“Do you have something on demons too?”
Vito's head jerked up, and he regarded me with an expression I couldn’t quite figure out.
“I do. Angels and demons. Can’t have one without the other,” he said cryptically as he smiled.
I swallowed. My mouth felt dry. Vito led me to another shelf, and I quickly spotted the encyclopedia section. For every letter of the alphabet, there was a folder. I took out A because I didn’t want it to be obvious that I was looking for something specific.
“I always wondered about exorcisms,” I said, again trying for a conversational tone. “Is it like in the movies? Do you need a priest, holy water… stuff like that?”
I took a file out of the folder. It was a little leaflet and described all there was to know about a demon called Aurophron. It looked as if every demon had its own sort of pamphlet.
“Hmm. Conventionally in Western society, yes,” Vito answered. “But it’s widely believed amongst experts that it doesn’t matter what religion the person affiliates themselves with. It could be a priest doing the exorcism rites or a shaman. It doesn’t matter—as long as it’s a man or woman of faith.”
I gnawed on my lip. Interesting. That sounded an awful lot like what Zack had said about the angel armor. Commitment to one’s vocation. Faith didn’t seem that far off to me. In any case, it wasn’t so much about what one did, rather it was one’s inner strength that was important.
A sigh escaped my lips. I didn’t think I had a lot of that. Vito studied my face, so I looked away and put the A folder back into its now vacant slot on the shelf.
“Of course, some believe there’s another way.”
“Oh yeah?” Despite my best efforts, I sounded hopeful.
“You have to trick them. Find out what their weaknesses are.”
“Demons have weaknesses?”
“Sure. After all, demons, like angels, were once humans. They often carry their weaknesses with them to the next life.”
That was complete and utter news to me. I had somehow assumed that angels and demons were… I don’t know… another race, maybe, like an alien race. But I couldn’t really get caught up on that right now, not with Vito’s scrutinizing eyes on me.
“Hmm. Interesting,” I said lamely.
“Do you maybe want to stay for a cup of tea?” Vito asked after a moment of silence.
I gladly accepted. I had to be at the diner in half an hour, but I had time for a cup of tea. “Vito?” I asked. “Do you mind if I borrow some of your books?”
“To be honest, I’m a bit funny about them. I don’t lend them to other people. I’d rather they stay here.”
“Oh, I see.” My disappointment was evident in my voice.
“But you’re welcome to come by any time and read them here in my study,” he hurried to say. Vito was so nice.
I smiled. “That would be great.”
“Why don’t you have a quick look now, and I’ll call you when the tea is ready?”
“Great, thanks!”
Vito left the study to go into the kitchen, and I stared at the shelf with the demon encyclopedia. I just had to know, and I couldn’t wait. I pulled the M folder from the shelf and looked through the pamphlets. Malachriel. Jackpot!
I felt really bad about it, but I rolled up the pamphlet and put it in my bag. I told myself I was only borrowing it. I would bring it straight back next time I had an opportunity to visit Vito. But I couldn’t wait to learn more about Malachriel. The sooner I could help Marie, the better. And I needed the information in that pamphlet so I could somehow trick him out of her. Honestly, I would probably never be a woman of faith—good, strong, and fortified. This was the only way.
“Tea is ready,” Vito called.
I made my way to the kitchen with the file on Malachriel burning hotly in my bag like a pile of hellfire coals.
11
I made it through tea with Vito without giving away how nervous I was and how guilty I felt about borrowing the Malachriel file. But by the time I got to the diner, I was so jittery and full of nerves that I wasn’t able to concentrate on my work. I was visibly distracted and got more than one order wrong. I spilled coffee more than a few times throughout the day, but when I dropped a hot plate of chili, barely missing a customer’s lap, Aunt Jeannie took me aside.
“What’s wrong with you today? You have been absentminded recently, but today, you’re actually giving me cause for concern. Are you not feeling well?”
I tried to avoid her eyes. “Um, no. I just… I have a lot on my mind.” That excuse sounded lame even to me.
“Like what?” my aunt pressed.
I just shrugged and risked a side-glance at her. Her warm brown eyes held no anger. She cared about me and wasn’t talking to me as my boss but as my aunt.
“It’s to do with… a guy.” That wasn’t even a lie.
“Ah. I see.” Aunt Jeannie smiled jubilantly. “Finally, you’re in love! No wonder your mind is somewhere else.”
“Excuse me, can I get a refill here?” Mr. Dudley, who was sitting at the counter, interrupted our conversation.
“You’re just going to have to wait, Ernest. This is important,” Aunt Jeannie said resolutely.
The old man, who had been a regular for years, rolled his eyes but obediently turned his attention back to his newspaper, which he had spread out across the counter. Aunt Jeannie had this nonthreatening way of making someone do something without any back talk.
“Now,” my aunt whispered. “This guy…”
“It’s nothing, really. I’ll get over it.” I met her gaze straight on, grabbed the pot of coffee, and filled Mr. Dudley’s cup. I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking, though, and spilled some coffee as I tried to pour. Quickly, I grabbed a paper napkin to wipe it up.
Aunt Jeannie sighed. “Oh, he broke your heart, didn’t he?”
I said nothing. A couple of customers must have heard her because it got suspiciously quiet. I looked up and saw three old ladies staring at me expectantly. When I coughed demonstratively, they turned their attention to the blueberry pie on their plates. They couldn’t fool me. I knew they had their ears cocked and hearing aids turned to full volume.
“Was it that good-looking young man who came by the other day?” Mr. Dudley dared to ask.
My eyes fired lightning bolts in his direction. “That really is nobody’s business but mine.” I fiercely wiped the now perfectly clean counter.
“Poor dear,” one of the old ladies whispered to the others.
I helplessly looked at Aunt Jeannie.
“Tell you what, honey,” she said, “why don’t you finish your shift early today? Take a walk along the river or something like that? It will do you good.”
“I can’t leave you in the lurch here,” I mumbled.
“I’ll be fine by myself now that the lunch crowd has cleared. And Dora is working tonight. She always comes in a bit early anyway.”
“Yes, we don’t mind waiting a bit,” one of the old ladies piped up. “You just go and get yourself right again. I thought he looked a bit like a Don Juan.” She pronounced it Don Shuen, which made me smile. “Not worth the heartbreak if you ask me,” she continued. “Those good-looking ones always spell trouble. Best you find yourself an ordinary man who feels eternally grateful that you picked him—like my Jonathan, God bless his soul.”
I couldn’t really be mad at them for butting into my life because they had actually taken my mind off things with their amusing chatter. They reminded me of why I really liked working at the diner. I thought of the pamphlet in my bag. Although I was burning to read it, I decided to finish my shift first. If I didn’t keep up appearances, my parents would ask why I was home early. Plus, the less time I had to spend at the house in Marie’s company, the better.
I turned to Aunt Jeannie and smiled. “You know what? I already feel much better. I think I’d rather keep working, take my mind off things.”
I stayed until the worst of the dinner rush was over and I
could leave Dora by herself for the rest of the evening. The positive thing about working late was that I had escaped dinner with my family. They were all assembled in the living room and adjacent dining area when I came home and stuck my head in. “Hi, I’m home.”
Marie was watching some kids' TV program with Anna and looked totally normal. It was past her bedtime already, but I guessed the time must have slipped by my parents. Dad was reading in his armchair by the window and hardly looked up when I came in. As usual, he was engrossed in his book. I would have expected Allison to notice the time and send Marie to bed immediately, but instead, she gave me a distracted greeting through the always open double doors into the dining room. “This is so weird,” she mumbled.
I was curious to see what had Allison rattled, so I walked over to the dining table, where she had spread out photos. She was assembling an album, which was one of her regular evening projects. “What is?”
“I took pictures of Marie and Anna at riding practice last week, and there are hardly any that I can use. There must have been something on the lens.”
I looked at the photos, and a shiver crawled up my spine. In every picture, Marie’s face looked unfocused, like a little gray swirl.
“But Anna looks fine in all the pictures,” Allison continued, still looking puzzled. “It’s always Marie.”
“Hmm.” I dared to look over at Marie, who had turned her head at the mention of her name. Her big blue eyes were the picture of innocence.
“Marie!” Allison suddenly noticed the time, forgetting the photos. “What are you still doing up?” She jumped up. “It’s past nine o’clock. Off to bed with you.”
I quickly feigned a yawn. “I’m pretty beat. I’ll go to my room too. Good night.”
I rushed up to my room so I could avoid running into Marie upstairs, then I locked my door from the inside. I still had goose bumps and decided I would feel better if I pushed the chest of drawers in front of the door. It was heavy, and I only pushed it far enough to cover a portion of the door, but I felt somewhat safer.
I could get over not washing my face and brushing my teeth tonight. I just really hoped that I wouldn’t have to pee until morning.
As an afterthought, I also pulled the drapes shut. I didn’t have a clue how exactly Zack had made it in and out of my room the other day, and he hadn’t shown up since the day he made me cry. I didn’t want him peeking through my window if that was his route in. He had wings, so it wasn’t that far-fetched.
Feeling relatively safe, I sat down on my bed, leaned back against the headrest, and pulled the Malachriel file out of my bag.
My fingers shook with excitement when I opened it. I was dying to scan the text, but I forced myself to take my time with it. It was printed in the same old-fashioned lettering as the other pamphlet I had looked at. In fact, it looked a little bit homemade, as if someone had gotten hold of an old printing press. There was no copyright or date anywhere. Then it occurred to me that the pamphlets could have just been old rather than the printing press having been old-fashioned at the time they were printed.
The sources for the information on Malachriel were listed in the pamphlet; in fact, two whole pages of the thin booklet were dedicated to describing these sources. The first one listed was a seventeenth-century grimoire called Demonica Magica, which had supposedly belonged to a Salem witch. So far, I hadn’t made any connection between angels or demons and witches. In my opinion, they belonged in completely different supernatural categories. Turns out, I was wrong. Both Demonica Magica and the other cited source, Matthew de Varie’s Dictionary of Demons, established a connection between Malachriel and witches. Dictionary of Demons was a nineteenth-century work, written by a self-proclaimed demonologist. According to the author of the pamphlet, Matthew de Varie was less than reputable and often regarded as not being a very reliable source in more “serious” academic circles.
I turned back the very few pages to the beginning of the pamphlet. The Demonica Magica reference had been translated into modern English. I wiped my sweaty palms on my trousers before I picked up the pamphlet again then read the passage with great anticipation.
“Do not be fooled by his appearance. He is not of angelic nature. He is Malachriel. He is not his brother. He is full of wrath against him, yet he likes to pretend to be him.
“Sisters have called upon him for favors and have paid dearly for their mistake.”
I read it over and over.
The reference to angelic nature surprised me. Of course demons weren’t of angelic nature. They were demons. Duh. But maybe this was referring to the fact that the demon possessed people and took on their appearances. Children were often the ones possessed, according to Zack, who could be regarded as angelic, like Marie. But the wording also sounded as if Malachriel pretended to be his brother, who he was apparently angry with.
I remembered that Vito had cryptically said that we couldn’t have angels without demons, but I found this curious, nonetheless.
In any case, that part didn’t seem helpful to me, and I somewhat impatiently turned the page to read the Dictionary of Demons passage. This time, the unnamed author of the pamphlet had paraphrased the entry. On the one hand, that saved me from trying to interpret it, but on the other hand, I would have really liked to have seen the original entry in the hope of finding another clue.
“In Matthew de Varie’s Dictionary of Demons, Malachriel is possibly misplaced under the section of Native American Demons, maybe due to the fact that he is described as having gained his power by killing a sibling like a Skinwalker or the Abenaki wolf.
“Malachriel is a destroyer-of-world demon, answering to archdemon Abaddon. He sometimes takes on the shape of a bird, often a raven.
“De Varie cites the Demonica Magica and refers to other, unspecified grimoires when he suggests that Malachriel uses women, often white witches, to incite incidents that change the course of fate in order to pave the way for an apocalypse.”
On the next page, there was a drawing that was supposed to show Malachriel. The drawing was of a man, his face in a shadow, with black-feathered wings.
My heart skipped a beat, and I forgot to breathe. It was obvious to me that this was not a raven. This was an angel with black wings.
That was it. Apparently, that was all the information on Malachriel there was.
Unfortunately, the pamphlet didn’t mention who had made the crude drawing, because I would have really liked to have known who had seen Malachriel in this form. Matthew de Varie? It was unclear.
I flipped open my iPad and typed in the name of the Dictionary of Demons author into Google. I was surprised to find that he had a Wikipedia entry. Dictionary of Demons was cited as one of his works, but most of the short article contained biographical information. I quickly scanned it, until I came across the word "native". I reread the passage, then I put the iPad aside and sat back, closing my eyes.
Mentally, I tried to connect the dots.
The only one who seemed to have known a little bit about Malachriel, even though he was cited as the least reliable source, was Matthew de Varie. The self-proclaimed demonologist had hailed from New Orleans and had never been regarded as a member of the “serious” scientific community of demon researchers in the racist South because he’d had a Creole father and a Native American mother.
Zachriel, my angel, looked Native American.
Malachriel, the demon, was featured in Native American lore because he had supposedly killed his sibling to gain his power.
Malachriel, the demon, looked like an angel with black wings. He was not of angelic nature but pretended to be.
Too many connections that nonetheless didn't form a coherent picture, and I still didn’t know how all that would help me to exorcise Malachriel and save Marie.
I turned the information over and over in my head until I drifted into an uneasy sleep.
12
The next morning on my day off, I hadn't miraculously found any answers in my dream-heavy slee
p. My thoughts kept looping around to Zack, though, and I was betting that he could answer some of my questions. I hadn't yet worked out how I could ask him what I wanted without admitting to having found information on the demon, but I would cross that road when I saw him again. He hadn't visited me for a while and hadn't exactly left a forwarding address.
I considered hanging around our bench by the river but decided to go ahead with my matchmaking plans. The quicker I could fulfill Mrs. Meyers’s wish for her mother, the more amenable Zack would be.
I ate a quick bowl of cereal before anyone else got up—Sunday was our official sleeping-in day—and jumped into the shower. Afterward, I styled my wet hair up into a loose bun. In this state, the dark blond looked golden. I always thought it was unfair that my hair only looked interesting when wet. But today, it wasn't vanity that made me not blow-dry it. I wanted to get out of the house as soon as possible, and it would dry quickly in the summer heat, anyway.
My first stop was my best friend Sarah Turner's house. I had been charged with picking up the Turners' mail and watering their plants while they were on vacation in Europe. I felt quite guilty when I walked in that morning and saw that most of the plants looked more than sorry. I had totally neglected my duties over the last few days because I had been hanging out at the senior citizen center so much. I quickly dosed the ferns and the orchids with a generous amount of water, hoping it would resuscitate them, then walked out the back door.
The garden looked splendid, and I noticed that they had an expensive sprinkler system set up. I quickly gathered a huge bunch of gorgeous red and orange flowers. I knew too little of plants to know what they were but added some yellow roses. I knew roses. I also knew that Sarah's mom had a gift-wrapping table set up in the garage, and I went there to use some ribbons and foil. I was pleased with the end result—the bouquet looked as though it had been bought at a flower shop. When I noticed what time it was, I got a little stressed out. The beautiful flowers would not be of much help if I missed Mrs. Mancini at Saint Joseph's.
Wish Upon a Fallen Star: Average Angel Page 7
