by LJ Swallow
Giggling.
I halt, listening. The music from the bar sounds closer here, but isn't much of an interruption to the silence around. A male voice, urgent and surprised. Kyle? Turning the corner, I peer into the recess at the side of the building. The cosy space surrounds the couple with concrete barriers, and a brick wall, and I'm standing in the only way out of the place. A blonde girl has a guy pinned to a wall, and I can't make out whether they're kissing or she's attacking him.
Either this is Phoebe and Kyle, or I'm about to make an idiot of myself.
JACK
I stand by the noticeboard with two drinks in my hand, stomach plummeting into my shoes. Dahlia's gone. I don't bloody believe it. The cool glass of orange juice warms against my palm, and I swig from my fresh bottle in disbelief. Why ask for a drink and then piss off?
Maybe she went to the bathroom. I hover near the bathroom doors, hoping I'm right. A few minutes later, a girl with a black-bobbed haircut and industrial piercings in her ears steps out of the doorway.
“Is there a girl in there with long brown hair?”
She peers at me through black-lined eyes. “Dunno. Don't think so.”
My brain's fogged by the beer, and instead of returning to the other guys with my tail between my legs, I consider heading after Dahlia. If she has disappeared into the night on her own, I want to know why. But if I chase after Dahlia, I could scare her more. What do I do? I know it isn't late, but I'm anxious about her wandering campus alone, which is stupid because she came here on her own half an hour ago. I push my fringe away from my face, remembering the sensation of Dahlia’s fingers, and suddenly finding her, becomes the only option. Kyle's already left, the band has half the set to go, and I'm sure they won't miss me.
The winter breeze hits the bare skin on my arms and I rub them. I stare cluelessly at the trees opposite. Following girls around campus isn't a hobby I indulge in, and I have no idea where to go. The cold stings my arms, returning inside is tempting.
No, I'll have a quick scout around in case she just wanted fresh air. Bloody cold, fresh air. I aimlessly wander towards the nearest building; the campus is lit by yellow street lamps, but so many dark corners could hold danger, and I'm worried about her.
I pause by the passageway, which runs under the ugly grey lecture theatre. This way feels right like something's telling me to go this way. The call of a vending machine perhaps? I smirk, thinking of Dahlia and chocolate.
DAHLIA
The guy struggles against the girl, and claws at the hands around his neck. The blonde giggles again, the sound marred by a sinister trill. Okay, this couple are definitely not kissing.
“Kyle?” I call.
The girl spins around and her bright yellow eyes gleam through the darkness. Kyle's voice carries towards me, a plea for help, hoarse and strangled. The demon holds Kyle by the neck, squeezing the life from him, and the giggling morphs into growling as Phoebe registers me.
Instinctively, I charge across the space towards them and slam into Phoebe. She's solid, stronger than she looks, but so am I. And she's not expecting this. As I knock the demon sideways, Kyle cries out in pain and she releases her grip on his neck. He crumples to the ground, not moving.
Am I too late?
“Who the fuck are you?” Phoebe’s pleasant, smiling persona drops, features contorting closer to the demon she is.
As if she needs to ask...
The demon attempts to knock me off balance, but I steady myself and kick her in the stomach. She doubles over stumbling backwards, and a hiss escapes her chest.
“Why kill him? You don’t need his soul, you've already stolen one to be able to look like you do,” I say through my teeth.
Her yellow eyes widen in confusion—obviously not the brightest demon if she can't spot what I am. Finally the penny drops and she grimaces. “Soul hunter, I fucking knew it.”
“Why kill him?” I repeat.
“Because it's fun. You like killing things, so do I.”
Wrong. I need to. “Only evil bitches like you.”
She laughs, and I'm not playing nice anymore. Why the hell am I talking to a demon anyway? I unsheathe my dagger and step towards her, and she tries dancing out of the way. Seconds later, the demon's pinned underneath me, struggling, spitting and cursing in a familiar demonic language. Her demeanour changes, yellow eyes reflecting the malice and confusion contorting her face.
“Get the fuck off me!” she snarls, twisting her body to loosen me.
Our little conversation is over. Pinning the demon by her neck with my knee, I dig into my pocket; the demon's eyes widen as I pull out the soul crystal. A smooth and clear ball, small enough to fit into my palm, ready to store the human soul I’m about to release from the demon. Grinning at her, I toss the gem into the air and catch it. The demon stops struggling, body relaxing into defeat as I hold up my dagger.
In one swift movement, I plunge the knife into the demon’s chest and twist it into her blackened heart. I've done this that many times, I can find the heart even when the creatures won't keep still. Her blood bubbles through the wound, and as I withdraw the dagger, the sticky substance tars my fingers.
Gross.
A gasp indicates her last breath and the gem glows faintly. The demon's head pulls backwards, as if yanked by an invisible force and the mouth opens. A swirling mist pours from her, snaking upwards above the demon’s unseeing eyes. I stand and hold the gem in the palm of my hand and watch with satisfaction as the cloud constricts and spirals towards the gem. As the last part of the stolen human soul enters the crystal, I curl the gem back into my hand.
“What the fuck, Dahlia?”
I spin around at the sound of Jack’s voice.
JACK
Dahlia straddles Phoebe's chest with a dagger in her hand, both stained with dark blood.
Fucking hell.
I stumble and back against the wall, unable to say anything else, mind scrambling to keep up. Then I notice Kyle lying next to Phoebe.
He isn't moving.
She's killed them both? Nausea rises inside, bile edging into my throat. I should run, scream, something, but the adrenaline won't reach my legs.
Something else is happening. A white cloud drifts from Phoebe's mouth and snakes around her head. Dahlia has something in her hand, some kind of ball, and it sucks the white mist inside.
Words fall from my mouth and Dahlia twists around, dropping the dagger to the ground.
“Jack!”
I don't move from the wall, but at least she's not holding the dagger anymore. Holy shit. Forget delicate flower Dahlia, she's some kind of psycho.
“What did you do?” My voice rasps.
“It's not what you think.”
“You killed two people. Fuck...”
Dahlia shakes her head, brown hair flying around her. “No, Kyle's alive. Phoebe tried to kill him.”
“The dagger's hers?”
“No, mine.” Dahlia climbs off Phoebe's body and picks up the dagger. I shrink away, eyeing the weapon. I should've stayed in the Union. Why didn't I stay in the bloody Union?
“Phoebe... you killed her?”
Dahlia rubs her forehead and a black stain covers her hand, the same as the night we met in the snow. “She's not what she seems.” Dahlia breathes heavily, panic in her face. Yeah, she should be panicking.
“That stuff… from her mouth.”
Dahlia's eyes dart around, sensibly searching for a way out and I remember Kyle. Carefully, I manoeuvre around Dahlia in case she decides to attack me too. Kyle's chest rises and falls slowly, and I kneel down.
“What did you do to Kyle?”
“Nothing. It was her.”
Why hasn't Dahlia run? She's been caught in the act. A thought crashes into my mind—is this why she disappeared last winter? She murdered those people last year, and now she's back? Serial killers do this, don't they?
“Look at Phoebe. Closely.” Dahlia kneels; we're opposite sides of Phoebe's body.
“Her eyes, Jack.”
Yellow eyes. Cat's eyes. Dead eyes illuminating the darkness. “What the hell is going on?”
Dahlia tucks her hair behind her ears, both sides. “I'm not sure you'd believe me.”
“Instead you want me to keep believing you're a serial killer?”
I stare at her eyes softened by tears. Remorse? I've no idea. She doesn't look insane, frightened maybe. Confused. I'm bloody confused.
Dahlia stands. “Take care of your friend.”
“What about Phoebe?”
“She isn't Phoebe. If you look closely you'll see what she is.”
Phoebe's body has shrunk. No, flattened, and the skin on her face is drawn against her cheekbones; pale skin, barely covering the bones. I slump backwards onto the ground and gaze upwards into the starlit sky. This isn't real. I'm not here.
“Is she a vampire? And you're some kind of slayer like Buffy?” I have absolutely no idea why I just said that. Too many bad movies, I guess.
“A buffy? What's that?”
I can't help it and giggle. A manic laugh that doesn't sound like me. “Buffy. Vampire Slayer.” Man, this is hilarious; my giggling turns into laughter.
Dahlia isn't laughing.
My chest hurts and tears squeeze out of my eyes as I continue. Not normal laughing and I can't stop.
I can't look at Dahlia anymore. Wiping my face and turning back to Kyle, I touch his chest, shake him, call his name. Maybe he's alive. Do I know CPR? Shit.
“Dahlia, help him.”
She doesn't reply. I turn back around. The space behind me, where Dahlia stood, is empty.
7
DAHLIA
This is why. The whole reason I don't become involved with people just happened. I'm furious with myself and angry at the demon bitch. Shit.
Jack saw me kill, and he'll never forget. I've dragged him outside of his human understanding into the dark side of his world.
Will he come after me? Go to the police? I can't go back to the halls, but I have to. I need to collect my stuff things and leave. Before Jack finds me. Tears spill from my eyes, and I scrub them away with my sleeve. Whatever drew us together won't stand this because our colliding worlds just smashed a hole in his. Is this why I dream of him? Because he's the one who threatens my future?
I walk along the main road, busy with cars despite the lateness of the day; past the park everyone is told to avoid, and out of the city. Moving, walking. Crying. A middle-aged couple walking towards me hesitates. The woman opens her mouth to speak, but the man squeezes her arm, warning her. I pull my jacket closer and stare at the pavement; communication with humans is what dumped me in this mess.
The streets stretch past lit windows: take-away food places, cafes, and shops closed for the evening. I reach a bus stop. Should I catch a bus back to the halls? Buses equal bright lights and scores of students, not a great idea, hardly inconspicuous.
The shops lie behind me as the road moves towards the small slice of countryside between the suburbs. I regret the decision to ignore the bus; the journey to the Halls will take another thirty minutes if I keep walking. So the next bus stop I reach, I rest against the metal shelter and wait.
When I arrive back at the edge of the Halls of Residence grounds, I lean against a tree in the woods outside, unsure what to do next. My mind scrambles for answers, and I clutch the gem containing the demon’s soul, hoping Darius is aware, and someone comes to take me soon and before the police do. I’m not sure how long I stay there, but as the temperature drops and the night takes hold, I realise I have to move. I trudge towards my halls building, shivering.
Impossibly, Jack waits for me on the edge of the grounds, just inside the gates. He sits on the low wall, hands burrowed in his pockets. I pause, scanning around him for others. For police. My footsteps crunch the gravel and his head snaps up. I don't have any choice. I have to talk to him. I move to the wall next to Jack, expecting him to jump away.
“How did you know I'd come back here?” I ask.
“I just did.”
“Is Kyle okay?”
Jack shifts his weight towards me, deep brown eyes looking into my soul. “He said some weird shit. I took him home. But, yeah, he's fine.”
I bite down hard on my thumbnail, attempting to gauge what he's thinking. What would a human think? My empathy doesn't stretch this far.
“Were you waiting for me?” I ask.
Jack shrugs and turns back to his feet. “Kind of.”
“Even though you think I killed someone?” I say this as softly as I can, and his shoulders stiffen.
“You left.” He lifts his face back towards me, confused accusation in his eyes. “You could at least have told me what happened before you walked away.” This quiet calmness surprises me; I expected anger and threats.
I huff and pull my coat tighter. I don't know what to say. Thank God, he didn't call the police.
“Kyle thinks Phoebe drugged him, and that he was hallucinating,” continues Jack.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. He's confused. I'm fucking confused.” His shoulders slump and he rubs both hands across his face.
“Maybe sleep on it?” I suggest and pull away from the wall.
Jack puts an arm on mine, grasping my sleeve, then loosening it when he sees my alarm. “You're leaving again, aren't you?”
“I can't stay here now. Not after... what happened.”
“Who are you, Dahlia?”
I didn't expect to face this question so quickly. The adrenaline still roars through my system from earlier and clouds my brain. I could tell Jack everything and scare him away. Then, if he did call the police, and they reached me before I'm retrieved by Darius, he can tell them I'm insane. I meet the eyes of the guy from my dreams. How will Jack react? Right, the make-him-think-I’m-insane route is the best way to go.
“I kill demons.”
Jack makes a small noise in his throat. “Really?”
But something about his disbelief isn't entire. “You saw it. Saw her.”
Doubtful eyes study my face. “And if I did believe that was true, why do you kill them?”
“I take their souls.”
“Take them where?”
“Back to where they belong.”
Jack regards his shoes for a very long time. We should be used to awkward silences, but this is something else.
“I know what I saw tonight isn't normal. Phoebe... disintegrated.” He presses a palm against his forehead, as if trying to hold in reality. “Is this some kind of fucked up joke?”
I'm lost. I have nothing to offer.
Jack frowns, rakes his fingers through his hair. “What the hell is all this? You're telling me you're a demon-slayer, saving people?”
It's my turn to make the derisive noise. “No, I don't do it to save humans. I do it to retrieve the lost souls.”
Jack eyebrows shoot skyward. “Humans? Are you telling me you're not human? Are you bloody high or something...?”
“Maybe you've heard enough for one night, Jack.” Or seen enough. I begin to step away but Jack jumps to his feet, stopping me.
“Who are you?” he presses.
What the hell, I'll be gone by tomorrow probably, leaving a lost Jack with his world upside down. The warmth emanates between our bodies, breath fogging in the air around us. His eyes shine in the night, pulling me in with the strangeness filling the small gap between us.
“Are you scared of me?” I ask and realise how stupid this sounds—he's a foot taller than I am and weighs a hell of a lot more.
But he did see me allegedly kill someone.
“No. Because I know you. I don't know how or why, but I've dreamt about you every night since I saw you last year.”
I suck in a breath. He has the dreams too.
In the moment
of understanding, I close the gap and touch Jack’s arm. I want to put my hand on his face, but if he recoils, it would be one of my last memories of him and I don't want that.
JACK
My brain hurts. My face is cold. But for some insane reason, my whole body is on fire, wanting Dahlia because she’s close. Who is she? I thought she was Dahlia, a vulnerable girl with huge, chocolate eyes and hair that almost reaches to her gorgeous ass. The girl who turns my insides out and empties thoughts from my head without being near. The girl in my dreams.
Now I'm not sure she's even a girl.
That thing. Phoebe. That wasn't human. Her body gradually disappearing as I tried to rouse Kyle is the freakiest shit I've ever witnessed. Just clothes and a pile of dust were left by the time Kyle regained consciousness. He didn't see. Kyle was too out of it to remember much of whatever happened.
But I saw, and there's no rational explanation, only Dahlia's crazy words.
Dahlia touches my arm, and I curse that I can't feel her hand through the thick coat. She's close, her beautiful eyes wary.
Why am I not running the hell away?
I stretch my hand towards Dahlia’s face and touch her cheek with my fingertips. Her eyes widen, and my own breathing increases to match hers. Her skin is velvet soft and… human. I consider what the rest of Dahlia feels like and an image of the necklace hanging between her breasts skips happily into my mind.
“Are you leaving?” I ask.
“Probably. They'll take me back again.”
“Back where? Where do you go?”
Dahlia wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “I don't think we should talk about this. I've messed around with your worldview enough.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Dahlia puts her hand to my face and we stand, fingers on each other’s cheeks. A powerful heat flows between us; more than physical, like I'm talking to her and she's part of me.
