notice me. They all wear matching uniforms of white shirts with red logos, and either red and black plaid skirt or black trousers. It’s like they have never seen a new person before because they all watch me. I’ve never liked being the centre of attention, and it only makes me itchy to hide somewhere. It reminds me of the time I thought I was a good singer and signed up to the talent contest at school. Five seconds into singing Beyoncé in front of my class, I realised they were all laughing, and I really needed to stop singing. My ass never ran so fast out of school like I did that day. I remind myself that I’m not nine years old anymore, and I’m old enough to handle myself in this school, even if they all stare. I guess they see me as the runaway daughter of murderers. The hallways of the academy are just door after door, with yellow walls and white tiled floors. There are lockers dotted around, but they look old and rusted, and I’m betting they are for decoration more than actual use. I also spot several people carrying around bags full of books, suggesting they aren’t using the lockers in-between classes.
“Ah, you found her, Mr. Morganach!” A middle-aged man wearing a black cloak over a white shirt, and black trousers runs over to us, though he is speaking to the angel who stops at my side. The man has thick brown hair, small glasses that perch on his long nose, and his brown eyes watch me like I’m fascinating. “My name is Mr. Bisgaard, and I am the headmaster of The Demon Academy. You must be Miss Alexandria Cameron. Correct?” I nod. I don’t see who else I could be. There isn’t exactly a row of new students lining up at the door.
“What should I do with the door?” someone asks, and we all look back to see three Hellers picking up the car door between them at the bottom of the steps, and another Heller closer to us who spoke.
“Miss Cameron hit me with a car door as her way of saying hello,” Mr. Morganach smoothly explains. What a tattletale. It was just an accident.
“Ah, well, perhaps you should help them with that,” Mr. Bisgaard says, looking rather flustered before he seems to take a deep breath and calm himself down. “Miss Cameron, this way.”
I look back at the gates in the distance, seeing how high and imposing they are. There is no escaping, but hell, I want to try somehow.
“Don’t run now, baby. It would be too disappointing,” Mr. Morganach whispers to me, and I sharply turn my eyes to his, once again frozen by the beauty of them. He really has some dark, fucked-up humour but he also has a really pretty face. What the hell is an angel doing at Demon Academy in the first place? Mr. Morganach walks down the steps, and I turn back to see Mr. Bisgaard walking into the middle corridor, never looking back to see if I’m following. I jog to catch up with him, passing many whispering students gathered together, many of who don’t hide the fact they are staring at me. I jog quicker to catch up with Mr. Bisgaard.
“Welcome to Demon Academy, Miss Cameron. We are the people of the devil, and we are cloaked in sin. That is the motto of the academy, and it would be best if you remember it. Lucifer is our King in Hell, though you may know him by other names like the first fallen, the devil, Satan, and the one true unholy King of Hell among others. He prefers to be called Lucifer.”
“This is crazy,” I mutter.
“Now you’ve already met one of your teachers, Mr. Morganach, but there are five others you can count on to help and guide you through your years at DA,” Mr. Bisgaard tells me. So, mister stranger angel is a teacher. Flipping fantastic, I’m sure my lessons with him are going to be fun. Mr. Bisgaard suddenly turns into an open room where there is little more than a desk, two chairs on either side of it, and a filing cabinet in the corner. The walls are a horrid orange colour, and the white tiles just make the orange walls all the more brighter. An out of place posh chandelier hangs from the ceiling, its dozens of lights reflecting off the small crystals hanging from it. “Do shut the