Dante’s word’s echoed:
It’d be nice if you got us invited to a party this weekend.
“I can promise…” Amon said in a darker tone, “…if you don’t come, the party will be dead.”
I swallowed hard against my dry throat. “I’ll be there.”
“Me too,” said Zoey. Even as she spoke, she hadn’t completely taken her curious gaze off of me.
“Excellent,” he said, standing immediately. “Party starts at seven tomorrow.”
Amon began to turn and leave but froze mid-step. “Oh and one more thing.” As he spun around, his deceitful grin was wider than ever. His eyes narrowed on me. “Tell your boyfriend, Dante, that I’ve got something special planned for him.”
With that, he turned and left.
There was a moment of stunned silence between Zoey and me as we watched Amon vanish into the crowds of students. My mind was a Nascar racing in fucking circles. Here I was, looking for Demon suspects all day, and the very first Demon just waltzed right up and invited me to his party. If this wasn’t the makings of an obvious trap, I didn’t know what was. Dante’s plan to track down Demons was suddenly the worst plan ever. These bastards were just as equally hell-bent on hunting me—no pun intended.
“Boyfriend?” said Zoey.
“Huh?” I was so lost in thought, I almost forgot Zoey was there. Our trays of chicken and mashed potatoes were untouched and most likely cold at this point.
“He said your boyfriend, Dante.” She impaled me with an interrogating glance. “Well?”
Oh. That. I bit my lip.
“So who’s Dante? Come on. Spill the beans.”
“Just…some guy.”
“Some guy that happens to be your boyfriend?”
“Well…I wouldn’t call him my boyfriend,” I said. “I met him at…Amon’s house…when I picked up my brother.”
“So what is he?” There was obvious suspicion in Zoey’s tone. I felt naked behind my bending truth. I needed a lie. A good one. And I needed it now.
“We made out,” I said.
The conversation stopped. My heart stopped. In fact, from the look on Zoey’s face, I wouldn’t doubt that her heart had stopped as well. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was slowly gaping open. If she was breathing, she could have fooled me.
“You what? But I thought that was the first time you met him.”
I bit my lip again, pretending to act embarrassed. Shit, I didn’t need to act. I was embarrassed that I even came up with such a lie on my own. I was digging myself into a really deep hole. Red alert, red alert! Damage control, Monica, damage control!
“We just hit it off,” I said. “And he was really cute. But we never exchanged numbers. I have no clue where he actually lives.”
“Oh. My. GOD!” said Zoey. She squealed and attacked me in a fierce hug. “You’re such a little whore, I love it. I didn’t know you gingers had it in you.”
“Yeah,” I said. I smiled weakly in her death grip. “Me either.”
“We are SO going to get this Dante’s number from Amon on Saturday,” said Zoey.
My weak smile faded.
***
I was a bucket of nerves. The remainder of school slogged by. I texted my dad to pick me up at the stadium parking lot. Meanwhile, I sat my nerve-bucket down on the nearest bleachers, watching cheerleading practice.
Lillith Hartley was not the captain. “Fuck authority” was her motto, both figuratively and literally, because, like, how else did she have good grades? But despite this technicality, she certainly demanded the most attention on the field. I had to give the girl props. For being a complete slacker, she was easily the most dexterous. Hell, she was a gymnast, bordering on a one-girl Cirque Du Solei. As the squad finished a routine, Lillith topped it off with several consecutive back flips. The other girls cheered her on.
I felt a pit in my gut. I never liked Lillith, but I couldn’t help but noticed she was the only other person I had seen speaking to Amon. I didn’t know who all he had invited to his so-called “party,” but it was almost a guarantee that she would be there.
If you don’t come, the party will be dead. Amon’s words echoed. His threat took on a whole new level of urgency when I attached faces to it.
Zoey was another, but I knew I could her out of it. Lilith, on the other hand? Not a chance. We never even looked at each other, let alone, talked. This left only one option.
I sure hoped Dante knew what he was getting us into.
I pulled my gaze away from the red and black-clad cheerleaders, searching for the next colorful distraction. At first, I turned to my open-toe shoes. My ridiculous pedicure was showing through. But my gaze slowly shifted to the surface of the weathered bleachers beneath my feet. The white paint was peeling, exposing the dull faded wood grain beneath.
Then, beneath the white of the bleachers, I noticed something black. Someone dressed in black.
Between the tiered planks, I could make out his sickly pale skin and buzzed hair. It was a harsh contrast against his gothic apparel. His empty gaze was fixed somewhere in space as he removed a lighter. With a single flick, he lit the cigarette in his mouth.
Bill. I knew him. Well, I knew of him at least. The kid smoked like a forest fire and wore more skulls than the Saint Salazar Cemetery. Even from my awkward angle, peering down, his ritual slouching posture was unmistakable. Every time I saw him (which wasn’t very often) he was always smoking under the bleachers. But I’d heard rumors, mostly from Zoey, or the rumor-queen, Kelly, that he never even went to class. He just chilled under the bleachers and smoked all day every day. Always expressionless. Always dead to the world. He was like the missing link between human and zombie.
I felt and heard the buzz of my phone vibrating in my purse. I fumbled to remove it. One new message from Dad:
Here.
I pulled my backpack on and descended the bleachers. I attempted to catch a casual glimpse of Bill without staring. He was oblivious to my presence. Shit, he was a roasted and toasted marshmallow. As I finally reached my dad’s car, I threw my backpack in the back seat. Opening the passenger side door, I cast one final glance at the gothic boy under the bleachers.
He was staring directly at me.
Normally, when I unintentionally make eye contact with someone, I frantically refocused my attention elsewhere to avoid the awkwardness. But not this time. Instead, our gazes remained fixed. He was now standing at the edge of the bleachers. With the sun pouring across his pale face, I could make out the harsh circles around his sleep-deprived eyes.
“Monica, you okay?” Dad asked.
“Uh, yeah,” I said. I slid into the passenger seat and shut the door. We casually rolled out of the parking lot. Out of my window, I noticed Bill raise a hand, a single finger extended.
He slid it across his throat.
And as he did so, he did something else that I found equally disturbing, if not more so. It was something that neither I nor anyone else had ever seen him do before.
He smiled.
Something gave me the feeling that I had just found our next Demon.
Actually…no. That was giving me too much credit.
Our next Demon had just found me.
10
Instinct
My dad inquired how my day was. I was once again forced to lie, but at least I could dumb it down to your standard, one-word answers like “fine,” “okay,” “alright,” and everything else that today was absolutely not. But given that Amon wanted me dead and most likely in a million pieces, my reaction could have been worse.
“Your mother has her book club tonight,” said Dad. “You okay if I order a pizza for dinner?”
“Yeah,” I said, faithful to my one-word answer streak.
Dads. They can be so oblivious to human body language, it’s wonderful.
&n
bsp; My mom had been going to the same book club for years. every third Friday of the month. It was admittedly one of the great guilty pleasures in the life of Martha Binsfeld, reading saucy, suspenseful romance novels and then gushing about it with several other middle-age women. This month’s book was Romance is Red, Violence is Blue. Sounded like a real winner. The book club was actually quite a big deal here in Villeneuve. The whole thing was hosted by my high school’s principal, Ms. Barbara Marion. I don’t know what her husband did for a living, but he was always out of town, leaving his wife alone in the ritziest house in Villeneuve.
When we finally arrived home, I rushed upstairs to my room. For once, I actually wanted to see Dante. No, not wanted. Needed. I now had possibly two Demons watching me, and I still had no clue what the game plan was.
I burst into my bedroom door. My room was empty.
Quietly, I shut my door behind me. “Dante,” I said. “Are you here?”
Nothing.
“Dante!” I shouted. “Dante, where are you?”
Downstairs, I heard the refrigerator door shut. I cringed. The last thing I needed was to arouse my dad’s suspicions. My mom was already suspicious of me on a regular basis out of sheer maternal instinct.
In a flash of curling black smoke, Dante was suddenly standing in the center of my room.
Eating a sandwich.
“Hauw wazh szhgool?” Dante asked through a mouthful of turkey and mayo. He swallowed. “Find any suspects?”
My gaze shifted from his casual smile to the sandwich in his hand.
“Please, make yourself at home,” I said.
Dante took another bite and swallowed. “Why thank you, Monica. Your hospitality is most kind. So did you find anything?”
I don’t know what got over me. Maybe I finally cracked from the stress. But whatever the case, I suddenly found myself marching at Dante. And then I did the unthinkable. I ripped the sandwich out of his hand. Dante’s eyes went wide with horror as I threw it at the trashcan by my desk. Naturally, I missed. It hit the wall instead and landed on the carpet. I didn’t care.
“Yes, I did find something,” I snapped. “I found one Demon for sure, and I think I have another really strong suspect. But before I tell you anything, I want to know everything that’s going on. Everything! Remember, that was the deal!”
Dante was still staring despairingly at his sandwich. “Well okay, but throwing my sandwich on the floor was a little overdramatic, don’t you think?”
“I was aiming for the trashcan.”
“You’re a real charmer, aren’t you? Fine, what do you want to know?”
“Why don’t we start with why there’s a magically-appearing castle outside of town?”
Dante sighed, clutching his stomach. The lack of sandwich seemed to be leaving a devastating impact. “That castle is called Pandemonium. It’s a gateway—one of many that can bridge the gap between Earth and Hell. However, Pandemonium can only be accessed by mortals on a full moon. When the moon is full, the barrier opens. Because Amon grows strongest on the full moon, he was designated as the guardian of Pandemonium. And let’s just say that of all the Demons, Amon has the worst temper. When some unsuspecting human accidentally wanders across the realms, he usually has his way with them. That’s what happened to Cate. Casey is lucky to still be alive.”
I had to command every muscle in my face not to cringe.
“However,” said Dante, “a gateway isn’t enough. A Demonic spirit alone is nothing in the human world. It takes some sort of human connection before we have any power here. That connection can be made by one of two means. One is a Deal—what I made with your brother, and in essence, what I made with you when we mixed blood. Different degrees of Deals or exchanges give a Demon varying levels of strength in its true form. For example, our blood mixing has only made me tangible to you. I’m still intangible and invisible to everyone else. However, it would be a piece of cake for me to change that, all with just one simple Deal. This is a skill that takes years and years of practice. Most Demons don’t have the patience to develop it. I, however, have mastered the art. I obviously prefer to use this method because…well…let’s face it. My true form is just too devilishly handsome not to use.”
Dante laughed until he realized that I wasn’t laughing with him.
He cleared his throat. “Er. Ahem. The other method is more traditional to Demonkind—possession.”
Great. It was no secret that The Exorcist was my least favorite movie of all time. Spinning heads and vomiting pea soup? Hell no.
“Possession isn’t quite what they make it out to be in the movies,” said Dante. “Demonic spirits don’t just bounce around from person to person. When a Demon finds a host that it likes…well, it’s like a comfortable pair of sneakers. It’s really, really hard to give them up. And Demons can’t just snatch any host that they want. The most likely candidates are people that are…not all there. Psychiatric hospitals are like all-you-can-eat buffets for Demons. The less mental presence there is to interfere, the better. The second most likely candidates are…”
Dante proceeded to shoot me that look he always gives when he’s about to say something I won’t like.
“Babies.”
“What?” I said. My voice was a shriek, catching in my throat.
Dante ignored my appalled reaction. “In most of those cases, the Demon will get so comfortable, it’ll never leave. Instead, its Demonic aura synthesizes so strongly with the possessed that it can transform the host into its original Demon form. That’s the case with Amon, as well as many, many other Demons.”
“That’s horrible,” I said, breathless. I was beginning to regret every time that I pried Dante for answers. “Is there any way to save them? The people being possessed, I mean?”
“There’s nothing to save. To be quite frank, they’re no longer human. They never really were. A simple exorcism would only leave an empty vessel. Their minds would not be intact because their minds were never really given a chance to live. The only solution is to destroy them entirely.”
“We have to kill them?” I said, gasping.
Dante’s eyes narrowed. “No, Monica. You have to kill them. You’re the Demon Slayer. I’m just another Demon.”
I didn’t have a response for this. I didn’t have anything. This was all a nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from.
“How?” I said. “How am I supposed to kill them? With the Demon Dagger? I don’t know how to use that thing.”
A smile snaked across Dante’s face. “How does a mongoose kill a cobra?”
“Huh? What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m fascinated by nature,” said Dante. “Especially when the typical roles of predator and prey become skewed. You do know what a mongoose is, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but—”
“So how does a little weasel-looking thing like that kill a cobra?”
“Well…they’re really fast, so…I dunno. Mongoose instinct?”
Dante raised an eyebrow at me. “Instinct, huh?”
I realized his implication. This was one of those realizations that makes you forget to breathe. When I gazed pryingly into his eyes, I discerned nothing but earnestness.
“Take my hand,” said Dante. He extended his palm to me. “We’re going to try something.”
I bit my lip. Wherever he was going with this, I didn’t like it. I finally reached out and our hands latched together.
That instant, the ground ripped out from beneath our feet. A swirling black mist exploded around us. Grass erupted below. I swayed unsteadily for balance, relying mostly on Dante’s arms. The whirling mists cleared. A crisp forest materialized around us. Afternoon sunlight penetrated the canopy in glowing strands, illuminating the plant life springing up below. From unseen boughs, a symphony of birds sung in harmony.
“What the…? Whe
re are we?” I said.
“Somewhere where we don’t have to worry about breaking furniture,” said Dante. He glancing down on the lush forest floor. There, he homed in on a straight broken tree branch about a foot and a half in length. He tossed it to me. I caught it with unexpected ease. As I weighed it in my grasp, it felt light but surprisingly solid. Dante’s gaze narrowed on me with somber intensity. “Monica, I want you to attack me.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Attack me. Pretend that that stick is your Demon Dagger.”
“I’m not going to attack you.”
“There’s two ways to do this. It’s a lot easier on you this way. But either way, you’re going to fight.”
“I’m not going to attack you!”
Dante shrugged. “Have it your way.”
Without so much as a pause, Dante lunged across the small grassy clearing. One fist pulled back. It lashed out as he swooped close.
My muscles were like, “Fuck that.” They responded on their own. My left hand flew up, palm straight, deflecting his fist. Our faces were now inches from each other. My adrenaline was screaming. I was awakened to my own heavy breathing. Dante simply cracked his signature tight-lipped smile.
We broke apart. I instantly took a defensive stance, arms up and legs apart. Dante didn’t waste a second retaliating. Gritting his teeth, he charged, fist swinging high. I ducked, narrowly missing it—only to be greeted by the other fist. Spinning sideways, I felt his sleeve graze my shoulder. Dante had suddenly become Chuck fucking Norris, thrusting punches and swift kicks. I somehow managed to deflect every single one. My forearms were shields, whipping back and forth, twisting into obscure angles. The stick was an extension of my right hand, cutting the air like a blade.
Dante dropped to his hands, spin-kicking low at my feet. I jumped over the attack, knees tucked high.
I kicked.
My foot connected with his shoulder. Dante fell, toppling backwards. He rolled to his feet just as quickly. I rebounded to the floor in a steady landing.
“Nice shot,” said Dante. He rubbed his shoulder but wore a sick, satisfied grin.
Demonica Page 8
