punished according to the severity of his or her crimes. To further encourage compliance, disciplinary action may be doled out on a transferable basis to any or all of you.
“Rules will be enforced without appeal. We have a zero-tolerance policy, and again, my available discretion is limited.”
So she keeps saying. The figure standing (floating?) alongside the podium is gray, transparent. It’s increasingly clear that Ulman’s face is full and oval. Her eyes must’ve been blue or gray. Her hair is arranged in two braids, tucked to cover her ears and accented by brocade. Lace decorates the gown at the bust and from midthigh to the floor. A lace-trimmed handkerchief is tucked at an odd angle in the bodice.
“You’ll find school uniforms hanging in your closets. Plan to wear them to class, beginning tomorrow morning.”
Bridget pipes up. “My parents know I’m here. My father won’t let you —”
“Your father,” Ulman begins in a voice perfectly mimicking Bridget’s, “has exchanged a dozen text messages and two voice calls with someone he believes to be you. You promised to tell him about orientation tonight after dinner.”
“That’ll only work for so long,” Kieren says. “Sooner or later, someone will insist on seeing one of us in person.”
“By then,” Ulman replies, “it will be too late.”
Too late for what? Before I can ask, Ulman’s image flickers. I see horns, claws.
“Are you a ghost?” Vesper whispers.
Ulman ignores the question. “Your chances of success are best in a full-immersion setting. Therefore, you will not be leaving the building or contacting the outside world until you graduate. Please note that the Bilovskis are likewise permanent residents and have no more choice in the matter than you do. They have no power to facilitate your defying school policy or leaving the premises.”
She pauses. “I hope you all got your flu shots. Now, if you will please stand and follow me, I will show you the library.” Ulman floats out the door.
It’s as though we’ve been spellbound until that moment. Everyone starts talking. Bridget insists that Ulman is a hologram. Vesper mocks Bridget for being naive. Willa begins babbling something about the condemned or condemnation. Nigel stands, muttering about unworthiness. Lucy asks what we should do.
Kieren replies, “Go to the library.”
He, Evelyn, and I hang back as the others file out.
“What is that thing?” the Otter asks.
“Probably a previously descended soul or essence,” the Wolf says. “One that was taken to hell and has come back. ‘Ghost’ is close enough. But her variety is so rare, that’s about all I know about it.”
Given that Ulman has no solid physical form, we can’t fight her or force her to tell us anything. “Do you think she’s the teeth and claws of this place?” I ask.
“If she was a tenth scholar,” Kieren says, “she may not even be evil. Just damned and resigned to her fate.”
The library takes up half of the third floor. Freestanding shelves separate two work areas. Each has a glass-topped, metal-framed table and metal chairs. A few cushioned chairs with matching ottomans offer a more relaxed reading space. They’ve been angled artfully in the corners.
An unoccupied desk toward the front of the room is bookended by custom-designed card catalogs. The books are old, some charred along the spines. They come in various sizes. A couple of larger ones are displayed on podiums.
The students stand in a bunch. They’re trying not to draw attention to themselves.
“Is there a librarian?” It’s the first question I’ve asked.
“No,” Ulman replies. “We’ll require a library assistant.”
Kieren raises his hand. “I volunteer.” He’s a whiz at demonic lore and history. If the answer to our escape were in these books, he’d find it. But this is Satan’s schoolhouse. We can’t trust anything we learn here, except maybe what we learn from each other.
Ulman nods in
“Rules will be enforced without appeal. We have a zero-tolerance policy, and again, my available discretion is limited.”
So she keeps saying. The figure standing (floating?) alongside the podium is gray, transparent. It’s increasingly clear that Ulman’s face is full and oval. Her eyes must’ve been blue or gray. Her hair is arranged in two braids, tucked to cover her ears and accented by brocade. Lace decorates the gown at the bust and from midthigh to the floor. A lace-trimmed handkerchief is tucked at an odd angle in the bodice.
“You’ll find school uniforms hanging in your closets. Plan to wear them to class, beginning tomorrow morning.”
Bridget pipes up. “My parents know I’m here. My father won’t let you —”
“Your father,” Ulman begins in a voice perfectly mimicking Bridget’s, “has exchanged a dozen text messages and two voice calls with someone he believes to be you. You promised to tell him about orientation tonight after dinner.”
“That’ll only work for so long,” Kieren says. “Sooner or later, someone will insist on seeing one of us in person.”
“By then,” Ulman replies, “it will be too late.”
Too late for what? Before I can ask, Ulman’s image flickers. I see horns, claws.
“Are you a ghost?” Vesper whispers.
Ulman ignores the question. “Your chances of success are best in a full-immersion setting. Therefore, you will not be leaving the building or contacting the outside world until you graduate. Please note that the Bilovskis are likewise permanent residents and have no more choice in the matter than you do. They have no power to facilitate your defying school policy or leaving the premises.”
She pauses. “I hope you all got your flu shots. Now, if you will please stand and follow me, I will show you the library.” Ulman floats out the door.
It’s as though we’ve been spellbound until that moment. Everyone starts talking. Bridget insists that Ulman is a hologram. Vesper mocks Bridget for being naive. Willa begins babbling something about the condemned or condemnation. Nigel stands, muttering about unworthiness. Lucy asks what we should do.
Kieren replies, “Go to the library.”
He, Evelyn, and I hang back as the others file out.
“What is that thing?” the Otter asks.
“Probably a previously descended soul or essence,” the Wolf says. “One that was taken to hell and has come back. ‘Ghost’ is close enough. But her variety is so rare, that’s about all I know about it.”
Given that Ulman has no solid physical form, we can’t fight her or force her to tell us anything. “Do you think she’s the teeth and claws of this place?” I ask.
“If she was a tenth scholar,” Kieren says, “she may not even be evil. Just damned and resigned to her fate.”
The library takes up half of the third floor. Freestanding shelves separate two work areas. Each has a glass-topped, metal-framed table and metal chairs. A few cushioned chairs with matching ottomans offer a more relaxed reading space. They’ve been angled artfully in the corners.
An unoccupied desk toward the front of the room is bookended by custom-designed card catalogs. The books are old, some charred along the spines. They come in various sizes. A couple of larger ones are displayed on podiums.
The students stand in a bunch. They’re trying not to draw attention to themselves.
“Is there a librarian?” It’s the first question I’ve asked.
“No,” Ulman replies. “We’ll require a library assistant.”
Kieren raises his hand. “I volunteer.” He’s a whiz at demonic lore and history. If the answer to our escape were in these books, he’d find it. But this is Satan’s schoolhouse. We can’t trust anything we learn here, except maybe what we learn from each other.
Ulman nods in
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