—Pearl S. Buck
June
Summer Before Senior Year
CHAPTER ONE
PARTY GIRL
I promised myself I’d never do the work of my demon father—polluting souls—leading humans to abuse their bodies with drugs and alcohol.
I’d been naive to make such a vow. I’d been naive about a lot of things.
Bass boomed through the darkened room where we all danced. I’d climbed onto the coffee table, feigning unawareness of the eyes on me: mostly friendly but some lustful, some judgmental or envious. Tonight, my spot on the table was less about being in the spotlight and more about having the best view. I’d witnessed a demon whisperer prowling and I needed to keep an eye out. It’d been a whole week since I’d seen one—the longest stretch since the New Year’s summit.
Jay and Veronica were around somewhere. My two human best friends had been an official couple for four months, finally having made up after the New Year’s party when he kissed my Neph friend, Marna, a daughter of Astaroth, the Duke of Adultery. Marna had a crush on Jay, but she’d kissed him knowing he and Veronica had strong feelings. Discussing that night had become taboo.
I searched for Jay and Veronica now, but they must’ve been in the basement, playing cards. They would want to go home soon, but I couldn’t be caught leaving a party so early. It wasn’t even midnight.
There it was—the whisperer. My heart caught in my throat, but I kept dancing.
The lively, fun atmosphere thickened into something dark and sinister as the vile presence moved along the ceiling like an oil slick. Needles of dread stabbed at my gut. After all this time they still gave me the creeps. The spirit surveyed the crowd, scowling at the smiling partygoers and lashing out with biting whispers. Dancers became agitated with one another. Drinks spilled, voices rose, and shoving began.
I stepped down from the coffee table and headed for the kitchen. The demon changed its direction to follow. I pretended not to notice people trying to stop me and talk to me as I moved through the crowd.
Within seconds the dark whisperer loomed over me and said, “Daughter of Belial, this party is too tame.”
I gritted my teeth and fought back a visible shiver as its voice oozed into my brain like slime. I wanted it out of my head.
“Yeah, I know.” I sent my telepathic response to the spirit. “But that’s about to change.”
I received a warm reception in the kitchen. Raised glasses and shouts of my name.
My peers had forgiven me of past awkward offenses and laid the old me to rest. They’d embraced the party girl when she came to life unnaturally six months ago, like a bloom forced open in winter.
“What’s up, y’all?” I plastered on my most playful smile.
One week after the summit demon whisperers began to stalk me. For six months. Every. Day. Until a week ago. I thought maybe it was over. Maybe I’d proven myself and they’d leave me alone. Wrong.
I’d shocked my own self with my sudden and fierce will to live. My eyes had been opened that night in New York City. I was meant to live and fulfill a purpose. They’d taken so much from me already—my former dreams and aspirations. I refused to hand over my life after all I’d been through, so I came out fighting, despite my sensitive, angelic side.
Ravenous for life, I’d searched for trouble with a sort of desperation. If there was a party, I was there. I drank sometimes—but mostly just pretended—I dressed to the trends, got three piercings in one ear and two in the other, plus a belly ring, and let the übercool stylist do whatever she wanted to my hair as long as it stayed blond. Very blond. Because blondes had more fun, right? I appeared to be having a blast.
Funny thing, appearances.
“Will you make us some dirty kisses?” one girl called out.
I smiled.
I’d made up a shot at a party and named it the dirty kiss. It’d become my signature drink, requiring the drinker to lick chocolate syrup from the bottom of a shot glass.
I gave a disappointed tsk with a smack of my lips. “I don’t have the stuff tonight. But I’ll make you something good, don’t worry.”
They cheered, and I was ashamed by the thrill I got from their attention. I turned toward the fridge, stomach churning. I’d gotten good at putting on a show under the stress of a demon’s eyes. Right now, I knew it was slithering above the people behind me. The sooner I could get rid of it, the better.
And I was in luck. At the bottom of the fridge were two trays of Jell-O shots.
“Well, hello there,” I said, pulling them out. I had no idea where the party host was or if the trays were being saved for something in particular, but none of that mattered. I held up the blue beauties and said, “Jell-O shots, anyone?”
They all hollered with excitement like I was their hero.
Egged on by the demon’s dark whispers, all sense of decision making among the partiers became suddenly muddled. Designated drivers reached for shots. Curfews were forgotten. Hands felt for bodies that weren’t theirs to touch. It hurt to keep a smile on my face as I watched the spirit work.
The demon’s gurgling cackle rang in my ears for only me to hear. The party had begun.
I woke with thumping behind my eyes and a dry mouth. I reached for the half-full water bottle by my bed and was chugging the contents when the events of last night floated to the surface of my sluggish memory.
A beer bong. A drunken kiss in the bathroom between me and some random guy. People getting sick in the bushes outside. Arguments with people who’d been drinking and wanted to drive anyway. A guy from school, Matt, wrestling his keys from me and stumbling to his car with his girlfriend, Ashley.
I bolted upright in bed and clutched my mouth to keep from spewing the water.
Oh, no. Matt drove. Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no.
With shaking hands I grabbed my cell phone from the nightstand. It was only nine in the morning, probably too early, but I didn’t care. I texted Ashley to see if they’d made it home safely, then held my breath until she texted back, saying they were fine.
With a ragged exhale, I slid down from the bed and hit my knees, leaning my forehead in my palms. I hated this—this life of being a Nephilim. What would happen the day someone wasn’t okay? When a night of partying with Anna Whitt resulted in tragedy? It was hard to believe I lived a blessed existence in comparison to other children of demons. My father was a “good guy,” but he sure played the roll of bad demon to perfection.
Feeling steadier, I rose and went to my dresser, taking out a small black-handled dagger. I faced the thick plywood board I’d rigged against the wall with a painted life-size body on it, now covered in punctures. Patti found the thing gruesome. I began a therapeutic round of throws, using memories from the past half year to fuel me.
My father’s ally, the demon Azael, ironically also the messenger of Lucifer himself, came to me that night six months ago when I’d found out Kaidan Rowe moved to L.A. Rahab has issued an order for all Neph to be under watch until further notice. Your father is also under investigation. Good luck to you, daughter of Belial.
I hit the palm of the target’s hand with the dagger. My entire junior year had been sucktastic, especially the second half. I went from being an honor roll student to barely squeaking by. It’s funny how knowing you’d never be able to pursue your dreams could kill your motivation to keep up the GPA. Instead of doing homework, I’d spent my time learning to sling sharp objects. I retrieved the knife and aimed again.
For six months I’d been hounded. I had to constantly remind Patti not to show affection, and it broke my heart. We’d developed a sign for when spirits were around: a scratch to my chin. She’d leave my presence so they couldn’t see her colors. They couldn’t know she cared.
The knife sunk into the target’s elbow with a thud. And so it went around the body.
I hadn’t cried in six months, since that day I stood at Lookout Point. Fear and trauma had taken their toll. I used to hate my tear ducts—thought te
ars made me weak. I’d taken their cleansing relief for granted, like so many other things.
Thud.
Somewhere in the world my father was busy keeping up his facade as the Duke of Substance Abuse. But he’d still set up lessons for me in self-defense right after the summit. Grueling, hard-core lessons that defied my peaceful instincts.
Thud. In the eye. If only Kaidan could see me now.
I hadn’t spoken with any of the Neph. No word from Kai. In the deep recesses of my soul, worry threatened to reach up and pull me under. He could be dead for all I knew.
Thud.
I had my choice of defense maneuvers I could have studied. My instructors wanted to focus on Judo grappling and hand-to-hand combat since I apparently had the flexibility, strength, and endurance for it. They couldn’t understand my interest in knives, and I wasn’t about to tell them that it made me feel connected to the boy I loved. I wondered what he would think if he saw me aiming for the throat and hitting it dead-on. Would he be proud or appalled? Did he still care? I’d seen through a chink in his emotional armor when he stood at the summit in New York, prepared to fight for my life.
Thud.
Six excruciating months without smelling the sweet, outdoorsy scent that seemed tucked into each memory of him. Six months of living a lie to the outside world.
When the dagger landed in the dummy’s heart, I left it there and sat hard on my bed.
Even in all its terror, the events at the summit had been incredible—heaven sent down angels to spare my life. If they hadn’t shown and intervened when they did, there would have been three additional deaths that night: mine, Kaidan’s, and Kopano’s, who’d also stood to defend me.
I sighed and picked up the phone to call Jay. I owed him an apology for yet another crazy night.
He answered right away. “What’s up, girl?”
“Hey, you,” I said, surprised he didn’t sound upset.
“Feeling okay?” he asked.
“Um . . . yeah, mostly.”
“Dude, it’s kinda freaky that you’re calling, ’cause I was just about to call you.”
“You were?”
“Yep. Can you come over? I want you to hear something.”
He sounded excited. Maybe he was finally getting used to my changes.
“Sure, I’ll be there in about . . . twenty?”
“See ya then.”
When I hung up, Patti peeked into my room.
“It’s safe,” I told her.
She grimaced at the impaled target. A sheen of blue sadness tinged the aura around her torso, but when she turned her face to me a pretty vapor of pale pink surfaced in its place. She crossed her arms.
Patti’s strawberry curls were held back with a clip, although some had escaped and framed her lightly freckled face. As always, a mist-like guardian angel stood just behind her, watching our interactions with calm assurance. The silent observations of humans’ guardian angels were a reassuring staple in my life.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“I’m going to Jay’s.”
“Oh, good.” I heard a smile in her voice. “I haven’t seen that boy in ages. Tell him I miss him, would you?” She smoothed my hair back into a neat ponytail and kissed my cheek.
I turned and gave her a big squeeze. This was one thing other Neph didn’t have—a loving nurturer to accept them without condition. Patti had picked me up from many parties in the middle of the night over the past few months. I hated that she had to witness all of it.
“I will, Patti. Thanks. Love you.” I grabbed my car keys from my dresser, eager to get some fresh air.
It was weird driving to Jay’s house. I hadn’t been there in a while. Things were different since he’d gotten a job and a girlfriend, and since I’d become party Anna. I guess nothing could stay the same forever. Jay still kept his hair cropped short or else it would turn into a thick, blond sponge. The primary change in his appearance came when Jay grew two inches this spring and his softness disappeared.
He stayed busy as an assistant deejay, and he’d just started an internship with an Atlanta radio station for the summer.
The car crunched over pinecones as I pulled into the driveway of the one-story rambler. A giant weeping willow stood hunched over, its curtain of leaves dragging the sparse grass of Jay’s front yard. I regarded it like an old friend as I walked to his door, breathing in the summer scent of honeysuckle.
Nobody ever knocked at Jay’s house. I let myself in and took the worn-carpeted hall to his room.
“Nice,” he said when I walked in. He was sitting at his computer with his guardian angel standing directly behind him in soft, white light. The angel nodded at me in greeting, but otherwise kept his attention on Jay. I sat down in the empty chair next to him and got a case of the raging tingles at the sight of the word on the screen: Lascivious.
Jay smiled and said, “Their debut single is finally out. The album’s almost done.”
“They really made an album?” Last time I’d stalked them online, there wasn’t much to be found. But this was good. It meant he was losing himself in the music. He was okay.
Jay laughed. “Well, yeah. What’d you think they were doing out there in L.A.? Actually, it’s only being released in California to start, but I got my hands on the censored radio version. Wanna hear it?”
I shrugged as if I didn’t care. “Um, sure.”
I wondered if Jay could hear how loud my heart was thumping. He clicked on a link, and my plan to act uninterested disintegrated at the sound of the first note. I leaned forward, hanging on every beat like it was a lifeline to the person holding the drumsticks.
The sound was more mainstream than their usual stuff, but it still rocked. I held my breath as the lyrics began.
I tried to warn you,
But girls never listen.
Got your innocence insured?
’Cause it’s ’bout to be stolen
Right out from under your nose.
Prepare to curl your toes.
I’ve got a one-track mind.
You’ve got a nice behind.
Chorus:
I had a good thing goin’
All numb in my shell,
Then you took me by surprise
And now I’m scared as hell.
I don’t wanna feel for you,
I don’t wanna feel.
If feeling means hurting,
Then I don’t wanna be real.
You crank up my lust, girl,
You tame down my rage.
You let your inner vixen
Roam out of her cage,
The moment our lips met
I saw it in your eyes,
But you were seeing me, too,
I now realize.
Chorus
What do I want from you?
I want everything.
And I’m not gonna share—
This ain’t a casual fling.
You can be my bad girl,
I’ll even be your good boy.
How’d the tables get turned?
F*** it, I’ll be your love toy.
Chorus
“What do you think? Good, huh?” Jay asked.
I swallowed hard, wishing for a glass of water. “Does it say on there who wrote it?”
He looked at me funny. “Michael’s the only one who writes their songs, except singles they get from other sources. Why?”
“I’m just curious. Some of the lyrics . . .”
A look of pity crossed his face. “Oh, you thought . . .”
“No. Never mind.” I waved a hand like it was silly. How embarrassing.
“Well, let me just check.”
He clicked around until he found the jacket information for the album.
“Yep, says it was written by Michael Vanderson, lead singer.”
“Cool.” My throat itched. “Thanks for letting me hear it. Are there any, um, pictures? I mean, like, an album cover?
” I looked at the computer instead of at Jay. I didn’t want to catch him or his guardian angel looking sad for me. Jay did some more clicking around.
There they were. The lead singer, Michael, was in front wearing his signature tight clothes. The rest of the band was staggered behind him. And there was Kaidan—farthest from the camera in the back. He stood with his feet apart, thumbs hooked in his pockets and head tilted downward. His hair, which was buzzed short last time I’d seen him, had grown out enough to hang in his eyes, dark brown and slightly wavy at the tips. He wore all black, but his eyes peeking up through the shadows of his hair were a vivid contrast in striking blue. I grasped my necklace’s dangling turquoise charm and shivered.
He was even more gorgeous than before. This mysterious, dangerous-looking image of him seared itself into my mind.
Jay’s chair squeaked and I pulled myself from the computer, heart pattering. I glanced around his room, making certain no demon had sneaked in and caught me. I never felt completely safe from their cruel eyes.
Jay lounged back in his chair. Judging by the mix of light gray negative feelings in his aura, now was not the best time to ask him to forward me a copy of that cover so I could crop out the other guys and zoom in on the drummer.
“Can we talk?”
“Of course.” I didn’t like his sudden serious demeanor.
“You know I love ya, right?” I moved my head up and down, preparing myself for another lecture. “I just . . . I feel like ever since you and Kaidan were together, and then he moved away, you’ve been different.”
Yep. My voice came out in a rasp. “I know I’ve changed—”
“’Cause you got the good girl syndrome.”
“Hm?” Oh. When a good girl tries to change a bad boy, but instead the good girl turns bad. “No.”
“Yes, you did. See, me and Roni have talked about it. You thought you could change him, and maybe you even did a little. But in the end he moved and changed his number, and it made you feel like you weren’t good enough. So you changed yourself to try and be the kind of girl he’d like. Right?”
Flirting With Maybe Page 8
