“Omnes relinquite spes, o vos intrantes . . .”
Kim’s voice echoed gently from the entryway of the classroom, rolling in that charming monotone he managed so well. He seemed so out of place up there, standing next to the head teacher, both of them better suited to a chapel than a schoolroom. Why was this Academy so contradictory? The chamber was too large for the number of desks—all of them warped with water damage but carved down to their legs with elegant grapevines and scrollwork—yet there were too many students. Many of them sat near the base of the walls, clipboards cocked and ready for notes. Lyrica was one of them, and of course she glanced at Angela now and then, probably trying to catch her glancing at Kim.
Angela smiled thinly at her.
Lyrica returned to her clipboard, scribbling furiously. No, her gesture said, you’re mistaken.
Like hell I am.
“. . . and we should discuss the meaning of this passage, in terms of Dante’s original influences . . . this, the most famous quote from his masterpiece work The Inferno. If you would please read the quote for us—”
She knows somehow about Kim and me. Or at least she suspects. Hopefully, he won’t do anything to tip her off—
“Angela,” Nina hissed.
“What?”
“Recite the translation!” She shoved her in the arm.
Angela looked around. A mosaic of expectant faces had locked on her, waiting for her to stand up at her desk and recite . . .
“The translation, Miss Mathers,” Kim said. His lips fondled her name delicately, but his expression was enough to give it all away. Some of his hair hung in front of his eyes, barely hiding the light behind them—searing, and full of expectation for the evening. “Page 102, the second line.”
She slid out of her seat, standing in the middle of the class, unable to hide and feeling the pain of it. Lyrica must have caught on to the teasing inflection in Kim’s voice. Her face openly displayed all the satisfaction that would blossom once Stephanie found out, and she was tapping her pen against her clipboard, tsk tsking Angela’s stupidity. Angela lifted the book higher, blocking her out. “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here . . .”
The remainder of the class was even more painful. Kim focused on her with a partiality that would make any of the other women jealous. His way of showing more interest, she supposed, but in the end, it only made her future confrontation with Stephanie more of a problem. Yet Angela had known what she was getting into. And it wouldn’t surprise her one bit if Kim was flirting for both Stephanie’s and Lyrica’s sake, merely to rub salt in their wounds, just like Nina had warned.
Angela let out a sigh when the session ended, bowing with the rest of the students and leaving the room with Nina after most of the others had already fanned out into the hall. A din of voices erupted again, the chatter muffled by the noise of shoes scuffing tile. Gargoyles grinned down from nooks in the hallway’s pillars, hunting as they always did, in stony silence.
At least Kim hadn’t bothered following her.
Maybe because he didn’t want anyone to murder her too soon.
“I’d ask if you’re taking drugs, but I know they probably don’t help you much,” Nina said. She scowled at another student who bumped into her, perhaps deliberately. Nina wasn’t the most popular person at the Academy, by far. If anything, her friendship with the creepy blood head girl in tights and arm gloves was helping out her social status. “Or do they just make you spacey? Too bad sleeping pills are meant to conk you out. I have a lot of those.”
“Sorry.” Angela unbuttoned her blouse collar and tugged it away from her neck. “I’m just kind of out of it today. I have a busy night ahead of me.”
“Really?” Nina’s tone seethed with suspicion. “How so?”
“You wouldn’t be interested.” She led them both around a corner, leaving the majority of students behind. The new hallway was darker and less well traveled, but it connected at the far end to one of the glass tunnels linking one tower to the next, the round panes glittering with the reflection of too many candles to count. Standing in the middle of that circle of light, five silhouettes had gathered, carefully surrounding a much more familiar one—a student with fluffy curls and a distinctive way of clasping her hands. Sophia. Angela could make out the silver of her shoes as they walked closer.
Lyrica stood against the wall, watching Angela’s steady approach with a coolly innocent face. In the brief time Angela and Nina had lingered behind in the classroom, collecting their books, she must have dashed out and told Stephanie everything she’d seen and heard.