Demon Kissed

by H. M. Ward

  Heart pounding, I jumped away from her—shocked. My back slammed into a stack of books. I felt their balance shift under my weight. “Shannon, what are you doing?” I squealed. The silver dagger gleamed under the bare bulbs. I couldn’t take my eyes off its lethal blade.

  From that point, everything went wrong. My best friend vanished and I was left with this crazy girl. She looked like Shannon, but she didn’t act like her. Something was warring within her, causing erratic jerky movements of the dagger. I could see it in her eyes. My heart was pounding, not believing this was happening. The similarity to last night was unreal. It couldn’t be happening. I knew her so much longer than Jake. She wouldn’t hurt me. There was no way. My stomach lurched, making me feel sick. My hands shook as I held them up, palms facing her.

  She moved quickly. Her face pinched tightly, as the dagger hovered near my throat without touching my skin. I sucked in air, trying to shrink away from the blade. My body pushed into the stack of books. I resisted the urge to push back further, knowing they would collapse.

  I screamed, “Shannon. What the hell are you doing?”

  She seemed lost, standing there, unable to move. Her lips pressed together in a small line. Her eyes were glassy, but the blade didn’t move. Her voice was faint—apologetic in a way. “They commanded us to destroy the Prophecy One. I have to,” she shook her head. “I can’t save you.” Tears streaked down her face.

  “Save me from what? Shannon, you’re scaring me. Put the knife down.” My muscles were so tense; my skin felt like it would explode.

  Her unblinking gaze was stoic. The only clue that revealed that she was conflicted were the tears streaming down her face. Her voice was soft, “They told us to kill you, before you learned what you were. Before you could fulfill the prophecy.”

  “There’s got to be some mistake. Shannon, it’s me! You know me.” My eyes darted around the room, looking for a way out. I pushed back against the books that formed a wall behind me.

  Shannon stood there, frozen with her eyes darting between my face and her blade. She spoke so faintly I could barely hear her. “If I could save you, I would. But I can’t. No one can save you.”

  “Shann, you got the wrong girl. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why would they kill me? You don’t have to save me. I’m still me.” Holding my body rigid, I tried to stay completely still. Her arm shook, and the cold metal dagger touched my skin. I couldn’t stand it anymore. Something snapped inside of me. I wasn’t a fighter, but I wasn’t going to get killed in a church attic. Forcing my hands to my sides quickly, I closed my eyes, and shoved. My entire body pressed backwards into the tower of books, precariously stacked behind me. The stack gave. The middle section slid back, forming a hole that engulfed me, before the rest of the wall of books collapsed forward.

  Books crashed down from above, knocking over the surrounding stacks. By the time my butt slammed into the floor, books were raining down in every direction. That’s when I heard it—the sound of metal scraping across the wooden floor. Her blade fell. Pulse pounding in my ears, I pushed the books off of me, and jumped up. There wasn’t a clear spot on the floor, but I saw it. I crawled over a pile, scurrying like a crab, rushing through the haze for her blade.

  Shannon was already on her feet, trying to get to her dagger. It was just out of her reach. I had to get there first. I jumped, colliding with the wooden floor, and grabbed her dagger. Not thinking, I ran to the attic window and hurled it into the air. It fell to the ground below, stabbing the lawn.

  “No!” Shannon lunged at me, but she missed, and fell to the floor.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I yelled at her. She sat by my feet with tears streaming down her face. “Why do they want to kill me? Why did you… ?” Exasperation overtook my vocabulary, and I couldn’t finish the sentence. I stamped the wooden floor in front of her, yelling, “Tell me what’s going on! Tell me now!”

  “I can’t do it! I can’t!” she stammered, rocking, not looking at me. She looked utterly tormented.

  This betrayal was more than I could bear. She always had my back, and I had hers. Shaking, I tried to control my rage. My voice left my body in a tight monotone, “If my friendship ever mattered to you, you better stop screwing with me and tell me now.” My eyes were burning a hole in her face. My fists clenched tightly at my sides.

  “Ivy, you do matter to me. What’s going to happen to you is unbearable.” She wiped her eyes, as her voice took on the tone of someone too grief-stricken to speak. “The prophecy said this: Purple mark above thine brow, gently conquer the reds as they are now, or to them succumb, devour the lead, and rise as one.” She sat quietly, wiping her hand across her face. “Everyone thinks it means that the girl with the purple mark is the one who ushers the massive onslaught of evil into the world. You’re the girl with the purple mark, Ivy. It’s you!” Her emerald eyes stared up at me, unblinking.

  Shaking my head, I said, “It’s not me. Look at me Shann! I’m not evil. I don’t care what the prophecy says. I’m not a Valefar. I’m not bad. You know that. Why can’t it be someone else?” With my hands clutching my head, I turned away from her.

  Her voice was soft, “There is no one else with a purple mark. There never has been. You might have started blue, but you aren’t now. I have no idea how it happened. I just know that painting shows the prophecy of the girl with the purple mark. She’s you. You’re her. Somehow it happens. Somehow you become evil.”

  “It won’t happen,” I bit the words off with contempt, irritated that she didn’t believe me.

  I looked at her. Her eyes were enormous, and filled with grief. She flicked her head at the canvas, “See the guy in the painting?”

  “Yeah,” I said looking at him. “What about him?”

  “He also has a purple mark, but his is a scar. See, his skin is marred?” I nodded. She continued, “He was demon kissed—he’s a Valefar. He’s going to pull you down to become one of them. See your hands? You try to pull him up. You’ll try to save him. And fail. You’ll fail, Ivy. If you fail, you become one of them. And you’ll destroy all of us—the Martis, the world, everything and everyone. Ivy, you’re the straw. The Trojan horse. The end all. It’s you Ivy! Your futures are intertwined. If he wins, you lose.”

  I swallowed hard, not wanting to believe anything she was saying. “Why would I be involved with one of them? They tried to kill me.” Shannon went to speak, but I cut her off, walking toward her, “Shannon, I’m not one of them. I’ll never be one of them.” I stopped before her, looking her in the eye. “Believe me. You were my best friend for seventeen years. You have to believe me.”

  Shannon’s voice was strained, “I want to. But it doesn’t work like that. A prophecy is a glimpse of the future. This future is bad. And it’s because of you.” Her eyes revealed the sadness that consumed her soul, “Ivy, who is he?”

  Sensing Shannon’s conflicting loyalty shifting in my favor, I glanced at the painting again, looking at his face. It felt like I knew him, but I couldn’t be sure. I shook my head, “I don’t know.”

  “I can’t destroy you. I just can’t. But I can’t lie. Martis can’t lie, so if someone asks me, we have a problem. But they shouldn’t because I’m not the Seeker, but still. No, they shouldn’t ask me. But, hiding you is going to be hard. I’ll make sure you don’t have anything to do with that guy. I’ll guard you. It won’t happen. It can’t happen.” It sounded like she was talking, trying to convince herself, rather than me.

  I latched onto a word, “What’s a Seeker?”

  Her weary green eyes flicked to my face. “The Seeker has been looking for you. Her job is to find out when you are created—the second that purple mark forms on your head—and destroy you.”

  I hesitated, sure that our friendship was toast. I couldn’t trust her anymore, even if she did spare me. My stomach sank. “So… ” I said, glaring at her. “You’re not gonna kill me? But there is someone looking for me, who will?”

  Nodding, her
green eyes bore straight into me, “Yes. And Ivy. Eric will kill you, if you tell him.”

  I answered, “Then, I won’t tell him.”

  “Ivy,” she hesitated, “It’s not that simple. We’re bound to certain acts. Some of us can’t resist. Destroying evil is innate—a reflex. I can’t kill you, because I know who you are and that you aren’t evil now. We’ve been friends for seventeen years. I know you. But Eric, he won’t hesitate. If something goes wrong, and he sees that the mark is purple, it will confirm that you are the one in the prophecy…He won’t let you walk. And he won’t stop hunting you until you’re dead.”

  With complete certainty I said, “He won’t find out.” She started to object, but I cut her off. “He won’t find out. But what about you? Will you hunt me? If I didn’t throw your knife out the window, you wouldn’t have stopped, would you?”

  Shannon looked at me, taking a step forward, and said, “I don’t need the dagger to kill you.” Tension laced my muscles, as we stood stone still, nose to nose. Finally, she breathed, and continued, “You’re not evil. You’re not the girl in the prophecy. Not yet. Maybe we can prevent it. And I’m not giving up on you until I see reason to.” She stepped back, and turned. The veiled threat was there. She would destroy me when she thought there was no hope.

  “I’m not her,” I said, unfolding my arms, and pointing to the painting.

  She walked towards me, arms folded, standing tall and slim. “You will become her. The prophecy says he’ll pull you to deepest pits of Hell with him. You’ll serve demons and monsters for eternity. The horror flicks that me and you used to watch at the movies - they pale in comparison to that place,” her finger pointed to the blackest part of the painting.

  “Ivy, if that guy gets to you, you’re gonna change. Something inside you will snap, and you are going to want to be there. In Hell. To be with him. And I won’t be able to do anything to help you. All the Martis will swarm to destroy you, before you destroy everything.”

  “I’d never betray my friends for a guy. I’d never let the world go to Hell for a guy. You won’t have to help me, because it won’t happen.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Mental hoopla was slapping into the sides of my skull, giving me a headache, as I stared at the ceiling in my room. I was cast head first into the vat of chicken-fried crap, and I didn’t know how to get out. Denying it wasn’t really working out. I could say this whole thing didn’t happen, but it wouldn’t change anything. I’d still be hunted.

  The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I pulled my pillow over my face and screamed. When the air escaped my lungs, my anger fizzled a little. I rested the pillow on my belly, and stared blankly. I had no choice, but to accept everything that was thrust at me, and try to make something of it. The part that bothered me the most wasn’t the Seeker stumbling on me in the middle of the night—it was that they thought I was evil.

  Having someone call me evil to my face was weird—since I’m not. But it made me wonder if on some level, they were right. Maybe that was where I was headed. I’d done some dumb stuff over the past year, but I wouldn’t have said any of it was evil. I partied, drank, and threw myself at random guys. Most teenagers did that anyway. It wasn’t good, but I didn’t think it gave me a Fastpass to Hell either.

  I needed something. This felt too dream-like to be real. If I had something to touch and hold, this wouldn’t feel so freaking weird. The plan formed in my mind without much conscious thought. And I waited.

  When night fell, I felt a little better. My mom fed me birthday cake and I blew out seventeen candles. Next year there would be one more candle, but I’d still be seventeen. I’d be seventeen when I was seventy. How was I supposed to hide that? I’d have to deal with that later.

  Staying alive was more pressing at the moment. It was odd, but I had no idea how much I wanted to live, until Jake tried to kill me. I was glad that I was still around to blow out candles. After too much birthday cake, I jumped on my bed forgetting the delicate box was still there. It bounced off the bed and crashed onto the floor.

  I rolled over to grab it, but the wood didn’t survive the impact. It lay on the floor, cracked. I closed my eyes, blinking back tears. My fingers picked up the box, and I held it delicately in my hands, trying to fix it. It wasn’t that messed up. My fingers ran across the crack in the bottom of the box. I pulled out the velvet pillow to see how bad it was, but the inside of the box wasn’t cracked. When I flipped it back over, the outside bottom of the box was cracked all the way through. I pressed my nail into the space to confirm what my eyes saw, and instantly regretted it. The box split in my hands.

  “Oh no. No.” I pushed the pieces back together, but it was too late. They were split clean through. Sighing heavily, I felt the tears well up. I ruined the last gift Apryl gave me.

  I dropped half of the broken box on the bed, to wipe a tear from my eye when I saw it. A black chain slid out of the bottom. Looping the chain around my fingers, I pulled it out. It was a necklace with a small pendant, the size of a quarter. It was a solid black stone disc that held two tightly woven ivory peonies. I held it in my palm, looking at it, wondering if Apryl knew it was in the box. I undid the clasp and draped it around my neck. The pendant hung in the hollow of my throat, exactly where I would have worn a choker.

  My fingers slid across the rough ivory. Breaking the box didn’t seem so bitter now. I found a hidden treasure. And it matched everything. It wasn’t too dressy or too plain. I could wear it all the time. I fumbled the cold disc in my fingers wondering why it was hidden in the bottom of the box.

  I wasn’t tired when I went to bed that night. Sleep was something I no longer needed. I flicked at the frayed edge of my blanket, waiting. Mom had to be asleep. So I waited, twitching my foot restlessly until the sounds of silence echoed through the house. Jerking my body upright, I padded across to my dresser. Looking in the mirror, I ran my slim fingers down my cheeks. I still looked like me, and that purple mark was still there, delicately strewn with lots of swirls. The mark was changing, becoming more elaborate. It changed my life faster and harder than anything I’ve ever encountered.

  I wondered if I’d survive it.

  Quickly, I slapped on sweats and swept my hair into a tight ponytail. I stabbed it with my silver comb to hide my mark. Then I launched myself out the window, into the night air. My sneakers struck the pavement in quick blows. I wasn’t a runner. I didn’t even walk, if I could avoid it. But that night, I ran faster and longer than ever before. I ran until my lungs burned, starved for air.

  I stopped. My church sat bathed in blackness in front of me. I walked through the empty parking lot. The trees’ canopy creaked, as I walked under their enormous branches. Placing the key in the lock, I turned it once, and pushed the door open. My feet made a beeline through darkened halls, going straight to the attic. I found the frame covered in a sheet, as I’d left it earlier.

  I grabbed it and began to tug the metal staples out of the wooden frame. I’m destroying fine art. Great. But I had to take it. I had to see what I became and how I became it. The painting had to tell more than it seemed. It was my only link to the person I would become. The person I didn’t want to be. The canvas came loose, and I rolled it up silently. Returning the sheet, I placed the empty frame back into the dusty corner. The painting rolled up to the size of a paper towel tube. I shoved it in my jacket, and got out of the building. No one saw me.

  Slipping back into the night, my ponytail swished, as I ran. My lungs burned while my feet pounded the pavement not knowing where I was going. I didn’t care. The frigid night wind whipped my face until my flesh burned. But I couldn’t stop. My worry spilled out of my limbs, and the nervous energy took me further and further from home. As I ran the tall buildings shrunk, and the trees thinned out. Soon only the bare land of sod farms surrounded me.

  When I couldn’t force my body to run another step, I abruptly came to a stop. I doubled over, and my face turned sideways gasping for air. A massive dark
building stood in the distance. I braced my hands on my knees, panting. My sweat-soaked shirt clung to my body. I straightened, recognizing the silhouette of a church spread out in front of me. The dead lawn crunched under my feet, as I walked toward the decrepit building. The magnificent shambles called to me. It spoke to me in the silence, revealing abandoned hopes and promises.

  A steeple stretched into the inky sky, and was anchored by a stone building that was falling into ruin. It looked like it was a chapel-sized version of one of the old European cathedrals. The kind with great arches that stretched into space with stones, locked into place, at angles that defied gravity. The doors were made of solid carved wood with decorative ironwork and door pulls. The building sat alone draped in quietness and shadows. Unease gnawed at me. I looked around, not recognizing where I was. And I was alone, unless you count the graveyard.

  My hands pushed against the wooden door, expecting to be met with resistance, but it gave way to my touch. I stepped into the building, and out of the moonlight. The interior was black, but I could still see with my Martis vision. However, the comforts of sunlight, like the fact that it chases the creepies away, were missing. I wrung my hands, and walked forward. I passed through a small entryway, and perfectly aligned pews covered in a thick layer of white dust. My feet pressed softly to stone. The sound of my footfalls broke the silence. The stained glass that was intact glimmered in the moonlight. Shattered panes revealed stars, as the coolness of the night air leaked in through the openings. I don’t know if I loved it because it was abandoned, or because it had once been beautiful—and now it was broken.