“That’s cool.” And I mean it. Being an only child, I’m used to my own, well, everything. Personal cabins will suit me fine.
We follow the trail to the Angelfire Learning Bunkers. Soon the meandering path opens up onto a small quad made of four long buildings. One stands along each side of a grassy square. The architecture is Davy Crockett meets the Pentagon. It’s like a log cabin and a cement bunker got busy. The Learning Bunkers are cement blocks—no windows, mind you—with log roofs that slant down on an angle. Something about it makes my hair stand on end. It’s like the place is supposed to be all woodsy. In reality, it’s more like an armed camp.
But are they keeping someone out or in?
We walk into the first Learning Bunker. The interior takes me right back to Purgatory High. The place is all cinderblock walls, linoleum floors, and combo desk-chairs. These folks put a lot of money into the cabins where people sleep—I saw those on the way over—but when it comes to the classrooms? This is way cheap. I know since I went to a school like this, and nobody is more chiseler-like than the ghouls.
Prescott moves to the front of the classroom and pauses before the green chalkboard. “Girls, take your seats.”
The other students grab chairs at the front of the class. I debate for a minute about where to park my butt. Back at Purgatory High, I always sat in the back row. This could be an opportunity for me to turn over a new leaf. Be a front-row student and listen with rapt attention to…
Country Club Ken.
I scratch my cheek. Can’t do it. At least, not yet anyway. Maybe if I sit in on a lecture or two and he isn’t a douchebag, I’ll change my mind.
Prescott claps again, three times. I feel like I’m in doggie training, and it’s not a nice feeling. I grab a seat in the back row.
“As the welcoming committee, you girls represent the finest of the incoming senior class of the Wheeler Institute. Therefore, you’re in for a real treat today. I’m going to give you a lecture from the depths of my studies in Archangology.”
The other students all lean forward, their eyes wide with anticipation. I must admit, I’m pretty interested as well. What I don’t know about my father is a lot. Anything I can learn on archangels is good news to me.
“The angel we’ll focus on today is the General. Now, who knows which archangel is the General?”
That would be my father.
Prescott points at a girl with red hair and a ticked-off look on her face. I instantly like her. “What about you, Harper?”
“That’s the archangel Xavier,” says Harper.
Prescott grins. “Quite right. The archangel Xavier is indeed a fine warrior, but he’s also a virile man who’s had more than thirty-seven human wives.”
“What?” The word comes out of my mouth before I can stop myself.
Okay, I could totally have stopped myself, only I didn’t want to.
“Missy, you’ll answer questions when asked.”
“It’s Mysteria, and the archangel Xavier has not been married thirty-seven times.”
Prescott’s blue eyes narrow to angry slits. “We spoke about being obedient before, Missy. You’ll answer questions when asked and not before.”
I grab the bottom of my seat so I don’t do something else with my hands. Like chuck the entire desk at Prescott’s head.
Remember the codex.
Prescott glares in my direction. “This school is dedicated to the General, and I don’t mean to take anything away from him. That said, part of what we’re here for is to become independent thinkers. That’s why I’ll tell you what to believe about the archangel Xavier.”
I dig my hands so hard into the plastic seat I’m surprised I don’t snap it in two. “Fine.”
“The General does have a number of families.”
Not fine.
“Nope, you’re thinking about Aquila.”
“What?” Prescott’s face turns pink.
“The archangel Aquila. She’s been married to a thrax and a ghoul, at least that I know of. She’s the one with multiple bloodlines. My fa—” I clear my throat. “The archangel Xavier has only been married once.” And then, very recently. Not that I’m volunteering that part.
“Missy.” Prescott’s voice quavers with rage. “Interrupt me one more time, and I’ll send you to your cabin for the rest of the day.”
“Got it.”
Note to self: get sent to your cabin ASAP because this lecture? Sucks hard.
“Another thing to note about the General is that he’s a bloodthirsty warrior, not a diplomat.”
Anger zings through my nervous system. Even if I hadn’t just vowed to get myself sent to the equivalent of a time-out chair, there was no way I’d let that comment slide.
I hop to my feet. “My father is the greatest diplomat Purgatory has ever seen. In fact, it’s how he met my mother in the first place. She was a Senator in Purgatory’s legislature and—”
And I look like an idiot.
“Mysteria!”