What’s Up?

I ’d like to say I can’t believe Jasper would allow that little prick to fucking slice me, but I’d be lying. Jasper Eversore enjoys torturing people, especially me. And all that pretty talk X, Oriel, and Salem have been filling my head with about how I’ll be ‘one of them’ once I do this stupid ritual thing is bullshit. I’ll never be one of them and their Prince is determined to make sure I get that.

Mission accomplished, asswipe.

Luckily, I have the next period free, so I can follow this stupid map in the school app until I find the goddamned infirmary. I’m going to need stitches and I’m in no mood to have a bunch of demon assholes sniffing me when I go to my forced Dueling activity in the next hour. Grumbling under my breath, I stomp across campus toward the Admin building I haven’t visited since Dank dropped me off. Maybe I’ll see the guy when I do—he was the first person to be kind to me without some twisted agenda and I could use an ally who isn’t my non-verbal kinkajou.

“Not that you’re lacking, girl,” I whisper to Dottie as my non-injured hand brushes over her head. “It’s just that you don’t speak, and I need someone to curse those fuckers out with me. Or at least agree that they’re a bunch of crusty dildos who deserve to get scabies.”

Dottie chitters angrily, and I grin. Perhaps speaking is overrated.

I glance at the map again, noting the infirmary is in the damn basement. Not a fan of underground levels in places I’m not familiar with, but my whisper of claustrophobia will have to take a backseat to pain relief. It doesn’t look like I’m hurting outwardly—a lesson from my past—but I need to numb this bitch before I pass out. That blade was much sharper than it should have been and I’m going to blast Roquefort into the next ring of Hell when I get the chance.

I fucking hate bullies, especially ones like him.

Being a foster kid and a nerd and the new kid so often, I learned a lot about the shitty humans who decide to lord their perceived fame and influence over others. Most of the time, their meanness comes from their own insecurities—mommy or daddy issues—and they punish others because they have to make themselves feel good. All the classes they give at schools get that part right. However, there’s also a vein of cruelty that’s not about their crappy self-esteem in a lot of them. Call it borderline personality disorder or psychopathy or even sociopathy—some people are just born assholes and never evolve past that behavior.

If you happen upon a person who is a combo of both? You gotta run, and run as far as possible, or they’ll never leave you alone.

There was a chick like that at high school number three, and I didn’t see it until it was too late. She spun a great spell about being one of the good guys and inviting everyone to her table that the bullies cast out. That lasted for about two months before she showed her true colors, and by then, I was trapped. I had to endure her daily verbal abuse and shitty takes on everyone else in the school until one day I lost it. I told her off in private and cut that bitch out of my life like a tumor. It was the most healthy way to deal with her, even my therapist said so, because I had too many issues as it was.

Unfortunately, she was infuriated that I refused to be her punching bag. She spent the rest of my time there working to get me expelled and publicly humiliating me. It affected me so badly that I almost had a mental break and was off to a new foster family in a new town for the next year. That last year with the Jamesons, I remembered the lesson of never letting someone get close to you well. I kept to myself and didn’t make waves unless directly confronted by the asshole twins’ cronies.

No one will stand up for you if they’re afraid the bully will turn that ire on them, so you’re on your own—might as well act like it.

“Which is why you have to quit acting like the few decent guys in this group are ever going to help you, Kit,” I mutter to myself. “They’ll never turn on their boy, and you’ll always be walking somewhere while wounded and alone.”

“I don’t think that’s accurate.”

Whirling around, I clutch the bleeding arm as I look for the deep voice behind me. I was so consumed with reviewing my past mistakes and applying them to here that I let my guard down. It was only for a minute or two and now I might be in big trouble. Cursing mentally as I see the hulking shark shifter, I scowl as he comes closer. “Fuck off, Slash. I’m not in the mood for bullshit.”

He arches a brow, crossing his bulging biceps over his chest with a smug look. “Clearly. However, you’re going the wrong way.”

I blink, then my eyes skitter to the phone in my hand. The damn infirmary is marked on the map with a caduceus, so I’m not crazy. “I am not. So go away.”

Rolling his eyes as if I’m the most trying being in Hell, he sighs. “Your app is wrong. Don’t ask me how; that’s not my thing. But the infirmary is not where we go.”

What the fuck does that mean?

My expression must amuse him because he lets out a rusty bark. “Our caliphate doesn’t go to that dirty, ill-trained staff of washouts. You need to go to the top floor and see Dr. Danckwardt. He’s the physician used by the elite families.”

“How would I know about some super secret doctor you rich dicks keep on retainer?” I glare at Slash, suddenly feeling both grateful and pissed that no one mentioned this shit. My app was supposedly set for being on their floor, which I assumed meant whatever I needed was in it. What other bullshit are they hiding from me? “And why are you here? Didn’t you have some other class this morning?”

His toothy grin only makes me madder, and I spin on my heel, stalking up the steps to the Admin building with my head held high. I can’t stand around and argue with this shithead. My arm is killing me. I only have an hour before I have to go get my ass kicked in Dueling, and I’m going to rage out if I don’t get away from all the testosterone floating around this stupid school.

Too bad it’s all male and I’m fucking trapped in a sea of the shit.

When I finally locate the office belonging to this private doctor, I’m even more irritated and getting drained. I don’t think I’ve lost enough blood to be dangerous, but definitely enough to get lightheaded. I raise my hand to knock on the door and almost fall over when it opens to reveal the very person I’d been thinking about earlier.

What the fuck is Dank doing in Dr. What’s-his-fuck’s office?

The mysterious chauffeur tilts his head, gesturing for me to come inside and I hesitate for a split second. He just looks at me, and I sigh heavily. I don’t have the energy to fight about this. Grunting as I trudge in to flop into the first chair I see, I wait until he closes the door and comes to face me. To my utter shock, Dank reaches up and pulls the plague doctor mask off, revealing a face burning with embers stretched over a skeletal avian visage.

“I cannot go to Earth in my true form,” he says. I assume that’s my explanation for the creepy appearance, so I nod slowly. “However, an old friend designed this mask to withstand my powers so I can make the trip when it is necessary.”

Frowning, I cross my arms over my chest, then wince when I hit the wound. “Why did they send a fucking doctor after me?”

“I do not know, though if I were to guess, it would be because I could sedate you for the trip. My training includes hybrids, so I am familiar with the needed drugs and correct dosages. Anyone else might have harmed you unintentionally.”

I hate when I’m geared up to be angry and someone talks sense—it’s very unsatisfying.

“I agreed to come here. Why would I have resisted once you arrived?”

He shrugs and walks over, taking my arm with a gloved hand to study it gently. “Those raised by humans are unpredictable in the best of times. Stressful times such as leaving your home can cause wild reactions. But you didn’t come here to question me about that; you’ve been harmed.”

I blink, remembering why I came, then growl softly. “No, I was attacked, but that doesn’t matter a hell of a lot in this place.”

The gentle smile is weird coming from the burning skull of some hellbird, but it’s still comforting. Dank turns to walk over to a cabinet marked ‘human,’ and busies himself with gathering supplies. Once he has what he needs, he comes back to me, gesturing at the exam table. “Please be seated, and I’ll stitch you up. I am concerned with your pallor. I don’t know if it’s a sign that you may be gravely injured, but I recognize we must act.”

It takes a lot of effort not to be snarky since I’m so damn angry. But Dank is trying to help, and no matter what Jasper did, it’s not this demon’s fault. “Okay. Don’t worry about being gentle, though. I can take it; just get it done so I don’t miss class.”

Dank frowns as he cuts the sleeve of my ruined shirt, pulling the bloody garment away to clean the wound. The damn stuff he puts on stings like a motherfucker, so I assume it’s close to alcohol. Once he’s satisfied with his work, the demon threads a sparkling line through a needle and looks at me sympathetically. “This will hurt a lot, but if you can get through it, I will give you a special blend to take once you get dismissed from lessons.”

“How did you know I won’t take it until after class?” I watch him yank the knot with his teeth, fascinated with the fact that his thread shit doesn’t catch on fire by his face.

“Your spirit is strong and you are stubborn, Kit Camponella. That much is obvious, even to an old demon such as myself.” The first puncture makes me gasp, but I get it under control before he puls his thread through to the end. “I am pleased you ended up with those who could give you access to my services. You would not have enjoyed the treatment in the infirmary.”

There’s something worse than being stitched up sans anesthesia with magic floss?

“I’m grateful you can help, but trust me, the demons I ended up with are not good people.”

His laugh is rusty and full of rasping smoke. “No one here is a person at all, much less good. This is Hell and all its inhabitants behave as you’d expect. You may need to adjust your perception of the boys and staff at Discordia with that lens.”

Sucking in a breath, I blow it out of my nose and think about that as I grit my teeth against the pain. For demons who live in Hell, Oriel, X, Salem, and even Anton have been decent. I can’t imagine they often coddle anyone like they have me, and they don’t even know I’m a damn girl. Plus, some of them are even standing up to their Prince when they can. They wouldn’t classify as good ‘people,’ no, but they’re probably on the high end for demons.

Shit.

“Maybe I am being harsh with some of my floor mates,” I admit begrudgingly. “The others are assholes, though.”

“Is one of the better gentlemen the person who sent you to me?” Dank asks as he continues stitching in slow, even movements.

“No,” I groan. “The guy who sent me here is a giant asskissing dickwad. He always lets the worst of them act like a shithead and never once steps in.”

“Mmm, I see. So your bully sent him to make sure you didn’t suffer at the infirmary? That seems odd for such an evil dictator.” The fiery demon chuckles, then coughs dusty embers again. “But what do I know about being the Prince of Hell?”

That crafty old fire chicken… he knows exactly who my roomies are!

Looking up, I squint at Dank with curiosity. “You’re only here for the royals, right? That’s how you know who I’m talking about. Someone in Prince Fucknut’s group had to give me your info, or I wouldn’t have ever known.”

His smile is terrifying, but I don’t care. Dank is the only staff member here who isn’t actively treating me like garbage. “Yes, I serve the palace. I still do not know why the Headmaster sent me, as it was not an edict from my masters, but I didn’t complain as I get to see the colors of your world so infrequently.”

“Well, I’ll go to the surface with you sometime; I promise. I don’t give a rat’s ass if anyone up there or down here like it.” Dank closes the last bit and I tilt my head as I look at his work. He stitched an oddly beautiful lattice pattern that will scar, but in the prettiest way I’ve ever seen. “Wow. This is like… a medical work of art.”

Again with the creepy grin, but I’m happy to see it. I doubt he gets a lot of appreciation for his talent from the caliphate idiots. “Thank you, Mr. Kit. I will fetch the pouch of tea for you to use later so you can sleep. Mind that it will have very unusual effects on you. Make sure you’re not totally alone, and I don’t mean the furry friend in your bag.”

Dottie sticks her head out, chittering at the demon before ducking back in.

“Okay. Watch the magic tea because I’ll be really wacky. Got it.”

He shuffles over to procure a velvet pouch from another cabinet, then comes back to hand it to me. “Also, try not to come back to see me unless it is social. I dislike seeing someone as kind as you injured. Perhaps you might reconsider your opinion of the person who led you to me rather than the butchers in the basement.”

Ah, fuck. Now I’ve got to decide if Slash is really a bad guy or just shitty at standing up for himself.