Angelbound

Ugh, now I made her feel bad. “No worries.” I pat her shoulder with what I hope is a comforting grin. “I think it’s pretty cool.” Maybe. I yawn and scratch my neck. What a day and it’s not even noon yet. “Did I ever tell you about the time I fought the Mothma demon?”


Cissy rolls her eyes. “Only about four hundred times.” She steps back, scanning me from head to toe. “You look like Hell…In a bad way. Were you home sick all morning?”

“Nah, they sent me into the Arena.” I wink. “Took the guy down in less than a minute.” I get into battle stance. “Let me show you what happened.” I reach toward Cissy’s neck. “This guy came at me with a classic choker hold.”

My best friend raises her arms, palms forward. “Whoa, there!” She takes a giant step away. “Haven’t we talked about this?”

I stare at my toes and play dumb. “I don’t know. What do you mean?”

“I’m glad you enjoy killing things, but–”

“They’re not things. They’re super-evil souls.” Cissy’s not a fan of the Arena. Normally, that’s fine with me, but today? For some reason, it stings. Frowning, I stare at the floor. “We should get to class.”

Cissy tilts her head to one side. “Hey, honey. I didn’t mean to shut you down.” She points to her cheek. “But you did chip my tooth in fourth grade, remember? You just had to show me your screw driver.”

“Pile driver. It’s a wrestling move.”

“And that’s what I’m talking about.” She chucks my chin with her knuckle. “Why not join the rest of us in Teenager-land and talk about something other than the Arena?” Her tawny eyes twinkle as she smiles. “It would be good for you.”

Memories of this morning with my Mom flip through my mind’s eye: her trembling hands, red-rimmed eyes, and tear-stained robe. “I get that I’m different, Cissy.” My voice catches a bit. “I wish I knew why.”

My best friend lets out a long breath. “Did we have a close encounter of the Camilla-kind this morning?”

“Yup.” I frown.

“Well, then.” She sets her hand on my shoulder. “I know someone who gets to eat my brownie at lunch.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze; warmth fills my chest. Cissy knows just what to say to make everything right.

A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Really?” Cissy makes kick-ass brownies.

“Absolutely.”

Paulette Richards walks by, ruining the moment. “Hello there, lovelies!” She slowly waves her hand, careful to show off her glittering new watch.

Oh no.

“Hey, P.” I give her a limp wave in reply.

Brown-haired and cocoa-skinned, Paulette has a funky lizard tail and a talent for driving Cissy crazy. “Did you see my new watch?”

Cissy scans it with an expert glance. “Dad’s running a special on these this month.” She shrugs. “Who gave it to you?”

“Zeke! Can you believe it? He’s like the best boyfriend in the universe.” Her eyes twinkle with a red glow.

I fold my arms across my chest. “Really?” Everyone knows Zeke’s notorious for random hook-ups with gifts. Cissy’s even more notorious for being obsessed with Zeke. What a bitchy move from Paulette. My eyes narrow. “So, P. Have you met Zeke’s friends yet?”

Paulette’s lizard tail cracks behind her like a whip. “No, but I’m sure I will soon.” Turning on her heel, she almost skips down the hall.

I grit my teeth, knowing the shit-storm that’ll hit once Paulette’s out of earshot.

Cissy grabs my arm. “Zeke gave her that?” Her eyes flare red. “My. Zeke. Ryder.”

Here it comes. Every quasi has a bit of demon DNA aligned to one of the seven deadly sins: lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride. In my case, my deadly sin is wrath, which is why I’m such a good fighter. For Cissy, it’s envy, which is why she’s about to launch into an hour-long monologue on why Zeke should be giving her Rolexes, not Paulette. Over the years, I’ve learned to half-listen.

“…and if he hasn’t introduced her to his friends, then she’s just a fling.” Cissy sets her fists on her hips. “Plus, that boy gives pricey presents to anyone who shows him their tits.” Her gaze swings toward me, her eyes glowing red. “Myla, have you been listening to me?”

“Um, yeah.” I glance at my own watch. “Hells bells! We’ll have to catch up at lunch; class is about to start.” Unfortunately, this class might as well be on the other side of the planet. With a quick wave goodbye, I take off at a run for History.

I’m a sweaty mess when I reach the door. Inside, our teacher paces the room. She’s the hated MT-12, Miss Thing to her students. Like all ghouls, she’s tall and bony with chalky gray skin and a bald head. She’s always decked out in cherry red lipstick and matching high heels, which only make her look creepier in her long black robes. At least, she always wears her hood up.

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