by R.K. Ryals
"Hold on."
In my head, I hear Conor's voice. It's supposed to get me through, supposed to help me survive this wild trip through the sea. I am dreaming. I am awake. I am lost.
"Emma?" a voice asks.
It isn't Conor. It is female. I recoil. I am in pain.
"Emma, it's okay. My name is Marion Durand. You are safe."
She has a sweet voice, this Marion, and I realize I am no longer cold. I am lying on something soft, and I am warm. A hand works its way into mine, and I cry out. It is immediately withdrawn.
"You are safe," Marion's voice repeats. "You are at the Acropolis. No one here will harm you."
The Acropolis. I know this name. I am at the school for hybrid Demons, but I don't know how I got here, and I am scared. My memory is fuzzy. There is a moonlit kitchen, a grotesque face. I am angry. I want to fight. I want to leave. I want to fly. Instead, I am drowning. I am underwater.
And then there is a god, a sea god. Conor. He is surrounded by water and beautiful. I wonder briefly if he is really as beautiful as my mind makes him. I whimper.
"Emma . . . Emma?" Marion calls. She attempts touching me again, and I manage not to fight her. "Open your eyes, Emma. You are safe."
She keeps repeating the word "safe". It has no affect on me, but I open my eyes anyway because I am too afraid to keep them closed. There is a girl standing over me.
I scream and pull away, my back going into a wrought iron headboard. There is pain, but it is welcome. It is real. There are blankets wrapped around me, and I am still in Conor's pajamas.
"Emma," the girl says again.
Her voice sounds strained but soothing. I think she is afraid of me. Her voice is familiar. Marion. She has a round face, rosy, with wavy brown hair that looks like it can't decide whether it wants to be curly or straight. She has pale skin, and her heightened flush confirms my suspicion. She is afraid of me, but she hides it well. It is her fear that helps calm me. We are afraid of each other.
"Where am I?" I whisper.
My voice is hoarse. My throat hurts. Marion smiles, her eyes still uncertain and reaches for a mug sitting on a small table next to the bed.
"The Acropolis," she repeats.
She has said this before, but this time I hear her. The room is real. It is small, warm. The walls are stone. There are two chairs opposite my low, iron bed. They are brown leather and sit in front of a massive stone fireplace. There is a fire crackling in the hearth.
Another girl sits before the flames. She is curled up in the chair. She has dark skin and even darker eyes. She is skinny, her face oval. I can't see her clothes because she is mostly hidden. Only her face peers out at me. Her expression is the only thing keeping me from being afraid. It is a mix of curiosity and amusement. Marion follows my gaze.
"This is Deidra," Marion says carefully.
I am immediately taken by the girl. She smiles, her teeth white and straight next to her skin. Her amusement makes me less afraid, distracts me because I wonder how anyone can find the current situation funny.
"You aren't what I expected," Deidra says, her small voice full of laughter.
"Deidra!" Marion exclaims, but I find myself smiling despite myself as the girl stands up slowly and moves toward the bed. She is small, maybe four foot ten inches at the most, and she is wearing the ugliest combination of clothes I have ever seen, brown leather pants with a fitted long sleeve red shirt mostly hidden by a pocketed brown leather vest. She has on dark brown combat boots with a gold chain around her neck accented by a faux ruby. She is watching me curiously, a strange glint in her eyes.
I am still curled up against the headboard. I'm not sure if it's because I'm afraid or because I am so confused. I feel like I am missing chunks of time. Deidra leans over the bed and studies me. She's maybe fourteen-years-old at the most and a cute little thing. She pauses abruptly and opens her eyes wide.
"BOO!"
It's so unexpected I jump. Deidra chuckles and places a hand over her stomach.
"Deidra Alexander!" Marion admonishes, but Deidra doesn't look the least bit guilty.
"They said she was afraid of everything. I was just testing her out."
I laugh only because being afraid of Deidra seems ridiculous as I push away from the headboard, tugging the tangled sheets down as Marion shakes her head and hands me a warm, black mug.
"It's tea with honey. You took in a lot of salt water. This will help your throat."
I nod gratefully while studying Deidra. Something about her fascinates me.
"What are you?" I ask her suddenly. I know without a doubt she isn't one of them. How I know this is beyond me, but she feels different.
Marion clears her throat in what sounds suspiciously like disapproval, but Deidra ignores her and hops onto the bed, jumping once before landing on her bottom in a cross-legged position. She grins.
"I'm like you," she says, leaning over to sniff my tea before scrunching her nose in disgust. "You know, a Demon," she adds with a shrug.
I stare at her, my eyes wide.
"A hybrid?" I ask.
Deidra nods and pulls a peppermint candy out of her vest pocket. She unwraps it and plunks it into my mug.
"That will taste so much better now," she says.
I don't even spare it a glance.
"Deidra, maybe we should give Emma some time," Marion begins, but I cut her off.
"You are weak."
I don't mean to say it, and I immediately regret the words when I see Deidra's face. It is crestfallen but full of acceptance. I am not myself. I am feeling and saying things I know I shouldn't, but I can't control it. Deidra looks up at me, the twinkle in her eyes diminished.
"I'm an imp. We aren't strong Demons. We're mostly known for being mischievous." She laughs bitterly. "I'm not good at making friends. I play too many pranks. Even when I try not to, I still find myself doing things I shouldn't."
Deidra looks so young just then. She's no more than a child really, and yet I understand her more than I do the gargoyles that have helped get me here. I don't know what an imp is, but I know what doing things I don't want to do feels like.
"You're still learning," Marion tells Deidra gently.
Deidra and I share a look. Sometimes it isn't about understanding; it's about being allowed to feel sorry for oneself, even if it's just for a moment. I feel compelled to touch the girl, and I place a hand over hers on the tangled sheets. Her eyes go wide, and she pulls away.
"Wow!" she says. Her eyes are suddenly full of excitement.
"Deidra . . ." Marion warns. Deidra isn't listening. She claps her hands.
"This is the reason I begged to be allowed to help Marion. Well, no one else actually volunteered, but I jumped for it!" Deidra says. I am confused.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
Deidra giggles.
"I'm a lesser Demon. Around here that pretty much guarantees you get your butt whooped often."
This sentence doesn't comfort me. I am puzzled, and I am tired. I have gone from a carton of mint ice cream with a six foot gargoyle to a horrible dream of drowning only to wake up faced with an imp. A hysterical imp.
"What does that have to do with me?" I ask carefully.
Deidra pauses.
"Seriously?" she asks."You don't know?"
I shake my head, and she laughs again.
"You, Emma Chase, are a bad ass. It's good to be your friend."
