Between Heaven and Hell (PA #2)

Chapter Thirty-One

My desk is missing.

Already late to training with Alexander, I decided to skip the whole thing altogether and spend that extra time on my seating chart assignment for my Fae Etiquette class. Caught up in the politics of placing feuding court members next to each other, I nearly missed my window for getting ready for Galileo's class.

Now I'm here, hair still wet, shirt untucked, and the beginnings of a headache forming somewhere in my temples. I'm tired beyond belief, and I don't have the energy to deal with a missing desk. Or a missing Ari, for that matter.

I focus on the empty space, hoping that my desk will materialize out of nowhere if I stare hard enough. It doesn't. I'm stuck with grooves on the tile floor demarcating where the piece of furniture used to reside.

My classmates are watching me, probably wondering why I continue to stand in the entryway of the classroom instead of taking a seat like a normal person. Are demons and angels considered people? By definition, am I the only actual person at this school? My head pounds with my thoughts.

Forcing my attention elsewhere, I'm met with Galileo's—excuse me, Professor Michaelson's—broad back as he's turned away from me. My feet unglue themselves from the floor in an attempt to get closer to him. There's a slight tightening of his back muscles with each step that I take.

When I'm less than a foot away, I clear my throat. He doesn't make any move to acknowledge me. "Sir?" I prompt him.

His hand clenches into a fist at his side before he makes a conscious effort to relax the tense muscles. Shifting slightly, his profile becomes visible. He's frowning, but that's not unusual for him.

"Professor?" I try again with no response.

There's a certain humiliation that comes with being ignored like this. Especially in front of a classroom full of witnesses. It makes me feel less than—like I don't matter. Like even the basic decency of acknowledging my existence is more effort than it's worth.

"My desk is gone," I tell him as if he doesn't already know.

"You're no longer a student in this class, Miss Hominum."

There's a finality to his statement, his tone leaving no chance for questions or argument.

I do it anyway. "Why?"

He tsks, shuffling some papers on his lectern. "You've already failed the course. Even if you got a perfect score on your final, there's no way you could bring your grade up to passing. By staying in this class, you'd just be wasting your time. More importantly, you'd be wasting mine. Get out and save us both the trouble of suffering your presence in my classroom any longer."

There's a chorus of gasps from the assembled students, but it barely percolates past the pain in my skull and the ripple in my heart. Not a tear, not exactly. It's a confirmation of my doubts. This whatever-you-want-to-call-it was doomed before it ever began. We've been enemies since we first met, and it was stupid of me to think we could be more than that.

I thought we moved past this, though. Thought we were on good terms; that he would no longer treat me like dirt on the bottom of his shoe. I can't keep letting him get away with that. If this is how he's going to act in public, then I won't allow him to touch me in private. I deserve more than that.

"Alright," I say simply.

"You are still required to show up to dodgeball practice tonight. As my assistant, I expect you to arrive an hour early to inflate all of the balls and rake the pitch."

He wants me to rake sand? In the giant arena?

"Alright," I agree.

"If you're even a single second late, I'll give you detention for a week."