The Price of Brimstone

by Allie Gail

  For all she knows, I might not even show.

  And what was with the I don't like crowds remark? This park couldn't be more crowded!

  “Maybe she isn't here yet,” I suggest.

  “Maybe.” He gives the park another sweep, then mutters almost to himself, “I don't like this. I should at least go with you.”

  “She asked me to come alone,” I remind him. Still, I look around once more before concluding, “You realize we're being totally paranoid here. She wouldn't have asked me to meet her in public if she was planning on doing something screwy.”

  And it isn't as if we haven't already had this debate. Max, ever the protective one, argued against coming at all. My reasoning was that if she were up to something nefarious, then wouldn't she just show up at the house? I haven't exactly been hiding out. It would make a lot more sense than being in the midst of a crowd of witnesses.

  Of course, that's the thing about demons – they aren't exactly known for their logic.

  It also occurred to me that maybe she really is who she says she is. And possibly blames me for her grandmother's death. Stranger things have happened.

  I'm really hoping that's not the case.

  Max is scoping out the walking track, his eyes moving suspiciously from one person to the next.

  “You'll be able to see me the whole time,” I reassure him. “Look. See that bench right there? I'll just go sit there and wait, so she knows I'm here. Who knows, she might not even show up.”

  He hesitates before nodding slowly. “Okay. But listen, do not agree to go anywhere with her. I don't care what she says. You leave that bench and start walking, I'm coming after you. I want you where I can see you.”

  “I'm not going anywhere.”

  “You have your holy water, right?”

  “Right here.” Reaching into my purse, I pull out my keychain and dangle it in front of him. Hanging from it is the vial that Max insists I keep with me at all times. Holy water may not work on cambions, but it should definitely slow down a full-blooded demon.

  “All right,” he relents. “Just wave if you need me. I'll be watching you the whole time. Okay?”

  “Chillax, would you? I'll be fine.” Smiling, I pat his hand before opening the door and stepping out into the sunshine.

  It's a beautiful day. Winter has traded its wardrobe for an early spring. The air smells sweet and clean, and the freshly cut grass tickles my feet through my sandals. It's one of those Walt Disney afternoons where the temperature is perfect, the birds are singing, the sky is blue, and all is right with the world.

  Nothing could go wrong on a day like this. That's what I keep telling myself.

  I stroll over to the bench and take a seat. There is a little girl already occupying the other end, busily scribbling away at a picture in her coloring book. She is so absorbed in her work that she doesn't look up.

  I sit there quietly, trying not to fidget, patiently waiting. At one point I think I see her. On the walking track, a lone woman is approaching. I straighten and smile at her expectantly. But she passes right by without a glance. Doesn't slow down, doesn't even notice me.

  “Spencer!” she hollers at some kid. “What did I tell you about climbing up the slide? Those other boys are trying to come down it! You get off there right now!”

  Sighing, I slump back in my seat.

  Okay, I'm trying to be patient, but before long I'm digging through my purse in search of my phone so I can check the time.

  2:07. She's late. Did she get held up in traffic? Change her mind? Maybe she saw me arriving here with Max and she left. No, it's only seven minutes – no need to write her off already. She'll be here. I know it. Why would she bother calling me if she didn't intend to show up?

  A moment later I feel someone's eyes on me, and I turn my head to find the pint-sized artist watching me. I give her a smile as she assesses me with round-eyed curiosity.

  Feeling I ought to say something, I jokingly ask, “You're not in time out, are you?”

  She blinks her wide blue eyes and solemnly replies, “No. Are you?”

  I shake my head, trying not to laugh. She's a cute little thing. About six or seven, I'd guess. Her straight blonde hair is cut in a neat bob, held back from her pixie face with a sparkly purple headband. Her jumper is purple too, plaid, and the small feet that dangle from the bench are clad in white socks with shiny red patent Mary Janes.

  “New shoes?” I observe.

  “Yes. I picked them out myself.” She sticks her feet straight out in front of her so she can admire them. “These are what I wanted to wear today. Mother says that red doesn't go with purple, but I don't think that colors should be exclusive. Do you?”

  The voice is a piping soprano, a child's voice, as silvery sweet as wind chimes. But her articulate way of speaking is inversely adult.

  “I never thought of it that way. But you know, you're right. I don't see why you shouldn't wear red with purple if you want to. I happen to think those shoes look very pretty with that dress.”

  She beams at me before returning to the coloring book in her lap. “I'm giving Snow White yellow hair. That way she'll look like me.”

  I lean closer so I can see the page she's meticulously working on. Not a single color has strayed outside the lines. “I can see the resemblance.”

  “I think tomorrow I'll be Snow White.” Selecting a blue crayon, she begins filling in the bodice. “Yesterday I was Elsa.”

  “Yeah? Who are you today?”

  Shrugging, she tells me, “Today I'm just me.”

  “Well, that's a good thing to be too.”

  “I like to pretend sometimes. It isn't lying when you pretend, is it? When you're just making believe.”

  “No, it isn't the same thing at all.” Kids sure have some funny notions.

  “I don't think so either. Some people do it maliciously. I think it's only lying if you have bad intentions. And I don't think most people have bad intentions. Only some people.”

  Smart as a whip, this one. She may be young, but her vocabulary is impressive. How can a kid no older than a second-grader be familiar with words like malicious? She's more expressive than a lot of grownups I know.

  I'm surveying the park, still searching for the woman I'm supposed to be meeting, when something suddenly occurs to me. “Where are your parents?”

  “Oh, they're around.”

  Well, she doesn't seem concerned so they must be nearby. Walking on the track maybe. Or at one of the picnic tables.

  I check my phone again. Should I try and call her back?

  Beside my elbow, I hear, “Are you expecting a call?”

  “I was supposed to be meeting someone here.” Dropping the phone back into my purse, I smile ruefully. “I'm starting to think she's not coming.”

  “My mother says that patience is paramount to all other virtues,” the girl soberly informs me.

  “Your mother sounds pretty smart.”

  “That's funny. She says the same thing about me.” Pursing her cupids-bow lips, she daintily pokes through her box of crayons. “What color should I make the bow?”

  “Purple would be nice, wouldn't it?” I cross my arms over my knees and lean in to get another look at her picture. “Then she'll look even more like you.”

  She tilts her head to one side, concentrating on shading in the bow with violet. “It's nice to have someone who bears a resemblance to you. Don't you think?”

  There she goes with the big words again. I press my lips together, trying to hide a smile. “Yes...I suppose so.”

  “Everyone says I resemble my aunt. I'll probably look like her when I grow up. I don't mind, she's very pretty. But I'm not ready to be a grownup just yet. Right now I'd rather stay little.”

  “There's certainly nothing wrong with that.”

  “I know,” she states matter-of-factly. As if my reassurance was completely unnecessary. “I can grow up whenever I like. I just don't want to right now. I'm having fun playing. Who in your famil
y do you look like?”

  Such a funny thing, this pragmatic child. “Oh, I don't know. My brother, I guess? People used to tell me I was the spitting image of my dad, but I never really saw it.”

  “It's probably the smile.”

  “Yeah? What makes you say that?”

  “You both smile a lot.”

  I'm still trying to figure out what she meant by that when she pipes up with another cryptic comment.

  “He'll look like you. In case you were wondering.”

  “Who will?”

  “You know who.” Smirking, she cuts her eyes at me coyly. “I think Elijah is a nice name. You could call him Eli for short. After your father.”

  I feel as if someone's just pushed my emergency stop button. My mouth is frozen partway open in stunned surprised. “What...uh, what did you say?”

  “The baby, silly. You don't have a name for him yet, do you?”

  My fingernails dig into my elbows as I stiffen defensively. How could she know? There's no way anyone could tell just by looking at me. No way. I'm hardly showing at all yet. Besides, the subtle baby bump can't possibly be apparent under the loose Bohemian-style dress I'm wearing.

  “How did you know I'm pregnant?”

  “I know lots of things.” Gathering up her crayons, she stuffs them along with the coloring book into a pink Barbie backpack. “I know you've been worried about the baby. Whether he'll be healthy. Whether he'll be...normal.”

  I stare at her, dumbfounded. Why does she keep saying him? Holy smokes, does she know something I don't?

  “Who are you?” I question her. “You aren't the person who called.”

  “No. I had someone else call for me,” she admits sweetly.

  “Then you're Sonia's granddaughter?”

  “Oh, no. There is no granddaughter. Ms. Rabinovich never had any children.”

  Then Markie was right. Sonia really didn't have any family. “The woman on the phone said-”

  “Oh, please don't blame Betty. I'm the one who asked her to say that. You see, I figured you'd be more likely to come if she gave you a name you recognized. It was just pretend, though. It wasn't really, truly a lie.”

  “Betty?”

  “My colleague.”

  “Your...colleague?” In what world do six-year-olds have colleagues? She looks too wholesome to be a demon, but that doesn't mean much. They're tricky bastards. “Who are you, really?” I ask firmly.

  “Some call me psychic. Others call me prophet.” The cameo face lights up with a bright, childish grin. “Personally, I prefer Avery.”

  Well, at least the name Betty provided was the right one. “Avery. I should probably go ahead and warn you that I didn't come alone. So if you're planning anything stupid-”

  “I'm not in the habit of doing stupid things. And I already knew that you wouldn't come alone. As if Max would let you out of his sight!” She glances over her shoulder, her eyes landing immediately on the red truck. “I'm not one of them, if that's what you're thinking. Although I can't say I blame you for being suspicious. Demons have always been good at hiding in plain sight.”

  I scrutinize her cherubic face, looking for some clue as to who she is. Who she really is. But all I see are the guileless features of an innocent child.

  “I don't understand,” I murmur. “Why did you want me to meet you here? And why did your...why did Betty specify that I come alone?”

  “Because I wanted to talk to you alone, obviously.”

  “About what? Look, how do you even know me?”

  “Have you been listening?” Sighing, she rolls her eyes petulantly. “I told you. I'm psychic. I know things, things that I think can help put your mind at ease. That's why I'm here. I'm quite sure that's why we're both here. Isn't it?”

  I gaze at her uncertainly.

  “You want answers. I have answers. I'm not sure how to explain it any more clearly.” Without giving me a chance to protest, she reaches across me to lay a small hand on my abdomen. “Let's start with this. I know you have questions regarding him.”

  Him. There's that pronoun again.

  “It's a boy?” I can't help asking.

  “That's right. A healthy baby boy.” Avery grows quiet, giving me a chance to let that soak in.

  A boy.

  I'm going to be the mother of a baby boy.

  Looking back three months, the whole thing came as something of a shock. A pregnancy was the last thing I expected. Ridiculous, I know, especially in hindsight, but it never occurred to me that Loc might have deceived me. Why would he? What interest would someone like him have in a baby?

  As for me...I won't lie. The first thought that crossed my mind when I saw those double lines was to wonder how fast I could get rid of it.

  But in the next instant, I felt sick at heart for even entertaining the thought. The 'it' in question was a baby, after all. Wasn't it? An innocent baby. My baby, with an equal share of my chromosomes. And unless I am given indisputable proof that something evil has taken root inside me, I will safeguard him at all costs.

  He's my baby. Mine. I'm protecting him, and I am keeping him.

  Max, God bless him, has been incredibly supportive. Protective, even. We hadn't even slept together, and yet from the start he treated me as if I were the mother of his child. Buying me vitamins. Sending me articles on pregnancy. Making sure the fridge was stocked with healthy foods. Insisting that I see a doctor.

  That part I've been putting off. I keep procrastinating, coming up with excuses why I haven't made that appointment yet. Too busy at work, I tell him. It's tax season, after all. Truth is, I'm afraid. Afraid of what the ultrasound will reveal.

  Skylar, believe it or not, is excited about the prospect of a baby, human or otherwise. She's made me promise to let her decorate the nursery. Noah's ark, we've both decided. Lots of cute little baby animals.

  Russell's been more of a tough sell.

  He spent the first few weeks avoiding me, though every once in a while I'd catch him staring at my midsection. There was nothing to see, but he'd have this weirdly anxious expression, as if he expected something to come bursting out of there like a scene from Alien. He seems to be warming up to the idea, though. Last week he dragged my old cradle down from the attic, mumbling something about refurbishing it so – and I quote – 'the kid will at least have someplace to sleep.'

  I'm just starting to get used to the idea myself.

  “He told me it wasn't possible,” I confess in a whisper. Fool that I was, I believed the word of a demon.

  Avery withdraws her hand and looks up at me sympathetically. “Of course he did. He told you lots of things. Didn't he?”

  Nodding, I rub my belly absently. I find myself doing that a lot lately.

  “Let me guess. What you want to know now is whether or not you're carrying Rosemary's baby. Am I right?”

  Maybe she meant it as a joke, but I can't bring myself to laugh. Not when it hits so close to home. “Something like that.”

  Her eyes light up as she flashes a smile. “Relax. He'll possess a modicum of demon blood, of course, but not enough to be concerned about. Raise him in love and I promise you, he'll turn out just fine.”

  I can't bring myself to look at her. I'm afraid if I do, I'll burst into tears. The relief that I feel right now is...well, overwhelming is the only way I can describe it.

  But then doubt rears its ugly head, and I stop to debate whether or not I can even believe what she's saying. This little girl isn't your typical child. Psychic or not, there's something almost ethereal about her. It isn't normal.

  “Pass me your keys,” she requests, holding out her hand.

  “What?”

  “Your keys. Let me hold them for a moment, please.”

  I hand them to her, watching as she unscrews the cap off the vial of holy water and tips it into her mouth.

  She smacks her tiny pink lips. “Umm. I'd rather have a lemon slushie, but it's not bad. Satisfied now?”

  “You could be a ca
mbion,” I point out, wondering how she knew about the holy water. Or how she knew what I was thinking, for that matter.

  “Yes, I could, but I'm not. And frankly, I find the insinuation insulting. I came here in good faith – don't you want to hear what I have to say? Whether or not you decide to believe me, well, that's up to you.”

  Fair enough. “All right then. What do you know?”

  She scoots closer to me, her eyes wide and eager as if she has an exciting secret to share. This is so absurd. She's just a kid. I feel like I should be reading her a Frog and Toad book, or buying her an ice cream cone, not sitting here waiting for her to give me a psychic reading or whatever it is she's about to do.

  “The baby was what they wanted all along,” she reveals in a low voice. “But not just him. Everything had to fall in place just so. No deviations. And the tricky part was getting that to happen. Such unremitting fools his disciples are...honestly, I don't know how anyone can be so dumb. What they're too shortsighted to understand is these things have to happen naturally. With no outside intervention. It was all Leraje's idea, getting his son involved...”

  “Wait a second.” I have no clue what she's rambling on about – the only words of any importance to me right now are the ones involving my own son. “Are you saying they want my baby?”

  “Oh, not anymore.” She waves a hand dismissively. “He's useless to them now. Stop worrying, I already told you everything's fine. Now pay attention – are you listening?”

  I nod weakly.

  “The prophets spoke of a girl. An orphan, the daughter of a man of God who was slain by one of the seven princes of Hell. And this virgin daughter, it was foretold, would willingly offer up her body and soul at the cusp of her twenty-first year. To a human with demon blood in his veins. From this union, a child would emerge. Any of this starting to sound familiar to you?”

  Hauntingly familiar. “Are you saying I'm part of a prophecy?”

  “So it would seem, wouldn't it?” She cocks her head like a wise little owl as I cling to her every word. “But the answer to that is, no. You see, Belphegor was recruited to slay your parents in an effort to force this prophecy into fruition. It was Leraje who came up with the idea. He orchestrated the whole thing, assuming that if all went according to plan then the prophecy would be fulfilled. That they would have their savior child. But he was wrong. Even if you'd signed over your soul, even if everything had played out exactly the way he intended, what he failed to understand was that you weren't the one. You were never the one.”