by Allie Gail
Russ looks down at the plate in his lap. “All right! Pizza!” He picks up a slice and starts munching away. “Mmm. I love pepperoni.”
“Twenty bucks says I could've gotten him to eat the pineapple,” I wager.
“No way I'm taking that bet.”
“Did you get the doctor's phone number? I may want some of that stuff for myself.”
“No kidding. He's feeling no pain, that's for sure.”
We both watch him, entertained and a little grossed out. Russ is smacking with his mouth open, his glazed, droopy eyes glued to the TV. I am sorely tempted to grab my phone and record this moment for posterity. If I hadn't left it upstairs, I would definitely be considering it.
Max's eyes stray to the kitchen. “Any problems while we were gone?”
“No. Why? Were you expecting any?” I flop down on the couch next to Russ and curl my legs up beside me comfortably.
“Just making sure.”
“There's plenty more pizza if you're hungry,” I offer hospitably.
“Thanks, I'm good.” He settles into the recliner on my left. “What movie did you get?”
“Hm?” For a second I'm not sure what he's talking about, then I remember. “Oh. Nothing yet. I figured I'd wait until you guys got back and then we could pick something we'd all watch.”
He reaches for the remote. “Were you watching this?”
“No, it was just background noise. Go ahead and find a movie if you want.”
“Did you have something in mind?”
“Not really. I'm not even sure what's out.”
“How about...” He scrolls through the options before pausing over the latest Thor release. “...this?”
“Sure. Works for me.”
“All right!” Russ cheers through a mouthful of pizza. “Superman!”
I pat his leg indulgently. “Chew your food, please. I may know the Heimlich maneuver, but that doesn't mean I won't break your ribs trying to utilize it.”
Russ gives me a blank, groggy look.
“He'd be appalled at his own faux pas if he wasn't so blitzed right now,” Max jokes.
I know what he means. Superman isn't even a Marvel character. He's DC, which I've been reminded of many times by Russ, who would be flat out disgusted that I didn't know or care what the difference was.
Amazingly, my brother actually sits through the entire movie without causing too much commotion. Although it's beyond me how he manages to stay awake through the whole thing. I wonder if he'll even remember it tomorrow. It'll be interesting to see what he does remember.
“Superman would kick that demon's ass,” Russ announces with confidence as the credits roll.
Max looks over at him with a shake of his head. “Did you even watch the same movie we did?”
“Aren't you tired yet?” He's so doped up, I can't fathom how he hasn't passed out yet.
“No-oo...” he drawls, even with his eyes just barely open. “Why? Is it time to go to sleep?”
“Yup. It's definitely time to go to sleep, buddy.” Taking control of the situation, Max helps Russ to his feet. I gratefully trail behind as they make their way slowly upstairs. They have to stop twice so Russ can stroke the banister and wax poetic about how smooth and shiny it is.
What did that quack of a doctor give him?
I scan his bedroom, wrinkling my nose at the wadded-up fast food wrappers, empty beer cans and mounds of dirty clothes. At least, I assume they must be dirty. They're crumpled up on the floor, so what else could they be? Some things never change – he's still a complete slob. If his interior design goal was early American pigsty, I'd say he nailed it.
One thing is conspicuously different, however. There is another one of those strange sigils drawn on the wall above his bed. This one is different. No scorpion. Instead the middle is separated into quarters, with an unrecognizable symbol in each of the four corners. I'd ask what it's supposed to mean, but I'm not sure I want to know.
I watch as Max helps him into bed. “Is he going to sleep with his pants and everything on?”
“That depends. Are you planning on undressing him?”
“Me? No, thanks!”
“Then he's sleeping with his pants on.”
That answers that, I guess. I lean over him to ask, “Does your hand hurt?”
“My what?” Snuggling into his pillow, Russ closes his eyes and sighs contentedly.
“Your hand. Where you fractured it. Does it hurt?”
“Oh.” Opening one eye, he lifts the cast two inches off the mattress. “I hurt my hand. Did you see?”
“That's the rumor.” I pull the blanket up to his shoulders as Max turns out the light and disappears. “Well. Good night, then.”
“No.” He peers at me through half-open slits.
“What do you mean, no?”
“No good night time.”
“You need to go to the bathroom or something?”
“Sing me Itsy Bitsy Spider.”
What? Is he fucking with me right now? If I didn't know better, I'd swear they were running a free lobotomy special at the clinic today.
“I am not singing you Itsy Bitsy Spider!”
“It'll help me sleep.”
“Forget it!”
“I can't go to sleep if you don't sing to me,” he pouts.
“Dude! Who are you?”
“Sing me Itsy Bitsy Spider. I love that song. Ple-ease...”
“You know I can't sing!”
“You can sing for me.”
“No! I can't!”
“Not gonna sleep until you do.”
“Oh, for the love of...” Relenting, I heave a sigh before launching half-heartedly into the song.
“No, no!” he interrupts, insisting, “Gotta do the hand thingy. With your fingers.”
“Right. What was I thinking?” I feel like an idiot. Singing nursery rhymes to a twenty-four-year-old man. I don't turn around but I know, I just know, that Max has got to be standing in the doorway listening to this.
I make it through three rounds before Russ finally gives in and closes his eyes. I think he's asleep, but just as I'm about to leave he says something that knots my heartstrings into a tangled bow.
“Call Sky for me,” he mumbles. “Tell her I miss her an' I'm sorry.”
I tuck the blanket in around him, trying to swallow a lump that's suddenly lodged in my throat. “I will. I bet she misses you, too. You just close your eyes now and take a little nap, okay?”
“'Kay.”
“Good night.”
“Jude?”
“Hm?”
“Love you.”
“I love you too, moron.”
Not surprisingly, I turn around to find Max holding up his cell phone, aiming it at me with a naughty grin.
I brush past him with a glare. “If you send that to anyone, I will personally twist your balls off and force feed them to you. Just so you know.”
“Oh, come on. It's cute,” he insists, following me into the hallway.
“Both of them. At the same time. You will never be able to sire children and you will have this moment to thank for it.”
“Well, there's always adoption.” His silver eyes sparkle mischievously and I smile in spite of myself.
It's no wonder I used to have such a major crush on him. He's not only good-looking, he's got an adorable sense of humor.
“Would you mind if I did something for you?”
“Probably not.” Call me gullible, but for a split second I have this crazy notion that the thing he wants to do for me is something I've only dreamed of.
I couldn't be more wrong.
“Do you have a permanent marker?”
Damn my wrongness. “Um...yeah. I think I have some in my room.”
“Think I could borrow one for a minute?”
Shrugging, I pad down the hallway to my bedroom, where I dig through a jar on my desk for some markers. “What color do you want?”
“Doesn't matter. Your wall's white, s
o something dark would work best.”
I pass him a black marker, eyeing him dubiously. “You're going to draw on my wall?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but...do you mind?”
Great. I finally get a hot guy into my bedroom, and this is what he wants to do?
“Knock yourself out,” I sigh.
He heads straight for my bed and, reaching above the headboard, instantly starts sketching a circle. I can see where he's going with this. He's drawing one of those sigils like Russ has in his room.
“Sorry about messing up your wall,” he apologizes. “But I'll sleep better knowing you at least have some protection. Just in case the guy has friends. I don't think he's able to make contact with anyone, or he would've already, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.”
Friends. Now there's a scary thought. I don't know why it never occurred to me that someone – or something – might come looking to rescue him. Max is right though; surely if that was going to happen, it would've happened by now.
I hope.
“What is it? That thing you're drawing.”
“The Third Pentacle of Jupiter. It's supposed to defend and protect you against evil spirits.”
I give him a skeptical look. “Does this ooga-booga stuff really work?”
“Seems to be working well enough with Price.”
“Where did you learn all this, anyway?”
“Internet. And I've been reading some of your dad's books.” He glances over at me. “Is that okay?”
“Of course it's okay. If you can make heads or tails out of them, have at it. Most of them are written in Latin, I think.” I move closer to get a better look at the design taking shape. “Can I ask you something? How long have you known about all this? About...you know, my dad and what he did and everything.”
“Since about...I don't know, eighth grade or so.”
I am stunned to hear that. “You mean you've known all this time? Russ told you?”
“You never told anyone? None of your close friends?”
“No, I didn't tell anyone! We weren't supposed to talk about it. Not that I ever would've – last thing I wanted was to be ostracized for being the school freak show. I can't believe he told you!”
“Maybe he knew he could trust me.” He finishes up something that looks sort of like a ship's wheel and moves on to the next symbol. “It's not like I ever really bought into it. No offense, but I always thought your dad was a bit on the kooky side. Figured he was some kind of religious fanatic or something.”
How can I fault him that? Nobody in their right mind would take any of that stuff seriously. Demonic possession? Exorcisms? Evil spirits? Not in this day and age. Not in this part of the world.
“Truth is, I wasn't sure I believed any of it myself,” I admit.
“Believe it.” His voice takes on a sharp edge. “You know, your brother's right. You should go back to Tulsa. It's not safe here.”
“I'm supposed to leave him to deal with this alone?”
“Need I remind you that he's not alone?”
“Do you really think I could sleep at night knowing the shitstorm he's gotten himself into?” I shake my head. “Screw that. No. I'm not going anywhere. I don't care what you say.”
He frowns, concentrating on the Hebrew inscription encircling the four symbols. Or maybe he's contemplating what to say to change my mind.
“We're in over our heads here, kiddo,” he tells me softly. “This is something far beyond the realm of anything we ever conceived possible. You want to talk about a shitstorm? Well, we're moving blind through that storm. Blind and unarmed. We have no idea what we're dealing with or what's coming. When I tell you it's not safe, I mean it. I mean there is a very good chance that this whole situation could be detrimental to your health. Your life. Your soul.”
“So be it,” is my simple reply.
He casts a worried look in my direction. “I can't promise you this is going to end well. For any of us.”
“But you don't know that it won't. We're strong. We're smart. We can figure something out.” I hope I sound more confident than I'm feeling at the moment.
“Good luck trying to convince Russ.”
“I can handle him.”
“Mm-hm.” Finishing up his work of art, he recaps the marker and hands it back to me with a smile. “There. Hopefully you'll never need it, but one can never be too careful.”
“Thank you.” I stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to say.
After a moment, he clears his throat and says, “Well, I should probably go. It's getting late and...I should probably call Valerie and explain to her why I had to cancel at the last minute. She said she understood, but I don't know. She didn't sound all that happy with me.”
“You had a date tonight?” I don't know why, but I feel a twinge of disappointment upon hearing that. Which is stupid. So stupid. What, did I think he never dated? That he was holding out for me or something? Talk about ridiculous.
“I did, yeah.”
“I'm sorry. I feel bad that we ruined your plans.”
“You didn't ruin anything. Things happen.”
I stare down at the pink polish on my toenails. “What are you going to tell her?”
“Just that I had to take a friend to get patched up after he got in a fight.” There is suppressed laughter in his voice. “Why, did you think I'd tell her the truth?”
“Not if you want her to agree to a second date!”
“Technically, we haven't even had our first yet.”
“This is true.” I wonder why he hung around after bringing Russ back from the clinic. He didn't have to stay and watch the movie. He could've left and salvaged some of his evening. I don't know, maybe he thought I'd have a hard time handling my brother in his condition.
“Do you have my number?”
That was unexpected. Why would he think I'd have his number? “Um...no.”
“Where's your phone?”
I pluck it from the top of my dresser and hand it to him, watching as he adds his number to my contacts list.
“I want you to call me if you ever need anything,” he instructs me. “If you're ever in any kind of trouble. Even if you just have a question. Call me. If anything strange happens, I want to know about it.”
“My life has been nothing but strange since I got here,” I mutter, reaching for my phone as he hands it back to me.
“You know how to remedy that? Go back to Tulsa.”
“Good night, Maxwell.” I smile at him sweetly.
He chuckles at my obstinance. “Good night, Judith.”
After he's gone, I lock up downstairs and straighten up the living room. It doesn't take long, no more than five minutes. I'm just killing time. Trying to keep my mind occupied. I'm not tired yet, but that's no surprise. After the day I've had, it'll be a wonder if I can sleep at all.
I bring Russell's glass into the kitchen and take my time washing it out in the sink. I try to resist. I really do. But instinctively, my eyes are drawn to the red padlock. I can't help it. The thing is like a lighthouse beacon, warning me to stay away.
Every instinct I have is screaming at me to do just that. I know I should listen. That would be the smart thing to do. The safe thing. As Max pointed out, we are all in way over our heads. And me – I know nothing about trying to outsmart a demon. What can I possibly hope to accomplish here?
A nervous weight drops like an anchor in my stomach. Once again, I feel that exhilarating rush of fear and excitement.
Because in spite of everything, I know I've already decided what I'm about to do.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Chapter Six
The key turns easily.
I release the breath I didn't realize I was holding as the steel shank pops free. I was almost afraid it wouldn't. That I'd been wrong and the key wouldn't fit. I'm not sure whether I should be relieved or not. After all, I have nothing to stop me now. No locks, no barriers, nothing to save me from my own recklessness.
No
thing but common sense, and I seem to be lacking in that.
I descend the steps without hesitation.
My heart freezes in mid-beat at the sight of the cambion. I think I'd half expected him not to be there. After the day's insanity, I wouldn't have been a bit surprised to find that the whole thing had been nothing more than a wildly vivid hallucination.
He is still seated in the same position, posture straight and dignified, hands clasped on the table in front of him. Biding his time with a patience that is inconceivable. A living statue, an exquisite work of art. I have to remind myself that in spite of his outward appearance, he is a malicious brute.
Isn't he?
Deliberately taking my time, I locate a metal folding chair and place it in front of the table, across from him. Taking a seat, I merely look at him expectantly, waiting for him to make the first move. I keep my expression neutral. It's all I can do to appear cool and collected when inside me is a raging storm of excitement.
The rich baritone is just as smooth and aesthetically pleasing as I remember. It is also tinged with the same vague amusement that constantly flickers in his eyes.
“I was wondering when you would show up.”
His observation takes me by surprise, but fuck-all if I let him know that. “You were expecting me?”
“Naturally,” he replies politely. “You have a ringside seat to the sideshow exhibit of the century. What child can resist such a curiosity?”
“I didn't come here to gawk at you.” Although that may have been part of it, I secretly have to admit.
“Then why did you come, Judith Sterling?”
“I thought we could talk. Like two reasonable adults. I don't see why we can't work this out without the threat of violence.”
“Indeed.” One eyebrow arches as he studies me with placid interest. “And where is brother dearest?”
I hesitate, wondering how much I should tell him. In the end I decide he's going to see the cast anyway, so what difference can it make? “He fractured his hand roughing you up. Right now he's upstairs sleeping off his pain meds.”
“My sincerest apologies,” he murmurs, with a smile that is anything but sincere.
“I'm not excusing what he's done to you. But you have to understand, he's worried sick about his friends. He's afraid for them.”
