In the Demon's Company (Demon's Assistant Book 2) (12 page)

I hand the dagger back. She refuses to take it. She looks over my head at Gabriel. “It’s fine. You can just owe me one.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say. Owing demons anything is probably stupid if it can be avoided and I already owe her brother.

Miranda takes the dagger, fits into a leather sheath, and then hands it back to me. “Please, take it. You can owe me cash if you don’t want to owe me a favor. And it’s not like I’m going to ask for your soul or something.” She smiles like she’s told a joke again.

I laugh nervously. “Cash, then,” I say, because remembering Vessa earlier, I definitely don’t want to go around unarmed. I thank her.

She waves and the partition slides back open. “It’s my job. Stay safe. And you,” she turns her piercing gaze on Gabriel, “please call my brother. You’re both too stubborn for your own good.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Don’t butt in, Mir.”

Miranda shrugs. “Just making an observation.”

Gabriel walks out of the weapons room and I follow. The door shuts automatically behind me.

“I thought you and Myron broke up,” I say to Gabriel. “That you dumped him.”

“I did. But it’s not exactly the first time it’s happened. We have a habit of getting back together, so Miranda thinks it’s another little spat.”

“Is it?” I ask, smiling a little wryly.

Gabriel sighs theatrically. “To tell you the truth, I don’t even know anymore.”

There’s obviously a story behind their relationship but it’s not one Gabriel seems keen on telling to me.

As I walk to the bus stop, I do feel better knowing that I’m armed. I’m going to need some training about how best to use a dagger, and I’m going to need to get Az to give me some cash to cover the cost of it so I don’t have to use the money I’m saving. He can afford it.

I catch sight of something blue out of the corner of my eye but when I turn around, it’s just someone’s umbrella, not a homicidal demon. I hurry down the street to a more crowded area and then wait for the bus, clutching the hilt of the dagger inside my purse. Yeah, definitely better to be armed. Gabriel was right about that.

“Where have you been?” Dad demands, the second I open the door. The noise from the television cuts off and he appears in the hallway. His face is a mask of worry and I swear there’s more gray in his brown hair than usual.

“I told you, I was at library,” I say. I know he’s my father but after years of leaving me to my own devices, it’s unfair of him to suddenly play authority figure.

“You went to the library after you ditched school?” he asks, eyes hard. Crap. As suspected, the attendance office must have called him. They always call the landline and I always beat him home to delete the messages. I suspect he knew but knowing something is different than actually having to deal with it.

“I had to run an errand,” I say, slowly. “And then I met up with a study group. It’s no big deal. I just missed art.” And algebra. “It’ll be fine.”

“It won’t be fine. You and I have to go see the Principal tomorrow.” The oxygen goes out of me like I was kicked in the chest. The Principal? That’s a little extreme for missing an afternoon. Dad turns away, palm to his forehead like he has a headache, and then drops his hands. I run through my mind the possibilities of what I could have done. I’ve missed a few classes, sure, but everyone ditches. Even Cam ditches class occasionally. I don’t think that’s serious enough to make my father go into the school. Is it? “I had to change my flight,” he adds. “Larry is pissed because it means delaying the install for half a day.”

Guilt claws through my guts. My dad loves his job. Lives for his job. I don’t want him to be in trouble at his job because of me.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” he asks.

I shake my head out of habit. Acid burns in my stomach. “I don’t know. Maybe she just wants to talk.” Except I know that’s not true. No one gets called into the Principal’s office to chat, especially not with their parents. “I only missed a few classes. And trust me, with everything that’s happened this week, there wasn’t a lot to miss.”

“According to the receptionist, you’ve missed a lot more than that.”

I swallow. My mouth feels dry. “Yeah, because we were out of town, remember?” We were in California for almost two weeks for my Nonna’s funeral.

“I got the impression during our brief phone conversation that those weren’t the days she was talking about.”

“She’s probably wrong.” She’s not. “It’s probably a mistake. Not a big deal.”

“It’s a
huge
deal, Nicki. Your school called and told me you missed class and I couldn’t get a hold of you.” He gives me a disappointed look I haven’t seen in years, not since before mom died. It sucks the remaining oxygen from my lungs and I feel hollow, empty. “Do you know how terrifying that is? To be told your child isn’t where they’re supposed to be and not be able to reach them to make sure they’re not dead in a ditch?” His voice hitches on the last word. Mom did not die in a ditch, but we were run off the side of the road and into a tree, so it’s close enough.

“I’m fine.”

“But I didn’t know that!” His voice is too loud and tinged with agony.

“I’m sorry.” My voice is small, pathetic. The stricken look on his face makes me feel like the worst person in the world. We’ve both lost people. We both know exactly how it feels. The seconds of panic and denial that twist into a stabbing pain, which tears open a wound in your being. To know I caused him even a moment of fear makes me feel horrible.

In the administration office, Dad checks us in and we’re told to take a seat. He fumbles through a magazine and avoids looking at me. I stare at the wall of helpful brochures and try to find one applicable to me. Applying to College. Nope. Heading to community college, if at all. Teen Pregnancy. I really, really hope not. I take birth control and use condoms, but I know neither is perfect. Tutoring Program. My worst nightmare, extra school. Well, besides being sent to the principal’s office with my father.

“Mr. Sorrentino?” the receptionist asks. “Mrs. Chander will see you and your daughter now.”

My stomach churns. I’m not ready. I’m pretty sure I’ll never be ready. Dad stands and I follow him in. Mrs. Chander is sitting at her desk. Today she wears a red business suit and a terse smile, her black hair tied back into a ponytail. She gestures for us to sit.

I’ve met Mrs. Chander twice before, once when I was given detention twice in a row and had to come to her office for a talk about classroom conduct—let’s just say colorful language is not really appreciated by Mr. Fink, the history teacher—and another time when she shook hands with the entire debate team after they returned from the State championship (I was there with Cam, who’s on the Debate team). She has a narrow, pointy nose and big brown eyes that can scream ‘disappointed parent.’

“Mr. Sorrentino, I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.”

“No,” my Dad says, smiling despite his obvious nerves. “We haven’t.” He’s a sales-slash-IT guy who sells security systems by installing them for corporate clients who’ve purchased the minimum plan. His main job is to talk them into all of the extra features. He’s good at turning on the charm.

She nods at me. “Good afternoon, Nicolette.”

“Nicki,” I correct. I let Azmos call me by my full name, because he’s my demon boss, but other than my Dad when he’s angry and some older relatives I rarely see, that’s it.

“Of course,” she says pleasantly. “I’m sorry to call you in like this.” This is aimed solely at Dad. “Unfortunately, Nicki is facing an academic crisis.” She pauses to let the weight of that sink in. Having lived through a car accident that killed my mother and a stabbing by a crazy woman who hated my guts, I’d hardly call anything school related a crisis.

Dad furrows his brow, concerned. Words like ‘crisis’ will do that to a person. “I don’t understand,” he says.

“Well, to put it frankly, Mr. Sorrentino, with these kinds of grades, she’s going to have to repeat most of her classes unless something is done before the end of the semester.” Mrs. Chander types on her computer and hits a button. A laser printer on her bookshelf spits out a page. She grabs it and passes it across the desk. “Those are her grades as they stand going into Winter break.”

It takes all of my willpower not to say something snarky. Everyone acts like school’s a matter of life and death but it’s really not. I’ve been faced with life and death more times than I care to count, especially this year, and it doesn’t look like a neatly printed sheet of paper.

My dad reads the print out a few times and sets it gently on the desk. I snatch it. They can act like I’m not in the room, but they’re the ones who made me come in here. The grades are about what I’d expect. An A in Painting and Expression, a B in Spanish (a class I share with Cameron and Melissa), and Ds in all of the others, except Chemistry. I’m surprised at the C in Chemistry but then I remember we’ve done a lot of lab partner quizzes and my lab partner, Laurie, is some kind of science genius. Plus Mrs. Crane was always good at explaining things and putting a few easy questions on her quizzes. A pang of grief worms through me at the thought.

Mrs. Chander doesn’t speak.

Finally, Dad says, “It’s not great.”

“No, it’s not,” she says firmly. She reminds me of a lawyer. “And then there’s the issue of attendance.”

My stomach does a full rotation and then squeezes the contents. I swallow back bile. “I’ve been attending,” I say.

“You have too many absences, and at least four are unexcused. I’m sure yesterday you were broken up about the untimely passing of Mrs. Crane, as we all were, but it doesn’t excuse ditching. Attendance isn’t just a rule, Ms. Sorrentino, it’s the law. The authorities take these things very seriously.” The last part is to my Dad, who finally looks sincerely worried. No, not just worried, frightened. “If you miss much more, you will be cited for truancy.”

“It’s been a hard year. My mother passed away and I had to take Nicki out of town for the funeral,” Dad says, his voice cracking only a little on the word mother.

“That was not a problem. She did her independent study work and that’s fine. I’m talking about the other classes missed, often in the middle of the day. She has at least a dozen this semester and some are excused with dubious notes.”

“She has?” He gives me a questioning look and then shakes his head. “That’s my fault too. I’ve had to travel a lot for work, and I guess I haven’t been as strict as I should have been. I’m currently changing positions within the company, so that won’t be a problem anymore. I’ll make sure her grades and attendance,” he gives me pointed, pained look, “improve.”

“I hope so. As it is, I’m afraid we have to suspend Ms. Sorrentino for the next four school days.”

“What?” Dad asks.

My stomach pushes more bile up my throat. I’m used to detention for accidentally swearing in class or missing homework or being tardy to class too many times, but suspension is a whole new level of punishment.

“She’s suspended through next Wednesday,” Mrs. Chander says.

“I don’t understand,” Day says, as if any part of this is unclear.

“She cannot be on campus, Mr. Sorrentino. She can spend the time getting caught up and then return on Thursday to get a fresh start.”

“No, I understand that. But isn’t that the opposite of what you want?” Leave it to my dad to try and find the logic where there is none.

“Ideally, our young academics wouldn’t require this level of discipline.”

“Ouch.” I don’t realize I spoke out loud until she narrows her eyes at me.

“This is gravely serious, Ms. Sorrentino. You’re facing expulsion. One more unexcused absence, and you’ll be finding a new school. I assure you, that’s not as fun as it sounds. And if you continue to perform poorly in your classes, you will be stuck in summer school, or possibly repeating the entire year. Is that clear?”

That is the last thing I want. Next year’s going to be bad enough without Cam at school, whether he’s at Stanford or here, going to the University of Washington. Two years of high school without him, the second without Melissa? I shudder at the thought. Maybe crisis was the right word.