No Angel Page 5

  “Krystal?” Faith clutched her magazine to her chest as if she thought I might try to tear it away. “No, she’ll be in Advanced Statistics.” Her expression of puzzlement deepened. “Why are you wearing a bright pink hat?”

  “I’m very secure in my masculinity. When are you seeing Krystal next?”

  “In Latin, this afternoon, I guess.” Faith was still distracted by my headgear. “Um, Raffi? Did you know that your hat is inside out?”

  “It’s, uh, got a flaw on the other side.” Said flaw was a large appliquéd picture of Twilight Sparkle from My Little Pony. I wasn’t that secure in my masculinity. “Look, when you see her, can you tell her I really need to talk to her? It’s urgent.”

  Faith bit her lip. “Raffi,” she said, turning to face me, her blue eyes wide and earnest. “Krystal means well, but she’s a bit . . . Well, she has some strange ideas about you. You aren’t taking her seriously, are you?”

  “Um.” I tugged my too-tight hat a little more firmly down over my halo. “No. Of course not. No way.”

  Faith gave me a relieved smile. “Good. I think it would be best if you left her alone.”

  “I think it would be better if you left him alone,” Suzanne said, coming up to our table. “Sit with us instead, Raffi.”

  “It’s Raf, actually,” I said coldly. “And no thanks. I’m fine here with Faith.”

  “Oh my God.” Suzanne glanced around with exaggerated caution. She couldn’t have been more obvious about wanting an audience if she’d waved a sign saying PLEASE EAVESDROP. “So the rumors are true?”

  My fingers twitched as I stopped myself from checking my hat again. “Rumors?” I said, attempting a casual tone. “What rumors?”

  “About the real reason you’re at this school,” Suzanne said. Half the class was listening in now. “I mean, it’s beyond weird that only one boy would get in. No way that could just be a coincidence. And everyone can see you’re not an ordinary guy.”

  I adjusted my hat again. “Um. I can explain.”

  Suzanne gave me a sweet, sympathetic smile that failed to reach her eyes. “It’s okay, Raffi.” She raised her voice a little. “No one blames you for being a male model hired by the Headmistress to date Faith.”

  My mouth hung open as whispers started to scurry around the room. Faith shot to her feet. “That’s not true!” she cried.

  “Oh, come on, Faith, it’s obvious,” Suzanne said scornfully. “The only reason a guy would be interested in a nut like you is if he was paid to be. Your mother’s so scared you’re going to end up like your crazy, dead dad, she’s handpicked a guy to try to make you forget your imaginary boyfriend.” She leaned in close. “Personally, I’d just sit back and wait until you offed yourself like he did. Be less trouble for everyone.”

  “For God’s sake, can’t you give it a rest for once, Suzanne?” snapped Something-Beginning-With-D, turning around from the row ahead. I was grateful to her, as I was still speechless. “Michaela’s not even here yet. Stop showing off.”

  Whatever retort Suzanne might have made was forestalled by the arrival of the teacher. At least, I assumed it was the teacher, because stick insects didn’t get that big. The gaunt figure glared at the class. “Sit.”

  I sank back to my seat along with everyone else. Faith had retreated to another table, whose occupants were pointedly ignoring her. Suzanne cast a speculative look at the now-empty chair next to me. I flipped her off from under the desk, and she turned away with a see-if-I-care toss of her head.

  “Ms. Vervaine. History of Art. You will learn it.” Apparently deciding that this was all the introduction necessary, Ms. Vervaine stalked to her desk, her long limbs moving in jerky stop-start arcs like a broken clockwork toy. “Today we will—what is that?”

  It took all my willpower not to cower away from the pointed fingernail stabbing straight at me. “Er, I’m Raf? Rafael Angelos? The new student?”

  “Not you.” Ms. Vervaine’s finger jabbed the air again. “That.”

  With a sinking feeling, I realized where she was pointing. “It’s a hat, Ms. Vervaine. I, uh, get cold. Please, may I leave it on?” I gave her my best piteous puppy eyes.

  Ms. Vervaine looked like she wanted to swat me across the nose with a rolled-up newspaper. “Remove it.” A class-wide snigger died a quick death as her glare swept the room. “Now.”

  There was nothing for it. Bracing myself for the worst, I pulled my hat off.

  “Good,” Ms. Vervaine said, turning away to fiddle with a remote control. I glanced around. A couple of girls were eyeing me, but with no more than the usual amount of interest.

  I angled the metal lid of my pencil case, trying to use it as an impromptu mirror. I couldn’t get a decent look at my reflection, thanks to the glare of sunlight streaming in through the window behind me.

  Sunlight. Now I really was being backlit. The light must be strong enough to drown out my own glow. If I was still glowing. With a furtive glance to make sure no one was paying too much attention, I dropped my pen, then used the pretext of retrieving it to duck under the desk. Rippling light illuminated dry, ancient bits of chewing gum, and I cracked my still-haloed head on the wood in my haste to get out of the shadows.

  Okay. I started to breathe a little easier. As long as the sun was behind me, no one would notice anything weird.

  “Video lesson,” Ms. Vervaine announced. She pressed a button on her remote control and all the overhead lights went out.

  And now I knew why this class was so popular. I never thought there would come a time when I was dismayed by the prospect of a video-based lesson—or as I liked to call them, nap breaks—but now I found myself longing for a nice pop quiz. Still, although the room was dimmer, she hadn’t turned off the sun. I was safe enough.

  “Part one of fourteen,” Ms. Vervaine continued as automated blinds clattered down over the windows. “No tests—pay attention, Mr. Angelos!”

  “Dropped my pencil case!” I squawked from flat under the desk.

  “What is that light?” To my horror, I heard footsteps start to walk toward me. “Are you—Miss Dante, can you ever be on time?”

  “No,” said Michaela’s unmistakable smoldering voice. “I have more important things to do.”

  I was expecting Michaela to get rusticated—whatever that was—from now until next term for that bit of cheek, but Ms. Vervaine only growled. “Sit,” she said curtly. “Silence.”

  The footsteps continued to get closer, and I found myself at eye level with a pair of ankle boots. I nearly got impaled by the stiletto heels as Michaela slid into the seat next to mine. My glow shone up her short skirt, granting me a perfect view of leather straps—wait, what?—curving across smooth thighs, leading up to oh, hell yes—

  My halo vanished, plunging me into darkness. And Ms. Vervaine gave me another detention for swearing.

  Chapter 7

  Are you sure you’re comfortable, Raffi?” Ms. Wormwood said as she put a fresh bucket of soapy water down next to me. She winked. “I know detention is still technically within school hours, but I’ll turn a blind eye if you want to relax the dress code a bit more.”

  “Really, I’m fine.” I swiped the back of my hand across my dripping forehead, then bent over the scrubbing brush again. Actually, cleaning spray-painted pentagram symbols off the final-year girls’ dormitory was bloody hot work, even in the cool autumn air. My shirt stuck to my back.

  Of course, that was mainly thanks to the previous bucket of water, which Ms. Wormwood had accidentally sloshed over me. At least, she said it had been an accident. Given that most of the girls from my year were surreptitiously watching me from the upper-floor windows, I strongly suspected bribery.

  Or rather, I hoped it was bribery.

  “Well, pet, if you get too hot, feel free to undo another button.” Ms. Wormwood’s gaze lingered on my throat. “Or two. Or four.”

  Oh, how I wished I hadn’t taken my jacket and tie off. Or that I’d been able to do the evening’s detention
with Ms. Vervaine, like I had the lunchtime one. The History of Art teacher, who obviously hadn’t wanted to supervise a detention any more than I wanted to be in one, had plonked me down in a comfy armchair in her overheated office and instructed me to pay close attention to a riveting documentary called Sheep Breeds of South East England. I’d been asleep in under five minutes. Ms. Vervaine was definitely my new favorite teacher.

  On the other hand, Ms. Wormwood was rapidly becoming my new least favorite teacher. I paused again, glaring at the stubborn pentagram as I caught my breath. “This isn’t really coming off, miss.”

  Ms. Wormwood peered over my shoulder. “Oh, that’s much better, pet,” she said, though I’d only gotten rid of a few lines. Still, at least the weird swirling optical illusion had been broken. “We mustn’t spend too long on a single bit of graffiti. We’ve got quite a list to get through.” She checked an item off on her clipboard. “The Headmistress wants you to tackle the library tower next. Come along.”

  I gathered up the cleaning supplies, making sure to casually lift the heavy bucket one-handed, and was rewarded by an appreciative murmur from the open windows above. Clenching my jaw, I just about managed to last until we were out of sight. “Ms. Wormwood?” I said, panting. “I kind of need some help.”

  “Of course, Raffi pet.” The teacher gave me a warm smile. “I thought something seemed to be on your mind. As your head of year, I’m here for you. You can ask me anything. Anything at all.”

  I’d actually meant that my arms were about to drop off, but now that she mentioned it . . . I paused to both readjust my load and try to figure out how to explain what was preoccupying me. Well, you see, last night this weird goth girl told me I’m an angel, and this morning I woke up with a halo. . . .

  “Raffi?” Ms. Wormwood touched my arm. “Something’s clearly bothering you.”

  No. Krystal had to be playing some sort of practical joke on me. “Not something,” I said instead. “Someone.” Krystal wasn’t the only girl acting strangely. “Miss, what does it mean when a girl seems to hate you but sits next to you in every class anyway?”

  Ms. Wormwood’s eyebrows rose. “Generally, it means she secretly likes you.” She started walking again. “But if we’re talking about Michaela Dante, I’d say it’s because she hates you.”

  “But I haven’t done anything to her!” My pickup attempt hadn’t been that bad. “I was only trying to be friendly.”

  “I know, pet.” Ms. Wormwood led the way in silence for a moment, as if needing time to pick her words. “Raffi, although the Headmistress says we must make allowances for Michaela’s . . . unfortunate history, the fact remains that she causes a great deal of trouble at this school. I know how attractive you find her, but she’s a very disturbed individual. It would be better if you avoided her, pet.”

  “Believe me, I plan to.” Having Michaela’s black eyes fixed longingly on my jugular vein wasn’t exactly helping me to concentrate in class. “I’m not really into the psychotic type.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, pet.” We were coming up to the library tower, its modern structure wildly out of place amidst the older stone buildings. Reflected in the mirrored glass, Ms. Wormwood gave me a long, considering look as she unlocked the door. “You know, you really are a very mature young man.”

  “Uh . . . thanks?” Was she sidling closer to me, or was that my imagination? Please let it be my imagination.

  Ms. Wormwood steered me through the door with an entirely unnecessary hand on my back. “I’m so glad we have this time to . . . get to know each other.” Her hand drifted downward, and I practically teleported two feet forward. “Properly.”

  “Right! Absolutely!” I brandished my scrubbing brush at Ms. Wormwood, along with a slightly panicked grin. “So where are those pentagrams again?”

  Ms. Wormwood waved dismissively at a spiraling staircase. “Oh, on the roof. But you don’t want to tire yourself out going up all those steps, pet. Why don’t we leave those silly things and find something more productive to do down here?” Her teeth gleamed. “I won’t tell the Headmistress if you don’t.”

  “No need!” I yelped, already halfway to the next level. I accelerated, taking the stairs three at a time. “I’m really keen to scrub some pentagrams!”

  I reached the top of the staircase out of breath but unmolested. A door led out onto the flat roof and, miracle of miracles, there was a key in the lock. Not waiting to see how closely Ms. Wormwood was following, I snatched the key on my way through, slamming the door shut and locking it behind me as fast as I could.

  With a gasp, someone leaped up from her kneeling position at the center of the tower top. Moonlight silvered her streaming hair as she whirled to face me.

  “Faith?” I said, still panting.

  “Raffi!” Faith clutched at her chest as if my abrupt arrival had given her heart failure. “What are you doing here?”

  “At the moment, hiding to avoid a fate worse than death.” I took a step toward her. “What are you doing up here?”

  Then I noticed the chalk in her hand and the swooping lines that curled around her feet.

  “It’s you!” Faith cringed back from my pointing finger. “You’re the one drawing those pentagrams everywhere!”

  “That’s not me!” Faith looked as if I’d accused her of sacrificing first-years under the full moon. “My holy circles are nothing like those evil things!”

  I stared at her half-finished pentagram. I had to admit, it didn’t look like the others. For a start, it looked like it had been drawn left-handed by a five-year-old on a sugar high. But even leaving the wobbly lines aside, this was a different design from the ones I’d been scrubbing off walls all evening. Sure, it was basically a pentagram, but this had flowing symbols written all around the edge of the circle instead of angular glyphs in the middle of the five-pointed star.

  But it still seemed familiar. I’d seen it before. Not as chalked lines, but engraved on metal . . . I groaned as it hit me. “Faith, please tell me that’s not one of Krystal’s idiotic angel-summoning things.”

  “No.” Faith hung her head, her voice dropping to a bare whisper. “It’s one of mine.”

  I remembered the jeers about being crazy that Suzanne had thrown at Faith in History of Art class, and I silently cursed Krystal. It was one thing to try her special-effects scam on me, but pulling it on Faith—sweet, gentle, possibly brain-damaged Faith—just in order to get one friend was reaching new lows of desperation. “You seriously believe Krystal’s crap? Whatever she’s shown you to convince you her angel-summoning stuff works, it isn’t real. If you think some guy with wings is magically going to appear to sort out all your problems, you really are nuts.”

  Faith turned away, leaning her elbows on the low iron railing running around the edge of the tower. She rested her forehead on her folded hands as if praying for strength. “I know.”

  I wasn’t sure if it was the soft, hopeless misery in Faith’s voice, or the way her pose inadvertently showed off the riveting curve of her backside, but I couldn’t help myself. “Look,” I said, coming forward to lean on the railing next to her. “I’ve seen how bad things are for you here.” Oh, I should so not be getting involved with this walking social disaster, no matter how pretty she was. What was wrong with me when it came to this girl? “But this isn’t going to help. You’re making yourself a target, being friends with a weirdo like Krystal and letting the other girls walk all over you. Ditch this bullshit. Just try acting normal.”

  Faith turned her head to look directly at me. “But I can’t, Raffi,” she said with an odd gentleness. “Because I’m not normal. There’s a great evil under this school, and I’m the only one who can stop it. I have to keep trying. I have to keep fighting the darkness, no matter how strange it makes me seem. For the sake of my mother. For the sake of everyone.” She looked down at our hands, side by side on the guardrail, and drew hers back from mine slightly. “But I don’t expect you to believe me.”

  Well . . .
if she was crazy, it looked a hell of a lot better on her than it did on Krystal.

  On impulse, I laid my hand over hers—and caught my breath, everything I’d been intending to say knocked out of my head by the heat of her skin. Faith’s head snapped up, her startled eyes fixing on mine. For an instant that stretched like an eternity, we just stared speechless at each other.

  Then a thick, black tentacle burst out of thin air between us, and hurled Faith over the edge of the roof.

  Adrenaline turned everything as sharp and clear as glass. On pure instinct, I flung myself after Faith. My entire world shrunk to her terrified face, her golden hair streaming behind her like the tail of a falling star.

  I caught her. The impact knocked all the breath out of me, but I gripped her tight to my chest even as I wheezed. Her arms locked around my neck.

  For a moment, Faith clung to me, her breath coming in hitched gasps. I could feel her shaking as if plugged into an electric current. She lifted her head to look into my face, her own barely a handsbreadth away. “Rafael,” she whispered. Golden stars shone in the depths of her wondering blue eyes.

  “Gck,” I said. Black spots danced in my vision.

  Faith blinked, then appeared to notice that she was throttling me. “Oh!” She unwound her arms from around my neck. “I’m sorrAAAIIEEE!”

  The word turned into a scream as Faith plummeted yet again. In blind panic, I dove, flipping completely upside down and just managing to grab her flailing hand. My shoulder screamed in protest as Faith seized my wrist with her other hand, dangling from my arm.

  Hang on.

  What was I dangling from?

  I stared past Faith’s feet to the distant ground. It was definitely the ground. It was also definitely distant. The tower rose at our side, so close I could have reached past Faith and put my hand flat on the glass. Heart pounding, I looked at my reflection.