric is training you privately.” Cara grunts, still harping on the one thought she seems to have between her ears.

Sarah transfers her frown to her. “I don’t know why you’re still asking this, Cara. We all already know it’s the archangels’ orders.”

“Yes, but we still don’t know why,” Cara says, face reddening with pent-up frustration. She’d trade places with me at any cost. If she thought killing me is the price, I’d be long dead in my sleep.

Sarah shrugs. “You’re welcome to ask them, Cara.”

It’s a masterful comeback that stymies Cara. Everyone here seems to consider the archangels gods, and questioning their decrees is akin to blasphemy.

As the only one who doesn’t have the least reverence for the archangels, or Godric, it’s Jinny who smirks at Cara. “You don’t need to ask these feathered blowhards anything. We already heard the truth from the most reliable source. So I don’t know why you’re still harping on this, angel-crazed. Your pathetic obsession with this Semi-Angel of Death bastard is getting old, so put a sock drawer in it, already.”

As Cara glares at her then pretends to resume browsing her tablet, I huff a scoff.

By reliable source, Jinny means Lorcan. He teased Godric about it, with cadets within earshot. On purpose, I’m certain. Said “truth” spread like wildfire on steroids among the student body within minutes.

And that “truth”? It’s that the archangels are punishing Godric, assigning him as the private mentor of a cadet. The one they consider their most problematic yet. It’s considered the most severe dishonor without straight out demoting him from his position as Prefect Praesidium of the Praetorian Guard and the youngest General in the Army of Heaven.

This scenario has explained away our weird situation to everyone’s satisfaction. It allayed any questions about any special treatment I’m receiving, or suspicions about my importance to the archangels, or to Godric.

It’s an ingenious lie, if you ask me, playing on everyone’s biases and resentments. Where Godric is concerned, it comforts the Nephilim to think that even he isn’t immune from the whims of his superiors. While the professors and anyone else who works in this place are really smug thinking he’s being taken down a peg—or a thousand.

As for me, everyone is reassured I’m not being singled out for a privilege, but a penance, while enjoying the proof that I am what they all think I am. What the archangels consider the worst possible punishment for their supreme nephilim.

But Cara, that jealous bitch, is still unsatisfied with that explanation. She keeps asking and probing every chance she gets, hoping she’d squeeze a different answer out of me. Her fixation on him makes her the only one who smells the Godric-sized rat.

My stomach growls louder than I do as I head back to the doors. “I’ll go find something to eat.”

Sarah rushes after me. “No food is available anywhere. Azazel made sure no one can eat anything until after the Trials.”

I look down at her in horror. With my newly-acquired muscle mass and accelerated metabolism—and the effort it has taken me to pass Godric’s Phase One—the idea of not eating for hours makes me go weak in the knees.

“Anyone have anything to eat around here?” I hate to hear my pleading tone, but I’m too hungry to care.

I wince as Sarah does in apology, while the others give me baleful glances.

I should have known it’s a pointless question. We are not allowed to have food in our rooms. Any snacks smuggled in are to be treated with the gravity human academies treat the possession of hard drugs. And we are not allowed to ask why. It’s in the archangelic handbook of rules. Break them at the risk of the aforementioned blasphemy.

Risks notwithstanding, I was never tempted to break them. We are so well fed, I never get the munchies between meals. I even began to forget what hunger felt like.

Now all the years of deprivation come crashing down on me, and the terribly familiar feeling of my digestive tract feeding on itself twists in my guts.

But if anyone dares to flaunt the Academy’s rules, it would be Jinny. And this girl eats like a locust.

Hating to ask her, but desperate enough to, I turn to her. “You got nothing smuggled somewhere?”

Jinny gives me a vicious smile. “You think if I have something, and you’re actually starving at my feet, I’d give it to you?”

Sarah gasps, coming between us to scowl up at the demon. “Jinny! That’s just too mean!”

Jinny, looking embarrassed of all things, grimaces at Sarah. “I was only joking, Sar.”

Sarah’s disapproval only deepens. “It wasn’t funny, and you know it. Now, do you have something for Wen to eat or not?”

And wonder of wonders, Jinny’s lightest mocha complexion reddens as she mumbles like a kid being reprimanded by her teacher. “No, sorry.”

Sorry? Did Jinny just say sorry?

Granted, she said it to Sarah, not me. But still! This is weird beyond words.

It’s even weirder for Sarah to be my protector, when I’m so used to being hers. I probably wake up every morning in one piece because I’m her friend.

But her popularity’s shield can only go so far. Even that of Godric’s enforced investment in my one-piece-ness. I always feel I’m one word away from breaking a bone or losing an appendage.

Not that I worry about my roommates or anyone else I’ve annoyed anymore. Not with Godric’s predictions and the looming Trials in my center-stage concerns. And then Azazel manages to make even those pale into insignificance.

I now realize why he’s the head of the Pax Vis. He is a unifying force and a peace-keeping presence. A common threat is the best disciplinary measure after all. His “applied” classes continue to provide sneak peeks into how we might not survive the term’s tests. From the bone-chilling glee in his eyes during said classes, I have no doubt some of us won’t. And that he’s already decided who won’t make it. He might now be starving us so we’d be slow and jittery, and the Trials would thin the herd in advance.

Those damn Trials. They’ve been hanging over my head like another guillotine blade. We’ve been trying to find out what they really are, but no matter how much we asked or researched, we only got the impression they are some glorified placement test. Even Godric seems only worried about “exposure.” But I wouldn’t be surprised if they turn out to be eliminations.

They might be that for me, if I attend them this hungry.

“So is this some kind of enforced fast?” I groan as I fetch my uniform and boots. “A ritualistic part of the Trials?”

“They just don’t want to clean up human vomit,” Jinny snickers.

I turn on her, hunger making me extra snappy. “Since they’re not feeding you either, they must know your demon spew would eat through the Academy’s foundations.”

As Jinny stalks towards me, eyes promising a completion of her previous strangulation, Sarah turns urgently to me. “We were told to leave our rooms only in time to get to the Assembly Hall at Raziel Complex. It’s a twenty-minute walk, and we have thirty-five minutes left, so go shower already.”

I’m about to obey her until Jinny drawls, “Yeah, unless stinking so bad is your plan to get disqualified from the Trials.”

Wishing I could lob a spit like her, I settle for my most inflammatory grin. “You mean a Brimstone Born like you actually has a sense of smell? That must be torture.”

Sarah puts up a hand, stopping Jinny from resuming her threatening march, while the other pushes at me, a firm warning in her eyes. “Let’s keep all this energy for the Trials, okay?”

Knowing it’s stupid to test Jinny’s Sarah-induced tolerance, I can’t help making a taunting face at her above Sarah’s head.

Before I find my neck in her grip again, I bolt to our shared yet magical bathroom.

In under a minute, I’m standing beneath the scalding jets, still unable to credit how Sarah has changed. She’s taken to life in this incredible yet treacherous place like a fish to water, has been navigating its turbulent currents with zeal, dexterity and a twinkle in her eyes.

It’s as if she were born to it.

Maybe she was. Maybe it’s why Lorcan and the archangels feel something inside her that necessitates her being here.

But whatever it is, it can’t be as dangerous as what I have, or they would have had Godric on her case, too. At least, Lorcan.

Sarah’s urgent knock jerks me out of my musings, making me hurtle out of the shower. I attempt to towel-dry, but end up jumping into my uniform almost dripping wet, before running out of the bathroom—and into Jinny.

Jinny catches me with that effortless strength of hers, stopping me from hurtling to the ground. As she steadies me and before I can pull away, she drops a few words into my ear.

Then she turns to the others with a grin, and a fond gaze pinned on Sarah. “Promise you’ll be careful in the Trials, girls. I don’t want the hassle of getting used to replacement roommates. Now, off you go.”

As Sarah grabs my hand and drags me out of the room after her, I swing one last look over my shoulder at Jinny. Her eyes glow a menacing red, and her smile widens.

Her words—her threat—echo in my mind all the way to Raziel Complex.

She said, “Maybe I can’t kill you, Nothing, but my ‘corrosive spew’ can accidentally melt off a hand, or a leg—or a face. That would be a shame, now, wouldn’t it?”