World Eater

15

ABADDON WRAPPED HIS FINGERS AROUND FANCY’S ARM, SLAMMING IT DOWN ON THE DESK. Bones snapped under his grip as her arm was crushed against the desk. Abaddon stood, meeting Fancy face-to-face with a snarl.

“What do you think you're doing?” he growled, balling his fist.

Fancy cradled her broken bones against her chest, raising her eyebrows in mild surprise. “My, my, Abaddon. You're rather strong,” she said, smiling eerily.

“I will defend Alzar to the best of my ability. Keep your hands off him.”

“Now, don't act so rashly,” Fancy murmured, coming to her feet. In a series of wet cracking noises, the bones in her arm shifted, mending themselves and drawing back to their natural positions. “I suggest you know your place, Abaddon. It would be unsightly if you got in my way.”

Abaddon’s gut twisted as he stared down at Fancy’s fully healed arm. He had just snapped it in half. That shouldn't be possible. He slumped into his seat, knees weak.

Fancy chuckled, settling back in her chair. “See? There's no need to lose your temper.”

“What are you?” Abaddon breathed.

Fancy tinkered with the clock on her desk, moving the larger hand back. “I'm sure you'll know soon. But for right now, keep your head down and mouth shut, swine.”

Abaddon snatched a pen from her desk, holding it above his wrist. He dragged it across his skin, starting his message with an ‘F,' for Fancy. Alzar had to know what was happening.

“What did I just say?” Fancy said kindly, grabbing Abaddon’s arm. Her skin sent cold needles through Abaddon’s body, pushing the breath from his lungs. He staggered, vision blurring. Fancy’s bright eyes flashed, the last thing Abaddon saw before he fell into darkness.

----

Alzar weakly lifted his head, wiping a line of drool off his chin. His temples were pounding, a metallic taste in his throat.

He struggled to recollect what had happened. He had entered Fancy’s office and then...nothing? He stared at the clock on her desk- first period had only started a minute ago.

“I believe you passed out, Alzar,” Fancy said helpfully, “I noticed you looked pale when you came in. Have you been sleeping well?”

“Not really,” Alzar replied, voice groggy, “I feel terrible.” He pressed his forehead to her desk, letting the rest of his head hang over the floor. He clenched his eyes shut as another wave of nausea  passed through him.

Sharpie ink on his arm caught his attention. ‘F?’ He didn't recall writing that. Could Abaddon have done it? He stared at the clock once again, confirming that no time had passed. He couldn't have switched.

“F…?” he echoed.

“Perhaps you had French homework? You could have put it on your arm last night and forgotten,” Fancy offered, shrugging.

“I did have some studying to do during lunch,” Alzar muttered, running a hand down his face, sweat wetting the palms of his hand, “I guess that was it. My memory is terrible.”

“Miss Fancy,” a quiet voice murmured.

Alzar turned his head, spotting the boy he had met the time he had visited Fancy.

“Ah, Judas,” Fancy said, placing her hands in her lap, “What's wrong?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Fancy sighed, toying with her curly hair. “Alzar, you'll have to excuse me. I have to go. I suggest you use the rest of this period to get some rest. I would hate for you to fall asleep during class.”

Unsteady, Alzar nodded, watching Fancy and Judas slip out the door.

She was right, he needed rest.