Here it comes. Every quasi has a bit of demon DNA aligned to one of the seven deadly sins: lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride. In my case, my deadly sin is wrath, which is why I’m such a good fighter. For Cissy, it’s envy, which is why she’s about to launch into an hour-long monologue on why Zeke should be giving her Rolexes, not Paulette. Over the years, I’ve learned to half-listen.

“…and if he hasn’t introduced her to his friends, then she’s just a fling.” Cissy sets her fists on her hips. “Plus, that boy gives pricey presents to anyone who shows him their tits.” Her gaze swings toward me, her eyes glowing red. “Myla, have you been listening to me?”

“Um, yeah.” I glance at my own watch. “Hells bells! We’ll have to catch up at lunch; class is about to start.” Unfortunately, this class might as well be on the other side of the planet. With a quick wave goodbye, I take off at a run for History.

I’m a sweaty mess when I reach the door. Inside, our teacher paces the room. She’s the hated MT-12, Miss Thing to her students. Like all ghouls, she’s tall and bony with chalky gray skin and a bald head. She’s always decked out in cherry red lipstick and matching high heels, which only make her look creepier in her long black robes. At least, she always wears her hood up.

From what I’ve seen on the human channel of our crappy public access TV, quasi classrooms are like their earthly counterparts. A teacher stands before rows of students; a single door is the only way in or out. The big differences are the Oligarchy glamour shots covering the walls and the modified desk-chairs with back-holes for our tails. Taking a deep breath, I open the door.

“Class, open to page 136 in Quasi Servitude Through the Ages.”

I tiptoe into the room. Miss Thing freezes. Her coal-black eyes bore into my back.

“Myla Lewis, you’re late.”

“Sorry. I was at the Arena for–”

“I don’t want excuses.” Miss Thing pounds the tabletop; I’m pretty sure she breaks an overly-long red nail. “Just because you’re called for servitude at the Arena does not give you special rights to break the rules.”

I race into my favorite seat, which is a corner desk in the last row, aka as far away from the teacher as possible. “Understood.”

Miss Thing glares at me for a full minute, then returns her attention to the opened book on her desk. “As we see on page 136, the quasis mis-managed Purgatory for eons, forcing Armageddon to liberate these lands twenty years ago. All of which was inevitable, since quasis are the weakest creatures in all the five realms.”