Prophecy Girl (Angel Academy) (18 page)

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Jack apologized. “I wasn’t one hundred percent sure you weren’t slaughtering the innocent, so I figured someone should watch you. Couldn’t very well do it myself.”

“And the werewolf?”

“Werewolf?” Jack threw an inquisitive look at Luc.

“I had things to do.” Luc shrugged. “Dane said he’d take over for a few hours. No blood, no foul, right?”

Jack gave him a disapproving look, but said nothing.

As we pulled out of Luc’s parking garage, I settled into the leather, flooded by a mixture of relief and disappointment. Much as hanging with the bloodsucker upset my survival instinct, it had been nice to feel safe. Odd how the ability to drink coffee in peace can define your sense of humanity.

“Cozy?” Luc called into the backseat.

“Perfect,” I grumbled. Whoever invented foreign sports cars must’ve had small friends.

“You two are welcome to stay at the flat. It’s not much, I know, but Arianna and her boyfriends won’t be in town until Saturday morning for the Peace Tenets induction. Until then, it’s yours.”

“Arianna?”

“His mom. Don’t ask,” Jack muttered and turned to Luc. “I appreciate the offer, but sooner or later the Elders are going to figure out someone’s helping us. Your name is bound to come up. And if Aunt Arianna finds out you’ve ditched your bodyguard detail again—”

“Loathsome creatures.” Luc pulled to a stop a few blocks from our boarding house and shut off the engine. “Just remember, by week’s end the city will be flooded with Immortals and were-beasts for the Induction. If you’re still in town, we could use you at the signing.”

Jack half-grinned. “If I’m still alive, you mean?”

Luc didn’t return the smile. I had to respect him for that.

“Oh, relax, cousin.” Jack slapped him on the shoulder. “There are dozens to sign for the Tenets. You won’t need me. Just don’t forget what you promised, okay?”

It might have been my imagination, but I swear Luc flicked a glance my way.

Before I could give it much thought, Jack hefted Luc’s satchel over his shoulder and pulled me out of the car. Weird how that tiny bag represented my whole future. I’d overheard enough of their conversation to realize that as soon as this was over, I’d have to run. If Jack lived through it, he would come with me. If not…Well, I couldn’t think about that.

With a few words of farewell, Jack clasped Luc’s hand and pulled the vamp to him for a hug. I think Luc managed to eke out a little pat on Jack’s back.

“All right, enough theatrics.” Luc disentangled himself. “I’m not convinced you won’t be at the signing, so let’s save our goodbyes, shall we?”

Jack smiled. “I love you, man.”

“Sod off.” Luc blushed.

As soon as we’d stepped to the curb, the vampire’s car squealed away, leaving two lines of black rubber against the pavement. As first introductions to a species went, it wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. Sure, he was arrogant and stunning and rude, but so are male models…and they pass for human
all
the time.

Tiredness washed over me as I laced my fingers through Jack’s, pulling him in the direction of our boarding house. “Home, sweet hovel?”

“Actually, we have one more stop. It’s a little one. Five minutes.”

“Oh, come on!” I begged. “I’m clean. I smell nice. I want to eat a granola bar and go to bed. Whatever it is, we’ll do it in the morning. Please?” I tugged on his arm again, but it was like tugging on a stalled Mack truck.

“Five minutes. You’ll hardly notice.”

I sighed. “Two.”

“Four. Please?”

…

Ten centuries later, we trudged to a stop at our destination, the House That Time Forgot. Out of a mess of brambles rose a clapboard cottage that was not only smaller but decidedly shabbier than its neighbors. Bright pink paint flaked off it in sheets, and a mass of yellow weeds crawled in fingers up the dingy white porch trellis. Whatever had happened to it during the last hurricane obviously hadn’t been fixed, because the poor structure listed so far to one side I actually worried it might collapse onto the house next door.

“Do you gravitate toward crappy places?” I asked as I stared up at it. “Maybe it’s something in your genetic make-up. Where do you live, anyway? In a roach-filled shack?”

He gave me an odd look out of the corner of his eye. “You’ve seen where I live.”

“No, I haven’t,” I argued. “How would I? Do you think I stalk you in my spare time?”

“Well, no, but in the caves…” He swallowed, clearly uncomfortable. “Never mind, it’s not important.”

Okay, to be fair, I
had
tried to Google-stalk him. But Google-stalking is a far cry from having your demonblood best friend park his vampmobile across the street and use his x-ray vamp-vision to spy into someone’s house. That’s just rude.

Eager to get the errand over with, I stomped up the rickety steps to the front door. On one side of the porch, a rocking chair had been chained to the railing, though both looked so termite-infested I couldn’t imagine anyone would be interested.

Jack slunk up the stairs behind me with his mouth clamped shut and his hands pocketed.
Flustered
was such an uncommon look for him I had to double check to make sure I was seeing it right.

“What’s wrong with you?” I demanded, impatient. “Do you miss Luc already? Or are you miffed I called you a shack-dweller?”

The words were barely out of my mouth when a soft creak sounded from the doorway and a familiar voice spilled out. “I ‘spect he’s insulted ‘cause you done forgot somethin’ that was s’posed to be unforgettable. Ain’t that right, baby?”

I whirled, half-expecting to find another Crossworlder, or maybe a nice, rabid werecat to round out the evening. What I got was far, far stranger.

In the doorway, looking shockingly normal in a printed T-shirt and jeans, stood Benita Bertle, resident cafeteria lady at St. Michael’s. She’d tucked her hair into a bright purple headscarf and skull-shaped earrings dangled from both earlobes. Other than that, she looked like a regular person. No apron. No hairnet. No spatula.

“
Bertle
?” I sputtered, before I could stop myself. “But—”

“Hi, Benita. Sorry we’re late.” Jack brushed past me to give the woman a bear hug that nearly lifted her feet off the ground. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too, baby. Real good. And you—” Bertle wagged a finger at me. “You ought mind yo manners, missy. T’aint right for a woman to sass her Watcher. Not in public, anyhow.”

A little girl in a white eyelet nightgown poked her head around the lunch lady’s girth to stare at me. “Uncle Jack, is that her?” she asked, wide-eyed.

Jack sank to his knees, one hand coming up to muss the girl’s hair. “Delia, what are you doing up so late, young lady? Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

“Mama said I could stay up to see y’all.” The little girl grinned, flashing a row of perfect white teeth. “That’s her, ain’t it? She don’t look like no angel killer. A prossitute, maybe, but not no angel killer.”

Jack let out a snort and I felt my patience begin to thin.

“For your information, you little punk, I am neither a prostitute nor an angel killer,” I told her. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Ten, last July.”

“Hmph!” I frowned. “Ten is old enough to know better.”

Bertle chuckled again, more heartily this time. “C’aint argue that now, can I? Come on in, y’all. Delia, why don’t you head on up to bed, baby? I’ll be along to tuck you in.”

The little girl blushed as Jack grabbed her for a quick kiss on the cheek. “G’night, Uncle Jack.”

“‘Night, beautiful,” he said with a wink.

I listened to her feet patter up the stairs as he led me into a narrow foyer that could only be described as eclectic. Like my house, only way,
way
worse. Every surface seemed to be covered with broken antiques, battered turntables, strange religious art, and more than a few coconuts carved into the shapes of monkey-skulls. Even the faded plaster walls were layered with wooden masks and gilt-framed portraits of slaves. It reminded me of one of those Pakistani flea markets that can fold itself up and disappear in five seconds. I gave the coconut skulls a wide berth as we passed into the kitchen.

“Why did she call you my Watcher? Is she crazy?” I whispered to Jack.

“She’s a seer,” he said, as if that explained everything.

Honestly, the whole situation threw me a little off balance. I’d been sifting through Jack’s “caves” comment earlier and the only explanation I could come up with was that he must have seen my vision in the catacombs. Which I’d kind of suspected. So, okay. I’d been caught having sex fantasies about my crush. I mean, sure there was a part of me that wanted to curl into a ball and die of mortification (omigod-omigod-omigod), but rationally I recognized this was survivable. Like Dad said, the occasional fantasy is perfectly normal teenage behavior, right?
Right?
The problem was, if that
really
was his apartment and he’d seen the whole thing, did that mean the vision wasn’t just a random, hormonal figment of my imagination? What about every other thing I’d seen when I’d touched him? Our wedding, for example. Had he seen that, too?

Good grief! Could I still call myself a virgin?

“Y’all grab yourself a seat and we’ll get started.” Bertle pushed me into one of four ripped green kitchen chairs. She poured some tea into a cracked porcelain mug and shoved it toward me, then sank into the chair opposite. “Baby, you ever had your aura read?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Well, then,” she grinned a gold-smattered, toothy grin, “you in for a treat.”

Jack settled into the chair beside me. He gave my hand a quick squeeze before he set it on the scuffed Formica surface. As if by instinct, his leg stretched out to rest against mine, tendrils of warmth threading into connection through our jeans.

“Close those pretty eyes and gimme yo hand, sugar,” Bertle said. “Jackson, git away from her, boy. You know I c’aint see nothin’ with you lightin’ her up like that.”

“Sorry.”

I shut one eye as Jack pulled his knee away from mine. The threads dissipated.

Bertle’s hands were like a midnight breeze on my palm. Her fingers stroked so lightly into each groove I could barely feel them. It was soothing, actually.

“Can you see them?” Jack asked her after a few minutes.

“Shush, you,” Bertle scolded. She kept stroking my palm slowly, rhythmically. Although my brain simmered with questions, I kept quiet. After what seemed like an eternity, she set it down on the table and gave it a pat.

“Well, okay, then,” she said, and slowly rose from her seat. As if by habit, she picked up a stack of salad plates by the sink and started washing them, one at a time. Then, she started on the dinner plates.

“Benita, did you see the souls or not?” Jack pressed.

Bertle turned but didn’t pause her task. “No, baby, I din’t see nothin’. There ain’t nothin’ to see,” she said. “That girl ain’t no Graymason.”

He sat up straight in his chair, his hand reaching for mine. “What do you mean? Are you saying the
Book of Blood
was wrong? She’s not Lucifer’s bloodline?”

“Oh, she Lucifer’s, a’right. But she ain’t no Graymason.” Bertle wiped her hands on the edge of her T-shirt and spun to face us, a glimmer of amusement in her eye. “That girl’s a Wraithmaker.”

Chapter Sixteen:

Wraithmaker

I sat motionless at the kitchen table.

Jack and Bertle stared at me expectantly, like at any moment I might grab my chair and start smashing things. Granted, there was plenty in this house that could benefit from a close encounter with a kitchen chair, but their expressions wigged me out, nonetheless.

“Wraithmaker.” I rolled the word over my tongue. It sounded vaguely familiar. “So, what is that? Like at Christmas? With fake pine cones and ribbons and stuff?”

Bertle arched an eyebrow at Jack. “Trained her well, did ya, baby?”

Jack lowered his forehead onto the table with a thud. “Amelie, I’m going to say this one last time. You. Must. Do. Your. Homework. I’m not kidding. Our world is full of dangerous things. When you neglect your studies, you deny yourself the tools to deal with them. Every assignment—”

I lifted a hand to stop him. “Allow me. Every assignment is a rare window into the ancient and noble tradition of the Guardians, a key to the mysterious power of the Crossworld, blah, blah. Don’t forget the part about how I’m not living up to my potential.”

He glared at me. “Benita, can we have a minute?”

“Sho ‘nuff, baby. I’ll just go see ’bout Delia.” Smiling, she pushed herself away from the counter and sauntered toward the stairs. Jack waited until she was gone, then leaned forward.

“Ami, this is serious. I’m not always going to be around to look after you. I need to know you can take care of yourself.”

“I totally can. Pinkie swear.” I held up a pinkie to show my commitment.

“That’s not good enough. I need you to promise me, no more shortcuts. No more screwing around in your lessons, no more pranks. You’re off the Otrava now. There’s no telling what you can do once you’re properly trained and bonded—”

He stopped, probably hearing how ridiculous his words were.

Properly trained and bonded
? We both knew I wasn’t getting bonded. Even if I did prove my innocence, no one would bond with Lucifer’s bloodline. I’d be lucky if they let me live.

“Amelie, I—”

“Save it,” I said, my voice quiet. “I know you’re right. If the Elders let me back into school, I’ll work harder, okay?”

He paused, thoughtful, and then stood. I watched him pluck a thick, leather-wrapped Bible from a bookshelf and open it on the kitchen table.

“Okay,” he said, “History 101. Wraithmakers are like the Guardian version of a necromancer, only less creepy. In Deuteronomy, they’re called bone-conjurers…ones who can bring back the dead. But it doesn’t work the same way with us as it does with humans. A human necromancer raises spirits by letting them feed off his or her energy. So the spirit can stay active only while the necromancer is nearby. They have no form, no soul. It isn’t like the thing is alive, do you understand?”

“Yeah. Sort of,” I said. “Not really.”

“Okay, Wraithmakers aren’t like that,” he continued. “They’re the flip side of a Graymason. Graymasons can take souls out of a body and funnel them into the spirit plane, right? Well, Wraithmakers can bring them back.”

I stared at him, pensive. It wasn’t that his words didn’t make sense—they did. I just had a hard time believing something so bizarre could be true. Especially about me. “So, you’re saying
I
can raise the dead? Like, I could bring back Elvis? Or my mom?”

“Elvis, probably not. Your mom? If you could find her, yeah,” he said. “But Charlotte’s been dead for ten years. The longer a spirit’s gone, the further away it gets. Its mortal memories, personality—all that starts to degrade. It’s not like summoning a spirit from the past. Any diviner can call up a fragment of spectral energy. Wraithmakers don’t deal in fragments. They give life to lost souls.”

“Uh-huh. This is creeping me out. Are you saying I’m some kind of zombiemaker?”

“No, zombies are the walking dead. They’re just reanimated corpses,” he explained. “You actually make souls
live
again. Eat, breathe, love. All you need is an empty vessel. Do you understand?”

“Sure,” I said. “How?”

He flipped the book closed with a sigh. “That, I don’t know. It’s been thousands of years since either Graymasons or Wraithmakers have existed. I doubt there’s anyone alive who…”

I waited to see if he was going to continue. He didn’t. “Who what?”

“Forget it. It’s too dangerous.”

“Dude, you say that a lot,” I noted. “This is my
life
you’re talking about. Didn’t you just finish saying how I need to study more? Learn more? How am I going to find answers if you don’t help me?”

“Some answers aren’t worth finding.”

I was getting ready to argue when the intentional
thud-thud
of footsteps sounded in the hall. Bud did the same thing whenever Matt came over to watch TV—usually during one of Lisa’s break-up phases. It was a pointless gesture since Matt and I were totally platonic. Still, I recognized the
thud-thud
.

“Y’all ‘bout done?” Bertle paused in the doorway.

“More or less,” Jack answered. “There is one more thing.”

Of course there was one more thing. Wasn’t there always? I took a swig of my tea and braced myself for yet another life-destroying nugget. “Bring it,” I said.

“Amelie, you’re an only child, right?”

“Uh.” That
so
wasn’t where I thought he was going. “Yeah. Why?”

“Are you sure? I mean,
really
sure?”

I gave him a dark look. “Let me think…boring family camp-outs, dress-up tea parties for one. Unless you count my imaginary friend Lurlene, I can safely say, yes, I am an only child. I’ll ask again.
Why
?”

Jack looked at Bertle.

“Lemme try somethin’.” She took her seat across from me and clasped my cold hands between her warm ones. “Baby, you know how sometimes the moon looks so big in the sky, you swear it could fall on top of you?”

I glared at Jack.

“And y’know how sometimes that moon done shine so bright, you think yo eyes might just burn up from it?”

“This is a metaphor, isn’t it?”

“Pay attention,” Jack hushed me, stern.

“Well, baby, as big and beautiful as that moon may look, you gotta know it ain’t real. There ain’t no such thing as moonlight. That’s just sunlight reflected off a big ‘ole rock in the sky,” she said, with a wiggle of her fingers out the darkened window. “That’s what you are. You got a light so big and beautiful inside you. But, baby, it ain’t yours.”

I switched my gaze back to Jack, fully confused. “I suck at metaphors. Can we maybe do this without the imagery?”

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. This time, it was his turn to hold my hand, which, honestly, I preferred. “Remember a few minutes ago I said that Graymasons and Wraithmakers are like flip sides of a coin?”

I nodded.

“Well, that’s more true than you know,” he said. “You’ve heard about Graymasons—the ones we were created to defeat, the ones who broke the walls to the Crossworld and let all the vamps and weres rise. They’re basically soulless and evil, right?”

“That’s the rumor.”

“Well, it turns out we were partly wrong about that,” he admitted. “They do have souls. Big, powerful, twisted souls that got so horrified by what they’d become, after a few generations they started splitting off all the good parts of themselves into separate beings. One soul, two bodies. Like twins. That’s what a Wraithmaker is. Still Anakim, still Lucifer’s blood…but like a shadow-self.” He dropped his gaze. “If Benita’s right—which she always is—that’s what
you
are. Amelie, the reason your birth only showed up once in the
Book of Life
was because only one soul was born. It just got…fractured. You’re not an only child. Whoever’s doing this is your twin.”

Silence fell over the table—the kind of silence that, in horror movies, is usually followed by a scream. Except, no scream.

“I don’t have a twin,” I said.

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Benita?” Jack glanced across the room at Bertle, his eyes pleading.

“Don’t you think my parents would have mentioned if I had a twin? I’m not an idiot, Jack. Don’t you think
I
would’ve noticed?”

“Not necessarily. Benita, a little help?”

Jack and I could have gone back and forth like that all night, and neither of us would have budged. It just seemed so ridiculous, the idea that I could have a sibling and not know about it. The only redeeming part was that Jack was still holding my hand. That felt nice, at least.

“This is ridiculous,” I said, shifting gears. “Let’s talk about something else. Y’all think the Saints have a shot at the Super Bowl this year?”

“Amelie.” Jack’s forehead creased into a disapproving frown. “In the past millennium, there is only one recorded birth to Lucifer’s bloodline. Yours. So either
you are the Graymason
and you’ve been secretly portaling around the world killing people for the past few years. Or, as Benita says, you’re a Wraithmaker—a splinter part of the Graymason’s soul. It would explain how you healed me so completely at assembly. And how the real killer managed to attack us while you were standing next to me. Now, I know this is hard, but I need you to try to wrap your mind around it. Either you’re a killer, or you have a twin. Are you a killer?”

Was I? I didn’t know anymore.

Strange as it sounded, the Wraithmaker thing made sense. I mean, how else was I supposed to explain all this? That awful voice at my test was male, so what? I had a
brother
? Hadn’t I always wanted a brother? Someone to watch
Star Trek
with. Someone to help me make fun of Dad’s ghastly tie collection.

I found myself staring at the battered old tabletop, questions flooding my head. If I did have a brother, what happened to him? Was he taken? Did my parents give him away? Had they known he was evil? How could they not have mentioned it? How could I not have sensed it?

What the hell was I?

“Amelie, are you okay?” Jack asked.

“Baby, just give her a minute,” Bertle said softly. “She’ll be all right.”

I could hear their voices, but they sounded far away—tinny and distant, like through an antique phone line.

“So, I’m…moonlight.”

“Yes.”

I pulled my hand from Jack’s and pressed it to the hollow beneath my throat. “This soul,” I said, “you think it belongs to my twin brother?”

“If he dies, you die, yes,” he confirmed.

“Take me home.”

“Amelie—”

“
Take me home!
”

I rose out of my chair and stumbled toward the door. Behind me, the clatter of coconut skulls hitting the ground rang out, but I didn’t stop. I had to get out of there. A vague memory of telling Luc things couldn’t get worse hung in my head. What a
stupid
sentiment! People who say stuff like that
deserve
to have their world fall apart. If I could just get home—back to Bud, back to my mom’s antique toilet collection, back to my awesome Pepto Bismol room—things would be okay. Everything would go back to normal.

“Amelie, stop.” Jack’s voice called out from the porch behind me but I didn’t listen. I darted across the street, desperately trying to hail a cab. The evening mist had left the asphalt slick and the reflected street lamps made it glitter like black glass. My feet sloshed through murky puddles as I went, soaking the edges of my jeans. I barely noticed. Maybe I deserved that, too.

I was halfway to the corner when a rusted yellow cab with a white-haired driver pulled up beside me. It was muddy from yesterday’s storm, but to me it looked perfect. My ticket to normal.

“Where to, dawlin’?”

“Home,” I said. “Old Metairie. But I don’t have any money—”

“Amelie! What do you think you’re doing?” Out of nowhere, Jack’s hand caught my elbow, yanking me out of the street.

“Get off me, Jack. I want to go home.” I tried to shove him away, but he held on tight.

“Ami, cut it out. I’m not letting you go.”

“Hey, miss. You okay?” The cabbie leaned his head out the window, his brown eyes wrinkled in concern.

“She doesn’t need a cab.” Jack waved the taxi on as I stumbled against him.

“I think the lady can decide whether she needs a cab. Miss, you in trouble? You need some help?” The driver’s hand fumbled for his radio, 911 at the ready.

I quit struggling. Confused, I looked at Jack, then back at the cab driver.

Did he really think Jack was going to hurt me?
Jack
, who had risked his life for me? Given up everything to help me? The idea was so ludicrous I couldn’t help it and I started to laugh. Completely cracked up. Tears rolled down my face, my body doubled over. I laughed so hard I had to wrap my arms around my waist to keep from cramping.

“I’m sorry, sir, she’s not feeling well,” Jack apologized, handing the driver a rumpled twenty. “Thanks for your concern. I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”

The driver glanced from me to Jack, then back again. His worried expression rapidly shifted into one of disgust. “Damn drunk kids,” he muttered as the cab’s tires squealed off down the street.

Of course, that sent me into another wave of uncontrollable giggles, which quickly degraded into wracking sobs. Jack practically had to carry me back to the “safe house.”

Pathetic.

I suppose I could have walked the last few blocks. If I’d been less of a mess, I might have tried. As it was, I didn’t want to. Everywhere Jack touched me, threads of warmth appeared, like liquid fire on a winter’s night. Neither of us said a word until we were inside the hovel and he’d settled me onto the bed.

“I’m sorry,” I croaked. My voice was shot from the crying jag and my tongue felt like I’d been sucking on chalk.

“For what?”

“Everything,” I said. “Being nasty to Bertle. Torturing Smalley when all she did was try to help. Letting you risk your life to save me when I don’t even have a soul worth saving.”

Jack untied my right shoe and set it under the bedside table. Then he started unknotting my left. I was grateful. My own arms were so slack with exhaustion I doubted I could have managed it myself.