Chapter Five
As we reach the bottom floor in the elevator, I remember the protesters. I’ve easily dodged them, but I doubt they would enjoy an appearance by the very person they are there to rally against.
“There are protesters out there,” I say.
“I’m aware.”
“Maybe we should sneak around the back,” I suggest.
“Why?”
“It might get ugly. They’re pretty riled up.”
“I’m not afraid of humans. It’d take an army of you to kill one of me.”
“Really?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
“No reason,” I say.
“You’re lucky I’m such a confident person, because if I wasn’t that would’ve hurt my feelings.”
I follow him out of the elevator. If anything, it looks like the protest has gotten even larger and more hostile than it was this morning.
Zarmenus doesn’t seem even slightly concerned as he goes straight out the front door.
I follow him out and find myself standing next to a demon in front of a crowd of hundreds who all hate him and very much want him removed from the campus.
Zarmenus lifts a hand and waves at the protesters.
A few camera crews and news vans are nearby, filming us.
Am I going to be on the news? I’ve been on TV once.
I was on student council, and was interviewed after a news team ran a story on my school.
Mom brings out the video whenever relatives visit.
“Hey, everyone,” says Zarmenus. “Cool signs.”
I shove my hands in my pockets to try to stop them from shaking.
The crowd starts to boo, and people wave their signs like they’re pitchforks.
If there wasn’t a small army of campus police and security nearby, I’d be worried they would rush forward in an attempt to swamp him.
On the other hand, some of the protesters have gone pale with fear at being in Zarmenus’s presence, and are muttering prayers under their breath.
“Let’s go,” I say, and I head to the side of the building, hoping to avoid the crowd.
There’s a blur of movement, then a crunching sound.
It takes me a second to figure out that someone has thrown an egg at me, and it missed my head by maybe an inch to splatter on the wall behind me.
I turn and spot the person who threw it.
We lock eyes, and he reaches down to grab another egg from the carton.
Zarmenus steps in front of me.
“Don’t,” he says, speaking to the protester.
The man is shaking, but he still picks up the egg. He moves his hand back and goes to throw.
“I said don’t,” commands Zarmenus. And it’s not his voice I hear. It’s many voices, all somehow unified. Their tone is deep and beastly.
A ripple of pure fear goes through the crowd. Some of them stagger, horror etched into their features. Zarmenus takes a step forward. There’s a moment of quiet, and then someone screams. The protesters break rank, and chaos breaks out, with many of them running away as fast as they can.
I look behind me, and my breath catches. Something impossible is happening.
Zarmenus might look human, but the shadow he is casting onto the building behind him is not.
It’s the shadow of a tall, winged monster.
Curved horns poke out from the top of his forehead, and his hands have transformed into talons, with long, pointed nails that look razor sharp.
Tentacles burst from his back, flailing through the air.
While Zarmenus is standing perfectly still, his shadow looks like an enormous eldritch monster.
“Boo,” says Zarmenus.
Most of the protesters turn and run screaming, leaving only a few horror-struck stragglers.
As they run for their lives, Zarmenus’s shadow shrinks, returning to its normal size. I notice the ruby pendent of his necklace is glowing. Only a few of the protesters have stayed in place, including the guy who threw an egg at me. He slowly puts the egg back into the carton and closes the lid.
Zarmenus smiles at me. “Shall we?”
With that, we walk onto the path that goes past the dorm buildings and leads to the main part of the campus. Unlike Clark Hall, the Point campus looks just how it did online. It might even be prettier than it looked in the pictures. As we’re walking, I notice a group of people following us.
Only they aren’t protesters. They’re dressed in black and have cameras hanging around their necks. Paparazzi.
“I’ll deal with them,” says Zarmenus. “Give me a second?”
He approaches the group of paparazzi and speaks to them. A few seconds later, Zarmenus rejoins me, and they leave.
“What did you say to them?” I ask.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “They work for my dad, part of the whole ‘show mankind we’re not monsters’ thing. I asked them for one afternoon where I can be normal, and I guess they felt bad and obliged.”
There’s an unmissable note of sadness in his voice.
“Does press usually follow you around?” I ask. “Back in Hell, I mean.”
“Unfortunately, yeah. I’d tell you I’m used to it but then I’d be lying. It’s one of those things you never really get comfortable with. And don’t say you’re sorry, it’s not your fault. Humans always do that and I find it off-putting.”
We reach the quad. In the middle of it is a tall white obelisk with a bronze plaque on the bottom. Zarmenus and I approach, and we walk around it. The plaque is dedicated to Sir Henry Point, the school’s founder.
“Hey,” says Zarmenus. He offers me his phone. “Can you take a picture of me? This lighting’s good.”
I take his phone, which is the newest make of iPhone, and he poses in front of the obelisk.
I take a few, and when I swipe through find he’s remarkably photogenic.
As I take photos, I notice we have a few onlookers.
They aren’t paparazzi and don’t seem like protesters; instead they seem like other students who recognize him.
I can’t blame them, I’m sure I’d be curious if I saw a demon on campus.
“How are they?” he asks.
“You look good.”
He scrolls through the pictures, and I find myself hoping he likes them. “Nice. I need new pictures for the apps. Are you on any of those, by the way?”
I blink, startled. “Er, no.”
“You should be—you’d clean up. You’ve got this clumsy-little-lamb vibe. It’s cute. There are guys back home who would full-on devour you.”
“I don’t know how to respond to that.”
“Just take the compliment.”
“Thank you?”
He claps me on the shoulder. “You’re welcome.”
Around the obelisk are a bunch of classrooms as well as a coffee shop called Brewed Awakening, a convenience store, and a bookshop that also sells Point apparel.
In the distance is a modern-looking building with gleaming panes of glass, and it’s stunning in a different way from the brick buildings.
I recognize it: it’s the Anderson Center, the science and engineering building that houses the Square, one of the biggest interactive screens in the world.
Point is obsessed with the Square—almost every brochure about the campus mentions it.
I think it’s because Point has a bit of a reputation for being old-fashioned, and things like the Square show they aren’t stuck in the past. Completely, anyway.
I take a picture of it to send to Ashley.
“Do you want a coffee?” asks Zarmenus. “I’m sure you’ve got questions—you can ask me anything you’d like.”
“I’m never going to turn down coffee.”
In front of Brewed Awakening is a sign that says they have matcha lattes on sale. I’ve never tried one. Maybe I should. Isn’t trying new things the point of college?
We go inside and find a table near the back.
This coffee shop is amazing: it’s split over two levels, and one of the feature walls is covered in plants.
Big glass windows give an incredible view of the quad and the obelisk.
Behind the cash register and coffee machine is a huge chalkboard with the menu and a mural of a sleeping white dragon with lilac smoke coming out of its nostrils.
It’s official, I like this place. I feel a weird pang of guilt.
My parents would kill to own a coffee shop like this, one that is both full of character and customers.
“You’re paying, right?” he says.
I frown. Isn’t he royalty? I don’t mind getting him a coffee, but it’s kind of rude to assume. I keep expecting him to tell me he’s joking, but from the looks of things he’s dead serious.
“I’m about to tell you things very few men have ever heard,” he offers.
“Fine. What do you want?”
“A coffee black as my soul. Humans get a lot wrong, but coffee is perfection.”
I order the coffees, including a matcha latte for myself. If I can talk with a demon, I can try an unfamiliar drink. When they’re ready, we take them to a table by the window.
“Let’s get this over with,” he says. “Ask your questions.”
“What you did back at the protest, how did you do that?”
“The shadow magic?”
I nod.
“It’s easy, really. All demons can do it.”
“So it’s magic?”
“You can call it that,” he says. “It’s like second nature to us. You don’t think too much about the fact that your heart beats or you can digest food, do you? It’s just something we can do. I can control shadows and flames, change my appearance, and a few other fun things.”
A shadowy, demonic hand creeps across the coffee table toward my drink. I move it away before it can reach.
“But your necklace,” I say. “I saw it glow.”
“You’re very perceptive.” He picks up the pendant and holds it in his fingers. “It’s a power source. I draw on its energy instead of my own. If I didn’t use it I’d be really tired now.”
“That’s actually so awesome! You can do magic. Sorry to nerd out but like, oh my God.”
“Let’s keep this rolling. Next question.”
“How do you feel about people thinking you’re evil?” I ask.
He takes another sip. “I don’t love it. Demons are good people, mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“You’re saying there aren’t bad humans?”
“No, I’m just curious.”
Zarmenus’s phone starts to ring.
He swipes and answers the call. He’s quiet for a moment, just listening. “Okay, we’ll be right there.”
He hangs up.
“What was that about?” I ask.
“Dean Leeke wants to see us as soon as possible.”
Wait, did he just say us?