Wickedly They Dream

by Cathrina Constantine

  “Those in authority probably know more than they’re letting on and feel the public needs to know only what they tell them.”

  “Yeah. Wouldn’t want people to beware of demons sucking their souls dry.” Jordan sighed. “What about the demons? Some of those bodies could be hundreds of years old. I’d like to see the look on the lab technician’s face after the DNA testing is completed.” She thought of Stringer. He was more than likely one of the corpses. Jordan stood and wrapped her arms around her mother. “I want you to be safe. No more hunting, Mom. No more.”

  “I’ve been released, or rather the baby’s been released from the hex. I feel normal. I think.” Seeley peered into Jordan’s unenthusiastic emerald eyes. “All is well. We need to get on with our lives. We can’t let the devil call the punches. We can’t let him scare us into submission.”

  “I know. You’re right.” Inhaling, Jordan let loose a puff of air. “I’m exhausted, that’s all.”

  “You should be. When I finally hit the pillow the clock said four-thirty.”

  “Was it that late?”

  “It’s a good day to just vegetate.” Seeley playfully nipped Jordan’s nose with her fingertips and strode from the room.

  Her mom’s action brought back the memory. She touched her nose, remembering Markus’s kiss. Did it really happen? Did Markus and I…

  She felt like Beth Schaffer. Only a month before Beth had inquired about Markus’s sexual preferences and had confessed how she had lain naked in his bed, but when she’d awaken, she’d been in her own bed. She’d thought Markus was gay.

  Even now, Jordan held on to a snicker. He certainly isn’t gay.

  She breezed into the bathroom and stripped off her clothes. She couldn’t wait to scrub the stench from her hair and body. Inspecting her reflection in the mirror, she appeared gaunt and tired. With thoughts of Markus filling her head, she sketched the rim of her lips.

  Are angels allowed to kiss like that?

  She replayed the memory and caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror, grinning like a lovesick dope. Heavenly was the only word for it.

  Markus must’ve carried her into bed and then cleaned the clutter in the living room.

  JORDAN FELT UNCOMFORTABLE as Declan and her mom hibernated in their bedroom for a long mid-afternoon nap. She pressed the button on the television remote, raising the volume to block their muffled tones, and her mom’s infectious giggles.

  She surfed the channels and stopped on the news, intrigued with live footage of the church. Cameras spanned the area from various angles. She looked for anything out of the ordinary, then the desire to check it out in person gnawed at her.

  She scrawled a note of her destination and left it on the kitchen countertop. Crossing to the exit, she turned the handle and swung open the door. Practically jumping out of her sneakers, she exclaimed, “Omigod!”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I was just getting ready to ring the doorbell.”

  “Thrill, I-I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “I guess not. Don’t you ever check your cell phone?”

  She linked her thumbs into the belt loops of her pants. “I lost it again.”

  “I never met a girl who keeps losing her cell like you do.” His amber eyes drifted over her. “The news has been broadcasting that church explosion all day. I knew it was close to Declan’s apartment, and I was worried when you weren’t picking up.” He closed the awkward space and kissed her on the lips. “I miss you.”

  “I miss Elma.” She eased out of the apartment, taking Thrill with her. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  He laced his fingers with hers. “Where’re we walking?”

  “I don’t know. Want to see the church that blew up?”

  “Sweet.”

  His dimpled smile affected her, and she felt like a two-timing wench. She stowed Markus on the back burner of her brain. Maybe last night had been a figment of her imagination, one of her realistic dreams.

  Thrill asked her a question, bringing her back to reality.

  “What’d you say?”

  “You have your head in the clouds today.”

  He had no idea. Way up in the clouds.

  “I asked if you wanted to come to a party this Saturday?”

  “Saturday? Umm . . .”

  “You sound strange. Is something wrong?” He slowed. “You look different.”

  “What’d you mean, I look different?”

  Thrill narrowed his eyes, reviewing her face. “For one thing, you look tired and you’ve lost weight. You’re not sick or anything like that and you’re not telling me?”

  “I haven’t been sleeping well, but I’m fine,” she said.

  His right hand came up to move aside her side curtain of hair and in the same motion, rubbed the base of her neck while they walked. He wore a sleeveless jersey, and his biceps bunched from his display of affection.

  “Have you been working out?”

  “Football training. Senior year. Have to look good for the scouts.”

  “I’m not even thinking about college.” She finagled them past a bunch of geese along the waterfront. “I have loads of brochures to go through.”

  “I’m hoping for a scholarship. My parents don’t have the money.”

  It felt strange to discuss everyday realities like college and football training. Her head had been absorbed in otherworldly activities, and she couldn’t shake Markus’s touch from her skin.

  “Let’s sit on the bench for a while and watch the sailboats,” said Thrill, towing her to a wooden bench. “This is nice, isn’t it?”

  The overpowering stink of lake water assaulted them, and Jordan wrinkled her nose. “It smells like dead fish and seaweed.”

  “Breathe in the freshness.” He waved his hand in a circular motion. “Not bad once you get used to it.”

  “Yuck. I prefer the flowery perfume of Elma.”

  She twitched when his hand reached for her chin and turned her gaze to meet his. They stared into each other’s eyes before he closed the distance. Something had changed. His kiss wasn’t as dynamic as she’d remembered.

  Her head was in the clouds, comparing Thrill to Markus. How devious had she become? His arms encircled her shoulders, squashing her to his chest.

  He freed her mouth to whisper in her ear, “How much longer are you going to make me wait. You’re killing me. I want you now. Right here.” Reclaiming her lips, he rammed his tongue into her mouth. His hand journeyed up and down her back then held tightly to the nape of her neck.

  Jordan pressed on his chest, feeling trapped. He wasn’t giving her room to move, let alone breathe. Out of the side of her mouth, attaining some oxygen, she said, “We’re in a public park. Cool it.”

  He thrust her away from him, exasperation written over his face. Scraping a hand through his hair, he weighted his elbows on his thighs and peered at the lake.

  Jordan righted her shirt, saying, “What’s that about?”

  “You really don’t get it, do you?” he said, staring straight ahead.

  “I do, but—”

  “But shit, Jordan.” He lowered his head into his hands and said, “Are we exclusive or not?”

  Her mouth puckered. She held onto her temper, even though he was being an asshat. Getting what he wanted from a girl had obviously never been a problem for him, until now.

  “What do you want me to say?” She felt confused and sounded it.

  His sulky eyes and mouth detracted from his good looks. “I want you. All of you.”

  “Are you giving me an ultimatum?”

  “Kind of.” He chased his fingers up her arm. “It’s just, you’re not around for me anymore. We may as well be in separate countries.”

  “That’s a pretty shitty thing to say.” Is it time to end it? Instead, she found herself saying, “I’ll drive in to my grandparents and stay the weekend. We’ll go to the party together.”

  A self-assured smile stretched his lips. Evidently, she’d given the right
answer.

  DEFEND THE LOWLY

  IT WAS AFTER dinner and a confounded Jordan had begun to think her nighttime tryst with Markus had been a dream. She’d been calling him for days, and he’d been ignoring her. No response, not even a flicker. Flustered by her angel’s desertion, Jordan felt lost, alone and lacking purpose. Grim and bored, she tore out the apartment and headed for Jacob’s Academy, leaving Declan to moon over Seeley’s expanding belly.

  After her fencing and martial arts session, she changed out of her workout clothes and stuffed them into a locker at the academy. Following a brisk shower, she pulled on jean shorts, a tank top, and skuzzy sneakers. She’d braided her wet hair, and it dripped down the back of her shirt. Then, sinking a hand beneath her smelly workout clothes, she retrieved the jackknife and stashed it in her back pocket.

  Regardless of her AWOL angel, she’d premeditated on hunting on her own. Bursting from the Academy’s glass doors, full of stamina, Jordan gazed at the moon hanging in the sky. Her internal demon antenna had been getting stronger as of late and more explicit. God had been preparing her for a warrior’s vocation. Tonight, she was gnawing at the bit to dispatch some wily fiends back to hell.

  Her muscles sang with relief, stretched and fine-tuned, thanks to Jacob and her sparring partners. As she prowled the city streets, a cool front brushed along the avenue, cooling her damp skin.

  She wasn’t stunned when a vision developed. It showed a street sign and a remnant of lurking danger as children played in an abandoned building.

  “Markus, would you care to join in the fun?” she said aloud. Nothing. Shrugging, she picked up the pace.

  Tracking the extreme demon vibes, which prickled her skin and acted like a beacon, her feet seemed to have a mind of their own. Running through a tightly knit pack of moviegoers, she barreled to the right. To onlookers, she probably appeared as a conscientious jogger, steering onto Wilkshire Boulevard.

  “When will I learn to borrow mom’s car,” she panted into the wind.

  Not knowing what to expect, she slowed, catching her breath. Up ahead was the street sign from her vision. Temmerick Avenue. She dawdled at the intersection until feeling the urge to turn left. Rows of neglected complexes lined the barren street, and through shuttered windows, she saw traces of light. One complex was in complete disarray, and the hair on her scalp tingled. Checking for strangers, she crouched and crept covertly to the lightless building.

  The main door had a chain barring the entrance and a city maintenance placard that read: Danger—No Admittance. She ducked beneath an overgrown bush and snuck along the perimeter, searching for an entry. She came upon a ground-level basement window without any bars or obstacles in her way. She pried on the window. It wouldn’t budge and breaking the glass would alert those on the inside. She used the heel of her palm to scrub the mucky glass and peered inside.

  It was pitch black within. Jordan noticed a movable bolt on top of the casement window. Focusing, she mindfully inched the bolt sideways and then pushed it open. Feet first, she squirmed into the blackness and found herself dangling from a concrete ledge by her fingertips. She took a chance and let go. Landing on something soft, her legs collapsed. Crawling off the sponginess onto a cement floor, she waited and listened.

  From the bowels of the basement, faint voices fed her ears. Her eyes assimilating somewhat to the darkness, she discovered a room packed with junk: corrugated boxes, chairs, appliances, vacuums, and grubby mattresses with foam spilling at their seams. More than likely, it was leftover paraphernalia from past tenants. She tiptoed and placed her ear against the only door in the room. The voices appeared to be farther into the basement, so she cracked the door and peeked out.

  She glanced around the expanse of the basement, which was supported with rows of thick concrete pillars. Approximately fifty feet ahead was a faint glow, more than likely from a lantern or flashlights. Stealing onward, she skulked to one of the pillars. She registered the voices of four distinctive people. Sticking to the shadows, she moved closer to the activity.

  From her location, it sounded like kids playing a levitation game.

  “Light as a feather . . . stiff as a board . . .” Giggling.

  “Stop fooling around, Miles.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “C’mon, we did it to Derek.”

  One voice made her skin crawl, “You guys are pathetic.”

  Jordan thought he’d been killed. Lately, people seemed to be resurrecting all too often.

  “Miles, keep still. You’re dead, ‘member. Relax and act dead.”

  Some scuffing of feet and the chanting continued. “Light as a feather, stiff as a board, light as a feather, stiff as a board, light as a feather, stiff as a board . . .” Over and over.

  Hypnotic until she heard an outbreak of oohh’s and aahh’s.

  During the exclamations, Jordan peered around the pillar. A stiff body was levitating five feet off the floor. She counted three young boys, and someone else who was hidden from her sight.

  “Now let go,” that someone said.

  The boys dropped their arms. The body continued to levitate without being touched. Not cool.

  “Freaky, awesome shit! How’s he doing that?” a boy said, and bent down to look under the boy. “Freaky.”

  A second kid elevated his arm to touch the levitating boy and was rewarded with a slap.

  “Don’t touch him when he’s elsewhere.”

  “Whatcha mean, elsewhere?”

  “Miles transcended. Don’t you see?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” said a brown-headed boy. “It’s just a game. It’s impossible for Miles to be hanging in the air like that.”

  “Didn’t I tell you, I’d show you some phenomenal tricks?”

  “Yeah, he did, Derek. And it’s so frigging cool, my man. I want to fly like that.”

  “Right after Miles, we’ll get you all into the air.”

  Jordan walked out from her hiding spot. “Over my dead body.” Her gaze targeted Stringer. His face went slack and the startle-eyed boys gasped.

  “I thought you died in the explosion?” she said.

  “Ahh, Jordan.” Stringer smiled, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest. Eerie demon eyes shone in the subdued light. “I thought I smelled something sweet.”

  “Put the boy down, Stringer.” She paced closer. “Release him.”

  “We’re not done with Miles yet.” He repositioned his arms to his side and fingered a wide pocket in his camouflage pants.

  The boys appeared to range between eleven or twelve years old. So easy to influence at that age. Her intentions were to scare the living daylights out of them. She shot the boys a narrow eyed snarl. And seeking a weapon of choice, it immediately materialized in her hand, a gleaning rapier, lightweight and lethal.

  Whoosh. She sliced the blade through the air and roared, “Run, you fools. Run!” A scrabbling and squeaking of sneakers was heard as they ran into the shadows.

  Before having a chance to react, she felt a biting sting to her forearm. She dropped and rolled just in the nick of time as Stringer sent a volley of shurikens at her. The circular blades whirred over her body like death eaters.

  She steered him away from the levitating boy. “You cannot win this fight, Stringer.” Posed in a combat stance, she thrust the rapier at her stalker. Her adrenaline thundered through her veins like an aphrodisiac. “Where’s Grogan?”

  “What? Your angel friends don’t keep you informed?” Reaching into his pocket, he discharged more shurikens.

  Jordan thwarted the weapons with a swish of the rapier. She needed more information before disposing of the demon. “What’s Grogan up to these days?”

  “How the hell do I know?”

  “So you’re not one of his cronies?” She lunged, nipping him in the thigh. Blood squirted from the puncture. “This magic you’re performing is just a little something you picked up on your own?”

  “You little bitch,” he scowled, gnashing
his teeth.

  “I was a sweet thing a minute ago.” The need to taunt him escalated, along with her nerve.

  “I was just having fun with these kids,” he said, holding his bloody leg. “Showing them a good time.”

  “It’s more than that.” She thrust, gashing his arm. “I’m not stupid.”

  “Grogan’s lying low,” he yowled and panted like a cornered dog. “Ever since the explosion. Why are you asking me these questions? I don’t know the answers.”

  Jordan stared at his pupils, dumbfounded. The red-rings had diminished. “What are you?”

  “What’d you mean?”

  “Your eyes.” While retracting to a safe distance, she held the rapier ready. “The red-rings in your eyes just disappeared.”

  “You don’t know what I am?” His mouth curved into a sneer. “I guess I fooled the warrior, eh?”

  “Half-breed.”

  POUR OUT YOUR WRATH

  “I DON’T UNDERSTAND how your eyes can change like that.” Jordan lowered the point of the blade. “One minute you look like a demon and then the next…”

  “Being half-human and half-demon is a fuckin’ war.” Stringer gimped backward, his right hand clutching his arm. “My insides are in knots. I’m going insane.”

  “So you can’t decide whose side you’re on?” She almost felt sorry for the boy.

  “It’s easier on the dark side.” He rolled his shoulders, trying to stand taller. “No restrictions. I can do whatever. Know what I mean?”

  “No.” She repositioned the rapier toward his chest. “That’s not a good decision. Half-breeds have free will. I know the potential for evil is strong, but you must fight against it. It’s your only hope.”

  “Hope?” He looked confused. “You don’t get it, do you?” He massaged his bloodied hands over his chest, smearing red splotches everywhere. “How would you like to feel your insides being drawn and quartered on a daily basis? The fury in the depths of my gut is killing me. Every day is a battle of wills.”

  Jordan glanced at the boy still levitating. Tunneling her psyche into the boy, she attempted to wake him. Her mind hit a barrier, like a force field. Black magic.