“Interesting point, Bryce.” Their professor nodded. “Satan’s story does propel the narrative.”
Bryce gave his adversary a smug grin, but it only inveighed a passionate response from Paul. “But that’s exactly why the story blows—the devil recast as romantic hero. I can’t stomach that Satan’s desire to be godlike is sympathetic. We shouldn’t root for evil,” he argued. “The whole idea of idealizing jealousy and ambition is just like how Wall Street became a huge advertisement for getting rich off the stock market rather than the scathing polemic Oliver Stone had intended. Instead of the audience hating Michael Douglas, they wanted to be him. Greed is good, and they loved it. It’s the same here. The devil is us, and we’re supposed to relate to the scale of his ambition? What was wrong with staying in Paradise? Was playing a lyre and flying around in the clouds really so bad? I don’t think so.” Paul smiled.
The class tittered, and Paul seemed to win the debate, but Bryce had no intention of conceding the point. “Tragic hero is right. This country was founded on the same idea that the story is based on—that it’s better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven. Better to be independent, and the master of your own universe, than a slave,” Bryce said triumphantly.
Paul scoffed. “I don’t think the Founding Fathers had Paradise Lost in mind when they drafted the Constitution.”
“How do you know?” Bryce asked. “You weren’t there.”
For a moment, Deming wondered if Bryce would reveal his immortal status and bare his fangs to scare the poor human to death. Of course Bryce was just being deliberately argumentative, and in any event, he had a poor grasp of American history (Deming would bet he had not been in cycle during the time). Most likely, it irked him that Paul had unknowingly stumbled upon the truth. John Milton, one of the members of the original Conspiracy, had written the poem to warn humanity of the devil’s temptations, and instead, the Red Bloods had taken to it as a tragic story of unfulfilled promise. She suspected Bryce was annoyed that Paul, a lowly human with a sharp mind and the ability to sway opinions, had gained popularity in the class.
Still, it was blasphemy for any Blue Blood to talk in such a manner about the Morningstar. Lucifer a hero? Merely misunderstood? Of course she had heard New York was a very liberal Coven, but still. She had been concentrating her efforts on cracking Piper, but maybe there wasn’t anything in that pretty head of hers but the usual teenage angst and drama. Deming had not yet been ready to give up on her, but with those words, Bryce Cutting just jumped to the front of the line.
TWENTYNINE
New Rules
Later that afternoon, Deming counted a dozen kids from Bryce’s crowd crammed into two pushed-together tables in the back of the local pizza parlor. This being the Upper East Side, the place looked more like an art gallery than a casual neighborhood hangout, with a grand domed glass ceiling above the dining room, overlooking a sweeping view of the park.
Right in the middle of the festive group was Mimi Force, but as the Regent had warned, she gave Deming no indication that she recognized her, and didn’t even glance in her direction. Deming found a place between Croker “Kiki” Balsan and Bozeman “Booze” Langdon (did they all have such silly names?) and directed her attention at the conversation.
Daisy Foster, a fellow senior, was talking about Victoria’s abrupt departure. “Ugh, Vix is so lucky. The European Coven lets them do anything. Have you seen the latest rules from the Committee? Now we have to register prospective familiars for blood tests and psychology profiles before they ‘allow’ us to have them. It’s crazy!” she said, picking up a slice of pizza and taking a tiny bite. “Who has the time?”
“It’s for our own good,” Mimi said, shaking her empty Diet Coke can. “Only a certain kind of Red Blood makes a good familiar. There are a lot of risks, and diseases can be inconvenient and costly. The Wardens really should have done this before.”
Daisy scoffed. “Until you got all fancy-schmancy on us, you were the worst offender, Mimi. I mean, how many familiars have you had? None of them are registered, I’ll bet.”
“Yeah, why don’t you tell us about what really goes on in the Conclave? I mean, is Vix really in Switzerland?” Willow Frost cackled.
Mimi responded mildly. “I got an e-mail from her the other day. She’s spending spring break in Gstaad. We can meet her there if we want.”