Flames blazed within the circle, and a parchment appeared within the demon’s hand.
“What’s that?”
“A contract, of course, caveats included.”
“My word isn’t good enough?”
The demon chuckled. “Is mine?”
Fair point. “Fine, hand it over.”
Smoke formed as the parchment touched the circle.
“What’s wrong?”
“In order for us to finalise our agreement, it seems you’ll have to let me out.”
Marguerite drew the engraved candle to her chest. “No tricks, Kal — ”
The demon’s eyes narrowed. “Uh-ah, my sweet. What did I say about speaking my name aloud, hmm?”
Chills raced down her spine. She swallowed. “Sorry. But like I said, no tricks. All I have to do it snuff out this flame, and you go right back to where you came from.”
“True,” he folded his arms over his chest. “But if you do, then you will need to wait another year before you can summon me again.”
Just do it. Blow out the candle and forget all this. He’s not worth it. Marguerite gazed at the infants at her feet.
“Step back.” When he obliged, she broke the circle. Marguerite held her ground as he moved towards her.
“Here you go?”
She carried it to the table and scrolled through the details.
“While I commend you on wanting to read the fine print, you’re running out of time.”
Her eyes flew to him. “What are you talking about?”
He pointed to the clock. “There are approximately forty-seven minutes left until your hour is up, and I have three complicated spells to cast. Wouldn’t want me to disappear because time ran out now, would you?”
Marguerite bit the inside of her cheek. Son-of-a — Her eyes skimmed the rest of the document. “Hand me a pen.”
One appeared, and the demon handed it to her.
“Shit.” The pen fell from Marguerite’s fingers, and a drop of blood landed on the parchment. She sucked her injured finger. “Your damn pen bit me.”
“Well of course it did. How else were you supposed to draw blood to sign it?’ He grabbed the pen. “My turn.” The pen drew blood and it landed next to hers. “There all done.” He folded the parchment and tucked it in his pocket. “Shall we begin?”
Holy shit… there’s no going back now. What the hell have I done?
Marguerite straightened her spine. “What do you need me to do?”
The demon stroked his chin. “Right, I need you to gather your sons in your arms, whilst I put Prince Charming over here.” He set the middle basket on the table.
Marguerite hesitated. In order to hold both her sons, she’d need to let go of the candle.
“Relax. Given the possible outcome, I find myself rather keen to instigate this curse.” He caressed her cheek with his finger. “If I were to leave now, I’d surrender any chance you might be mine someday.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “O-okay.” Marguerite released the candle and gathered her sons.
A sparkle lit the demon’s eyes. “Let’s begin.”
Marguerite lost all sense of time as her thoughts clouded. The urge to sleep called, but she fought it off lest she lost her grip on her sons. A thousand tiny needles pricked her skin from head to toe, while her heart pounded in her ears, and blocked the sound of her sons’ discomfort. Tears slipped down her cheeks. How had she ever imagined magic would be gentle? Mummy, is so sorry.
And then everything stopped. The wails of her children subsided to whimpers, and the urge to peel off her skin eased. She blinked several times before the room focused.
“Did — ” Marguerite licked her dry lips. “Did it work?”
“See for yourself.”
Tremors rippled through her body. One. Two. Three. Marguerite lowered her gaze to her sons.
The demon reached for them, as her arms jerked at the two strangers in her lap. “Whoa, steady now. Don’t go breaking the poor kids. They’ve been through enough for one evening, don’t you think?”
Marguerite stared wide-eyed, as her sons snuggled against him, grateful for comfort after their ordeal. The golden-haired cherubs in his arms stole her breath. Are those really my boys?
Together, their tiny eyes opened and stared at her. The smiles that normally greeted her, were absent as they regarded her with caution.
“What’s wrong? Why are they looking at me like that?”
Hands full, the demon thrust his chin at the mirror over the fireplace. “Take a look.”
Eyes fixed on the hearth, Marguerite crossed the room and stood before the mirror. Her knees shook so hard, she reached out and grasped the mantle. Pale white hands caught the breath in her chest. Those are my hands. Her eyes lifted and she gasped. Holy shit, it worked. Milky white porcelain skin, and eyes of a bluey-green, like the ocean, stared back at her. Golden tresses tumbled around her shoulders. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it wasn’t me. Now she understood; her babies didn’t recognise her.
Pain, like a knife to the chest, stabbed her as her sons withdrew when she approached. They have no idea who I am. Yet another consequence you failed to consider. Marguerite drew a breath. Calm yourself. It’s a minor hiccup. The boys are young, they’ll remember you, give them time.
A tiny cry averted her attention. Curious, Marguerite peered into the basket but jerked back a moment later. “What happened?”
The demon bounced the babies on his hips. “Exactly what you asked for a three-for-one special. You each shared a portion of his essence, while he copped all of yours. What did you think that meant?”
Where their skin had once resembled caramel, his now appeared more like chocolate. His once ocean blue eyes, now pale, and translucent.
“What happened to his eyes? Why aren’t they brown?”
He handed her one of her sons. How will I ever recall who was who?
“Basic genetics. Blue is a recessive eye colour. I guess that’s why it allowed me to bleed it dry and wasn’t receptive to yours as a replacement.”
“That wasn’t the deal, K — demon. You said the transformations would be perfect.”
“And they are.”
“No, they’re not.” She flung her hand at the basket. “Look at him.”
“Marguerite, the deal was for three perfect transformations, and I delivered that, did I not?”
“I — ” Fuck. She’d messed up. Now what?
The plan had been to return the baby to his father. For him to suffer, for how he treated me. He’d carry the burden of an imperfect child in his perfect world. No way he’d recognise his son like that. If she returned the child now, he’d likely kill his own kid.
If the child dies, what does it mean for the contract? When she’d agreed to the caveats, she’d assumed her lover would be so embarrassed by his son’s appearance, he’d lock him away somewhere, never to see the light of day. The possibility of true love’s kiss: zilch. But if he were to die, then the caveats were still fulfilled.
Bile rose in Marguerite’s throat. Can I do it? Can I return the child to his father knowing full well there’s a good chance his father would have him killed? Her eyes drifted from the freak to her own sons. All the dreams she wished for them played through her mind, everything the Right Side of the Tracks could offer them. Everything their father wants to deny them. Marguerite steeled her heart. Yes, I can do this. Besides, her lover deserved a lesson in humility. How he chose to treat his son, was on him.
The tightness in her chest eased as her other son reached for her. Marguerite settled in a chair and took a moment to marvel at their transformation. She’d always considered her sons beautiful, yet the world refused to see them the same way. Nothing stood between them and all her dreams for them.
“Happy, my sweet?”
&n
bsp; “More than I thought possible. My sons and I will finally have the respect, the life we deserve.”
“Speaking of.” He thumbed towards the basket on the table. “What do you plan to do with him?”
“Return him to his father of course.”
“How do you think he’ll react?”
Marguerite bounced her boys. “Not well. I anticipated the embarrassment would force him to lock his son out of sight, that over time he might overcome his prejudices, but now…”
“And you can live with that?”
She shrugged. “If he’s so blind he fails to recognise his own son, that’s not my concern.”
“Actually, my sweet, it is.”
Dread cracked Marguerite’s walls of resolve. “What are you talking about?”
“The fine print, my sweet. You should always read the fine print.”
“What did you do?”
The demon laced his fingers behind him. “Tell me, did you not consider the price of your wish?”
“Price?”
“Yes. You’ve stolen your lover’s son, and that poor, innocent mite over there, you’ve stolen his looks, his destiny, and if you return him to his father, most probably his life, all because his father’s a dick.”
The contents of her stomach soured.
“But you, my sweet, you and your sons are just going to wander off into the sunset and live your new and improved life. How is that fair?”
“Fair? He used me and tossed us aside like yesterday’s garbage.”
“Aye, and if your revenge only involved him, I’d have no quarrel. I might be a demon, but that doesn’t mean I am without a sense of right and wrong.” He bent until his face met Marguerite’s. “You stepped over the line, my sweet. You’ve condemned the poor mite to a far worse fate than any your sons would have faced without the transformation. So, a price must be paid, and the mite deserves a sporting chance at breaking the curse.”
Marguerite couldn’t move. No matter what he said next, she was screwed.
“There’s one final caveat: what happens to one, happens to all.”
“I — I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple. If one is hungry, then all are hungry, no matter how much food lies on the table. If one is cold, then all are cold. If one dies…”
“You can’t do that.”
“Sure, I can.”
“But his father — he’ll kill him.”
A smile played on the demon’s lips. “Yes, I can see how that might be a bit of a problem.”
“This isn’t funny. What am I supposed to do?”
“Gee, if only there was some way you could keep an eye on him twenty-four-seven. To keep him close and ensure his well-being.”
Marguerite’s milky white complexion turned green. “You can’t be serious? He’s a monster.”
“A monster of your own making, my sweet. And, isn’t it a tad hypocritical for you to judge your lover for denying your sons based on their looks, yet here you are, doing the exact same thing? Isn’t that what got you into this mess in the first place?”
The trap slammed shut on her stupidity.
The demon kissed the top of her head. “My dear sweet, Marguerite. I cannot wait to see how this all plays out.” Before she realised his intent, he’d swiped the candle from the table, dug the single hair from deep within the wax, and burned it in the flame. “And now, I have a party to return to, but I shall see you soon, my sweet. Such a treat to see you again.” With a burst of orange smoke, he disappeared.
The clock chimed.
Marguerite rose and placed her sons back in their baskets. The sight of her reflection caught her off-guard, but she swallowed her startled cry. She crossed to the mirror. Was it worth it?
The softness left her new, blue eyes, as they harden with resolve. Absolutely.
The demon had tricked her, but she’d show him. No one betrayed her and got away with it. Marguerite returned to the table and gazed upon the cursed child. A fine layer of hair already covered much of his infant body, as it did all of those from the Wrong Side of the Tracks. “Given you now carry three times the disposition for it to grow, you’re going to be quite the little beast, aren’t you?” She lifted the basket from the table and set it beside the hearth. “I might have to keep you warm, fed, and healthy, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Get used to it kid.”
Chapter 1
Ten
High above the ground, nestled amongst the branches of a tree, Adam watched the party unfold from afar. Every year, on this particular night, as far back as he could remember — which wasn’t all that far given he was only ten — a grand party took place on The Tracks. Halloween, they called it. At sundown, families emerged from their homes, dressed in costumes that covered their bodies and faces. Most of the time, he couldn’t tell who-was-who. For hours, they’d roam from house to house, and call ‘trick or treat’, and people opened their doors to offer them all manner of treats. Later, they’d gather on The Tracks, around a great, big fire, and share their spoils and tell scary tales.
Adam’s mouth watered at the delicious, sweet aromas. He’d never had any kind of treat before, though there were times, he swore the taste lay on his tongue. What I wouldn’t give to taste one for real. Even just once.
“Will you be joining us this year?”
Adam grasped for a branch to steady himself. From the ground, a figure stared into his exact hiding place. He shuffled out of sight.
“I’ve seen you more often than you know. You need not be afraid of me.”
You are a monster, a beast, you hear me? This is why you must hide. Hide and never show your face. Because anyone who sees you, will fear you, and people often harm and kill, that which they fear. Do you understand?
Rita spoke those words to him at the age of three, the day she’d locked him inside the walled garden.
Frightened and alone, he’d cried for hours. As he’d sat and cried on the basement floor, late on that first day, a white rat had crept across the cement floor and nibbled at his uneaten meal. Adam had opened his mouth to scream when the rat turned and looked at him with its ruby coloured eyes. Unlike Rita, it never averted its eyes from his. Instead, it pushed the plate of food towards him, then sat and watched. His stomach growled, and Adam reached for the plate. The rat stared as he ate; watched and waited. Soon, only a small piece of bread remained. His small fingers tore the bread in two and offered one to the rat and ate the other morsel.
When the food was gone, the rat shuffled closer. It sniffed Adam’s foot, then scrambled onto his leg and into his lap. Adam stroked the rat with his fat, hairy fingers, and after a while, it climbed onto his shoulder and rubbed its face against his cheek. That had been the first time anyone, or anything, had touched him, comforted him. In that moment they’d bonded. Gus, as Adam had named the rat, was the only one he’d talked to in seven years. He’d hidden in the shadows of the tree and spied on life outside the garden, but never had it spied back. Until now.
“You know, it’s considered polite to answer when someone speaks to you. Adam.”
“Adam, is that my name?”
“You don’t know?”
The young boy dipped his chin and shook his head.
“Well, once upon a time, a great and powerful being created a man and gave him a beautiful garden to live within. That man’s name was Adam. Seems fitting, don’t you think?”
He tested the name on his tongue. “Adam.”
“Come closer, young one. I don’t bite.”
Adam ran his tongue over his pointed teeth. No, but I might. He climbed lower but remained in the shadows.
“Ah, there you are. So, will you be joining us for Halloween? I hear the treats are particularly tasty this year.”
Adam lifted his head and sniffed the air. It did smell sweeter than usual. “Thank you
, but I can’t.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Can’t. I’ve nothing to wear.”
“Oh, that’s easily fixed.” The stranger tossed a bundle to him. “Consider it a birthday gift.”
Adam unwrapped it and found a long, black hooded cloak, and a wolf mask. The style would cover his face completely and the cloak contained several large pockets to stow his treats.
“What do you think?”
“It’s great, but there’s no way out of here. The walls are ten feet high. I’d probably break a leg if I jumped, and how would I get back in?”
The stranger tilted his head. “Why would you want to?”
Because nowhere else is safe. “It’s my home.” Adam folded the bundle. “Thank you, but I’m happy watching from here.”
“Wait.” The stranger lifted his hand then scanned the area. He wandered a short distance then placed his hands on the wall and muttered under his breath.
The shape of a door glowed on the bricks. The light faded, but the door remained. Adam gaped and almost lost his grip as it opened and the stranger stepped through.
“Ta-da.”
“How did you do that?”
“Well, if you come down from there I’ll tell you, but only if you promise to keep it a secret.”
Adam climbed from the tree and edged closer. He flinched as the stranger reached to push his long, unkempt hair from his face.
“You are right to hide from others, but you need not hide from me, young Adam. Unlike many others in this world, I see beyond the surface, to who you are beneath.” He cupped Adam’s face with his hand. “Perhaps in time, others shall come to see you as I do, and you will no longer need to hide.”
Tears pricked Adam’s eyes. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can, and because you deserve a chance to experience life beyond these walls. And as for my name, you may call me Hal.”
Adam peeked through the door. The Tracks lay a short distance away. On the other side, trick or treaters filled the streets. People, real live people. If he stepped through he’d be amongst them, no longer hidden. What if — he dropped his chin. “I’m afraid.”
Tricks or Treats: An Anthology for Charity Page 18
