Wickedly They Come (The Wickedly Series Book 1)

by Cathrina Constantine

  “Yeah, Mom, I have a friend.” Jordan folded and unfolded her hands. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. Maybe I should register at the high school this year.” She squirmed on the seat as if she was waiting for a rebuttal.

  Seeley nodded, it was time to let her go.

  Parking was at a premium near the academy. Seeley drove around for ten minutes before finding a space. In the baking heat of late summer, they both wore shorts and tees and broke a sweat walking.

  “I’m almost looking forward to winter,” Jordan said, running fingers through her hair and tying it in a ponytail. They received admiring glances, looking like sisters with their swishing ponytails.

  When they arrived at Jacob Adams, the doors were locked. Seeley knocked on the window. An average-looking man in his thirties unlocked the doors and let them in.

  “I forgot to open up,” he said with a slight accent. “Jacob’s running late. I’m his brother-in-law, Hank, and he asked me to start the lesson.”

  Hank lowered his face and motioned them in. She didn’t get a good look at his eyes. Wearing workout clothes and dirty bare feet, she chuckled at the notion of a demon wearing a kimono. They went into their usual room. Two men leaned against the wall and straightened when they saw the girls.

  Seeley’s inner demon antenna turned hyperactive. Evidently, Asa had decided the time had come to make their lives a living hell. Heedless of her vibes, Jordan had stripped off her flip-flops to stretch, and then jumped and twirled, executing a series of perfect martial art skills. It looked as if her daughter was warming up for the melee to begin, while she hastily browsed for the nearest exit.

  When the men stalked the border of the mats, her scalp prickled.

  Suddenly, they charged. Responding instantly, Jordan and Seeley foiled their clumsy, yet furious attack. Jordan grabbed hold of a man’s battering arm and jarred her hip into his side, flipping him to the mat. Before he had a chance to recover, she landed a solid bash to his ribs. In the process of turning, a second man tagged her from the rear, binding her wrists in an excruciating hold.

  The man who’d opened the door for them had joined in. Seeley cranked the heel of her palm into his nose, causing a spurt of blood to stain his face. Then ramming her foot into his abdomen, he doubled over. Hearing Jordan’s cry, she swiveled. A man strong-armed Jordan’s neck while the other hand held her wrists behind her back. The red-ring around his pupil was an obvious demon marker.

  “Watch out,” Jordan warned.

  Two goons knocked Seeley to the mat. They tied her wrists and hefted her to her feet, facing Jordan. The man with the bloody nose mopped his face, and without warning, hit Seeley in the chin. Her head snapped back as Jordan shrieked. Seeing stars, her chin throbbed, holding onto consciousness.

  “You bitch.” His repellent breath fanned her face, glaring at her with red-ringed eyes. “I think ya broke my nose.” He then walked over to Jordan and grasped her chin with bloody fingers. “Young, tender meat.”

  “Hank, we’re not allowed to kill her.” The demon restraining Seeley sounded anxious.

  A meager inch from Jordan’s face, Hank clearly had red-ringed eyes. His fleshy tongue darted out, slathering her face from chin to temple. “Tastes as good as she looks.”

  “Disgusting.” Angling her head to her shoulder, she wiped the rank saliva on her T-shirt.

  “This lady’s fair game.” Hank gestured to Seeley. “There’s a high price on her head. We’ll be greatly rewarded.”

  Seeley pulled herself together enough to mock him. “Lucifer let you out of hell?”

  Her question caught them off guard. “Humans crack the barrier on a daily basis,” said the fiend with the chokehold on Jordan. “They’re begging for us to come play, and besides, our lord gives us free will.”

  The demons nodded with crooked smirks. “We’re allowed to stay and play as long as we bag souls for his gain. The more souls, the longer we get to stay.”

  “Why? Don’t you like your fiery perdition?” Seeley said.

  Her remark infuriated them, and Hank returned to gloat in front of Seeley. Using the distraction, Jordan tried to weasel her way out of the chokehold.

  Hank snatched Seeley’s ponytail, tugging her close to his sneering face. His eyes looked like hot coals. “We’re not ready to leave, not with all this fun we’re having. Souls are jamming the highway to hell. We just nudge them in the right direction.” A gurgle sounded in his throat, forcing her to breathe in his foul breath. “Your kind of souls are a pain in the ass.”

  Hank dug a switchblade from of his pocket. With a decisive snap, he held the silver blade to Seeley’s throat.

  JORDAN NEEDED TO act. Silencing her mind of demon interference, she linked all her concentration on the hand weights. The twenty-pound dumbbells jiggled in place. One detached from the stack and launched across the room, crushing a demon’s skull with a nauseating thud. He collapsed and a gloomy configuration fled the lifeless frame.

  Markus boldly manifested, clutching a showy bejeweled sword and unfurling effulgent wings, confusing hell’s legions. With Markus posed like a warrior, the blitz was swift as they disposed of the horrid beasts.

  “What took you so long?” panted Jordan.

  Markus shrank to human size, transmitting the sword into the heavens. It disappeared. “You handled it well.”

  “Handled it well!” she blasted. “We could’ve been killed.”

  “We’re not supposed to interfere unless it’s crucial.”

  “Crucial? It’s always crucial.” Jordan fumed.

  Ezekiel became visible, peering at the exasperated Jordan. He shifted his gaze to Seeley. “You live in apocalyptic times. We clash and purge Lucifer’s legions, but mediums around the globe continue to expedite their freedom from hell. Some occupy human bodies while others prowl in distorted forms. Don’t be deceived, Lucifer doesn’t allow free will. He binds and takes.”

  “We can only kill humans in extreme, unavoidable conditions,” Markus added. “And we mourn each loss.”

  “Demons are fair game though, right?” Jordan actually looked excited.

  Markus and Zeke exchanged faint smirks.

  “Demons are not human,” Markus answered. “They don’t have souls. They sow wrath on Earth and drag souls to hell. So, yes, they’re fair game.”

  “Jack wrote about possession and how a person’s soul dies after the demon takes over the body,” Seeley said. “Could that person still be saved?”

  “Seeley,” Zeke said. “You know the answer.”

  “Exorcism.” Jordan exclaimed.

  “Yes, a holy priest. Specific men and women have the power to vanquish demon spirits. Unfortunately, a person’s soul doesn’t necessarily choose to spend eternity in heaven, and Lucifer collects those souls with great pride.”

  Jordan’s mouth twisted, revolted at the thought of choosing hell.

  YOU KNOW MY FOLLY, AND

  AGAIN YOU HAVE RESCUED ME

  THE CONGREGATION HAD dispersed after mass and only a few people remained. Jordan sat quietly, thinking about the next chapter in her life. Her mom had begrudgingly consented to her starting at her old alma mater, Elma High. She’d been secretive about her vision of demons hunting in the school, her mom would only hold her back if she knew. It was time to take control of her destiny. As a precautionary measure, and for his expert advice, Jordan had recounted the vision to Father James. He felt it was very significant, though he just didn’t know why—yet.

  Not sweating the demons, she worried more about starting high school in her junior year, her stomach curdling at the prospect. Just prior to appearing, Jordan’s inner psyche turned to Markus. Indiscernible to humans, he brought heaven’s glow with him. He read the concern on her face, but she had less luck studying his unchangeable features.

  “Always carry holy water.”

  “Where am I supposed to put that?”

  “Your purse.”

  “I don’t like to carry a purse.”

&nbs
p; “Then in a pocket or something. It’s for your own protection. And you should wear a blessed holy medal.”

  “Why?”

  “Are you going to argue about everything?”

  Jordan pouted. “I just want to know why.”

  A little girl with pigtails sitting at the end of the pew looked at her strangely.

  Markus’s eyes softened. “It’s like a shield. Sacramentals ward off evil.”

  Her shoulders sagged. Trying not to draw the little girl’s attention again, she took a breath and said, “I thought you were my shield?”

  “Yes, one of them.” He looked at her calmly. “I know you’re nervous about school. Maybe even a little scared?”

  “I’m not scared,” she shot back. “It’s just…all those kids…staring at me.”

  “Stare back.” His expression was almost comical.

  She held onto a snicker.

  ELMA HIGH SCHOOL had been built in 1956. The low-rise building supported three stories with adjoining athletic fields, and sat, secluded, on the outskirts of town. With less than eighty-five students in the junior class, obscurity was unattainable, and since the start of the school year, it had felt like everyone was prodding, pointing, and goggling at the new girl.

  Jordan had lived in the village for six years and being chiefly homeschooled was an obstacle with her peers. The kids thought of her as some kind of geek, a weirdo who lived in the woods. Henry and Em’s Cape Cod home, far from any central thoroughfare, was within walking distance, and for the past month, she’d been one of the few students who didn’t ride a bus or drive to school.

  She disliked the noisy corridors and felt as if every single teacher and student must be in the hallway, bellowing and jabbering. Carrying an armload of books, she bumped a knot of whispering girls on her way into algebra class. They glared at her as if they figured she’d been eavesdropping.

  The room was practically empty. She headed for the corner, her usual desk in the last row by the windows. Despite the various free desks, a mousy girl with buckteeth took the seat next to her. Returning her toothy smile, Jordan understood the social benefits of braces.

  An overconfident girl strode toward her corner desk. Her sleek mane, tinted like black enamel, cascaded well below her shoulder blades. She had three silver hoops the size of bangles in her ears and mystifying almond shaped eyes.

  She stood in front of the mousy girl and said, “Move.”

  The girl shot from the seat as if electrocuted.

  “So you’re Jordan.” The dark-haired girl slammed her book on the desk. “I’m Ronan. What’s your next class?”

  “English, with Mrs. Kinvara.”

  “She’s pathetic.”

  Mr. Basinski nosily cleared his throat, a precursor to attracting their attention. Glasses perched on his bulbous nose, and his gaze swept the room. He held Jordan’s eyes a beat longer than the others. She returned his stare until he turned to the board.

  “Jordan.” Ronan sounded cagey. “Are you up for some after school activity?”

  Since the teacher was scrawling numerals on the blackboard, she peered at Ronan, examining the girl’s liquid black pupil. No red-ring. “Sure.”

  “Come to the students’ parking lot and wait by the steps. We’ll pick you up,” Ronan whispered.

  She nodded.

  Math was Jordan’s worst subject. She was relieved when the bell rang and could shuffle out of the room with the rest of the horde.

  “See you later,” Ronan called over her shoulder.

  Jordan was thankful for her only friend, Cayden, who’d accepted her and all her weirdness. But she was also grateful for the odd invitation to hang with someone new. Either her classmates had deemed her acceptable, or she’d better be wary.

  English with Mrs. Kinvara was boring. She droned on and on about the perfect five paragraph essay. Jordan groaned inwardly when Mrs. Kinvara produced last week’s assignment and asked each student to read his or her essay aloud. And Jordan thought math was bad.

  She thought about Ronan’s out-of-the-blue invite. She didn’t appear to be the library type, so the afternoon would prove to be interesting. When the bell trilled, she snatched her flannel jacket from her locker and located the back doors to the parking lot.

  As she leaned on the brick building, trying to look causal, the whole school seemed to tumble through the doors. Students walked by, their voices raised an octave above normal, each attempting to talk over the hubbub. Some cast curious glances her way, and she wondered if Ronan had stood her up.

  Eventually, a car horn blared and a voice hailed, “Hey, Jordan!”

  A classic, dusty blue Chevelle Malibu pulled up to the curb. “Hop in.” Ronan ordered.

  Jordan was pleasantly surprised to see Cayden in the back seat with a big, burly blond guy who smiled at her. “Hi, Cayden,” she said.

  “Hey, Jordan.” Cayden waved. “Squish back here with us.”

  Ronan turned around from the front seat and introduced the big boy, as Rolly, and the standoffish girl sitting next to Ronan was Paisley. The cute driver was named Thrill.

  Jordan cocked her head. “Thrill?”

  “Thrill.” Paisley leered at her. “Like a thrill ride.”

  Thrill said to Paisley, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Paisley stuck out her tongue in his direction. He just smiled, apparently not offended.

  Looking over his shoulder, Thrill explained, “I was a lovable, adventurous tyke.”

  “Yeah, your mom said you were real lovable,” Paisley said. “Especially the time you climbed out the second-floor window to sleep on the roof because you said it was too hot in the house.”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot about that.” Thrill’s mouth gathered to the side, grinning. “Once I jumped out of my parents’ upstairs window into the pool at my sister’s birthday party. I thought my mom was going to hemorrhage.”

  Paisley scoffed. “You wanted the girls to think you were really cool.”

  “I thought I was cool and brave.” He blasted Paisley a salacious eyebrow tweak. “And so did Brinkley Warton.”

  “Brinkley. Ugh, that slut.”

  “Seriously, Jordan,” Thrill reasoned, obviously ignoring Paisley’s commentary. “I pulled pranks on my brothers and sister. My parents said I was like a thrill ride—they never knew what I’d do next. So my brother started calling me Thrill instead of Will, and the name stuck. I should go back to William, though. I’ve totally calmed down.”

  Jordan thought it sounded as if Thrill and Paisley shared some history.

  Reversing back to the steering wheel and putting the car in gear, Thrill said, “Let’s punch it!” He hit the gas. “Suckers!” he yelped out the open window, cutting off a shiny red Mustang. Bypassing the school’s exit, he drove over the lawn to the main road. Tires fishtailed on the asphalt, leaving scores of rubber marks.

  Not amused, Jordan dug her hands into the vinyl cushion for support. Yeah, he’s certainly calmed.

  The kids laughed. Thrill drove through bustling Main Street and past the village library. She’d been right—they weren’t the bookish type.

  Rolly, whose nickname fit, had everyone in stitches as he reenacted his attempt at eating the cafeteria’s spongy macaroni and cheese. Jordan was laughing aloud when he demonstrated how to hack up a gooey cheesy glop, and then burped with gusto.

  “Eeyew.”

  After Rolly’s theatrics, she listened to the group discuss the upcoming Winter Ball.

  “We’re going together as a group.” Ronan was in command. “We’ll have a better time. What’d you think?”

  Cayden and Paisley nodded, but Thrill spoke up, “I was going to see if the new girl wanted to go with me.”

  Startled, Jordan knew he was talking about her. An eye-catching Thrill threw a mischievous grin over his shoulder, generating a rapid rise of heat to her cheeks.

  “No way, Thrill,” Ronan said. “This sweet thing’s with us. Right, Jordan?”

  “Ah–h–h…I
wasn’t planning on going to the dance,” she replied with uncharacteristic timidity.

  “C’mon, Jordan.” Cayden peered around Rolly. “You’ll have fun and get to meet everyone. You’ve lived here for so long, but no one actually knows who you are.”

  “Who are you anyway?” Twisting to scrutinize Jordan’s face, Paisley broke her icy silence. “Rumor has it you go to church—a lot. Are you one of those geeky holy rollers?”

  Irked, Jordan recalled her mom’s warning about her own belittling school years. Well, she wasn’t her humble mother.

  She held her anger in check while Ronan’s snicker dampened their tempers.

  “Chill, Paisley. Let’s all be friends.” Then Ronan laid her head on the back of the seat, relaxed. “Now, what were we talking about? Oh yeah, the dance. I think it’s December tenth.”

  “Ronan, are you going to ask that new guy to the dance if we go as a group?” Cayden asked.

  Ronan turned to look at Jordan. “Have you seen the new guy?”

  “I don’t know, everyone looks new to me.”

  “You warned us to back off,” Cayden declared in her nasally voice. “The new guy was yours. We thought you’d be asking him to the dance.”

  “Cayden, you’re such an idiot sometimes,” Ronan jeered.

  “O–o–o–o, you were dissed,” Thrill gloated. “No wonder you want us all to go to the dance as a group.”

  Ronan slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Ow—” he said rubbing the spot, “just kidding, Ronan.”

  “I never asked him.” But Ronan’s sideways glance at Paisley told a different tale.

  After twenty minutes, Thrill banked left and clouds of dirt swallowed the car. He was content in careening over the bumpy road, springing the kids like pinballs. They thumped in and out of potholes until Rolly bashed his head on the roof. “Hey man, slow down. You’re killing me back here.”

  They’d plainly taken a road less traveled. While her head bounced like a bobble-doll, Jordan checked out the scenery. The car trundled under an impressive tunnel of arching tree branches.