suggested the same thing that Teddy did: that I could succeed by using my “feminine wiles.” But Teddy only said that after he’d read my soul; I’ve never even touched Lou, so he couldn’t have read my soul. How did he gain special insight into who I am?
A noise up the hall steals my attention. It’s just a heater cranking on.
I look at the page again: Lou Knows.
And then I see it.
I can’t believe I’ve missed it.
I jot a phrase under his name: know soul. And then, moving between his name and those two words, I strike out letters until I’ve proven my guess right.
His name is an anagram for ‘know soul.’
Wondering if that’s just lucky—just a one-time coincidence— I write down the next staff name that pops into my head: Trey Sedmoney, Harper’s Guardian, the only teacher I’ve had the displeasure of seeing in the buck (purely for artistic purposes), and a decidedly creepy dude. He was here before Dia, so he’s one of Mephisto’s. Do all demons have a special power? Is it possible that all of Mephisto’s servants, when they arrive here, get names that are anagrams of their powers? And maybe Dia’s followers have kept their underworld names because he was rushed here; I’ve already seen that Dia needs Hiltop’s help with almost everything related to this school, so he definitely wasn’t prepared to come here. It’s possible…
I stare at Trey Sedmoney.
Rearranging that name is a lot harder because I have no idea what Trey’s power could be, unlike in the case of Lou Knows. Trey is Harper’s Guardian, so maybe something to do with sex? But no matter what I try, those twelve letters don’t rearrange to form any sex-type phrases.
I scribble his name out. Maybe I’m wrong about this. But before I discount the whole idea, I remember that, my first day here, the secretary Kate Haem used all sorts of anagrams for my name. I thought it was just an annoying game, but maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was a hint. Was Kate trying to tell me something almost from the moment I stepped foot on this island? But why would she do that?
I write down Kate Haem.
That turns into “aka theme,” “take me ha,” and “meet kaha” until eventually I land on something that just might be right.
“Make hate,” I whisper.
Kate Haem’s power could be to make hate.
Immediately, I write down Hiltop P. Shemese, which rearranges easily into Mephistopheles. It’s not a single power, but perhaps that’s because Mephisto is higher-ranking and, thus, has multiple powers.
I list everyone I can think of. The secretary, Eve Risset; my sculpting teacher, Dr. Weinchler; the music prof, Maestro Insullis; the gym coach, Stealth Vergner; the history teacher, Star Wetpier; the poetry prof, Levi Beemaker. Then my housemoms, Elle Gufy and Shera T. Bond. And Ben’s housedad, Finn Kid.
I start with the short names. They’re easier.
“Finn Kid might be able to find kin,” I say as I write it down. “And Elle Gufy could be feel ugly. Maybe Shera is bond hearts? And I think…Star is…rewrite past. Or trap sweet.” No, that leaves an extra I and R. “Rewrite past. That’s what Star can do.”
As I’m working on Stealth Vergner’s name, Lou finally rounds the corner. He’s hunched over his yellow bucket, steering it with the mop and the lever he uses to ring the mop out. Between the gap in his teeth, he is whistling a low tune. Until he spies me. Then he stops in his tracks.
I close my sketchbook and stand.
“If you’s looking for Pilot—” he says and starts pushing his bucket again.
“I’m looking for you.”
“Some idiot throw up or something?”
“No, I don’t need you to clean anything.”
Watching me from the corner of his dark purple eye, he pushes the bucket past me, jingles with his keys until he unlocks the door, and shuffles into the cramped space of the janitor’s closet. I follow him in, almost pass out from the muggy chemical stench, and close the door behind us. Lou dumps brown water out of the bucket and sticks a hose in it to rinse the remaining grime down the drain.
There’s nowhere to sit.
“Cut to the chase,” he says over the rush of water.
“Pilot said you know something about my soul. My history. Something that makes him think I’d be successful in life”—ridiculous— “on my back.” Old pipes squeal as he shuts the water off. “Were you guys just being pervs, or is there something I need to know? About my soul.”
Lou faces me. His blue coveralls are wet with mop water, and a smear of mud or oil crosses his stubbly cheek. With the set of his jaw, if he weren’t so thin, he’d almost look like a bulldog.
“Pilot told you that?”
“Tell me what you know, Lou. Please.”
“It don’t work like that.”
“Well what do it work like?”
“If a demon’s gonna get me to cough up what I know about their soul, they’re gonna have to be my master or twist my arm a good deal.”
“And if a human wants to know?” I tap my foot.
“I ain’t high ’nough ranking to give no human what they want, unless I serve them.”
“Demons can serve humans?”
“And humans go ’round serving us, too. Happens lots. Usually don’t work out though.”
“Your master is…Mephisto?”
He nods fast and taps the pin on his shirt pocket. It’s just as I’d suspected.
“Then how come you told Pilot about this secret you’re keeping about me? Did he twist your arm?”
“We was just shootin’ the shit at work. It came up. Wasn’t a favor or special request or nothin’.”
“Well, what if we were to shoot the shit?” I ask hopefully. “You and I.”
His lips curve. His stringy black hair shakes. “It’s never been that the likes uh you’d do that with the likes uh me.”
The bell rings, and Lou takes that as his cue to limp out of the janitor’s closet as if we weren’t just in the middle of a conversation. Frustrated, I give the messy closet one last look, hoping to see something I can use, but come up empty-handed.
I boot it to my next class: Exploring the Science of Consciousness. There Mr. Farid—whose first name is Moses and whose power, I spend ten minutes working through, is to disarm foes—drones on about anesthesia, cognitive unbinding, and seeing visions. His words remind me of the woman I saw in the mirror last night.
