Hades Academy: Fourth Semester Page 6

  By the time classes rolled around, I was only feeling marginally better, but the urge to immediately expel all my insides had subsided. It didn’t help that it was one of those days with classes arranged out of order so that professors could teach their extra-long lab sessions in other courses. Rouse’s words were echoing in my throbbing head, so I fucking booked it to Necromancy.

  For a class about talking to dead people, Professor Mantel kept things shockingly light-hearted. She explained during her lecture that one of the most common forms of necromancy was what she liked to call the “soup method.”

  “All it takes is a cauldron, some Morteria potion, a few personal effects of the deceased, and, of course, a fire,” she told us. “You’ll boil the Morteria potion, throw in the items that once belonged to the person you’re trying to reach, or maybe even a lock of hair if you’ve got some, and then perform a bit of rather complicated magic. If you’re successful, their face will appear within the cauldron.”

  Sounded simple enough. Although I knew that couldn’t possibly be the case. There had to be a catch here.

  “So what are the advantages of this method?” Mantel continued. “It’s possibly the easiest kind of necromancy to perform, not to mention the least dangerous. You’re not likely to screw the pooch too badly by using the soup method. Of course, though, there are drawbacks. The soup method—although more serious scholars might refer to it as the Liquidus Method—is by far the least effective form of necromancy, and the success rate is quite low. Chances are nothing will happen at all. Maybe you’ll see a vague outline in the cauldron. And often, the person you summon won’t be able to speak. So even if you do manage to conjure up the perfect image of somebody, I’m afraid your conversation is likely to be entirely mute. “

  I was beginning to see that—as I expected—necromancy was full of lots of complicated rules and exceptions. And as much as I loved Mantel, this stuff wasn’t exactly riveting in my current mental state. I looked around the room to both Morgan and Karolina, who’d arrived separately from me. Both of them looked totally beat. I’d fallen back asleep this morning and by the time I woke up to get ready, Karolina was gone. At least she looked the least exhausted out of the three of us. Morgan, on the other hand, looked worse than I’d ever seen her—still beautiful obviously, but it looked like she’d skipped doing her hair and makeup entirely.

  Now that’s real proof of how shitty she’s feeling.

  “Now for a fun little announcement,” Mantel said. She flashed a sly grin. Damn, she always looked so cool. “We’re going to be giving the soup method a spin during our next session. It’s the perfect place to start. As we move forward this semester, perhaps we’ll attempt more difficult methods, depending on how quickly we progress. For now, we’re sticking with the safety of making a little necromancy soup.”

  A perky student raised her hand eagerly. Clearly, she hadn’t been at the party.

  “Whose personal items are we going to use?” she asked.

  “Ahh, yeah, good question,” Mantel said with a nod. “When demons die, some will donate several of their personal items for the purpose of academic study. Think of it like being an organ donor. I’ve got a whole box of stuff that we can throw in the cauldrons! Of course, we’ll be treating each of these items with the utmost respect To volunteer to be reached through necromancy is extremely kind—not to mention brave—of those departed demons.”

  So basically I’d be throwing something like a pair of eyeglasses once worn by some random dead demon into a boiling pot of magical potion in hopes of seeing an image of that dead demon? You couldn’t make this shit up.

  As Mantel wrapped up her lecture, I stayed firmly in my seat so that I could talk to her alone after class, though I kind of felt too exhausted to stand up anyway. Morgan and Karolina gave me a look as if to ask “should we go without you?” to which I waved my hand at the door.

  “Nova!” Mantel cheered once we had the room to ourselves. “To what do I owe the pleasure? A question about class or did you just wanna hang for a few?”

  In a different world where Mantel was a few years younger, she totally would’ve been part of our Untitled Squad.

  “I have an...” I thought of how to frame it best. “An unusual question. I’ll put it that way.”

  Her eyes lit up. “I fucking love unusual questions. Er, pardon the language.”

  Like I said: total squad material.

  “So there’s no way of saying this that doesn’t sound crazy but my mom’s part of this cult called—”

  “The Children of Abaddon,” she finished. “Dean Lattimore caught me up on some of the specifics of the situation with your mother.”

  So just how many professors known my mom is in a murderous cult?

  “Don’t worry,” she assured me, as if reading my mind. “I think I might be the only staff member who got the full story. We were all warned that there was a dangerous situation with your mother, just for the purpose of safety precautions. But he wanted to consult with me more specifically due to my expertise in the fields of necromancy and resurrection.”

  “That’s exactly why I wanted to talk to you,” I said, although I’m sure she already knew that. “I want to know if it’s possible to...you know, communicate with or resurrect the devil or Abaddon or whatever we want to call him. Like, does the cult have a chance of actually doing that?”

  Mantel shook her head. “No.” She paused. “Well, it’s not 100% impossible. But maybe something like 99.999% impossible. If—and this is a big if—the devil is actually based on a real historical figure, the odds of actually communicating with him or somehow resurrecting him are just infinitesimally small. His life would’ve been so many hundreds of thousands of years ago that he would’ve firmly moved on from the world of the living by now. And it’s not like any personal items of his remain in existence. There’s basically nothing for them to go on.”

  It was a relief to hear, but I had a bad feeling that remaining .001% was going to keep nagging at my brain for the rest of my life.

  “After all, there’s not any more proof of the devil than there is of Santa Claus,” Mantel reminded me.

  “Shit, why couldn’t my mom be in a Santa Claus cult instead?” I cracked. “At the very least, I can’t imagine The Children of Santa performing ritual sacrifices.” I paused to think. “Actually, what is the point of all the nasty shit my mom’s cult does? Is that some sort of necromancy thing, too?”

  Joking about Santa then asking a legitimate question about bloody sacrifices—just another day in demon school.

  Mantel sighed. “There’s a dark side to necromancy. Which comes with the territory. You’re able to keep a secret, right?”

  “Yes,” I answered almost instinctively.

  “I wouldn’t say this in front of the class for obvious reasons, but necromancy is at its most effective when the form it takes is violent. Harnessing dark energy through things like sacrifices is one of the most surefire ways of establishing a solid connection with the world of the dead.”

  “So basically the Children of Abaddon are doing a bunch of fucked up stuff because theoretically if they could resurrect the devil, that would be the easiest possible way?”

  “To put it simply: yeah.”

  “Damn.”

  “But again, they’re not going to resurrect some demon who died when literal dinosaurs still walked the earth.”

  “Honestly,” I said bluntly, “it’d almost be better if they could resurrect the devil. At least then they’d have a purpose. Instead, they’re just terrorizing the world needlessly.”

  “Here’s to that!” Mantel agreed before heading for the door. “I’ve got some stuff to attend to. But you know where to find me if you ever want to talk.”

  It was far from the first time this semester that somebody had offered to be there for me if I ever needed to get a load off my chest. But Professor Mantel felt like a friend—I’m sure I’d be taking her up on it.

  I WAS SURPRISED TO find m
y friends still waiting for me outside the classroom. Karolina got up next to me and Morgan practically bounded to my side.

  “Who gave you the right to be so chipper?” I grumbled. She ignored me.

  “Look. This is our chance,” Morgan whispered excitedly.

  “Chance to what?”

  Karolina nodded to someone in front of us.

  “Oh,” I said.”

  “You two be my backup,” said Morgan. “I’m going to confront her and be all, how do you like us now?”

  I blinked my eyes long and hard. It took some serious recalibrating for me to go from “confronting dead demon-god” to “regular social backstabbing.” I should’ve known that a chance to show up Camilla would be as good a hangover cure as any for Morgan.

  “Sure,” I said, not really listening. Morgan nodded and grabbed my wrist.

  “Great!” She yanked me forward, and Karolina followed like a toy on a string.

  Camilla de Locke swept into frame, her pale blonde hair fanning behind her and her perfect little face wrinkled in a delicate frown. I’ll give her credit: she definitely had that “nice but evil” dichotomy down pat, like she was born to be a mean girl. Even when she was seconds away from hissing out venom, she managed to look innocent enough for plausible deniability.

  “Well,” Morgan said, abruptly stopping in front of her. “Dear Camilla. How do you like us now?”

  “I didn’t think you were literally going to ask her that,” I whispered through gritted teeth. I would’ve suggested phrasing that was a little less on the nose.

  “Yes,” Karolina said, surprisingly forcefully. “How do you?”

  Camilla gave us a blank look. “I’m sorry?”

  “I said, how do you like us now?” Morgan repeated. Yeah, definitely sounded even less impressive on the second repeat.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Camilla said.

  “Oh, just our party,” Morgan replied. “I guess you didn’t get the memo, huh? Seems like almost everyone else was there.”

  “Even Zelda and Ruby,” Karolina added. “Who are your friends.”

  “Oh,” Camilla said. “That. Well, isn’t that nice for you. Unfortunately, all the higher-level demons were attending our evening session.” Her bright gaze sliced over to me. “Or at least most of us were.”

  My heart sank. Shit. My mind rocketed backward: had Rouse mentioned that? At some point...shit, probably. He had said there were nighttime sessions. And I hadn’t even opened the book...that I’d shoved the schedule inside.

  Yep, I’d totally blown off Duchess class. And gotten wasted singing Courtney Love instead.

  Obviously pleased to see realization dawn on my face, Camilla smirked. “Yes. So, you know, couldn’t be helped. But I’m sure I’ll see you later, Nova? Or...then again, maybe I won’t.”

  With a final evil flash of smile, she flicked her hair over her shoulder and sauntered down the hallway. Morgan clenched a fist.

  “I’m not letting her trash my friend Nova like that! Making up some fakey-fakey special cl—”

  “That wasn’t made up, Morgan.” I winced. “I...did kind of fuck up.”

  Morgan goggled. “So you bailed on a higher-level extra-secret class just to hang with us?”

  “Not...exactly intentionally,” I said. “But given the choice, I probably would’ve anyway.”

  “That’s very nice of you,” said Karolina.

  “Thanks.” My school satchel suddenly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. “If I lose my Duchesshood over this, though, I’m blaming you all.”

  “Fine by me,” Morgan said. “Because now I’m good and angry. We’ve got to redouble our efforts.”

  Karolina shot me a look.

  Don’t try to stop her, I mouthed.

  She nodded. Whatever came next, it would be pointless to stand in Morgan’s way. Especially since I had bigger problems to solve.

  Chapter Eight

  Of all the bizarre nooks and crannies in Hades Academy, the ballroom was by far where I felt the least comfortable. Obviously, given my upbringing, I wasn’t spending time in many fancy places growing up. But aside from that, the ballroom still felt conspicuous. Somehow attending class gathered around a fancy dining table felt much more awkward than sitting in a class devoted to the art of seduction. Go figure.

  “It’s a pleasure to see that none of you are missing from class today,” Professor Rouse began, not even bothering to pretend like he wasn’t talking about me. For being all about proper etiquette, Rouse sure loved to make snooty-ass comments. “After all, today we’ll be discussing the lines of work you may find yourself in as a higher-level demon. And as you know, being present and available is of the utmost importance when it comes to your line of work.”

  At this point, I would’ve ranked Higher Order Demon Protocols and Responsibilities at the very bottom of the classes I’d taken so far at Hades Academy. I was just finding it very hard to care. For one thing, this wasn’t the kind of stuff I gave a shit about in the first place. I was stuck in a room with the most pretentious of demons learning boring rules of etiquette. There just wasn’t any way to make that bearable for a New York City girl like me.

  But I also just didn’t care much about “my place in demon society” or whatever. There was so much going on in my life right now that I just didn’t have the mental space to think about my future career.

  “As you all know,” Rouse lectured, “as high-level demons, there are several career paths open to each of you, and it’s best to begin exploring those paths early. You could be politicians. Administrators. Ambassadors. Any of those roles and more would be appropriate—you will each be the leaders of tomorrow.”

  I don’t care one iota about being a leader today, tomorrow, or any day.

  “But of course,” he continued, as he paced around the table, “there are other careers available. You all certainly have your own specialties that you’ve already begun to study in earnest. Fear. Combat. Jealousy. Seduction. Those are just a few. If you choose to focus on one of these specialized skills you should expect to be one of the top performers in your field. If your specialty is combat, as an example, you should expect a future in a role no less than a general of the Regents army.”

  Seduction. My mom was a high-level demon who’d obviously followed that path, and from what I’d learned she was one of the most talented succubuses of her time. She made New York City her hunting ground and proceeded to generate fear in the hearts of men night after night. That’s until she met my father and her whole life started to go off the rails.

  But was a succubus what she really wanted to be when she was my age? I shuddered to think of the fact that one day, she too must’ve walked the halls of Hades Academy. Maybe she even sat in this same ballroom receiving a similar lecture about what she needed to do with her life.

  That thought nearly brought me to tears in the middle of class. I imagined her just like me—young and with her whole life ahead of her, not super concerned with exactly what she would do in the future. Maybe she even had friends like mine. She was probably more worried about boys than with what she’d spend the rest of her life doing.

  But the rest of her life ended up being pretty sad. Nothing but creating fear, falling in love with a somewhat shitty dude, and then being lured off to join a cult where she committed unspeakable acts until this very day. That can’t be what she would’ve been picturing for herself when she was my age.

  “Duchess Donovan,” Rouse said sternly, breaking me out of my thoughts. “We were discussing the pros and cons of the various paths you can choose to travel in life as a demon of great importance. Do you have any thoughts?”

  I must’ve been tuning the lecture out for at least five minutes. I could see Camilla—who I was still convinced didn’t actually belong here—trying to hold back a snicker.

  “I actually...” I couldn’t quite find the proper words. I decided to go for honesty. “All I can see right now are cons. I’m just not sure wha
t I want to do with my life, and I’m not sure I’ll ever want to be restricted to just one thing.”

  Why the hell am I being so blunt with a crank like Rouse of all people?

  “Unsurprising,” he muttered. “I taught your mother Leda. And she was similarly...unmotivated.”

  I SPENT THE REST OF the day in a haze. Suddenly the thoughts I was having in class were feeling less like daydreams and more like legitimate visions. Maybe it had been my intuition telling me that my mother must’ve been in the same class when she was younger. I hoped it didn’t mean that she was there with me in spirit even now, watching the lecture unfold yet again.

  Mantel had assured me that nobody other than she and Lattimore knew the specifics about my mother’s situation. I really fucking hoped that was the case. If Professor Rouse somehow knew that his former student was now one of the leaders of a cult, then word was sure to get out eventually. And I sure as fuck didn’t want somebody like Camilla using that information against me.

  Did anybody else here know my mom in her previous life? So far nobody other than Rouse had mentioned it, but he was pretty damn old, so it checked out that he could’ve been teaching back when she was a student. Maybe my old Latin teacher Professor Stultior had crossed paths with her back in the day, but at this point in his life he was probably more concerned with taking a nap whenever he could than gossiping about a student’s mom.

  Having to go to Sex Class wasn’t a help, since I had to hear Lamoureux talk about the exact things my mom would’ve done before joining the Children of Abaddon. So far, her lectures had mostly focused on the different ways to scare somebody once they brought you back to their place. Transmorphing into some sort of ghastly creature was the most common tactic, and I was getting pretty good at making myself look like a variety of spooky things, if I do say so myself. But this semester, when I excelled in class I just couldn’t stop thinking about how she was good at those very same things.