Diabolical (13 page)

“Shut up,” Lucy snaps. “This isn’t about —”

“It’s nine o’clock,” Evelyn says in a soft voice.

Everyone checks the clock. Kieren knocked on my door last night to say he’d filled in the Otter on the school. So far as I know, the three of us and Lucy are the only ones in the know. No one expected a student to die within twenty-four hours.

Everyone else is clinging to whatever explanations they can muster.

“Good morning,” intones a raspy, disembodied voice. “Welcome to the Scholomance Preparatory Academy. I am Dr. Ursula Ulman.”

It’s coming from the front of the room, near the podium.

“Speakers,” Bridget whispers. “Hidden speakers.”

I have to give her credit for trying.

“You may call me Dr. Ulman. We’ll be spending a lot of time together, and I’m not inclined to stand on ceremony.” The voice is clearer now.

“I see that your tenth has yet to arrive. I myself was once a tenth scholar. Those who know what that means may make of it as you will. Those who don’t will likely find this orientation disconcerting. Please note that we do not provide health care, mental or otherwise.”

As she’s speaking, Mr. Bilovski strolls in, passes out schedules, and exits.

“No Language of Animals?” Vesper queries. “No Weapons and Technology?”

“Next semester,” the voice replies. “This one-year, year-round program is devoted to study in preparation for admission to the Scholomance in the Carpathian Mountains.”

A shadow catches my eye.

“For those of you familiar with that institution, please note that while areas of academic concentration largely overlap, this campus operates by its own set of rules.”

Willa gasps as the shadow solidifies. We can make out a buxom woman with short — no, pinned-up — hair. She’s wearing a long, dark gown.

“There is no option to withdraw. Minimum performance standards must be met, if a student is to advance in the program. My available discretion is limited.

“Anyone who compromises the sanctity of this academic community will be punished according to the severity of his or her crimes. To further encourage compliance, disciplinary action may be doled out on a transferable basis to any or all of you.

“Rules will be enforced without appeal. We have a zero-tolerance policy, and again, my available discretion is limited.”

So she keeps saying. The figure standing (floating?) alongside the podium is gray, transparent. It’s increasingly clear that Ulman’s face is full and oval. Her eyes must’ve been blue or gray. Her hair is arranged in two braids, tucked to cover her ears and accented by brocade. Lace decorates the gown at the bust and from midthigh to the floor. A lace-trimmed handkerchief is tucked at an odd angle in the bodice.

“You’ll find school uniforms hanging in your closets. Plan to wear them to class, beginning tomorrow morning.”

Bridget pipes up. “My parents know I’m here. My father won’t let you —”

“Your father,” Ulman begins in a voice perfectly mimicking Bridget’s, “has exchanged a dozen text messages and two voice calls with someone he believes to be you. You promised to tell him about orientation tonight after dinner.”

“That’ll only work for so long,” Kieren says. “Sooner or later, someone will insist on seeing one of us in person.”

“By then,” Ulman replies, “it will be too late.”

Too late for what? Before I can ask, Ulman’s image flickers. I see horns, claws.

“Are you a ghost?” Vesper whispers.

Ulman ignores the question. “Your chances of success are best in a full-immersion setting. Therefore, you will not be leaving the building or contacting the outside world until you graduate. Please note that the Bilovskis are likewise permanent residents and have no more choice in the matter than you do. They have no power to facilitate your defying school policy or leaving the premises.”

She pauses. “I hope you all got your flu shots. Now, if you will please stand and follow me, I will show you the library.” Ulman floats out the door.

It’s as though we’ve been spellbound until that moment. Everyone starts talking. Bridget insists that Ulman is a hologram. Vesper mocks Bridget for being naive. Willa begins babbling something about the condemned or condemnation. Nigel stands, muttering about unworthiness. Lucy asks what we should do.

Kieren replies, “Go to the library.”

He, Evelyn, and I hang back as the others file out.

“What
is
that thing?” the Otter asks.

“Probably a previously descended soul or essence,” the Wolf says. “One that was taken to hell and has come back. ‘Ghost’ is close enough. But her variety is so rare, that’s about all I know about it.”

Given that Ulman has no solid physical form, we can’t fight her or force her to tell us anything. “Do you think she’s the teeth and claws of this place?” I ask.

“If she was a tenth scholar,” Kieren says, “she may not even be evil. Just damned and resigned to her fate.”

The library takes up half of the third floor. Freestanding shelves separate two work areas. Each has a glass-topped, metal-framed table and metal chairs. A few cushioned chairs with matching ottomans offer a more relaxed reading space. They’ve been angled artfully in the corners.

An unoccupied desk toward the front of the room is bookended by custom-designed card catalogs. The books are old, some charred along the spines. They come in various sizes. A couple of larger ones are displayed on podiums.

The students stand in a bunch. They’re trying not to draw attention to themselves.

“Is there a librarian?” It’s the first question I’ve asked.

“No,” Ulman replies. “We’ll require a library assistant.”

Kieren raises his hand. “I volunteer.” He’s a whiz at demonic lore and history. If the answer to our escape were in these books, he’d find it. But this is Satan’s schoolhouse. We can’t trust anything we learn here, except maybe what we learn from each other.

Ulman nods in agreement. “No food or drink on this floor.” Her image begins to fade. “I’ll see you all tomorrow at 9
A.M.
in the seminar room. Tardiness will not be tolerated. During class time, you may not leave without my express permission. Ten o’clock
P.M.
is lights-out. Those of you familiar with the administration are welcome to share your insights with your peers.” Only the eyes and mouth are left. “You have no secrets here.”

New York Weekly Harbinger,

Aug. 6, 1888

Ursula Ulman (1836–1888)

Ursula Ulman, nicknamed the Maleficent Miser and the Miser of Manhattan, died on August 4. The daughter of Russell Rippington, U.S. ambassador to France, and his wife Beatrice, she was born November 10, 1836, in New York City.

Upon her parents’ death in a 1858 suicide pact, she inherited eight million dollars in liquid assets. Ulman neither married nor had children. She relocated to Maine in her forties.

Throughout her life, she pursued a conservative investment policy, primarily concerning real estate and adamant frugality. She never allowed the use of hot water. She warmed her daily gruel on the radiator. She wore only one black dress and, in an effort to conserve soap, washed only those parts of it — the hem and underarms — most likely to become soiled.

Ulman’s entire estate has been willed to the Scholomance, a little-known academic institution in the Carpathian Mountains, with which she had no publicly known previous association.

ZACHARY HAS COME
to rescue Lucy and whoever else needs help. That’s what guardian angels do. They work one-on-one to save lives and souls.

We may be stuck in this place for a while. I take point in front of the tinted window in the formal living room. I mostly come clean with the other students. I use the word
demonic
rather than mentioning Lucifer. I don’t say anything about my Wolf or Evie’s Otter heritage. I don’t out Zach as an angel either.

“Did you see when Ulman changed form?” Nigel asks.

“I saw horns!” Lucy exclaims.

Not everyone came downstairs. After Dr. Ulman vanished, Willa ran out of the library and threw up in the girls’ restroom. Nervous shock. Evelyn offered to sit with her in the second-floor kitchenette. The Otter will tell Willa the rest once she calms down.

“What I don’t understand,” I conclude, “is the assumption that, after a year here, any of us will want to transfer to the Carpathian Scholomance.”

Vesper leans back in her chair. She crosses her long legs. “Once you have a taste . . . My parents both graduated magna cum laude — my father first, my mother the following semester — and they married within the next year. They’ve attended every alumni retreat, reunion, and continuing-education program. The knowledge, the magic. It’s addictive. Then there are the contacts. Music and sports stars, captains of industry, heads of state. People who launch social-networking sites.”

“Vesper’s parents are grads,” Bridget says to Kieren from the sofa, “but how do
you
know so much? Or should I say, you and Zachary?”

I’m ready for the question. “We have ties to the va —”

Zach coughs. “Eternal.”

He’s right. An insider wouldn’t use the word
vampire.

“Eternal,” I correct myself. “The eternal underworld. Zach used to work as a servant to the Mantle of Dracul, and I’m dating a neophyte member of the gentry.”

Neither of which is enough to explain my expertise. Hopefully, they don’t know that. I’m doing my best to stick close to the truth.

“Come again?” Lucy asks.

“Zachary used to work for the Mantle of Dracul,” Vesper explains, sounding impressed. “The vampire royal family. And Kieren is dating a vampire of property.”

“Dating!” Nigel exclaims. “A vampire? Is anyone here
not
suicidal?”

Andrew’s name hangs unspoken in the room. It seems an unlikely coincidence that he’d choose to kill himself on his first night here.

“Vampires are extinct,” Bridget puts in. “Or at least very rare and —”

“That’s what they want you think,” I reply. “In Vermont, Burlington is the only sanctioned hunting ground. Unless we’re dealing with a rogue, eternals are the least of our worries.” I take a deep breath. “When we found out about the school, Zach and I came to warn you. The students. Those who might not realize what you’re getting into. To help you leave.” I don’t single out Lucy. “We didn’t expect to become imprisoned. We didn’t expect a lot of things.”

I raise my chin. “Other than Vesper, is anyone here by choice?”

Vesper begins filing her thumbnail.

Lucy keeps quiet. She’s standing with her arms crossed and staring at the repeated devil image above the fireplace. I keep doing that, too. It demands attention.