by Trudi Jaye
He nods in the direction of my next metal sculpture. “And the statues?”
I turn to look at it as well. “They’re how I make my money. People buy them off eBay and my website.”
“And it earns you enough to live in the style to which you’ve become accustomed?” he says, gesturing around at my tiny apartment.
“I love this apartment,” I say defensively.
He nods. “It’s a great apartment.”
“I know.” I’m being a little belligerent, but I feel like there’s a massive subtext to everything this guy says. I have to keep pushing him away, or he’s gonna catch me up in his web.
“I’m going to head back to my hotel. There’s some work I need to catch up on. But I’ll be back tomorrow to talk to you and check on Blade.”
“Okay,” I say, relieved he’s going, if only for a little while.
“Think about my offer, Hazel. It’s a good one. You could keep doing what you want to do, get the protection of the SIG and the security of a regular wage. It would be good for you.”
“You don’t know anything about me, and what would be good for me,” I snap. The knowledge that I couldn’t accept his offer even if I wanted to is making me surly.
“Just think about it,” he says, before he disappears out the door.
I shake my head. I can’t even consider it.
23
Squinting down at the base of the toaster, I discover one of the magnets has come unstuck. It’s rattling around inside, so I pull it out. They’re used to make the connection that turns on the heating wires.
Gluing it back on seems to be the best way to fix it. I rummage around on my worktable and find some super glue in my second toolbox. As I turn back to the toaster, my gaze lands on the dented metal box I was using to call the demons the other night. According to Damien, I don’t need that box anymore.
If I really am a chalice, I can call them and destroy them myself. It seems far-fetched, given my experiences with demons in the past. I couldn’t save my friend Becca; all I did was scream like a baby. And I was terrified when the demon was pulling my parents apart. I did a lot of screaming then too.
I pause in front of the toaster, holding the super glue frozen in midair. The demon is scrambling excitedly around inside me, and something inside my head clicks.
I’ve known for a long time that demons are affected by sound. It’s in a lot of the research. That’s the basis for the device I invented. I’ve tested it and it works.
What I haven’t ever thought about is the sound I was making on the nights when people died. I was screaming like a banshee when Becca was killed and when my parents died. Both times the demons left without harming me. I never understood it, just put it down to the vagaries of fate. I felt guilty about it for years—why did I survive and they didn’t?
But based on what Damien is saying, if it’s because I’m a chalice that the demons were drawn to, then perhaps I was saved because I’m a chalice. The sound of my voice, specifically my scream, could have been what scared the demons away.
The demon inside me settles down, obviously pleased I’ve made the connection.
I’m not so happy about it. My stomach feels tight and uncomfortable. I don’t know how to react. On one hand, I now have something concrete to fight them with. On the other, I was the reason the people I loved most in my life died.
And I could have saved them if only I’d known how.
But that’s the point, isn’t it? I didn’t know.
Why did my parents keep me in the dark like that? Did they even know about demons? About me being a chalice? Why did they send me off to a shrink after Becca’s death? Why did they try to convince me that I’d imagined the demon? My thoughts whirr violently in my head and I slam the glue down on the workbench.
I could have saved their lives. They didn’t need to die.
They must have known about my powers. The move to the compound just after I was born seems like a deliberate act, in light of all this new evidence. And I’m almost certain my father saw the demon the night they died. He definitely saw something that made him swerve the car and crash. Blade told me that only supers see demons and other supernaturals, so my father must have been a supernatural of some kind.
The thought rocks me to the core. My quiet, hardworking father, who told silly jokes and kept his hair just a tad too long, was really hiding a huge secret that had the potential to get me killed. That got him killed.
I need to know why.
Did he know what I am? Was he one as well? I clench my hand tightly around the super glue tube and a lump spurts out onto the worktable. Grabbing a palette knife, I scrape the escaped glue up and use it on the magnet in the toaster, sticking it back into place. Replacing the lid, I put the glue back in its box.
I just have to wait until the glue dries, then I can test the toaster.
My gaze returns to my metal device for capturing demons. There’s so much I don’t know—that still doesn’t make sense. It feels like the more information I get, the murkier everything becomes.
Why did I never connect any of this before? I survived because of my voice.
And the fault lies not with my supposedly accidental survival, but with some kind of unconscious ability to call demons to me. As I wipe the outside of the toaster clean, I go back over my memories of the night Becca died, trying to find something I did that would have called the demon to me.
It was an innocent camping trip. Both of us had been friends since we were toddlers, growing up in the compound together. Becca was good at sewing, hunting, and playing guitar. She was a happy, smiley person, and we always had fun together.
Just before the attack, we’d been eating our dinner: baked beans done over a campfire. It was warm and cozy, and we’d been having a great time. When we were finished, Becca got out her guitar, and we started singing.
The demon had come thundering through the bushes, glowing blue, and covered in some kind of glittering rocks. Its eyes were black and soulless, and he ripped Becca apart before I could even move.
As much as I try to hold it at bay, the old terror and helplessness worms its way into my chest. I watched Becca die, and if I’d known what to do, I could have saved us both. A knot fills my stomach, and the urge to curl up into a ball is overwhelming.
I scrunch my eyes shut, forcing down the old feelings. It was a long time ago now, but sometimes the pain feels just as bad as if it happened yesterday. I need to concentrate. Move on. Focus on the problem, not my emotions.
When my parents died, I was eighteen. They’d finally decided I should have some official documentation, after never having registered me as a baby, and living off the grid my whole life. We’d just started the registration process at the local courthouse, about three hours from the compound. It was the ride home, and we were listening to the radio, joking and laughing.
Singing. I was singing along to the song on the radio.
Singing. Again.
My voice. They come to the sound of my voice, and they leave to the sound of my voice. It seems like such an obvious connection. I put down the cloth, and the side of the toaster with a thump.
I’m going to test it.
Right now.
24
The demon lumbers toward me, its body moving awkwardly in time to the David Bowie song I’m singing softly.
It was the first tune that came to mind, my father’s favorite. In the darkness of the old train yard, the shadows created by the ancient carriages on either side of me are bigger than the dim flickering security light. I can’t see the details of the creature at first. And then the moon comes out from behind the clouds.
It’s already in its humanoid shape, the blue glow just a tease around its edges. The demon’s body is covered in cutlery of different kinds—knives, forks, spoons, spatulas, fish filleters, and whisks—all woven together like some strange, discordant tapestry. There’s even a kettle, half-melted into its stomach. Its eyes are the only things not shining. They
’re deep and black. Then it smiles and I see its mouth for the first time.
It has teeth from a variety of different sources; some human, some cat or dog fangs, one or two even seem to be from toys. The resulting mouthful is grotesque and terrifying. A long pointy tongue flicks across one side of its mouth, and I shiver.
This demon, despite the eccentric covering, seems more ominous. Like it’s darker, more ferocious than the other ones I’ve seen before. Butterflies tremble inside my stomach, and for the first time, I wonder what the hell I’m doing here.
My sudden nerves make me stumble over the song, and I stop singing. It’s a relief, because my voice is rusty and sore. I often hum random tunes, but I haven’t sung properly for a long time—maybe even since my parents died.
I step cautiously to one side over a rusted train track, trying to leave myself an escape route. It’s starting to feel like this excursion might have been a stupid idea. I should have talked to Blade about my revelations, instead of rushing out the door. My heartbeat ticks up a few notches, and I wish I had something more with me than my backpack. Ideas for some cool recycled-metal swords come to mind.
I take a steadying breath and try to concentrate on what I’m doing. No time for regrets now. I need to observe the demon, learn as much as I can from it before I test out my skills.
The demon moves again, this time matching my change of position. There’s a tinkling of noise from the cutlery that makes up its body. How does that work? Each demon in living form has been so different. Do they pick their skin and then keep it forever, or does it change depending on where they live? There’s so much I don’t know about them.
The demon inside me moves to the surface, and images appear in my mind. It’s trying to answer my questions, but the pictures are too blurry, moving by too fast for me to understand. The more it tries to communicate with me, the more I feel like it’s not a threat. At least not right now.
The large demon in front of me, however, is a problem. It growls, low and menacing, and takes a step closer.
I put my hands out in front, like my self-defense instructor taught me. “Don’t come any further. You don’t want to mess with me, I’m a chalice.” I’m testing the word on the demon. There’s a definite reaction; it winces slightly and changes direction. But almost immediately it heads toward me again.
“Do you know what a chalice can do?” I ask.
The demon shudders, and its human image wavers. The blue glows a bit brighter.
Something that scares a demon, then. I wish they could talk; this would be so much easier. “Then you know what I can do to you if you come any closer.”
The demon changes its course again, roaming in circles around me. Its eyes never leave my face, and I feel the heat of its gaze on me. I don’t know what it’s waiting for, but maybe it’s not sure if I’m really a chalice.
A loud clanking noise comes from between two old metal carriages in front of me, and my gaze switches to the darkened gap. A shape emerges out of the shadows, and a second demon appears behind the first. My stomach jumps. I hadn’t expected two demons. How the hell am I going to fight two demons? This one is covered in old rusted metallic slabs, like it’s absorbed small sections of the trains. I can see a couple of pins from the railway tracks, and even a few slivers of the wooden sleepers. The first demon growls in its direction, and the train demon hangs back, sniffing the air like it can tell something about me from the perfume I wear. Or don’t wear, as the case may be.
My mind is racing; now that I’m here, I’m not so sure about my theory. What if I can only call demons, but not chase them away? For some stupid reason, when I left my apartment, I was one hundred percent certain I’d figured out how it all worked and that I’d be able to control the demons easily. That it would be somehow automatic.
Wrong.
I feel just as vulnerable and useless as usual. Even worse, I stupidly didn’t bring any of my other equipment. Now I’m standing here with nothing to help me save myself. I could’ve put one of the little bottles in my pocket so easily. It wouldn’t have taken much time.
And I wouldn’t be feeling like I’m about to die.
The first demon screeches, a high-pitched sound that hurts. I hold my palms tightly over my ears to block out the sound. The little demon inside me pings around like a pinball, setting me on edge.
The demon screeches again, and this time it’s even more painful. What the hell is it doing? Can it actually hurt me with its screams?
Something inside me snaps, and I scream back at it, pushing my voice to compete with its frequency. The demon immediately pulls back, its face contorted.
I snarl at the demon and take another step forward. Then I scream again. The demon flicks from its human shape back into its blue glowing form. It wavers in front of me for a moment. It’s working.
Suddenly, a dark shape hurtles past me, half-man half-beast, a glowing knife held in front. The demon screeches again, and seconds later the knife is thrust deep into its side. I recognize the shape as Blade, a glowing dagger in his hands.
The demon shudders and then disappears, falling to dust at Blade’s feet. A tiny ball of blue light emerges from the pile of ash and is sucked into blade’s knife.
Blade turns toward me, his dark eyes shining like a cat’s. “What the hell are you doing?” he says.
My gaze flicks around the small space, desperately searching for the other demon, the train-parts one. It feels like I was close to a breakthrough. Something just happened here.
And Blade interrupted it.
“What does it look like I was doing?” My voice is pissed off, but I can’t help it. The other demon has disappeared.
“You came out on your own to call demons, with no actual knowledge of how to do it?”
His self-righteous indignation makes me angry—even if he is right. “You’re not my keeper.”
“Are you completely crazy?” He’s practically growling the words at me now.
“The psychiatrists thought so,” I snap without thinking. “But then they couldn’t see demons.”
He holds himself entirely still for a moment longer, and then his face softens, and his body relaxes. “They really did a number on you, huh?”
“Kinda,” I say, my anger draining away as well.
“It’s real. You’re not crazy, and there are demons.” His words are soft, a whisper in the dark night. It’s like he knows I need to hear them.
“I’m not sure that’s the better option,” I say grimly, despite the tightness easing in my chest.
Blade shrugs. “It’s just the way the world is.”
“Is it wrong that I’m relieved?”
He stares at me, the moonlight catching the planes of his face and illuminating his bright green eyes. “No,” he says softly. “It just makes you more real.”
It’s as if he’s hit a nerve, in just the right place. “It was so vivid, that first demon. I was only fifteen, but I didn’t understand how it could be a hallucination.” The words spurt out of me, I can’t stop myself.
“When did you realize?”
“That it wasn’t all in my head?”
He nods.
“About the time I met you,” I say softly.
He lets out a breath on a whoosh. “That’s rough.”
I shrug. “No one believed me. Everyone said I was nuts. When my parents were killed by another demon, they all thought—” I slam my lips closed. I almost told him my biggest secret. I don’t know what the hell has come over me. The demon inside me skitters around in my belly.
His green eyes are barely visible in the dark. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s been a while,” I say, not sure how I’ve ended up telling him my life history. I glance down at my hand and see a faint blue glow. Maybe I do know.
“Let’s get out of here.”
I nod slowly, turning to look where the demon had been. Could I have destroyed it? Or did Blade just save my life? I don’t actually know. I sigh and follow him throug
h the dark alley between the ancient trains.
It takes a few moments to realize he’s not actually walking that straight. He’s kind of stumbling through each step. I quickly catch up to him and look at him properly.
There’s blood leaking out of the wound on his side, and his face is pale in the moonlight. He’s breathing shallowly, and I can see a sheen of unhealthy-looking sweat on his face. “You shouldn’t have come out,” I say. “You’re still not well.”
“I would have stayed at home if you had,” he says, his voice rasping.
“I was fine.”
He doesn’t say a word, just raises an eyebrow at me.
“I’m good at getting myself out of bad situations,” I insist. “I’ve survived this long, haven’t I?”
“There’s always a first time.”
He stumbles, and I catch him around his waist, only just managing to keep him from falling flat on his face. I put one of his arms over my shoulder. “Let’s get you home,” I say softly.
“You can’t carry me. I’m too heavy,” he says, a slight slur in his voice.
“Just lean on me,” I say. “I can handle it. I can handle anything.”
“You need someone to help you, Hazel. You can’t do it all yourself.”
“I’ve been on my own for a long time, Blade.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t accept a little help now and then.”
“No, I guess not.” I say the words softly, almost under my breath. I don’t know for sure that he heard them, but a tiny half smile appears on his face.
25
“I have to go to work,” I say, rolling my shoulders. I’m stiff from an uncomfortable night on my couch.
Blade nods. He’s sitting up in the bed, looking better than he did last night when I finally managed to get him home. He was right, he did weigh a ton. But I can be pretty determined when I put my mind to it.
“The Professor’ll wonder where I am.”
He nods again.
