by Jenn Bennett
“Well, I found out that the description of the talons was wrong. Remember how I told you that it had two sets of arms?”
“Yes, and long talons on all of them.”
“Turns out the talons might be glass.”
“Glass?” He raised his floppy hat and scrunched up his face at me.
“Or a glasslike substance.”
“That’s a new one for me, dear. I’ve never come across anything like that before in my studies.”
Rats. He finished working on the flowering shrub, then moved up a couple of steps to water three hanging baskets on his porch. They were in a precarious position, and he was having trouble reaching them. “Here, let me do it,” I offered, setting my purse down. He relented and perched on the steps while I watered. I began telling him how one of the talons might be missing.
“Extracted like a tooth, supposedly. What Lon and I have been puzzling over is why. I mean, if the demon was just injured, then the talon would be broken, right? It seems like if someone or something pulled it out from the root, then they might have wanted it for some reason.”
What I refrained from saying was that Lon and I really couldn’t figure out why someone would remove the talon and use it to kill when they could just command the demon to kill for them. The good Father hadn’t yet asked exactly why I needed to find the albino demon, so it was probably best that I omit any gory details regarding murder.
He thought about my question while he removed his hat and fanned it to cool his face. “I’ve never heard of a demon talon being a sought-after object. Still, it does remind me of the old fairy tales in children’s books. Have you ever heard of Struwwelpeter? It’s a famous German children’s book.”
“No. What’s it about?”
“It’s a group of nasty stories with descriptive pictures meant to frighten children into behaving. Kids who play with matches burn and die, kids who suck their thumbs get them cut off by a wicked tailor.”
“Yikes.”
“It was a Victorian-era book, and there were several copy-cat versions that followed once it gained popularity. One of those had several stories about demons. I had a rare copy of it as a child—it was my grandfather’s. I’ve told you my mother’s family was German.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right.” I finished watering the last of the hanging baskets and began winding up the hose to put it away.
“Anyway, the book was written in German, so I couldn’t read it, but the pictures were very descriptive. In one of the stories, a wicked witch gets angry at a girl who goes traipsing through her flowers on her way home from school every day. So the witch summons a demon to attack a little girl in her bed every night, biting off one finger before he disappears. On the fifth night, she only has her thumb remaining on her left hand. To stop the demon from taking it, she cuts off one of his horns and hides it in the woods. The next night, the demon doesn’t come, because he can only be summoned by the person possessing the horn.”
I turned the squeaky faucet handle to shut off the water, then sat down next to Father Carrow on the steps.
“Do you think that could be true? That my demon can’t be summoned, even if we find the name and classification, because we need the talon to complete the summoning?”
“I really don’t know, but it’s an interesting notion, don’t you think? Fairy tales sometimes contain small gems of truth, no matter how outlandish they might seem. Remember that children’s book about the Lost Colony of Roanoke that was published in the early 1900s? It said that all the colonists who disappeared were really elves who moved west along with the Indians.”
I gathered up my purse and car keys. “Pretty crazy that something as silly as a kids’ book would be so on the nose.”
“Exactly. If people only knew that it was really Earthbound demons and not elves …”
“Or that some of their next-door neighbors were really Earthbounds and not humans,” I added with a wink. “By the way, speaking of demonic neighbors, Mrs. Marsh was asking about you yesterday. Let me know and I’ll hook you guys up … I’m just sayin’.”
He patted my shoulder. “My dear, if the good Lord has helped me to resist temptation this long, I assure you that your Mrs. Marsh would not be the thing to send me over the edge.”
15
I knocked on Lon’s door at five till nine, still contemplating Father Carrow’s fairy tale; it worried me.
“Hi,” Lon said upon opening the door.
“Hello yourself. Is my date ready?”
“He’s getting his jacket. It’s supposed to get cooler tonight.”
“You’re awfully spiffed up.” Not really, but he was wearing a short-sleeved button-up shirt that wasn’t covered in stains. Nice jeans, chunky silver belt buckle. His wavy brown hair was neatly tucked behind his ears, and a couple of seconds after I noted all this, the front of his neck darkened. Then I observed that he was blocking the doorway.
When he didn’t answer, I glanced behind me toward the gravel driveway. There were two cars parked, one of them being the black truck he’d used to haul the hematite powder over to my house. The other was a small blue sports car, but I just figured it was his. I had no idea how many cars he owned. But now …
“I’m sorry,” I said, stepping back a foot. I was pretty certain I was out of his empathic range. “I didn’t realize you had company.”
“Tell her I’m coming, Dad! I can’t find my jacket.” Jupe’s voice carried like the west wind from the upstairs balcony inside the house. When Lon turned to answer him, I caught a glimpse behind him into the house. At the far end of the living room was a tall blond woman wearing a curvy, dark green sleeveless dress and heels. She was holding a wineglass and looking at a picture on the wall. Lon noticed that I’d seen her and moved to block the door again.
“Oh.” I took one more step back. Our eyes met, and I knew immediately that he knew I was trying to get out of range. I didn’t care, as long as I got there. “Gosh, Lon,” I said. “A little free time on your hands, and you’ve already got a model lined up, huh?”
“She’s not a model.” His voice was deliberately hushed, almost a whisper.
I shrugged. “Long legs, pretty face. Might as well be.”
“She’s a photography rep.”
“Regardless, I’ll try to keep Jupe out as long as I can to give you guys time to … whatever.” I tugged my purse higher up on my arm and crossed my arms over my chest as I gave him a sugary smile.
Stupid, stupid girl. There I was thinking that just maybe, possibly, he might have been showing a spark of interest on the phone the day before, but I was obviously wrong. Though I was accustomed to being the rejector, not the rejectee, I reprimanded myself for even entertaining the notion that any silly attraction I had for him might be mutual. Like Jupe had told me, Lon probably didn’t think of me that way. Too young.
“I’m not dating anyone. It’s not a date,” Lon argued in a low voice. By now, the redness in his neck had darkened and was creeping upward in splotches. Wasn’t a date, my ass.
“None of my business.” I spoke as nonchalantly as I could manage, keeping my eyes low as Jupe ducked under his father’s arm and burst through the door.
“I’m ready!” he announced gleefully. “Let’s go so we can hit the snack bar before the movie starts—come on!” He grabbed my hand to tug me across the graveled driveway.
“Enjoy yourself,” I said to Lon before succumbing to Jupe’s pull and turning away. It wasn’t until we were halfway down the cliff that I realized I’d completely forgotten to tell Lon about Father Carrow’s theory.
I was still stewing about Lon’s date when Jupe and I found a parking space at the drive-in a few minutes before the movie was supposed to start; we’d already made a quick trip to the concession stand and had loaded up with popcorn, Cokes, and three kinds of candy. Revenge is sweet, right? Well, I was going to have the damn kid bouncing off the walls with a stomachache when I took him back home later.
Jupe showed me how everyon
e else had backed into the parking spaces with their trunks facing the screen so that they could sit outside the car with the radio tuned to a station that played the soundtrack to the movie. A few people had even set up portable lawn chairs and small hibachis. Since we didn’t have chairs, we popped the back door to the rental and stowed the rear seats in the floorboard to make some room, then sat in the back with our feet dangling against the bumper.
“So, who was that chick your dad was seeing tonight?” I asked, unable to stop myself from prying.
“Huh? Who knows. Someone from work. I tried to check her out but she was kinda snotty and talked down to me.”
“I bet he has a ton of women from work come over.” I hoped he wasn’t realizing what I was doing.
“Not really. He says models are nothing but trouble and that he’d never date another one again. Crap, I almost spilled my Coke. That was close.”
Best not to keep prying. The kid was smarter than I thought. “So … do all the other people in your class like these old movies?” I asked, not really knowing what kids his age were into these days.
“Are you kidding? Me and my friend Jack are the only people with taste. Everyone else is into those dumb Hollywood action flicks they play at the newer cineplex down in the Village. They only show those kind of movies here on the weekends. All the good stuff like this is during the week.”
“Is Jack your best friend or something?” I settled the popcorn between us and scooped up a handful.
Jupe shrugged. “I guess. Jack’s Japanese. The rest of the kids in my class are either white, black, or Latino. Jack and me are the only ones that don’t fit in.”
“Jack and I.”
“Whatever, Jack and I—God, you sound like my dad.”
“Why does it matter what race the other kids are?”
Jupe tore into the popcorn, spilling more than he grabbed. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re white.”
“So? My oldest friend is Chinese and she’s demon. My coworkers and friends are all different races and cultures. Nobody cares anymore.”
“Maybe it’s different in Morella,” Jupe said in a preachy voice, “but in my town, once you get to junior high, everything changes. People that used to be friends … well, they just aren’t anymore. Everyone’s got their own groups, and I don’t fit into any of them.”
“Because of your race?”
He shrugged. “When I figure it out, I’ll let you know. It’s not like they hate me or anything. It’s just, well, it’s easier for Jack and me to understand each other because we’re both different. He’s the only Asian kid in my class. Most of the Asian kids in La Sirena go to private school. Jack and I have been friends forever—like two years. He taught me all about Toho movies.”
“Huh?”
“Toho. They made the Godzilla pictures—please tell me you know about Godzilla,” he said in an impatient voice that told me if I didn’t say yes, I was the most uncool person on the planet.
“Godzilla’s some kind of flying squirrel, right?”
“What?” His jaw flapped open.
“Joking! I know who Godzilla is.”
“Whoa,” he said, crunching a mouthful of popcorn. “Foa secon there ithaw I—”
“Wait until you finish eating. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
He tried to laugh, but popcorn stuck in his throat and he choked instead. I patted his back to help him out. “Okay there, kid?”
Finally getting the food down the right tube, he said, “I haven’t had popcorn in forever. My dad never lets me get it because I always eat it too fast.”
“Oops.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell him you bought it for me. Or the candy. I’m not allowed to have sugar, like, ever. Only on special occasions.” His big, green eyes glittered with restrained humor.
“Double oops.”
He reconsidered with a mischievous grin. “Actually, if you maybe want to take me to another movie next week, I’ll be extra careful not to accidentally let any of it slip out.”
“Well, Jupiter, movie or no movie next week, I’ll be sure not to tell him that you said ‘fuck’ back at the concession stand in front of the cashier,” I countered.
He laughed and held out a buttery hand for me to shake. “You win, deal. Oh, the movie’s starting. Can I turn up the radio now?”
While Jupe gave me a running commentary, which included telling me everything before it happened, we ate all the popcorn and half the candy during the first half of the movie. I let him have the rest of my Coke after he slurped down all of his. When the creature got captured, we booed at the screen, along with all the other moviegoers parked on our row. Then I got a text message from Lon; we texted back and forth a couple of times.
From Lon, 10:12 PM: IS J BEHAVING?
ALL IS WELL. HOWS YR DATE?
From Lon, 10:14 PM: GONE. NOT A DATE.
BOOTY CALL. WHATEV.
From Lon, 10:14 PM: SHES A COWORKER, NOT A HO.
I snorted a soft laugh after that one. Jupe tried to see what I was typing, but I held the phone out of his reach and thrust the rest of the box of Raisinets in his hand. Eat up, my soon-to-be-diabetic friend.
HO OR NO, NONE OF MY BEESWAX.
From Lon, 10:15 PM: REALLY NOT A DATE. SERIOUSLY.
NEITHER IS MINE. GUESS WE’RE EVEN.
I didn’t get a response to that, but at least my jealousy had calmed. He may not have been attracted to me, but at least he cared what I thought about his extracurricular activities. I interpreted that to mean that he had a certain amount of respect for me. Even so, I figured that I better reel in my feelings—and fast—or I was just going to get hurt, and I didn’t have time for that.
A few minutes later, during the climax of the movie, a small flaw appeared on the film, obscuring the face of the creature. “Crap!” Jupe said. “This blows. How did a pink spot get on a black-and-white print? This is the best part of the whole stupid—”
We both yelped. The film wasn’t pink; the air in front of the car was. Jupe scooted backward into the SUV, kicking the empty popcorn tub onto the pavement. “Holy shit!” he whispered in fright, just as I realized what it was.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, putting my hand on his feet. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s nothing bad. Just my servitor.”
He looked at me with crazy eyes. “Your what-a-tor?”
“My servitor.” I quickly dug around my coat pocket and retrieved the clay doll that anchored the spell. “It’s not an imp or anything.” I held the doll in my open palm and we watched as the tiny pink figure bobbed and floated through the air, then slowly filtered into the doll while the spell was absorbed back into its anchor; within seconds it had completely disappeared.
“What’s a servitor? Is it a fairy?” Jupe looked from me to the doll in amazement.
“There are no such things as fairies. I created it, with Heka.”
“Does it have a name?”
“No.”
“But it’s good, not bad?”
“It’s not good or bad. It’s just an energy spell. I need to do another spell to retrieve some information from it. You wanna scoot up to the bumper and watch the rest of the movie? I’ll just do the spell inside the car so no one can see me.”
“No way, I’ve seen this movie a thousand times. Will the pink fairy thing come back out when you do your spell? I want to watch. Can I? Please?”
“I thought you said you’d ‘die’ if you couldn’t see this movie.”
He gave me a sheepish grin.
“Are you even allowed to see magick without your dad’s permission? Or am I going to get in trouble for that too?”
“I don’t think there’s a rule about that,” he said, cutting his eyes to the side. What a punk.
I debated for a second, wondering if I should let him watch or not. My deflector charm was still around my neck; the wards on the rental car were intact. It wasn’t a dangerous
spell. I reached down to grab the popcorn bucket off the ground and shut the back door.
“There’s not much to see,” I said. “It just dumps images into my mind. You can watch, though, if you stay quiet. Reach over the front seat and grab my purse, will ya? Turn the radio down while you’re at it.”
For on-the-go magick, I always carry a small notebook to jot written spell components. I also used to carry a sigil cheat-sheet until I forgot my purse in a restaurant a few years ago; I got the purse returned to me intact, but it made me realize that if it had fallen into the wrong hands, it might cause all sorts of problems.
Scribbling a squared circle on a sheet of notebook paper, I began to draw the symbols inside it that would trigger the information upload from my servitor. Jupe questioned my every stroke, and I explained as best I could until I lost my patience. “Zip it, kid, or I’m going to put you outside.”
“Zipped! Keep going, I’ll be quiet—I swear!”
I had a sneaking feeling it wasn’t the first time he’d been told to shut up.
When I finished my drawing, I warned him one last time to be quiet—no matter what—and made him watch from the front seat. With intent, I spit on the sigil, charging it as Jupe whispered, “Gross.” The retrieval spell was now ready to be used, so I loosely grasped the head of the clay doll and smashed it against the charged paper sigil. It cracked in several pieces, releasing both the servitor’s energy and the information it had collected.
The images it showed me weren’t happening in real time, but they were most likely gathered within the last few minutes; once the servitor located its objective, it returned pretty fast. They rushed into my head and began flipping slideshow-style. A bedroom—no, hotel room. A girl sat on the bed. Riley Cooper, I presumed. Early twenties? Long black hair, dark eyes. Petite.
She was dressed like she was headed to fetish night at some goth club: skintight black leather pants, purple vinyl top that was cut low to show off cleavage and high to show midriff. That, and the sides of a really bad tramp-stamp tattoo with batwings and paw prints that circled around from her lower back to her sides. Leather boots laced up the front with ridiculous heels, big silver hoop earrings. Lots of dark makeup and matching black nail polish. A pair of handcuffs sat on the bed beside her, along with a handgun and a large grimoire.
