He shrugged. “Think what you want.” He unbuttoned his black robe and let it fall off. He peeled his mask off, which had been perched on top of his head. And then he reached back behind his neck and pulled his shirt off with one hand.

  Okay, so Oliver without his shirt was, um, okay. He was nice to look at. He wasn’t as broad as Phist, but he was all muscle, and the way the ropes of the muscles moved under his skin were sort of mesmerizing. I had this urge to touch him, but I forced myself not to.

  He turned around, showing me his back, which was just as ripply as the front of him. “You see the scars?”

  Wait, what? Then I did, right on his shoulder blades. And without thinking, I did reach out and touch them.

  He sucked in a breath and shied away from my fingers. “Don’t.”

  I sat back. “What happened?”

  “I had wings,” he said. “They cut them off.”

  Okay, I was floored.

  He turned around to face me.

  “You’re… demonborn?”

  “We’re all demonborn, Suther.”

  “What?”

  He stretched, scratching his bare stomach.

  I had another urge to touch him, and I hated myself because he was horrible.

  “I mean, no, I am not demonborn in the strictest sense of the word, but after I was born with the wings, my father freaked out on my mom, and thought she was messing around on him. He didn’t know if it was with a demon or a demonborn or what. So my mother insisted they do a DNA test, and whaddya know?” He spread his hands. “Nothing hinky in the DNA. My daddy was my daddy.”

  “But…”

  “They cut the wings off and decided not to talk about it,” said Oliver. “But when they got drunk, they’d yell at each other about it, blame the other one for having some defect in the bloodline, some ancestor who stepped out of line. I would hear. So, I knew.” He leaned forward, smiling ruefully, and whispered the next thing. “I was defective.”

  I couldn’t help but feel bad for him. “Oliver, I’m sure you’re not defective. You’re a jackass, and everything about you is abhorrent, but…” I shrugged. “I mean, that’s basically everyone at this school.”

  He let out a laugh that seemed to start in his belly and overtake his entire body. “You’re funny when you’re rolling, Suther.”

  “I don’t understand what any of this has to do with my parents,” I said. “Didn’t you say you were going to tell me about that?”

  “Enid,” he said. “She always kept her legs crossed, and that drove me nuts, but I liked her. I mean, after what she and I found out, when I heard she was working with the demonborn, I was conflicted. It all seems kind of stupid in light of everything.”

  “In light of what?”

  “So, Enid and I did a semester project together.”

  “She did the semester project with Tess.”

  “Yeah, in the spring,” said Oliver. “But in the fall, it was me and Enid.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Anyway, so she knew that I was good with technology and computers and stuff. There’s a trick to getting the magic into the machines. You have to be careful not to overdo it, or you blow the circuits.”

  “Magic is like electricity, isn’t it? I keep finding this stuff out—”

  “You going to change the subject or do you want to hear this?”

  “Sorry.” I gestured. “Go ahead.”

  “Anyway, she wanted me to hack into the Acclasia’s records, find the minutes for secret meetings kept around the time that your parents died.”

  “And you did that?”

  “I did,” he said. “And I found out that your parents found out the truth. And the truth is we’re all demonborn.”

  “Okay, that doesn’t make any sense,” I said.

  “Doesn’t it?” He spread his hands. “My wings? The DNA? You ever wondered why occultists can do magic and regular humans can’t?”

  “Well, it’s… inherited. It’s bloodlines. It’s….” Understanding dawned on me. “Oh. You’re saying that generations ago, the reason that the occultist bloodlines even started was because humans mated with demons.”

  “Ding ding ding.” He held up a finger.

  “So, that’s where the magic comes from in the blood. We’re all demonborn. It’s just that within the occultists, the blood is diluted over generations upon generations. But in the end, we’re all the same.”

  “That’s right,” said Oliver. “And the Acclasia, they don’t want anyone to know that.”

  “Because it would be pretty difficult to justify the way that we use demonborn if we knew they were exactly the same as us.”

  “Yeah,” said Oliver. “They tell us that demonborn are practically animals and that they’re unstable and full of rage and dangerous. And they’re all making a lot of money off various demonborn schemes. There are underground fights, for instance. Lots of money to be made on the wagers. They sell those demonborn for lacing.”

  “Yeah, I know about that.” I swallowed. I wanted to feel disturbed about all of this, but the drug in my system wasn’t having it and insisted on making feelings of sweet goodness bubble up in my throat. I shut my eyes. “It’s hard to think about this.”

  “Yeah,” said Oliver. “Maybe you don’t want to think at all.” He picked up my hand again and began to rub more lotion into it.

  I moaned again. “Don’t do that. It’s confusing me.”

  “Shh,” he breathed.

  “Oliver, I mean it. Stop.”

  “Now that you know this,” he whispered, “it’s got to make you feel conflicted too.”

  “What?”

  “Well…” His fingers moved more briskly on my skin, and I was awash in bright pleasure. “Your sister, she was working with demonborn, and they killed her for it.”

  I gasped.

  “You probably don’t feel angry now, but you might feel angry when you come down from your high,” he said.

  Oh, this was way too confusing. I had a cover, and what was I supposed to think? I wasn’t supposed to be angry, right? I was supposed to be angry with Enid. I was supposed to think she betrayed me. “Demonborn killed my parents.”

  “No, they didn’t,” said Oliver. “You just found out that’s not true.”

  “Right,” I said. “That wasn’t true.”

  “If I were you,” he said, “I would pretend you didn’t know that was true. Especially if you’re angry.”

  I opened my eyes, blinking at him. “But you know that I know.”

  “Yes, I do,” he said, smiling. “I think we’d call that leverage.” He massaged higher, up to my elbow. “I won’t say anything, though. Not if you play nice with me.”

  “What do you want from me?” I said.

  His hand moved back down to my wrist and he guided it over to his body. He put my hand on his stomach.

  I shook my head.

  “Undo my pants,” he said softly.

  I pulled my hand away.

  He grabbed me, insistent. Put my hand back. “Come on, Suther. You’re rolling your face off. It’ll feel great, I swear. You’ll love it.”

  “No, I don’t think I will,” I said, because there was something under the current of goodness, something that felt rotten and dark, and I didn’t want to let it wash over me. If I did this, it might swallow me whole.

  “Suther, don’t be afraid,” he said in a soothing voice. “It’s no big deal.”

  And then I felt an odd surge, something coming through my bond to Phist. It lit up, and I knew where he was. He was close. He was coming for me.

  “Phist,” I whispered, sitting up straight.

  “No, forget Mephistopheles,” groaned Oliver. “Just—”

  The flap at the front of the pavilion burst open, and Phist strode inside. He was out of breath. He rolled his head on his shoulders and dragged a hand over his jaw. “Iblis. I never beat someone up on ecstasy before. Do you think violence feels good when you’re rolling?”

  Oliver scrambled to his feet. “You’re rolling too?”

  Phist raised a finger. “Gina.”

  “Gina!” I said. “The drink.”

  Phist nodded. “What can I say? She wants me bad, so she has to resort to date rape drugs. It’s so classy.” He pointed at Oliver. “You’re just as bad.”

  Oliver looked at me and then back at Phist. “That word is so ugly. This isn’t… that. I mean, Suther’s into it.”

  “Totally.” Phist laughed. He trailed one of his own fingers over his neck and down the front of his chest. “I can see that. She’d be all over you if she wasn’t on fucking drugs.” He lunged across the pavilion suddenly and tackled Oliver.

  Oliver was caught off guard and his head thudded against the ground, the blankets beneath us not offering much cushion.

  I got to my feet. “Phist, I don’t think you should—”

  Phist wasn’t listening to me. He was grinning, looking vaguely demented, and I thought of that time I’d seen him fighting at the amphitheater, blood dripping down of his nose and clotted in the stubble on his chin.

  I tried to back up, but there was nowhere to go in the pavilion.

  Phist rained punches down on Oliver’s face, pummeling him and making this strange sort of humming noise, a sound of satisfaction.

  Oliver was gurgling, arms flailing as he ineffectually tried to push Phist off.

  Phist was laughing. He drove his fist into Oliver’s nose, and it exploded in gore. Blood splashed on my hand and I looked at in horrified fascination.

  “Stop, Phist,” I whispered.

  Phist turned to look at me. He looked back down at Oliver.

  “I’m going to fuck you up, Mephistopheles.” Oliver’s voice was thin and trembling.

  Phist scrambled backwards, off of him. He shut his eyes and then opened them and shivered.

  Oliver sat up, bringing shaking fingers to his face.

  “Sorry, man,” said Phist, looking at the blood on his hands. “Let’s go, Suther.”

  My lips parted. Did I want to go anywhere with Phist after he’d just done that?

  Something flared in our bond, and I felt him, felt his desire for me, like a warm flood of sweetness, and I gasped.

  “Sorry, man?” repeated Oliver. “It’s the fucking Horn Party. You know—”

  “I’m really fucked up right now,” said Phist, glaring at him. “You can heal that shit. We both know it.” He held out a hand to me.

  I put my hand in his grasp.

  He smiled and more warmth came through the bond.

  I smiled too.

  He pulled me out of the pavilion and slung his arm around me like it belonged there. I molded my body against his. My phone chimed in my pocket. I pulled it out, but the screen was too bright. “Can you read this?” I said to Phist.

  “It’s Lev,” said Phist, squinting painfully at the screen. He punched something on the phone and put it to his ear.

  “What are you doing?” I said.

  “Calling Lev,” said Phist.

  “Why?” I said.

  “Hey, Lev,” said Phist into the phone. “I’ve got her. Suther. She’s fine. Don’t call us again.” He hung up the phone and tossed it over his shoulder. “Your room or mine?”

  I giggled.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I watched Phist in the bathroom off my bedroom, washing the blood off his hands.

  “You really hit him a lot.”

  “I hate that guy,” said Phist.

  I pulled my black robe off and let it fall on the floor. Then I thought I’d be more comfortable out of my shirt, so I took that off. And my bra was like a torture device. I undid it and wriggled out of it.

  Phist looked up. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Putting on pjs,” I said, going to my dresser. “I need soft clothes.”

  He groaned. “We cannot…”

  I yanked open a drawer, pawing through my pajamas. “Cannot what?”

  “We’re both fucked up on drugs,” he said. “We were dosed with E, and we’re not in our right minds.”

  “Yeah, we established this,” I said, turning around, holding my shirt under my breasts. I vaguely remembered that I was sometimes embarrassed by being naked, but it was Phist, and he’d seen me naked already and I didn’t care.

  He let out a long, low groan. “You can’t consent when you’re…”

  “Oh, neither can you,” I said.

  “So, we can’t have sex,” he said.

  I started. “Were you thinking about having sex with me?”

  “Suther, that is all I think about. Constantly.”

  “Really?” I raised my eyebrows.

  “Would you put your shirt on?”

  “Okay.” I shrugged into it. “I think about you like that too. I mean, maybe it’s not constant, but…”

  “Stop,” he said. “Let’s um…” He turned around, tangling his hands into his own hair, groaning again. “What can you do on E that’s not about touching?”

  “You’ve done this a lot? Ecstasy?”

  “Not a lot,” he said. “I don’t like it. I don’t like being out of control. I don’t like the way it makes you feel. It’s easy to trust people you shouldn’t trust.”

  “Like Oliver,” I said. “Oliver might be a problem, actually. He knows things.”

  “Like what things?”

  I struggled to think about how to explain it. “No, I can’t think right now. I’ll have to tell you after this wears off. How long until it wears off?”

  “Six hours? Maybe eight?”

  “Are you kidding me? It lasts that long?”

  “Well, maybe more like four to six hours from now,” he said. “We’ve been rolling for a while. Probably going to peak soon.” He sat down on my bed and took off his leather jacket. Then he bent down and unlaced his boots. “We should try to enjoy it, I guess. But I don’t know what we should…” Then he looked up. “Dancing!”

  “Dancing? You dance?”

  He shrugged. “We need some really terrible nineties techno.” He got his phone out of his pocket. “Hold on. I’ll find something.”

  “Techno? Seriously?”

  “It’s music created by and for people on ecstasy,” he said. “Just wait until you hear it.” A few seconds later, his phone started pumping out some kind of electronica, which was not music I usually liked because it was kind of repetitive.

  But when it started playing, it was like a revelation from heaven. It pulsed through my body and woke up every nerve inside it. I gasped.

  He laughed, and it sounded surprisingly like a giggle.

  “That’s perfect,” I said,

  “I know, right?” He stood up.

  I had a set of speakers that could connect wirelessly with my phone. I took his phone to set it up really quickly, and the music started coming out of the speakers. It sounded so much better that way, louder and fuller.

  He held out his hand to me. “Dance with me?”

  I went to him, grinning widely. I tried to imagine Phist dancing, and I just couldn’t. He seemed too serious and brooding for that. And for what it was worth, I didn’t really dance a lot either. Usually, when I tried to dance, I felt self-conscious, and fear of looking like an idiot kept me from really letting loose.

  I put my hand in his, and the music was surging around me, and it was as though every electronic drum beat, every pulse of bass, was making my body reverberate with absolute bliss. My body started to move, but it was as though it was moving of its own volition, as if my limbs knew what to do. My brain wasn’t part of it. I wasn’t thinking. I was just being. The music existed and I existed and Phist existed and everything was beautiful.

  We moved together, not touching, just swaying and bouncing to the beats. I felt so good. I remember throwing my head back, my mouth open, gasping at the perfection of it, and then leaning into Phist, because he was there, and he was moving, and then we were moving together, inching closer as if the music was urging us to move together, to touch.

  I felt bold and carefree and everything was perfect, and I sidled up to him, shaking my shoulders, and I put my thigh between his thighs, so that we were scissored together. He caught me behind my back, his arm around my waist. I dipped back and he held me up. I swung in a circle, eyes rolling back in my head at how good this felt.

  He pulled me back up and we were face to face and touching and moving together, and the music was amazing. It was the most perfect sound in the world, and it made me feel so damned good.

  I put my hands on his face.

  He shut his eyes.

  I dragged my hands down his shoulders.

  He opened his eyes and looked at me from beneath his thick, sooty lashes.

  “You’re the most beautiful boy…” I muttered.

  He sucked in breath, looking as blissed out as I felt. He leaned forward, and his lips were coming for mine…

  And the song ended, the music fading out.

  We both sagged.

  He stepped back.

  I stepped back.

  The next song was faster. More energetic. We jumped around, waving our hands at the ceiling, getting out of breath and sweaty, and everything still felt really good. I had boundless energy, and I loved the way it felt to move to the music. It was all amazing.

  Phist tied his hair back in a ponytail and then he stripped off his shirt.

  I gazed at his bare chest, speechless. I’d seen Phist without a shirt before, but he was so damned pretty and V-shaped and he had all those sculpted swells that made him look like a classical Greek statue and…

  “Oh,” he said. “Sorry. Should I put it back on?”

  “Cocky much?” I managed.

  He laughed. “Oh, the arrogance of me on E is unrivaled.”

  I laughed.

  “I was just hot.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “I meant…” He winked at me. “I see what you did there.”

  “I don’t know if it’s actually witty? I think you’re an easy crowd right now.”

  “Oh, yeah, everything’s funny.”

  I felt all tingly. The music was still going on, but we weren’t moving so much now. We were a little out of breath, and we were taking it easy. I sauntered over to him, swinging my hips because it felt good and it seemed like the thing to do.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16