by Amy Braun
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Then don’t sneak up on me,” I said.
Manny frowned. Normally I would have kept staring him down, but I remembered that I needed his help. Dro was always saying we had to be nice to people who were trying to help us, and right now I wasn’t giving Manny any reason to. I relaxed, but kept my hands loose at my sides.
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
He took a careful step into his office toward his desk. “You should go back to bed. You look tired.”
I stifled a laugh, glancing at the books. “My sister tells me that all the time.”
“With good reason, I’m sure.” I looked over at Manny, who was regarding me carefully. “You’re safe here, Constance. No one is going to hurt you.”
I crossed my arms and leaned against the bookcase. “Forgive me if I don’t believe that.”
Manny sighed. “You don’t like to make things easy, do you?”
That got a sarcastic smile out of me. “Wouldn’t have lived this long if I did.”
“So you’ve fought demons before,” he stated.
I nodded, but didn’t elaborate. I wasn’t about to share my horror stories with him, even if he was a demonologist. He was patient with me.
“Usually I can perform an exorcism and expel a minor demon, but fighting a physical one…” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine how hard that must be.”
I pulled my arms tighter around my chest. “Trust me. You don’t want to.”
Manny caught on that I didn’t want to keep talking about it, and changed the subject. “I take it you’re an armed woman.”
I held his eyes and nodded.
“What do you use?”
I hesitated answering him. Manny and Max didn’t seem to know I was a fugitive who used to belong to one of the most dangerous gangs south of the border, and I wasn’t rushing to tell them.
Then he said, “I have a double-barrel shotgun under my desk filled with blessed rock salt and sage. Unless you’re carrying a bazooka with you somewhere, there’s nothing you can say that will frighten me.”
I chuckled a little. I appreciated his honesty. Not only had he told me that he was armed and where to find his weapon, he said it as though he didn’t care that I would be armed to the teeth.
He was earning my respect, if not my trust.
“I have a hatchet and four throwing knives.”
“A hatchet?” Manny said curiously. “Not the sort of weapon I would have expected a future demon slayer to have.”
The humor left my eyes. “It was my father’s.”
Manny nodded, as though he understood. “I’m guessing that none of those weapons are silver or blessed.”
“Honestly, Manny, what my weapon is made out of is the last thing on my mind when I’m fighting demons or whatever the hell they are. I’ll use a fucking garbage bag if it means I can kill them.”
“Hm. Well, faith and silver are your strongest weapons. Pure silver will injure any demon severely, but faith will repel them and keep them away from you.”
“Right. I think I’ll stick with the silver.”
He tilted his head at me. “You want to fight demons but you don’t want to have faith?”
“I’m a cynic. I don’t have any reason to believe in a higher power.”
He frowned. “Then you’re only being difficult.”
My face was stony, but inside my respect for him grew even more. I didn’t mind being called difficult, since Manny had the guts to say it to my face. He was the type of person I could trust. I just wished my brain would let me.
Maybe I could try that nice thing Dro was always going on about.
I grinned wickedly. “Oh, this isn’t me being difficult. This is me being practical.” He gave me a dry look, but I ignored it.
“So. Rock salt and sage kill demons?”
Manny steadily moved back on topic. “Yes. It’s even more powerful if it’s blessed.”
“Huh. Well, I guess since you’re a demon guru, you would know if it would work. Rock salt is pretty easy to come by and make shells for, but what’s so special about sage?”
“Demons are repelled by the smell. When it’s burned it can cleanse and purify a house of evil spirits, but mixing it with salt and using it in a gun can make the shot extra powerful.”
Which is why his whole house smelled like it. I glanced at the desk, then back at him. “Why not silver bullets? Or holy water or something? Wouldn’t those work?”
Manny hesitated. “They do, but they are hard to come by, and very few people use them.”
I stifled a laugh. “Not a lot of werewolf-hunters out there?”
“No. Not enough demon slayers.”
I blinked at him. “Wait, there really are demon slayers out there? Actual, legitimate demon slayers?”
Manny took a deep breath, turning back around to walk over to his desk. He sat down in his chair, the framed photos facing him. I took one of the chairs across from him.
“I’ve only ever met one of them. It’s not a profession with a long life expectancy.”
“How do I get in touch with them?”
“You don’t. His number is only dialed for emergencies. It’s like 9-1-1, a number you pray you never have to use.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’d say that my sister and I being hunted by demons qualifies as an emergency.”
“Please, Constance, if I thought he could help you, I would give you his number. But unless the situation is absolutely critical, I don’t contact this man. He has other, serious problems to deal with. He doesn’t have time for an apprentice.”
Part of me wanted to keep pressing. Manny couldn’t train me physically, couldn’t give me the weapons I needed to fight demons, but a demon slayer could. The other part of me knew I wouldn’t get anywhere, because there was nothing more Manny could tell me.
I leaned back against the chair, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Well, if I can’t get help from a demon slayer, what help can I get from you?”
I asked it as politely as I could. Manny’s eyes twinkled. I think he was starting to get used to me.
“Have you ever heard the saying that the pen is mightier than the sword?” he asked with a sly smile.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “But I prefer the sword. It’s more efficient.”
Manny didn’t give me the hard, cold look I had expected. Instead, his eyes smiled.
“All demons have different powers. I can teach you how to exploit them. I’m not a demon slayer, but I have learned how to protect my family.”
We sat in a quiet understanding for a minute or two. Manny wasn’t that different from me, after all. When it came down to it, he would do anything to keep his son alive. The shotgun under his desk was proof enough of that. My thoughts strayed to Dro.
“What about my sister?” I asked quietly.
Hesitance built in his eyes. Then he laced his hands together and looked at me over the desk. If it hadn’t been for the softness and wisdom in his dark brown eyes, he would have looked like a teacher ready to scold a bad student.
“Tell me about her powers.”
Christ, where am I supposed to begin? I thought.
Dro had powers as incredible as they were impossible. I didn’t know if there was a way I could ease Manny into knowing about them. If he would even believe me when I told the truth. I took a deep breath. Manny was a demonologist who knew a demon slayer. He was being patient with me and willing to help my sister. She was desperate to find out what she was. I was desperate to keep her alive.
So I picked out a memory, and told him…
Elizabeth’s brother, Miles, was like me when it came to his younger sibling. He protected her no matter what. When someone insulted or disrespected her, he got revenge.
I’d seen him stomping over to our house, fourteen years old, all temper and greasy skin. Miles was a bully, and he wasn’t afraid to pick on girls or kids younger than him
. We’d stayed away from each other, until Elizabeth tattled on Dro.
He’d come to our house looking for her, and found me instead.
“Your sister’s a liar!” he shouted. “Make her apologize!”
“No,” I shot back. “Dro didn’t do anything. Your sister did. Get lost, Miles.”
“Your sister’s just a freak!”
“Don’t call her that,” I growled, clenching my fists.
The people in other houses were starting to stare at us, but no one was walking over to see what was going on. As far as they were concerned, they didn’t have to get involved because we weren’t their kids. It wasn’t their problem.
“Bring her out here and make her apologize to Liz.”
He was older than me. Bigger and stronger. He would hurt me, and then he would hurt Dro. I stood my ground.
“No.”
I wasn’t ready for Miles’ fist when it hit my face. I dropped onto the ground, feeling bruised and dizzy. Miles grabbed my hair and pulled it, trying to drag me along the pavement. I found my footing and kicked back, my foot driving right between his legs.
He let me go and cupped himself, howling in pain. I tried to kick him again, but he tackled me and pushed me onto the ground. He weighed at least fifty pounds more than I did, crushing my chest under his knees. I couldn’t move my arms, so I couldn’t stop him when he started hitting me again. My head cracked harshly against the sidewalk. Blood was on my lips.
“Hey!” someone shouted furiously.
Miles was suddenly yanked off me and thrown back onto the sidewalk. He scrambled and tried to get up to fight again.
He stopped when he saw how angry my father was.
“You like beating up on girls? What the hell is wrong with you?”
Miles had half a brain after all. He backed away from Dad. I pushed myself up into a sitting position, my hands still resting on the sidewalk. My head was pounding, and I had to spit blood out of my mouth.
“Get away from my daughter. If I see you anywhere near my house or my family again, I’ll show you what a real beating feels like.”
Dad didn’t talk about his past with the cartels when I asked, trying to figure out why we left Mexico. Mom had only ever said that we were better off here, and that Dad had done everything he could to make a new life for us. She said never to ask him about it, and to be grateful for what he’d done. I was, but sometimes I wondered.
Miles scrambled to get away from my father. We were probably going to get a complaint or another angry call from parents, but Dad would deal with it. He always did.
He watched Miles run home awkwardly, then glared at the neighbors. None of them had come out to help me. He turned and rushed over to me, taking me by my shoulders. Any rage that might have been in his eyes before was replaced with concern.
“Are you all right, Constance?” he asked.
I nodded, stopping when it became too painful. I held back tears from the throbbing pain in my skull. Dad twisted so he could see the back of my head. I felt him gently peeling strands of my hair away. He cursed under his breath, not thinking I would hear him say “shit.”
“Daddy?” a soft voice called from the house. “What’s wrong with Connie?”
Dad kept his hand on my shoulder, starting to push himself up. “She got hurt. Stay with her. I’m going inside to get a first aid kit and call Mommy.”
Dro was at my side before he’d even finished giving his instructions. She gasped when she saw the blood in my hair and on my face. Her eyes glistened with tears, her lower lip starting to tremble.
Dad put his hand on her back. “Constance will be okay, honey. Just stay with her and keep her awake until I come back.”
She nodded, putting her arms around my chest. Dad got up and ran for the house. Dro tucked her head into the crook of my shoulder, starting to sob. I clutched her hands.
“I’m okay, Dro. It’s just a headache.” A very, very painful headache.
“You’re bleeding,” she whimpered.
“Yeah,” I said. A grin twisted my lips. “But you should’ve seen what I did to Miles.”
I tried to make Dro laugh, but all she did was cry more. She pulled away from me suddenly, staring at me with tears streaking down her face.
“I want to fix it,” she said. “It’s my fault.”
“No it’s not,” I told her. “Miles was just being mean. It had nothing to do with you.”
“He came here because of me, didn’t he?”
I said nothing. Dro’s ability to know things like that freaked me out.
She sobbed again, then pressed one of her little hands on the back of my head while the other covered my mouth. I was about to push her off when I felt a weird tingling in the places she was touching. A pins and needles feeling that buzzed along my nerves. I jumped back, away from Dro.
My little sister stared at me with wide eyes. I was about to ask her what had happened, but then I noticed the pain in my head was gone. I wiped my lip with my fingers. They came away bloody, but I hadn’t felt the cut. I pressed a hand to the back of my head. My hair was still matted with blood, but I couldn’t feel a gaping wound anywhere.
“I wanted to fix you,” Dro whispered across from me.
I looked up at my sister, whose touch had healed me. It didn’t make sense. People didn’t just randomly touch others and heal their injuries. That only happened in movies.
But Dro had done it for me.
I sat there and stared at her, not knowing what to think. She was on the verge of tears again.
“Are you scared of me, Connie?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
I shook my healed head slowly. “No,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing.
When Dro started crying again, I knew I hadn’t done a good job. I crawled across the pavement to sit next to her and hugged her tightly to my chest.
“I’m not scared of you, Dro. I promise.”
She clutched my shirt in her tiny fist and sobbed. I kept holding her, but my mind was racing. Dro had known about Elizabeth’s stolen doll. She had healed my cuts with single touches. How had she done it? Why had she been able to? What else could she do? Mom and Dad and I knew that Dro was special, that she was different. But this was something else. Something I hadn’t expected, and couldn’t understand.
She was still my sister though. I loved her and would stick by her side. Dro had been abandoned before, left alone in the forest to die as a baby. I would never do that to her.
I turned my head, resting my cheek on the top of her hair. I lifted my eyes and sighed, stopping when I saw that only one of the neighbors, the lady across the street, had stayed outside.
She was tall, thin, and beautiful. She was relatively new to the block, having moved across the street a couple years ago when the last residents suddenly decided to go on a really long vacation. The woman had golden skin like mine, her hair long and silky down her back. She wore a black suit with a pencil skirt and spiked heels. Long gloves were on her hands, reaching up to the elbow. She looked like a harsh, serious businesswoman. Or a funeral director. I think Mom said her name was Isabel.
And right now, she was staring at us. Or more accurately, at my little sister.
I’d caught her watching Dro a couple times before when we were playing outside. I hadn’t thought anything of it, because everybody looked at Dro. But this wasn’t one of the normal, curious or amazed stares. This one was darker. This was the look of a lion watching a gazelle from the long grass. Predatory and dangerous.
I held Dro tighter to me and glared at her.
Isabel smiled at me. It wasn’t a nice smile. She glanced at Dro, then winked at me. She turned and walked back into her house, leaving me with a crying sister and a bad feeling in my stomach…
By the time I finished telling Manny every power Dro had, it was almost seven in the morning. He hadn’t said anything the entire time I was speaking, listening to me with rapt attention instead. I stared at Manny’s desk, not seeing anything.
Even though I had told Manny the truth, the weight on my shoulders didn’t feel any lighter.
Finally, I looked up at him. “Do you have any idea what she is, or what she might be?” I sounded small, almost childish. I hated myself for it.
Manny held my eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was thinking or frozen with terror. Then he blinked slowly and sighed, his dark eyes turning sorrowful.
“No, Constance. I have no idea.”
Chapter 5
As a professional demonologist in Texas, Manny and Max had a lot of interesting clients. Dro and Max had woken up a few hours after I had. Dro offered to make breakfast for all of us, whipping up some French toast so delicious Max was halfway to groveling at her feet.
An hour later, their first client showed up. She was an elderly woman with kind eyes behind round glasses, dentures for teeth, and fire engine red lipstick.
She came for a palm reading from Max, apparently one of the few people who knew about his gift. Max was more than happy to do the reading in the living room. I watched with my hands on my hips. I’d known some tough old folks in my life. When it comes to holding a gun, age doesn’t matter. A seven year old can hold a gun just as well as a seventy year old.
But Dro had assured me that she was okay. Some dark spots on her mind, but mostly from memories she wanted to forget. She was focused on Max, chatting him and Manny up as Max read her palm. When she asked who Dro and I were, Manny had simply said we were interns. It was a lie as close to the truth as he could make it.
Max told the old woman what she wanted to know– which Bingo numbers she should pick– and then she left. At the door, she gave Max a peck on the cheek, leaving a huge red lipstick stain on his face. Dro giggled from behind me. The woman patted Max on the back and looked at us.
“You girls look after little Maxie, now. He’s a good boy.”
Max turned as red as the lipstick on his face. Even I managed a grin.
“Thank you, Mrs. Dawson. I’ll see you next week.”
“Not if your numbers are right, Maxie!” She said merrily before walking down the porch steps.
