The scraps of paper form into little men with eraser-eyes. The broken pencils splinter into skirts for tiny ladies with wooden bodies and paper clip heads. They prowl the display floor, pounding on the glass, and swearing up a storm.
“Every demon has a name and classification. Who knows what these are?”
I raise my hand and answer before she calls on me. “They’re Reperio Minusculus, classification Possideo.”
The Lady adjusts the glasses on her nose. “Yes, they are Reperio Minusculus.” She steps over to her desk. “But I’m fairly certain they’re classification Insultus.” She opens up a thick leather-bound book from her desktop and flips through the pages. “No, you’re right. They’re Possideo. How about that?”
I roll my eyes. Unbelievable. Even ghoul biology teachers don’t know demon basics. Everyone acts like they’ll disappear if we ignore them.
Behind the glass, the little demons make lewd body gestures at our teacher. The Lady glances between them and me. “You fight evil souls in the Arena, don’t you?”
“Yup. Demons too after I’m done with the souls.” I point to the glass case. “Want to know the easiest way to kill Reperio?”
A soft gasp echoes around the room. The Lady’s eyes open wide. “No, no, no. We all love our demon allies.” She quickly steps back to the display case. “Let’s talk about something else, class. Ah, I know. I’ll explain how to feed, clothe, and entertain our little friends.”
Cissy whispers to me from across the aisle. “Look Myla, I know you used to keep notebooks on how to kill demons, but–”
“Oh, I still take tons of notes. And Walker sneaks me into Arena matches pretty regularly. I’ve seen other fighters go after Reperio and the easiest way to kill them is–”
“Myla Lewis!” The Lady stares at me, her large black eyes look ready to burst from her head. I scan the room. The other students look at me like I just announced my frozen head collection. “For the last time. Stop sharing kill strategies for our demon allies.”
My eyes glow with rage. Demon allies, my ass.
Cissy shoots me a desperate stare. “After school, Myla. The library? Remember?”
The library, right. If the Lady sends me to Principal’s office, I’ll be suspended for sure. Knowing my mother, that’ll mean no library trips for months. I need answers more than I need to make a point about demons. I bite my lips together, hard. “I understand, LDY-99.”
“Thank you.” The Lady spends the next hour explaining how Reperio demons like to eat Cheetos, dress in rotten food, and be entertained with any kid of fart noise.
Unholy moley, what a waste of time.
***
“Greetings, Myla. You’re called to serve.”
My eyes pop open. It’s early morning and Walker stands at the foot of my bed. Please let me not be dreaming. I’ve been dying for an Arena match for weeks, ever since I downed that Deacon guy. I cross my fingers under the comforter. “Am I dreaming?”
Walker folds his arms across his chest. “No, it’s really me.”
“An Arena match. Yes!” I jump out of bed and smile my face off.
Walker rubs his sideburns with one hand. “We must depart shortly.”
“I’ll be ready super-fast.” I hunt through my dresser for the least raggedy sweatpants. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Walker still lurking by my bed. I arch my eyebrow. “This is the part where you leave my room.”
Walker fidgets in his long robes. “Of course. I’m sorry, Myla.”
“No problem.” I gesture to door. “Since I’m going to the Arena, I bet Mom’s already worrying herself to death in the kitchen. You can keep her company.”
Walker patters out of my room, closing the door behind him.
I get ready in record time and sprint to the kitchen. Mom sits at the table, lazily paging through a travel magazine.
“Good morning, Myla sweetie.” Her face stretches into a warm smile. “I understand you’re going to the Arena today.”
Well, that’s a little fishy. Normally, Mom’s a heartbeat away from a coronary by this point.
“Yup, I’m off to battle the bad people.” I karate-kick the air and hear my sweatpants rrrrrrip. “Okay, maybe not in these pants.” I roll my eyes. “What am I thinking? I should wear my fighting suit.” I jog back to my room and change.
Mom calls to me from the kitchen. “Set those sweats onto the couch before you go. I’ll patch them this morning.” She sounds downright chipper.
Hmm. That’s a lot fishy. Time to ask some questions.
I return to the kitchen and make myself a hearty sugar cereal breakfast. “So, who am I fighting today?”
Walker frowns. “You’re not fighting anyone. The angels requested you be present for a ceremony.”
My morning instantly deflates. “A ceremony?” I grimace. “There’s no chance of fighting, none at all?”
“Knowing you, always.” Walker sips his coffee. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and really piss off Sharkie.”