“It’s just Febreze!” Nell wasn’t even gasping for breath as she caught up to us. “I’m just trying to help you, but if you’d prefer to smell like rotten eggs—”
I skidded to a stop on the uneven sidewalk. Rotten eggs. Like the night of the test? I lifted my shirt, and noticed that there was a kind of gross smell cutting through even the flower-power stench.
“That was…me?” I whispered, horrified. Nell took me standing there as permission to spray me down again.
“It’s bad,” she said. “You probably can’t even smell it because you’re so used to it.”
“But what is it?” I asked. I knew I didn’t smell like sugarplums and Christmas after running around and sweating, but it wasn’t even hot outside.
“Fiends are warm-blooded—way warm-blooded. Their body temperatures are much higher than a human’s. That smell, the sulfur, that’s their version of sweat. So when you get overheated you sweat like normal, but…”
“So does he,” I finished. “Awesome.”
I smell of conquered kingdoms and doom and despair, Alastor cut in, proudly. Unlike you paunchy, knotty-pated maggot pies.
“So basically I’m going to smell like a stink bomb until we get him out, or he worms his way out?”
“Well, if that second thing happens, at least you’ll have bigger things to worry about,” Nell offered in a weak voice.
I followed her up the path to the library, where my study hall was being held. “Maybe I could just get out of PE—”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” she said, holding the door open. “Remember, stay here until I come get you after school. We’ll take the bus home.”
“Your home,” I corrected, with a pang.
“If you need anything, I’ll be in the theater,” she said. “And, Ethan? Don’t be an idiot, please.”
“It’ll be a challenge,” I told her. “But I think I’m up for it.”
The library was empty except for a few kids at the row of computers in the center of the stacks. A half dozen more were hunched over tables, scribbling away at their homework. The librarian glanced up at me as I walked through the security thing, giving me the once-over.
“Are you new?” The woman wasn’t old, but she wasn’t young either. Her brown hair was streaked with rivulets of silver. A deep crease marred her forehead as she frowned at me. “You look familiar, but I can’t seem to place your name.”
Crap.
No—there was no way she could recognize me as Prosper Redding. Nell’s glamour spell was still in effect. Stop making dying-animal noises. You are fine. You. Are. Fine.
I could feel myself start to shrink back a little from her intense stare, but I forced myself to stand up straight. “My name is Ethan White. And, yeah, I’m new.”
The woman seemed to measure me with a single look. “All right. Library closes at five. No monkey business on the computers, understand? Let me know if you need help finding a resource.”
I took a seat at one of the worktables, fully intending to ignore the rest of my homework in favor of planning out my project for Mr. Gupta’s class. It was just that the computers were so close to me, whirring, breathing out their hot air as they loaded and printed and processed. They were ancient compared to the thin screens and wireless keyboards that we had at the Academy.
Lucky us, I realized for the first time. I’d just taken them for granted.
I took a seat as far away from the other kids as I could, glancing over at them while I waited for the Internet to load. The librarian left her desk, pushing a cart of books needing to be reshelved into the stacks.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, itching to type REDDING FAMILY into the search bar. I took a deep breath and shook my head. The most important thing was keeping Nell’s spell intact and lying low. If everything went according to the plan, I’d see my family soon. Right now that had to be enough for me.
But it didn’t mean I had to sit there idly and just stay safe, like Uncle B had instructed. If they didn’t have a computer at home to research, I could do it here for them.
I typed GETTING RID OF DEMONS into the search bar and leaned close to the screen. Instead of pulling up the search page, a white one with a huge red stop sign appeared.
YOU HAVE BEEN DENIED ACCESS TO THIS SITE AS IT HAS OBJECTIONABLE CONTENT. ETHAN WHITE, YOUR INTERNET USAGE IS MONITORED AND LOGGED.
“Craaaaap,” I whispered, clicking back. I tried again, this time searching for EXERCISING A DEMON.
I believe the word you are looking for is “exorcising,” Maggot, Al said, sounding bored.
But I remembered the subject that definitely had not bored him. A DEMON—I deleted that. Something told me demon was a word the school blocked for very obvious reasons. TRUE NAMES AND MAGIC.
Search results finally loaded. I scanned through them quickly, scrolling down. Most of the pages had to do with Dungeons & Dragons or video games. There were a couple of sites dedicated to Wicca, and a Wikipedia page dedicated to “True Names.”
Interesting. Many cultures possess a secret, sacred language from which they derive names which express their true nature… I scrolled down farther. In certain folktales, there is a tradition that if one possesses someone’s true name, that person or being can be controlled or affected magically.
Rubbish, Alastor declared. Which made me instantly print out the page to show Uncle Barnabas and Nell later. There were even a few academic papers linked as references at the end, which I added to the print queue so I could read them later, when I wasn’t scared of someone looking over my shoulder.
NAMES OF EVIL CREATURES. The same blocked page came up. And then again when I tried to search for FIEND CURSE, REDDING FAMILY CURSE MAGIC, and HOW TO KILL THE DEMON INSIDE OF YOU.
I let out an annoyed groan and slumped back in my seat.
“Something I can help you with…Mr. White, was it?” The librarian was standing right behind me, staring at my screen with an unreadable expression on her face. My hands slapped against the mouse, exiting the page and logging out entirely. I stood, grabbing my bag and almost tripping over the chair.
She held out a stack of papers, still warm from the printer. “Here you are.”
“Oh, um, thanks, sorry, just, gotta—do my work. Yup, ooookay, bye—”
I all but ran back to the worktable, nearly dropping the papers in the process. One kid looked up and shushed me as I let out a small noise of frustration.
I tucked those printouts back into my notebook and flipped it open to a blank page. I was halfway through my list of ideas for the Greek mythology project when two guys—friends of Parker’s I recognized from PE—sat down behind me.
“It sounds like it’s broken,” one of them whispered, trying to hide his phone beneath his desk. “He doesn’t need surgery, though. That’s good, I guess. Maybe he’ll be healed in time for track season?”
“He’s definitely not going to be able to do the play. I don’t think the drama teacher is going to let him onstage with crutches. And didn’t the understudy get mono? What are they going to do?”
“Maybe the girl with the glitter glasses will try to audition for the part again.”