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“Oh, a long time ago. Long, long time ago.”
“And don’t you want to be free again?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. What would I do if I were free? At least, with the way things are, I have a purpose.”
I shook my head. She didn’t know what freedom was. She couldn’t even imagine it. All these incredible powers, and the pixies weren’t going to use them to rebel, because freedom had been bred out of them. I couldn’t get her a therapist, like Klaus had sarcastically suggested, but I could get her a friend. Me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Friday couldn’t come fast enough. Professor Maat was getting us ready for the field trip to Hell with a bunch of extra assignments, and all I could think about was Lovecraft’s stories about the Great Old Ones. We were studying the Nine Circles of Hell, and I showed up unprepared on Thursday, made a mess of the Third Circle, which was Gluttony, but thank God I was Morningstar’s daughter! Mrs. Maat didn’t take any points from me. I’d already passed Francis on the worth scoreboard and was on second place after Sariel. None of it was for real or made any sense, but who cared? The worth score system was broken before I was popular, and now it was just as broken, but I was at the opposite end of where I’d been in year one. In truth, nothing had changed. Just my perception of it. I’d cared a lot about my worth points back then, when I had to do everything in my power to stay afloat. Now I knew it was a rigged system that had nothing to do with the real world, so I couldn’t care less. Being second didn’t mean I really was the second-best student at the Academy. It just meant my father was who he was, the professors were afraid of him, so they were trying to get into his good graces by boosting my grades and worth points.
I was sure a lot of my classmates hated me for real now, but no one dared to say a word or make one wrong step. They should have hated the stupid system, not me. It wasn’t like I could have chosen my parents. If I could have, Valentine wouldn’t have been my father. I wasn’t sure about Katia. I knew so little about her that I tried not to judge. Mostly, I tried not to think about her at all.
The Literature class was full. Mr. Lovecraft had asked us to read quite the brick on holiday – The Possessed by Dostoevsky – and I was genuinely surprised so many students had done their homework and actually read it. They probably thought it was about demons. Some Stephen King-type horror, I chuckled to myself. Pazuzu shot me a confused look. He was right. The Possessed was a sad, heavy, depressing story, and laughing while Mr. Lovecraft was trying to help us understand Stavrogin was super disrespectful.
I bounced my leg the whole class, checking the time every five minutes and annoying the crap out of GC, who hadn’t only read the book, but also loved it.
“The fuck’s wrong with you? I’m trying to pay attention.”
“Sorry.” I rolled my eyes. If it hadn’t been for me, he would’ve never taken Literature. Neither would have Paz, Sariel, Pandora, and the rest of the students who’d made it their mission to follow me around. They’d ruined the class for me, anyway.
Corri was sitting on top of my book, which made a pretty tall chair for her. She kicked her tiny legs back and forth, not much more patient than I was.
Saved by the bell! I told GC and Paz I’d catch up with them later, then waited for everyone to leave the classroom. Sariel shot me a questioning glance, and I masterfully ignored him. Since I’d had dinner with the Gracewings, he seemed to be following me around even more fiercely. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand what his deal was. I thought he wanted to be there to protect me from Lorna at first, but Lorna had disappeared from the picture almost completely. We rarely saw her around anymore, and rumor had it that she was dating some poor sap from the Righteous Death Cabal.
“Professor Lovecraft, do you have a minute?”
“Of course, Miss Morningstar.”
“I wanted to return the books.” Corri made the two volumes float right onto his desk.
“Have you read them?” I nodded, and his whole face lit up. “What did you think?”
I cleared my throat. Well, you’re not going to win any literature prizes anytime soon. “Err… yes, I… I enjoyed them a lot. They were… different.”
“Different. That was one thing I was going for.”
I had to do better. “Dark, gloomy, suspenseful… I could really feel the characters’ tension, their horror when they came face to face with the unknown. The terror of not knowing what would happen next, but also the certitude they’d never be the same.” I was describing my own experience with Francis’s monster.
Professor Lovecraft nodded enthusiastically.
“So, I have a few questions,” I took out my notebook. “I was especially intrigued by Yig, the King of Serpents. Where did you first hear about him? You said you were inspired by old mythology?”
“Very old, and not very mainstream, like the ones you studied with Professor Halo. Yig comes from the Native American culture. Some say he is the same with Quetzalcoatl, the Mesoamerican feathered serpent, the god of the wind, the air, and learning, but I’m not really on board with this theory. I believe they’re different.”
“But Quetz… erm…” Fuck. I couldn’t pronounce the name. “The Mesoamerican god would be a false god, right?” He nodded. “While Yig is a Great Old One.”
“Exactly. That’s why I don’t believe they’re one and the same.”
“This is very confusing. I’m sorry, so Quetz-whatever is a false god, which means he is real, existed, or still exists somewhere in the wide world, and Yig is… not real?”
“Yes to the first part of your question, maybe/not sure to the last one. That’s the thing with the Great Old Ones. Maybe they’re among us, maybe they’re not.”
I cocked an eyebrow. I wasn’t getting anywhere. Moving on…
“So, the way you described him… Did you take that from the old stories, as well?”
“No. That was one hundred percent my imagination. The stories describe him in various ways. Honestly, I think that if he did exist, and ten people saw him, you’d end up with ten completely different descriptions. That’s the nature of the Great Old Ones. Everyone perceives them through their own fears, beliefs, dreams and nightmares.”
