“This.” A bit of the demon’s cheek peels off into a butterfly-like creature with a blood-red body and thick black wings. The creature’s tiny face has bright red eyes, a turned-up nose and an itty-bitty mouth lined with gleaming black teeth. Its dark wings pump furiously, causing its gangly arms and legs to sway in mid-air.
I let out a breath. Now I know exactly what monster this is: a Papilio demon. It’s nasty, but nowhere near as awful as Armageddon.
The demon’s body peels off into more evil butterflies. In no time, little flying demons flutter through the air in one great dark cloud. The humanoid demon’s bulk shrinks into a misshapen lump, and then disappears. In its place, a swarm of Papilio zoom about the classroom, upending chairs and startling students. Some of the little nasties get their arms tangled in my hair. Gross.
A bunch of kids start to scream; their sad cries set off my wrath reflex in a huge way. My eyes burn with rage as I start planning attack vectors and the best ways to skewer Papilio with my tail. It’s bad enough we have to sit in this school and listen to ghoul lies all day long. Demon attacks are off the curriculum.
The Papilio whiz about, pulling stuff out of backpacks, pockets, and purses. They shred books, crush coins into lumps of metal, and pull out hair by the handful. I rise to my feet, my hands balling with rage.
The swarm whips about me, then flips their focus, heading toward the Old Timer’s desk. He stands in front of it, his back against the desktop, his arms stretched forward.
My tail relaxes. The Old Timer gets a turn. Nice.
“Per Article 7 of the Spectral Treaty, inspections are limited to quasis only. This is a ghoul teacher’s desk.”
The Papilio encircle the Old Timer’s desk, tearing through his stuff with a vengeance. The floor quickly becomes littered with pens, papers, and shredded books.
The Old Timer sets his fists on his bony hips. “These are my personal items! I’m a ghoul! I have rights!”
The little demons titter with a hundred whispery voices. A group of them grab one end of the Old Timer’s moustache and pull, hard. It breaks loose with a rrrrip.
The Old Timer’s gray hand pats his upper lip. “How dare you!”
The demons chuckle even louder, then swarm out the room and down the hall. The Old Timer follows after them, shaking his bony fist shoulder-high.
I slip back into my chair, a satisfied grin rounding my mouth. All our failed test papers and bad report cards lie in shreds on the classroom floor. That’s good, but it’s even better to watch a ghoul find out what demons are really like.
Like I’ve said all along, they’re anything but our noble allies.
Chapter Twelve
I march across the greenish-yellow lawn at school. Setting my thumb into my mouth, I bite down on my nail and wince. Yowch. I’ve chewed every fingernail to a nub. The stupid thrax tournament is coming up this weekend. It’s been one week, four days, and six hours since I last spoke to Cissy.
I’m starting to crack.
I glance at my watch. I’m due at the muddy field behind school in two minutes. I step around the back of the building and scan for my class. My eye twitches as I spot a group of kids standing in the center of the sloppy green.
Jogging up to my gym class, I jam my hands into my hoodie pockets. I don’t say hello to anyone and no one greets me, either. You’d think after almost two weeks, I’d start to make new friends. Sure, I tried talking to other kids, but we form groups by our deadly-sin powers, and wrath’s pretty rare. And Furor-wrath, like me? Rare to the level of freaky.
I tried chatting up the few wrath-quasis at school, but they just wanted to kick my butt. It’s a wrath-thing; you like to see how you rank in the hierarchy. Unfortunately, that would’ve ended with them in the hospital, not a new best friend for yours truly. Zeke’s lust-bunny buddies always ask me to join their lunch table, but Cissy’s there too. And every time we make eye contact, her envy demon roars to life. It’s just weird. All in all, I’ve spent a lot of quality time eating Demon bars in a corner.
The Old Timer and Tank step into the center of the group. Tank blows a long tweet from his whistle. Everyone falls silent.
Our gym teacher sets his monstrous hands on his hips. With his skyscraper build, bald head, and solid chin, he’s a tower in his black robes. Beside him, the Old Timer looks like a gray stick in a blanket with half a moustache.
“We’ve big news for you today,” says Tank. “OT-42 wanted to combine our classes for this special announcement because…” He looks down at the Old Timer. “Why are we doing this again?”
The Old Timer pats the raw skin above his lip. “Security.” He scans the field nervously. “You never know who’ll stop by.”