Conspiracy Boy (Angel Academy) Read Free

baritone voice rang out over the shink of his blade being unsheathed. “Why am I not surprised?”
    I took a step back as Lyle sputtered above us. “Love of my life. Heart of my heart. Howzitgoin’?”
    “ How’s it goin’? ” Jack repeated. “Ami, you’ve violated seven, possibly eight levels of Guardian trainee protocols tonight, and you want to know how it’s goin’ ?”
    “I was being conversational.”
    Jack looked annoyed. “Are you aware of the punishment for this?”
    “Death by coffee?” I said optimistically.
    He frowned but didn’t reply. Normally, a six-foot-plus, sword-wielding dude wearing black Kevlar body armor would have terrified me. Tonight, not so much.
    “Put him down,” I said wearily. “He didn’t do anything.”
    “Define anything .”
    “Nothing a normal person wouldn’t do for a friend.”
    “Define normal .” Jack eyed my demon-charred hair and rumpled skirt. “Then define friend. ”
    I had just opened my mouth to admit it was all my idea when Jack drew back Lyle’s jacket to reveal the shoulder holster loaded with a sword and a variety of metal throwing knives.
    “School property,” he said, then ran a hand through the air near my fingers. “And you’re warm. Have you been channeling?”
    “I am not warm,” I objected through the shivers. “I’m arctic. And for your information, this is a perfectly legitimate school exercise. We’re hunting demons.”
    “ Grrgggllpbfff, ” Lyle choked out from the end of Jack’s fist. Which I’m pretty sure translated to “shut up” in nonstrangulation language.
    “You think hunting demons in a public venue is legitimate?”
    “Yes, I do. And necessary , since no one else at St. Michael’s bothers to do it lately.”
    At that, Jack’s eyes took on a stormy look, like those icy gray stones Meeks kept in the lab sometimes. Hematite, I think they’re called.
    Very, very slowly, he set Lyle down. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Purcell, I need a word with Guardian Bennett.”
    Lyle choked out something that sounded like yessir.
    “And next time you want to borrow school property”—Jack reached a hand into Lyle’s jacket pocket and drew out a pair of serrated throwing knives—“please fill out the proper requisition forms.”
    Then he took three steps back and, as casually as swatting a butterfly, flicked his wrist and sent one of the knives in a glittering arc toward Lyle’s face. Lyle ducked about a nanosecond before it made contact.
    “You,” Jack said, pointing at me. “Come.”
    I swallowed hard.
    It’s a discomfiting thing to have the person you love more than anything in the world toss a knife at your friend’s head and walk away. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that Jack never gets angry. He does. Often. But that’s usually when he’ll start building a house for the homeless or crocheting like some insane elderly person. Happily so, because let’s face it, when Jack lost his temper, the infirmary got a lot busier.
    “Coming,” I muttered and hurried after him.
    By the time I caught up, he was already slouched against a concrete piling beneath the wharf, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other anxiously twirling Lyle’s knife by the hook in its hilt. I slowed to a stop about two feet away, just out of sight of Lyle.
    “So,” I said.
    “So,” he replied. “So.”
    And suddenly things were awkward.
    Mega awkward. Like last fall never happened. Like we’d never practically died for each other. Like we weren’t part bonded and crazy in love with each other. My stomach churned. My heart fluttered. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. It made me want to vomit, run away, and ask him to prom, all at once.
    “Omelet,” he said, after a quiet minute, “what are you doing?”
    I lifted the knife out of his hand and ran my finger along the metal hilt. Omelet was a nickname Jack had given me while he and I were hiding from the Guardian Elders. It brought back a thousand warm memories with him—none