by Aaron Corwin
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Begin Reading
Mathilde didn’t want a demon. She wanted a pony.
“Ponies are expensive,” Mathilde’s mother said. “How about a nice little demon instead?”
“I don’t want a demon!” Mathilde stamped her foot. “Demons are ugly and creepy and they smell bad!”
“Ponies are hard work,” Mathilde’s father said. “You wouldn’t have time for your homework.”
“I would!” Mathilde said. “I’d work really hard and take good care of him!”
“Well,” Father said. “We’ll see.”
Mathilde knew what “we’ll see” meant. It was one of those special lies that only grown-ups were allowed to tell. When a grown-up said “we’ll see,” it really meant “never.”
It wasn’t fair. Becky Hamilton got to take riding lessons on weekends, and she never stopped talking about them.
Peter Voorhees brought his demon to school once. It was scaly and slobbery, not sleek and pretty like a pony. It got loose in the classroom and tried to eat Mathilde’s hair.
How could anyone think that a demon was better than a pony?
* * *
The day before Mathilde’s birthday in September, the sky was gray and drizzly all afternoon and the puddles swirled with little flat rainbows. On that day, something different happened.
“Mathilde?” That was Mrs. Pressmorton, the vice principal. Mathilde looked up from the floor, one galosh halfway onto her foot.
“Mathilde, your parents called to say you don’t have to take the bus home today. Your grandmother is picking you up from school.”
Mathilde’s heart began to beat faster. Nana? She thought. Nana’s here for my birthday?
She tried not to hope. She tried so, so hard, but little bits of hope started to creep in anyway. Nana always brought presents, even when it wasn’t her birthday. And—and this was the deepest, most secret hope of all—Nana lived in the big house in the country; the big house with the old barn and the great big field.
“Oh my goodness!” Nana said. She swept Mathilde up in a great big hug, just like she always did.
“Nana!” Mathilde definitely didn’t peer over Nana’s shoulder, looking for a pony in the back of her car. Not much, anyway.
“Look at you!” Nana said. “My little Matty-Patty’s all grown up! Soon you’ll be as tall as me!”
Mathilde giggled. Nana was almost as tall as Father, but that was another kind of lie grown-ups were allowed to tell. Mathilde didn’t mind. Especially if it meant she was old enough to have a pony.
Nana’s car smelled like grass and old books, but it didn’t have a pony in it, of course. The rain made blurry lines down the windshield while the wipers went squeak-squeak back and forth. Mathilde drummed her heels against the floor of the car and tried to imagine the squeak was the sound of her saddle shifting as she rode her pony through the rain. She was so caught up in her thoughts that she almost didn’t notice when Nana turned left instead of right at the corner with the big yellow restaurant.
“Where are we going?”
Nana smiled. “You didn’t think I’d come all this way and not bring you a present, did you?”
Mathilde took a breath so big she felt like she might burst.
“But my birthday’s not ’til tomorrow!”
“That’s true.” Nana gave her a great big wink. “But I won’t tell if you won’t. Besides, I think this is the sort of present you’d better pick out for yourself.”
Mathilde could scarcely believe it. After all this time and all this waiting, she was finally going to get a pony of her very own.
Becky Hamilton was going to be so jealous.
But when the car stopped, it was in front of a store that didn’t look like it had any ponies inside. The whole front of the store was covered in steel plates and the air smelled just a little bit like rotten eggs. It was very dark inside, but when Mathilde saw the rows of wire cages she knew she had been tricked.
“This isn’t a pony store!” Mathilde said. “This is a demon store!”
Dozens of demons looked over at the sound of her voice. There were little, slithering ones and great big horned ones, almost as big as Mathilde. There were skinny ones with wings and spiky ones with eyes that flashed different colors. There was even one with brightly lit smoke seeping from the sides of its mouth as it chewed on something she couldn’t quite see.
“Well, of course it is!” Nana said.
“But I don’t want a demon!” How many times would she have to say it? “I want a pony!”
“Ah.” Nana knelt down to put her hands on Mathilde’s shoulders. “Demons make wonderful pets, you know. When I was a girl, we had a Belgian Muncher on the farm. They’re smart as a whip if you train ’em right. Some can even talk. But do you know the best thing about demons?”
Mathilde shook her head, her lip quivering.
Nana leaned in very close and whispered in Mathilde’s ear. “They’re great for convincing parents that little girls are responsible enough to take care of a pony.”
Mathilde didn’t know what to make of this. Was it another grown-up lie? “Really?” Her voice trembled.
Nana smiled. “I’ve already spoken with your parents about it. If you prove you can take care of a demon … then maybe we can see about that pony.”
Mathilde looked at the nearest cage. The demon inside was walking around on tiny cloven hooves and merrily cracking a little barbed whip. It grinned at her with a mouth full of teeth that gleamed like needles.
“Well, hello there!”
Mathilde jumped a little. Behind the counter was an old man with a checked shirt and large, round glasses. His face became a pile of wrinkles when he smiled. “Are you here for a new demon?”
“No,” Mathilde said.
“Yes.” Nana smiled. “It’s her birthday.”
“Oh.” The old man gave that too-long nod that grown-ups gave when they thought they knew something but really didn’t. “I see! Is this your first demon, miss?”
“… Yes.” Mathilde looked at her shoes.
“Then this is a special occasion! What sort of demon were you looking for?”
Mathilde looked back at him. “I want the kind with the pretty eyes and the long, shiny mane!”
Nana sighed. “That’s a pony, dear.”
“Well, that’s what I want!”
Nana gave Mathilde a sharp look, but the old man just laughed.
“Oh, I think I have just the one for you.” He reached beneath the counter and pulled out a small glass cage.
The demon inside didn’t have a long, shiny mane. It didn’t have any hair at all, at least not that Mathilde could see. All she saw was a tiny, black, hooded robe that hovered above the bottom of its cage on a billowing cloud of inky blackness. Its eyes were two red stars that twinkled in the darkness of its hood like distant Christmas lights.
I guess that’s kind of pretty, Mathilde thought.
Nana said, “Oh! What type of demon is that?”
“He’s a Miniature Dark Lord,” the old man said.
Nana clu
cked her tongue. “A Dark Lord? I thought they had great big horns!”
“Normally they do.” The shopkeeper shook his head. “But this poor little guy was born without any. All the other Dark Lords rejected him. Even his own mother didn’t want to take care of him! Can you imagine that?”
Mathilde could imagine it. She didn’t want to take care of him either. But … “What’s his name?”
The old man smiled behind his big round glasses. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
Mathilde peered through the glass cage. She looked at the Dark Lord’s tiny clawed fingers, at his dark billowing cloud.
Mathilde thought about her pony. “Hello,” she said. “What’s your name?”
I AM IX’THOR, MASTER OF THE VENOMOUS PITS OF KARTHOOM! The creature raised his arms over his head. He had a voice like the truck that picked up their garbage in the morning, only smaller. BOW BEFORE YOUR MASTER, SMALL ONE!
“How about that!” The old man raised his fuzzy white eyebrows. “He told you his name first thing! He must really like you.”
“Well, I don’t like him…” Mathilde crossed her arms. Ix’thor lowered his arms and hung his head a little. “… But I guess he’ll do.”
* * *
IX’THOR … HUNGERS. The Dark Lord’s voice rumbled from within his cardboard box.
“Dad!” Mathilde put her hands on her hips. “Hurry up! He’s getting hungry!”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Father said. He was kneeling on the floor of Mathilde’s bedroom, carefully hanging the curtains on the big glass cage. “You have to be firm with demons, you know. Give in and they’ll walk all over you.”
IX’THOR DEMANDS SACRIFICE!
“No!” Mathilde tapped her finger on the box. “Be good.”
“All right.” Father stood up and stretched his back with a soft pop, then turned down the light. “You can put him in now.”
Mathilde placed the cardboard box in the cage and pried the lid off. Ix’thor wafted out, his black mist coiling around the bottom of his robe. He floated back and forth a few times, exploring his new cage.
“Here,” Father said. “See the little altar down there? Put one of these on it.” He handed her a small, softly glowing ball, about the size of a pea, from the big plastic bag Nana had bought. The bag said things like “Nutritionally Balanced” and “Now with extra innocence for a healthy glow!”
At the sight of the red pellet Ix’thor raced over to the altar and stood on top of it, his arms outstretched.
“Ah-ah-ah,” Father said. “He has to take it from the altar. Make him wait for it.”
“Shoo!” Mathilde waved her hand toward the demon. “Back up. Back up! He won’t move!”
“Use the flashlight,” Father said. Mathilde picked up the little light that came with the My First Demon book and shined it on the altar. Ix’thor went scurrying off into the shadow of his box.
Mathilde put the pellet on one of the divots in the flat stone and turned off the light. After a few seconds, Ix’thor came out of his box and drifted over to the altar. He leaned over, as if to peer at the pellet, then snatched it up with both hands.
IX’THOR ACCEPTS YOUR SACRIFICE. The Dark Lord bowed his head over the pellet and devoured it. NUM. NUM. NUM.
“Wow,” Father said. “I guess he really was hungry.”
Mathilde glared at him, her eyes wide and her cheeks puffed out. “See!”
* * *
Mathilde had a hard time sleeping that night. She was excited about her birthday party, but her thoughts kept drifting toward the pony she would have someday. What color would he be? What would she call him? She knew her pony would be gentle and tame, not pushy like Ix’thor.
How long would she have to take care of a stupid demon, anyway?
When she did fall asleep, she dreamed of ponies with glowing red eyes.
Mathilde woke up to something poking her in the chin. “Mnm.” Mathilde swatted it away.
A moment later it happened again. She opened her eyes to see two red, twinkling stars and dark, clawed hands hovering over her face.
KNEEL BEFORE YOUR MASTER, MORTAL!
“Aaaaaah! Mom!”
Mother came to the door with Father and Nana close behind. When Mother flicked on the light there was a grinding squeal from Ix’thor and the little Dark Lord scurried under her dresser.
“Turn that light off!” Nana said. “Or he’ll never come out.”
Father ran into the room and stumbled around in the sudden dark. “Where did he go?”
“How did he get out of his cage?” Mother asked.
“I see him!” Father lurched to the corner, but when he bent down he banged his head on Mathilde’s dresser. “Ow!”
Mathilde saw a black shape dart under the bed. She grabbed the little flashlight and crawled underneath the springs.
“He’s right here!” She turned on the light.
Ix’thor tried to dart away from the beam, but he was trapped in the corner. When he hid himself in his robe, her hand darted out and wrapped around his leathery body. “I’ve got him!”
But she didn’t have him. Tiny claws slashed at her hand, right between her finger and thumb.
“Eeeeeee!”
* * *
“I hate him!” Mathilde said through her tears. Mother wiped at her face, at the bubble of snot that was hanging from her nose. “I don’t want a demon! I hate demons!”
“Oh, sweetie,” Mother said. “It’s just a tiny little cut. He was just scared of you, that’s all.”
“I don’t care! I don’t want a demon! I want a pony!”
Nana shook her head. “Sometimes ponies bite too, child.”
Mathilde had had enough of this. “They do not!”
“Oh, you think so?” Nana said. “When I was a girl, my best friend, Sheryl, had her finger bitten clean off!”
Mathilde looked up through a blurry curtain of tears. She couldn’t tell if Nana was making fun of her or not.
“You have to be careful with animals, Matty-Patty.” Mother stroked Mathilde’s hair. “Sometimes when they’re scared they lash out. They don’t know any better.”
“But I was being careful!” Why didn’t anyone believe her?
Mathilde looked up at the sound of Father’s footsteps.
“Well that’s that,” Father said. “He’s back in his cage. I don’t know how he got out of there, but he’ll need a cutting torch to do it again.”
“I don’t want him in my room!” Mathilde said. “I can’t sleep when he’s in there.”
Nana sighed. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, Fred. I’m sorry. I’ll take him back to the store tomorrow.”
Mathilde suddenly felt queasy. Too late, she remembered her promise, her pony. “Wait!” Mathilde said. “I didn’t … really mean it. He can stay.”
Nana and Mother looked at each other. Nana looked like she was laughing at something, but Mother didn’t look so amused.
“Do you really mean it?” Mother asked.
Mathilde nodded.
“Because this is your last chance,” Mother went on. “If you say you don’t want him one more time we’ll give him to someone who does.”
“I know.” Mathilde looked at her knees.
“You have to promise you’ll take care of him, and be gentle with him.”
“I promise,” Mathilde said. “I’ll take good care of him.”
* * *
There was cake at the party. It was chocolate with white frosting and candy sprinkles, just like Mathilde wanted. And there were lots of presents, including a camera and a unicycle and eleven different kinds of toy pony.
Mathilde smiled when she opened each present, and because Mother was looking she made sure to say thank you to everyone who gave her something—even Aunt Maggie, who wasn’t actually there. But she wasn’t really happy. Even the unicycle, which she had asked for specially, didn’t make her happy. When Robby Ferguson asked her if he could play with it, she said she didn’t mind.
&
nbsp; “This is so cool.” Robby wobbled on the pedals, gripping the back of the couch. “I’m gonna get one for my birthday.”
“I already have one,” said Becky Hamilton. “It’s okay. But I like riding horses better. Daddy says I can have one of my own for my next birthday.”
“Yeah right,” Suzy Feldstein said.
“It’s true!” Becky tossed her hair in her stuck-up, Becky-Hamilton way. “I made him promise.”
“I did get another present,” Mathilde said. The other children all looked at her. “You want to see him?”
* * *
“You have to turn the lights down.” Mathilde turned the dial down to a murky gloom. “He doesn’t like light.”
“What’s in there?” Becky Hamilton stepped back. “It’s not a snake, is it?”
“Sh!” Mathilde said, because she felt like it. “It’s not a snake.”
Mathilde opened the curtains around the cage and turned on the special red light in the lid, then stepped back.
The cage had changed since the last time she’d seen it. Ix’thor had moved around the pebbles at the bottom and stacked them up into a high-backed chair. He had taken apart his cardboard box and used it to build a little tower. Another piece of cardboard had been fashioned into a wide, diamond-shaped sword with tiny skulls carved into the blade. In the dim red light, it looked like every pebble in the cage had been worn down slightly to resemble hundreds of itty-bitty multicolored skulls.
WELCOME TO MY DOMAIN, Ix’thor said. FOOLS. DID YOU THINK YOU COULD DEFEAT ME?
“Wow!” Robby said. “That’s cool!”
“What kind of demon is he?” Suzy asked.
“He’s a Dark Lord.” Mathilde felt the first stirrings of a real smile.
“No he’s not,” Becky said. “Dark Lords have horns.”
Mathilde puffed up. “That shows what you know, Becky! This one was born without any horns.”
“Does he do any tricks?” Robby leaned in to peer through the glass.
“Um…” Mathilde hesitated. “Not yet.”
BOW BEFORE ME!
“You shouldn’t actually bow,” Mathilde said. “That just encourages him.”
“Oh, man!” Robby was practically hopping up and down. “He’s so awesome! I want a demon too!”
