Misfit

by Jon Skovron

  “Okay, you’re totally freaking me out now. Is this code or something?”

  “By the way, that was really nice of you to walk me to school this morning. How about I return the favor tomorrow? I’ll swing by your house tomorrow morning and we can walk together.”

  “All right, so I’m starting to think you don’t want me to leave my house unescorted . . . Bets, should I be worried about something?”

  “You bet!” she says cheerfully. “So, you just have fun at home tonight and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  “Jael,” says her father. “Dinner’s ready.”

  “Okay, well, gotta go!” she chirps.

  “Wait, Bets, can’t you just—”

  She hangs up and takes a slow, deep breath, waiting for her heart to slow down a bit. Then she turns and sits calmly at the table.

  Jael and her father eat in silence for a little while, Jael with her leftover squash, her father with a sandwich. Then he puts his sandwich down and looks at Jael.

  “I was terrified,” he says.

  “What?” asks Jael, her pulse shooting back up.

  “Yesterday,” he says. “I was so sure I’d lost you.”

  “Oh,” says Jael.

  “It was like I was back in Haiti, helpless to save you. For all the things I’ve done to protect you, I realized that you were right. I never considered anything past your physical well-being.

  I’ve never really been much of a parent to you. Your mother . .

  . would not have been pleased.” He looks down for a moment, squeezing his hands together in a fist, almost like a prayer. Then he looks back up at her. “I’m sorry it took that fear for me to realize it. But I’m going to do everything I can to make up for it.”

  Jael bites her lip and smiles. She’s wanted to hear something like that for so long, but it tastes sour now. Empty. Because it will all end soon. And she doesn’t even have the guts to tell him.

  “Everything okay?” he asks.

  She nods and somehow manages to pull it together enough for a sincere-looking smile. “Yeah, totally.”

  “I know,” he says. “You’re worried that I’ll be teaching your religion class?”

  “Uh . . . yeah,” she says, forcing a laugh. “A little.”

  “Well, don’t. Father Aaron volunteered to take yours.”

  “That’s great,” says Jael. “What a relief.”

  That night, Jael sits in her bed and seriously considers running away from home. Maybe it’s not too late to do what her mother did. Draw Belial away from everyone she cares about.

  Then she catches the smell of spoiled fish.

  “Hey,” says her uncle. He plops down on the bed next to her, the box springs groaning in protest. He sits there with his elbows resting on his thighs in a strangely human pose.

  “I saw you at the feast hall today,” he says quietly. “With Belial.”

  She nods.

  “You okay?”

  “For now.”

  “He take you to your mother’s grave?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

  “Sorry you had to see all that,” he says. “A long time ago, it was all different. . . .” He trails off into silence.

  “You said that before,” says Jael. She doesn’t mean for it to come out bitter, but it does.

  “Belial was just a petty sprite named Jack Frost and your mom and I were . . . well, I guess you might have called us gods.”

  “So . . . what happened?”

  “Things changed,” Dagon says. “People changed. The whole damned world changed. It didn’t want magic in everyday life anymore. And us? We reflect what the world wants us to be. And right now, that’s demons.” He’s silent for a while, lost in thoughts or memories Jael can’t even guess at. Then he smiles slightly and looks at her. “But things changed before. They can change again.”

  “Sure,” says Jael, but she can’t really muster up any confidence in her tone.

  The sound of Jael’s father putting away dishes travels up from the kitchen.

  “You didn’t tell your dad,” says Dagon.

  “You think I should?”

  “It’s up to you,” says Dagon. “I’ve never been good at deception.”

  “He says he’s cool now. That he believes in me. But something like this, I think it would turn him right back and he’d just want to move to Alaska,” says Jael. “And it’s not like he could do anything about it.”

  “Probably not,” Dagon says.

  She leans back into the headboard and shuts her eyes.

  “Why?” she whispers. “Why does Belial hate me?”

  “Revenge. For what your mother did,” he says. “And because you’re a halfbreed. He’s obsessed with purity. Demons aren’t what they used to be, and he sees halfbreeds as one more step toward utter degradation.”

  “Yeah, he said something like that.”

  “The other thing is, you could screw up what he and the other Grand Dukes are doing. They’ve had it their way for hundreds of years. It was the halfbreed Merlin who helped them consolidate their power.”

  “Merlin really was a halfbreed, then? That’s what Rob thought.”

  “Smart guy,” says Dagon. “Yeah, it was that asshole Merlin that helped turn everything upside down. So it stands to reason only a halfbreed could make it right again. In other words, kid, you’re dangerous to the Grand Dukes’ status quo.”

  “Asmodeus said I have all this power or something.”

  “He told me he contacted you last night.”

  “But how, exactly, am I so kick-ass dangerous?”

  “You can influence the elements on Gaia.”

  “But all demons can do that.”

  “Not on Gaia they can’t.”

  “I thought . . . isn’t it supposed to be a demon power?”

  “Yeah, but the elements only pay attention to someone who belongs here. And us Hell-born demons don’t. The weaker ones have to possess mortals just to be here. And even those of us who have been around a while and are strong enough to be here without a host are really only here in spirit.”

  “You feel real enough. And so did Belial.” She shudders involuntarily at the memory of being encased in ice. “So wait, if demons can’t do anything on the mortal plane, how’d Belial take me to Hell?”

  “Spirit isn’t limited to a single plane. It’s on all of them at once. You could say it’s what they have in common. So demons can affect spirit regardless of what plane they’re on.”

  “So Belial attacked my spirit?”

  “That’s all demons can ever do on Gaia. But that can be pretty serious if the demon knows what he or she’s doing. And Belial is one of the best. A demon can also project their own spirit outward. Your mother would do that often, as fire.”

  “Uh, yeah, I’ve had a little experience with that,” says Jael, and clears her throat uncomfortably. “I almost burnt Rob’s face off this morning.”

  “It can be very powerful,” says Dagon. “But you have to be careful, because you can expend too much of your own spirit that way.”

  “What happens if you do that?”

  “Well, for full demons, they get weak, then eventually dissipate into an incorporeal state. It can take months to recover from that.”

  “What about halfbreeds?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “You probably just die.”

  “Oh.”

  “But as long as you’re on Gaia, you shouldn’t need to use spirit all that much. Try to use the other elements as much as possible.”

  “Right,” says Jael. “Because that’s where I have the advantage over Belial. On Gaia, I have all five elements; he only has one.”

  “Exactly,” says Dagon, his black eyes sparkling. “Look, you’ve got amazing potential, kid. Your mother believed it. I believe it. It sounds like you’ve got Asmodeus in your corner.

  I think even your dad is coming around. And I bet there are people you don’t even know who be
lieve in you. The only one who doesn’t is you. And that’s the trouble. If you don’t have faith in your own abilities, it’s never going to be anything more than potential.”

  “But how do I do that? I can’t just decide to believe in myself.”

  He gives her a gently teasing smile. “Well, that’s the trick, isn’t it?”

  Britt doesn’t know how long she’s been walking, or why.

  She moves slowly through the night, her arms hugging her torso tightly. She shivers now and then, as if an icy wind has just passed through her. She recognizes the world around her, the streets and houses of Northwest Seattle. But it all looks strange to her now, filled with ominous shadows. In her ears, she hears the shriek of an old man. A priest. The Mons, that’s who it is.

  Weird that she couldn’t remember him for a moment there. But why was he screaming?

  Jael. Something happened to Jael. She was . . . possessed?

  Can that really be true? But Jael had been acting strange lately. She talked about it with Jack and he told her to talk to the Mons. And when she talked to the Mons this morning . .

  .Wait, was that this morning? No, it was . . . a different morning.

  Yesterday? Or a week ago? How long has she been walking out here? Out in the wilderness, among these dark, inscrutable houses. She remembers that the Mons wasn’t strong enough to defeat the demon. The darkness had won. God had abandoned them. . . .

  But then she sees a light ahead. It shines white and pure in front of her, and it pushes back the darkness.

  “Brittany . . . ,” calls a voice from the light.

  Maybe she’s dying. But she doesn’t care. She’s so cold, so scared. She runs toward the light. She sees a figure stretching a hand out to her.

  She pauses for a moment.

  “Jack?” she asks.

  “Yes,” he says, his voice like a thousand volts of electricity that wipe out all thought, all fear. “It’s time you know who I really am. You have been so helpful, so brave. But I must ask one more task of you if we are to save your friend Jael from the darkness that has her in thrall.”

  “Anything,” says Britt as she walks toward the light again.

  Toward him. And as she gets closer, he changes, growing larger, more beautiful. His skin shimmers like crystal, his eyes blaze with such an intense blue that she feels as though he can see into her very soul. “Jack,” she sighs. “You’re an angel. . . . ”

  Belial smiles as he gathers her into his hard, shining arms.

  “Something like that,” he says. “Now, my dear. To work.”

  TRIP TRAP 18

  The phone rings at around eleven o’clock. Jael is lying in bed, trying without success to get to sleep. The sound comes from the kitchen so abruptly, it makes her flinch.

  Maybe it’s Rob, she thinks. She needs to get that phone before her father does. She scrambles out of bed and heads for the staircase. She hears him opening the door of his bedroom, so she just vaults the handrail. A moment before impact she asks the air to slow her down so that she lands quietly on the hardwood floor.

  She slips into the kitchen and snatches the phone off the cradle just as her father enters.

  “Hello?” she says quietly.

  “It’s Aaron,” says a harsh voice. It takes Jael a moment to realize that it’s Father Aaron on the other line.

  “Father? What—”

  “Jael?” There’s a pause. “Put your father on the phone.”

  Jael turns to her father, who looks half asleep and irritable in his pajamas. But she tells him who it is, and he snaps suddenly awake. He takes the phone from her and says in a calm, quiet voice, “Yeah?”

  He listens for a few moments, his face set in that old neutral expression she’s known her whole life. His eyes flicker over to Jael and he says, “There’s no reason to bring her into this.”

  He listens to the response, his mouth set.

  “But what if—” He is cut off by a shout on the other end so loud Jael can almost make out the words from several feet away.

  Jael’s father listens a few more moments, then says, “OK, we’ll check.”

  He slams the phone hard on the cradle and stares at it for a moment. Then he turns to Jael.

  “Get dressed. We’re going over to the Broughers’ house.”

  Sick dread lies heavily in Jael’s stomach during the short drive. Of course Belial went after Britt. Why didn’t she think of it sooner? Britt was the vulnerable one, especially after that exorcism. She remembers now that the last time she went to the Broughers’ house, Ms. Brougher was on the phone with someone named Jack. He was probably setting this all up even back then.

  They park out in front of the house. But her father doesn’t open the door. He just sits there, staring out the windshield.

  “I like to know what I’m walking into,” he says. “Aaron has been watching the Broughers since he noticed Heather displaying some erratic behavior on Monday. The sort of behavior that might suggest demon tampering or possession.

  Neither of them showed up at school today, and they aren’t answering phone or e-mail. He’s concerned that something may have happened to them. If you know anything about this, if you even have a suspicion, I need to know about it. Now.” Then he just waits.

  “Belial found me,” she says.

  “When?” His face is still neutral.

  “I guess he’s known where I was for a couple of days now, but I didn’t realize that until today.”

  “You saw him?”

  “Yeah.”

  He nods, almost to himself. “Game’s up, then. It’s almost a relief.”

  “Sorry I didn’t tell you right away, Dad. I just—”

  He holds up his hand. “No point in that now. Let’s go.”

  They climb out of the car and walk up the steps to the front porch. Jael notices that the piles of junk have been neatly organized, which unnerves her. Jael’s father knocks on the front door. They wait a few moments, but there’s no answer.

  “Is there a key?” he asks her.

  She nods and points to a crucifix hanging next to the door.

  He takes it down and turns it over. The back has been hollowed out and a key stuck inside. He laughs to himself, a short humorless burst through his nose, then takes out the key and unlocks the door.

  “Stay behind me,” he says. It’s stupid, of course. Jael could take a lot more damage than her father. After all, he’s just a mortal. But there’s a strange confidence about him now. It dawns on Jael that this is not the first time her father has had to face things that could crush him in an instant. That old firm decisiveness she hasn’t seen in a few days is back. And while that quality makes for a crappy dad, maybe it makes for a good demon hunter.

  He pushes open the door and calls out, “Heather?”

  Silence.

  “Brittany?” he calls.

  Nothing.

  He walks slowly, quietly into the house, and Jael follows close behind.

  “Dad,” she whispers, and points to the walls. All of the crucifixes have been turned upside down.

  He nods and continues through the living room.

  A very faint humming comes from the kitchen, accompanied by a wet, scraping sound.

  “Dad,” she says again. He looks back at her questioningly.

  He doesn’t seem to be able to hear the strange noise.

  “The kitchen,” she whispers.

  He nods. “Stay back,” he says, and starts making his way over.

  Of course, Jael is right behind him as they enter the kitchen.

  “Jael,” snaps her father, “I said—”

  But it’s too late. She’s already seen it.

  The Brougher kitchen is a long, narrow, brightly lit room with lots of cute country kitsch. Ms. Brougher sits on the floor, her feet tucked under her. She’s wearing some of Britt’s clothes, which are painfully tight on her, and her thick blond hair is pulled up in uneven pigtails. She’s rubbing a sheet of sandpaper on her cheek in slow, circul
ar motions and humming to herself.

  When Jael and her father come in, she looks up at them and smiles. Patches on her face, arms, and hands are reduced to bloody, raw muscle and tendon.

  “The wrinkles come right off!” she tells them cheerfully.

  “I’m young again!”

  Jael’s father kneels down beside Ms. Brougher and gently pulls the hand with the sandpaper away from her face.

  “That’s amazing,” he murmurs soothingly, like he’s talking to a child. Except he never talked to Jael like that when she was a child. “How did you learn about such a wonderful thing?”

  “Oh, it’s so obvious, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself!” she says, and tries to continue rubbing her face with the sandpaper. He holds her blood-streaked arms at her sides.

  “Yes,” he agrees. “Who told you about it?”

  She frowns for a moment, like she’s trying to think of the answer, but then her smile widens even more and her eyes get glassy.

  “Oh, it’s just a miracle!” She sighs.

  “Heather,” he says to her a little sharply, like he’s losing patience. “Where’s Britt?”

  “Who?” she asks.

  “Your daughter,” he says. “Where is your daughter, Brittany?”

  “No, no,” she says with a sly smile on her ravaged face. “I’m much too young to have a daughter!” Then she looks him up and down suggestively. “You know, I don’t normally go for older men, but for you I’ll make an exception.” Then she leans in, her bloody lips puckered.

  “Okay,” he says with forced cheerfulness as he holds her at arm’s length. He looks over at Jael. “Sorry, honey, I’m going to need you to take a look inside and see what’s going on here. Can you do that for me?”

  “O-Okay,” she says. She kneels down beside her father and looks at Ms. Brougher, trying to ignore the bits of skin that dangle from her cheekbones and chin.

  “Ms. Brougher,” Jael says quietly to get her to make eye contact.

  “Ms. Brougher?” she says in a horrified tone, her eyes rolling around. “That’s my mother’s name!” Then she giggles in a high-pitched whinny.

  “Heather!” says Jael.

  Ms. Brougher’s eyes meet her own for just a moment, and that’s all Jael needs. She dives quickly down into her soul. Or what’s left of it. It just looks like a big clump of ice, silent and still. Jael touches it tentatively, expecting a welter of memories and emotions to hit her. But there’s nothing.