The First Demon (Cards of Death Book 1)

by Tamara Geraeds

  Feeling a bit glum, but also relieved, I walk into the gray block that houses our main grocery store. The name Silver Family Market says a lot about our little mining town. Everyone went out of their way to convince the tourists that we are a cozy place, a good place to visit. We’re all family here, one big silver mine family. That’s not even such a big lie. I know most people who live in Blackford. But cozy is not a word I would use to describe this place. Gloomy would suit it much better.

  I linger around the dairy department a bit longer than usual. The cold clears my head. I reach into my pocket and pull out two envelopes. The first contains the letter about Dad’s passing and the house, the second holds two demonic cards. Two very real cards. Not a dream. Not a hallucination.

  “Hi Dante,” a chirpy voice says.

  I turn around and look into the face of Mom’s best friend. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I am relieved it is her. Mona may look like a Stepford wife, with her too blonde, too straight, short hair, too much make-up and her perfect unwrinkled skin, but she is really nice. She has been Mom’s best friend since high school and she didn’t abandon us when Mom got ill, as so many other people did.

  “What have you got there?” she asks in her honey-sweet voice.

  I follow her gaze and discover I’m still holding the cards. “Oh, just a game for tonight.”

  “Oh right, you have that party for your friends. Is there anything I can help you with? Bake a cake, get you some punch?”

  I smile. “No, thank you, Mona. I’m fine.”

  “I can’t believe your mother is actually going out tonight.”

  I frown. “What?”

  “She called me, and said she wanted to go to a bar tonight. She said you would love to have the house to yourself for once.”

  “What?” I repeat.

  “I know! It’s great, right? She’s finally doing better!” She gives me a quick hug. “Well, I’ve got to go. See you soon.” She walks away, but turns around before the end of the rack. “Oh, and congrats on the house.”

  No ‘sorry about your Dad’. She always avoids that subject. And I’m thankful for it. With what I know now, I wouldn’t have a clue what to say.

  I hurry past the shelves, taking some cans of Monster, chicken wings and nachos, and drive back home.

  I start yelling before I even open the front door. “Mom!”

  She is vacuuming the stairs, doing an Eddy Mercury imitation with Abba’s Dancing Queen at a deafening volume.

  I can’t help but laugh.

  She finally notices me, but instead of feeling ashamed, she pulls me into a dance.

  After stumbling around for a few minutes – because I really can’t dance – I pull away. Out of breath, I drop down onto the stairs. Mom is still moving, a big grin on her face.

  “I can’t believe you still have energy left,” I pant.

  She raises her arms above her head and sways her butt. “Me neither! I feel so revived. As if all the energy I was missing all these years has come back to me at once. It’s like the dark cloud above my head has melted away.”

  I think of what my Shield showed me. Dad was like a dark cloud. He is gone now. Is this somehow connected?

  “I heard you were going out tonight,” I yell over the music.

  “Yes, I could dance all day!”

  “It is your first good day in years, Mom. What if you have a setback?”

  She walks to the stereo and turns the volume down. “That’s exactly why I want to go out, Dante. What if this is the only good day I get for years? I want to enjoy it.”

  We look at each other for a while. All kinds of responses go through my head, but they are all stupid. Should I tell her about the ghosts? About what Dad did? Probably not. She wouldn’t believe me and I don’t want to spoil her mood.

  The corners of my mouth go up slowly. “If you want to enjoy your day, then why are you vacuuming?”

  She picks up the vacuum cleaner and does some crazy seventies dance move. “Because cleaning up can be fun if you’re doing it as a surprise for someone else.” She blows me a kiss and nods in the direction of the stereo. “Now, turn up the volume, maestro.”

  I leave her to her cleaning-slash-dancing and carry the groceries into the kitchen.

  Then I go to my room and take the cards out. Knife and silver coins, I google. Nothing useful comes up. I try all sorts of combinations: knife ghosts, knife danger, knife danger ghosts and try the same with silver coins. Then I type in knife symbolic meaning.

  “This could be interesting,” I mumble to myself. “Knives often signify betrayal.”

  Is someone trying to warn me? Are these ghosts going to betray me? But what do the coins mean then? Will I be robbed? With a knife?

  My heart almost stops. This could be it. But what about the demon symbols? Is a demon going to rob me with a knife? Yesterday I would have thought this was impossible, but today I am not so sure anymore. If ghosts are real, and fire starters are real, then why shouldn’t there also be demons?

  I turn the other card around. I have to find out what’s under the ice. Maybe this card offers a solution. But how do I remove the ice without destroying the card? Can I heat it up without fire?

  Wait a minute …

  The frayed edge is whole again. Which means the card mends itself. But still, I won’t be able to see what’s under the ice if I burn the card.

  I look around. The heating is on, so I push the card against the radiator. My hand almost burns, but I don’t mind. Until I discover all the ice is still there when I pull back.

  Mom is at the top of the stairs when I walk into the hallway. “Mom, is there a way to remove ice without using fire?”

  It must be a strange question without context, but she doesn’t ask. She just smiles and says, “Salt works on snow, so maybe it will work on ice, too?”

  “Great idea, thanks!” I bounce past her down the stairs, grab the salt shaker and sprint back to my room. I inhale deeply before shaking some salt onto the card. It crackles softly, and slowly an image appears in the middle. A skyscraper. I shake until the whole card is covered in salt. Five images appear. The skyscraper in the middle, and a pair of glasses, two similar faces, a T and a plus sign in the corners. These might be hints as to who is going to rob me. What do these cards want me to do? Take him out before he can stab me?

  CHAPTER 7

  Mona picks up Mom at nine o’clock, and half an hour later my friends come knocking. The four guys standing in my doorway, grinning from ear to ear and bumping my fist, are such a familiar sight, that I finally relax. I open the door wide. “Please enter the palace of pleasure, my friends. We will be alone tonight.”

  “Palace of pleasure? Really?” Paul laughs. He walks inside and looks around, his green eyes scanning every inch of the living room. “Then where did you hide the girls?”

  I shrug. “Sorry man, they fled when they heard you were coming.”

  Quinn slaps me on the back way too hard, as usual. “They’re all out of town. That’s why I’m leaving for Ibiza tomorrow, baby!” With a wink, he hands me two six-packs of beer his dad must have given him. He’s wearing white to make his dark skin pop out again. The proudest man I have ever known. Probably the most handsome, too, but let’s not get into that again. We argue amongst ourselves often enough over which one of us is the ugliest. Paul always complains about his triangle shaped head, as he calls it, and his freckles. I don’t think the girls mind either of those, and even if they do, his green eyes make up for it.

  Simon – in my opinion – has more to complain about. No freckles, but there’s no controlling his hair. He tried everything. Trimming, shaving, growing it, putting in handfuls of gel. Nothing works. His hair just doesn’t want to be there. It doesn’t fit his face, either. So he just combs it with his hands every morning to make it look almost decent, and he lets it grow until it bothers him too much. He probably invented the out-of-bed look without even knowing it. Th
e only handsome thing we could find in his face, are his almost black eyes. They could be striking, if they weren’t always hidden by his fringe.

  Charlie is our Californian boy. He moved to our boring Blackford, Idaho, a couple of years ago, but kept his style. His long blond locks reach his shoulders and he has the blue eyes to match. He rocks the whole hippie Beach Boy look, completing it with flowery shirts and shorts whenever the weather allows it. He does well with some girls, as long as Quinn isn’t with him.

  I complete the gang with my average brown hair of average length and boring brown eyes to match. Sometimes I grow a thin beard and mustache, to look older. I’m not really skinny, but there’s not much muscle on me either. The others always tell me that I’m good-looking, that girls love the ‘dark look’, whatever that means. I never noticed though.

  My friends all have plans for the summer. Even Charlie, with his long scrubby hair, will get female attention. Only one of us gets left behind in old Blackford.

  Quinn hits me again. Ibiza baby! he mouths.

  I sigh. “Yeah yeah, rub it in why don’t you.”

  Charlie walks with me into the kitchen. “Why didn’t you say anything about your dad?”

  I avoid his gaze. “I don’t want to think about it. I’ve done that enough already.”

  “So you don’t want to tell them about the house, either?”

  “Not yet.”

  He grunts something unintelligible and shrugs to himself. “Are we really alone? Did your mom go out?” He looks as incredulous as I still feel. I’m grateful for his ability to change the subject without making people feel uncomfortable.

  I shoot him a grateful smile. “Yes, it’s unbelievable. She was full of energy. She’s gone to a bar with Mona.”

  “So maybe you can go on a short vacation after all.”

  I shake my head. “No, I’m staying. I want to be near, in case… you know, it happens again. Besides…” I want to remind him of the house I inherited, but I don’t really trust the ghosts. Not yet.

  “Besides what?” Charlie asks, but I hardly hear him. What if the ghosts have some kind of evil plan? What if they want to hurt me? Or Charlie or whomever?

  A flash of memory hits me. Dad setting the poor man on fire, making his wife and kids watch. Maybe my instinct was right. Maybe these ghosts forced my father to do that. They could have put him under a spell, right?

  “Besides what?” Charlie repeats, but he already knows he won’t get an answer. He snatches the package from my hands. “These chicken wings won’t heat themselves, you know. Unless you have some kind of heating power in your hands.” He laughs and puts them in the oven, which is already heated.

  Maybe I do, I think, and I almost say it out loud. Maybe I inherited Dad’s power.

  I turn to my best friend. “Can you take some cans of Monster to the living room? I’ll take care of the snacks.”

  “Sure.” He looks at me for a moment, raising an eyebrow to ask how I’m doing.

  I can tell he wants to know more about Dad and the house, but I’m not ready to talk to him about it. There’s no fooling Charlie and I’m not sure I can keep everything I found out to myself. I have to figure this out on my own. So I wave my hand and with five cans in his hands, he walks out of the kitchen.

  I hear them talking while I take out the nachos. I set the package on the kitchen counter and place my hands over it. I think about fire, try to imagine heat filling my body. I see the flames in my mind and push them outwards.

  I peek at my hands. Nothing happens.

  A little disappointed, I put the nachos in the microwave. A few minutes later I take the snacks to the living room. My friends have already put on the TV and the stereo.

  ‘Disco karaoke!’ the screen yells at me in shiny letters.

  Simon turns around and dives at the plate in my hand. “Chicken wings! Give them to me!”

  Paul imitates a chicken, while hopping in a circle. “Give it to me baby!” he yells.

  I shove him and he falls over, tripping up Quinn, who punches him in turn. They struggle until the oven asks for attention again, reminding me that I left it on.

  “Someone take these nachos from me before I eat them all!” I shout.

  Charlie snatches the bowl from me with a grin.

  When I return the guys are still bouncing a little, while chewing on chicken bones. A solemn feeling hits me. Although I know they often behave like ten-year-olds, they’re my best friends, and I am going to miss their company. These next couple of weeks are going to feel like a year. I will be stuck in a small town filled with elderly and boring people for the whole summer; not to mention my whole life.

  “Hey old man!” Simon yells. “Are you going to snatch that bowl back from Charlie or what?”

  I focus on the scene before me and chuckle. Simon always calls me old man, even though we’re all the same age. Dad’s great vanishing act resulted in me growing up pretty fast. Mona couldn’t be here every minute of the day, so I had to take care of a lot of things by myself. Sometimes, when Mom was feeling all right, she would show me how to manage the household money or teach me how to cook. For a long time I had no chance to be a kid. It’s a miracle I still have friends.

  Charlie sticks a nacho in the air. “You better hurry, these things are way too tasty.” He gives me a questioning look, but I pretend not to notice. “No problem.” I walk back to the kitchen, open one of the cupboards and pull out more nachos.

  Charlie follows me and yanks them out of my hand, putting them in the microwave. “Are you coming? Let’s sing first.”

  The guys distract me for about half an hour, making jokes, eating all the snacks and singing out of tune. Then it is my turn. I choose Staying Alive by the Bee Gees and sing as loud as I can. It is exhilarating. Paul joins me after the first chorus, while the others are waving their beer bottles in the air.

  But my brain just doesn’t want to give me any peace. Instead it flashes pictures of Vicky in front of me. Her ice cold eyes bore into mine and make me feel all giddy.

  I’m not afraid to sing in front of other people, I remind myself. But my body doesn’t listen. The memory of this morning cannot be erased. The nausea comes back and my hands start to tremble. I pretend it’s part of my silly dance, but I won’t be able to stand up straight for much longer. My knees are already buckling.

  “You finish,” I say to Paul. “I have to make room for more beer.”

  Paul takes the microphone and I have to keep myself from running to the bathroom.

  I drop down on the toilet seat and take out the cards, panting heavily. The frost flowers are back, but I know what’s under them. The ice feels colder than before, or maybe it’s just my imagination. My nerves are still killing me. “Please leave me alone,” I whisper.

  “Save him,” a low voice says out of nowhere.

  I freeze. Carefully, I look around, but of course, no one is there.

  “Save who?” I wonder out loud.

  The icy card is pulled out of my hand. It floats in front of my face for a split second, before tumbling to the ground. “Save him, or all will be lost.”

  A humid wind tickles the back of my neck. I can’t move. I can’t even breathe anymore. Is this another ghost or something entirely different? Something more dangerous?

  My gaze flicks over the card on the floor. For a moment a face is visible. Then I blink and all I see is frost flowers.

  “Save him…” The voice whispers in my ear.

  I regain control over my body, get up and stumble into the hallway. I clasp my hand on my neck, trying to drive away the feeling of breath on my skin. I rub and rub, but the sensation of a mysterious touch doesn’t go away.

  “Hey!” Quinn walks out of the living room. “They are giving me a headache. Where is your poker set?”

  I give him half a smile, the best I can do right now. “I’ll get it. Can you put some more chicken wings in the oven? They’re in the fridge.”
r />   “Sure. Do you want more beer, too? I have some in my car.”

  I give him a thumbs up, run upstairs, throw the cards in a drawer and grab my poker set. In the bathroom I wash my neck. “Leave me alone,” I repeat. Then I turn around and go back to my friends.

  While Charlie is dealing, I gulp down two more beers. He raises his eyebrows at me. I never drink this fast, but it is easing my nerves. “Enjoying the last good day of summer,” I explain.

  He nods, but doesn’t look convinced.

  I relax a little again, playing Texas Hold’em, drinking and eating too much. But then my playing cards come into focus. Two kings. Their faces twist into something familiar.

  “Save him…”

  I push my hands against my ears.

  “Ssst! Be qui’t. Dantestryin’ tuh conc’trate,” Paul says, bursting into a girlish giggle right after.

  The voice gets louder, no matter how hard I try to shut it out. “Save him or everyone you love will die. You, your mother, your friends, everyone on earth will die.”

  I push harder, but it doesn’t help.

  “Save him!” it yells.

  “All right!” I get up so quickly that my chair tumbles to the ground.

  The whole table falls silent. Charlie, Simon and Quinn look up at me with questioning faces. Paul is still having a laughing fit, but no one pays any attention to it.

  I have to say something. Anything but the truth, or they will think I’ve gone crazy.

  I probably have.

  “All right,” I repeat, and I grin broadly. “This one is mine.” I push all my chips forward. “All in!”

  Mouths fall open and beer is spilled.

  Paul stops laughing. “No way! Ya can’t do da! We jus’ start’d!” he slurs.