The Papilio whiz about, pulling stuff out of backpacks, pockets, and purses. They shred books, crush coins into lumps of metal, and pull out hair by the handful. I rise to my feet, my hands balling with rage.

The swarm whips about me, then flips their focus, heading toward the Old Timer’s desk. He stands in front of it, his back against the desktop, his arms stretched forward.

My tail relaxes. The Old Timer gets a turn. Nice.

“Per Article 7 of the Spectral Treaty, inspections are limited to quasis only. This is a ghoul teacher’s desk.”

The Papilio encircle the Old Timer’s desk, tearing through his stuff with a vengeance. The floor quickly becomes littered with pens, papers, and shredded books.

The Old Timer sets his fists on his bony hips. “These are my personal items! I’m a ghoul! I have rights!”

The little demons titter with a hundred whispery voices. A group of them grab one end of the Old Timer’s moustache and pull, hard. It breaks loose with a rrrrip.

The Old Timer’s gray hand pats his upper lip. “How dare you!”

The demons chuckle even louder, then swarm out the room and down the hall. The Old Timer follows after them, shaking his bony fist shoulder-high.

I slip back into my chair, a satisfied grin rounding my mouth. All our failed test papers and bad report cards lie in shreds on the classroom floor. That’s good, but it’s even better to watch a ghoul find out what demons are really like.

Like I’ve said all along, they’re anything but our noble allies.

12

I march across the greenish-yellow lawn at school. Setting my thumb into my mouth, I bite down on my nail and wince. Yowch. I’ve chewed every fingernail to a nub. The stupid thrax tournament is coming up this weekend. It’s been one week, four days, and six hours since I last spoke to Cissy.

I’m starting to crack.

I glance at my watch. I’m due at the muddy field behind school in two minutes. I step around the back of the building and scan for my class. My eye twitches as I spot a group of kids standing in the center of the sloppy green.

Jogging up to my gym class, I jam my hands into my hoodie pockets. I don’t say hello to anyone and no one greets me, either. You’d think after almost two weeks, I’d start to make new friends. Sure, I tried talking to other kids, but we form groups by our deadly-sin powers, and wrath’s pretty rare. And Furor-wrath, like me? Rare to the level of freaky.