The Infernal Sacrament (Guardians of Elysium Book 1)

by Nissa Leder

  What the … ?

  A shadow drifts behind him like a cape.

  I blink.

  Everything moves in slow motion.

  The crowd’s cheering echoes in the distance.

  My vision flickers and fades from color to darkness, blurry to sharp. I blink my eyes furiously until my vision sharpens, and I think it’s going to pass. But then the shadow behind Logan clears up, takes form, and …

  I’m not sure what the hell I’m seeing.

  I squint for a better view, but just when I’m taking it all in, my vision blurs again. The figure transforms back into shadow.

  My name. Someone’s yelling at me.

  My guts are wrenching and my head is pounding. But somehow, I lean back and launch the ball with everything I have. My ears fill with static. I watch the oblong shape for several seconds as it spirals perfectly skyward.

  Before I can brace myself, I’m jolted from the side with the force of a joint-rocking train. My feet fly over my head. The world blurs with the lights until I collide with the cold, wet ground.

  Muddy cleats dance around me.

  Voices swim through my mind.

  Coach McCabe’s face.

  Wet grass.

  Stadium lights.

  I try to fight unconsciousness, but I’m slipping away into a dark abyss filled with gnashing teeth, hissing whispers, and the smell of sulfur.

  2

  Human football.

  Kill me now.

  But since large crowds draw pesky lower demons, the Guardians want me on demon duty. Ironic, seeing as I’m one of them. Well, half-demon to be exact. My human half should feel at home with the loud crowd screaming over a bunch of high school guys throwing an oddly shaped ball to each other, but I’ve never understood the appeal.

  Right now, the crowd is silent, a welcoming change to the incessant screaming. I’ve been lingering near the concessions stand and didn’t see it, but apparently, the home team’s QB got sacked pretty hard.

  Since I don’t care much for the sport, I’ve spent my time people watching instead.

  Not everyone seems bothered by the injury timeout. Across from the concessions stand, a teenage girl with short, hot pink hair reaches her hand out to the guy she’s with and runs her finger over his bicep. She giggles and bites her lip. God, could she be any more obvious? The guy flexes his muscles as a deep red lust fills his aura. His eyes lower as he mumbles something about her looking hot tonight. How original, dude.

  The crowd roars into applause, which must mean the QB is up and walking off the field. Such a heroic endeavor to willingly spend his Friday night dressed in school colors and showered in the praise of all the fans. And then, gasp, to get cruelly pummeled by the opposing team’s defensive lineman. Not just a bruise to his ribs but his ego as well.

  I might not like the sport, but that doesn’t mean I’ve never watched it. Mom is a Seahawks fan, just as obsessed as all the other Seattle humans. As a toddler, I was shoved into blue-and-green outfits and posed with mini footballs so she could fully document my childhood. She never seemed fazed that I was half-demon and unlike her friends’ children, would someday develop powers that, if aware, most humans would fear.

  I should be closer to the field since it’s where all the people actually are, but my assignment didn’t specify where I needed to be at the game. It just said to go. I paid the five-dollar entry fee—with my own money, I might add—and crossed the line from parking lot to stadium, which qualifies as attending if you ask me.

  Hot-Pink Hair Girl leans into Bicep Boy and complains about being cold. At least my demon-hearing lets me eavesdrop. Makes this stupid assignment almost bearable. I watch them a while longer until Bicep lures Hot-Pink Hair around the bathroom corner. After a few seconds of listening to their make-out session, I focus my hearing back on the field before I vomit the disgusting, five-dollar hot dog I just ate.

  The game has started again, which means it’s that much closer to being over. Hallelujah.

  My cell dings in my pocket.

  The name Ruben appears with a text reading New job. Details coming soon.

  If he actually knew who my father was, he’d never dare give me orders. But I prefer to keep my bloodline private. I have no intention of claiming my spot in the demon ranks. I only take assignments from Demon HQ to keep me in the loop so I can pay off my agreement with the Guardians faster.

  That day can’t come soon enough.

  Earning some extra cash from Ruben’s boss for the hell of it is an added bonus.

  A blond girl passes in front of me, a hot cocoa cup clutched in her hands. Her teeth chatter as her blue-eyed gaze focuses on the ground, oblivious to all the noise around her. Clearly, she doesn’t want to be here right now.

  Her and me both.

  “Ava,” a guy yells from behind her. “Wait up.” Despite the low temperature and drizzling rain, he’s wearing no shirt. The number painted on his chest has smeared so much I can’t even tell what it’s supposed to be.

  He holds up a plastic cup, which from the stench is clearly vodka.

  Classy.

  The girl hesitates and eyes the restroom like she might make a break for it. With a sigh, she turns. “Hey, Pete.”

  He steps toward her, cup raised. “You look great tonight.”

  He isn’t wrong. With messy blond waves and glowing skin, she’s pretty. But the pain in her features is blatant. How is this guy so oblivious?

  “Thanks.” A forced half-smile forms on her light pink lips.

  “I heard about you and Darien.” He slurs his words. “His loss.”

  The girl—Ava—flinches as if slapped across the face. It’s apparent she doesn’t want to talk to this guy and is just too nice to tell him to buzz off.

  She swallows and says she needs to use the ladies’ room.

  He watches her walk away, lust bursting from him, before turning back to the game.

  I walk over to him and tap his shoulder with one finger, touching none of the greasy paint smeared all over his torso. When he glances at me, I lock onto his gaze.

  “You should leave Ava alone. Got it?”

  He nods, eyes unblinking.

  “Perfect.” Drunken people are the easiest to persuade.

  My command won’t last forever. Depending on the guy’s mental strength, it could last a day or a year. Looking at him, I’m guessing he’ll leave her alone for quite a while. Idiot.

  I meander over to the opposite side of the concessions, where the aroma of fresh popcorn mixes with the stench of garbage. Yet another delight of my night.

  As I peak around the corner, I see Ava heading back to the bleachers. Mr. Vodka is a good boy and pays her no attention as she passes him by.

  There. I’ve done my good deed for the night. Protecting a human from one of her own. The Guardians would be proud.

  Now, all there’s left to do is wait.

  The second the last buzzer sounds, I’m out of here.

  “Everything is going to be okay.”

  Pops?

  I hear his voice, but I can’t see him. I blink, but there’s no one. Only a blinding light.

  “Crain? Crain! Open your eyes, son.”

  A creative combination of expletives that can only be Coach McCabe swirls through my mind and draws me back to reality. The light fades and my coach’s red face blocks the stadium lights shining down on me. My helmet is gone, and Coach is looking down at me, yelling.

  The words run together and fade to the background as I take in the huge, dirt-caked pores of his face. A day’s worth of stubble stands erect against his skin, and I can see the individual fibers of his blue CHS hat. He’s talking to someone beside him.

  I turn my head.

  Dr. Tucker, the team physician and my best friend’s mom, is above me, her fingers probing my neck and head.

  “I thought we lost you there for a minute,” she is saying. “Darien, can you hear me?”

  I nod and twitch my fingers, clasping a fistful of w
et grass. I’m on the field.

  What happened?

  I got hit.

  And Logan was wrapped in a shadow. But the shadow had been more than a shadow.

  “Logan? Is Logan okay?”

  “Logan?” Coach says. “Of course, he’s okay, ya moron. You’re the one that took the hit.”

  Coach motions to someone I can’t see. Then, Logan appears in my line of vision, his freckles leaping out from his ruddy complexion like they aren’t a part of his skin. I squint, blinking.

  “How the holy hell did you launch that pass, Crain?” He’s smiling, and I can see the thin line of his corrected front tooth broken by a line drive to the face his freshman year. The dentist had bonded it. How the hell can I see that?

  “What happened out there anyway? Your knees buckled, and I thought you’d throw it away, but we took it right to the end zone. It was a thing of beauty.”

  “Later,” Dr. Tucker says. “Are you experiencing any pain? Can you get up, Darien?”

  I nod just before I feel hands under my arms and I’m being lifted up.

  The players are on the field, kneeling. The crowd erupts when I limp across the field toward the bench, assisted by Logan and Coach. I blink twice to orient myself, but my vision is still screwed up. Like everything is dull but sharp at the same time.

  Which makes no sense.

  I can see the color— but it’s muted, as if all the brightness been sucked out of the world— like my eyes are no longer capable of seeing the vivid hues. Gran and Tuck are leaning over the rail, watching me.

  I blink.

  Gran’s pale skin and her bright blue eyes have taken on a weird milky tint. Tuck’s brown skin is a strange tone of gray. The color is there, recognizable, but it’s like I take no pleasure in it anymore. Everything I see is just … bleak, overcast.

  Weird.

  As muted as the colors appear, my vision is that much better—like I’m opening my eyes for the first time to view things with a precision I’ve never had before. Like I’m some kind of predatory bird. All traces of the previous blurriness are gone, and I’m staring in shock at things I should never be able to see.

  The individual threads in Gran’s blue sweater.

  The tiny scar right above Tuck’s lip and the notches where his mother had stitched him up when he was seven years old.

  I’m caught somewhere between horrified and fascinated, but I manage to snap out of it. Tuck and Gran are eyeing me suspiciously, probably wondering if the heavy hit I took has knocked the wiring in my brain loose.

  My entire body starts to tremble as I blink again and again, waiting for my vision to correct itself. This has happened on and off for weeks, and it’s really starting to scare me. Every other time, it’s cleared right up. But not this time.

  Dr. Tucker leads me past the bench and bleachers and into the small alcove that connects to the locker room.

  She helps me onto the table and carefully begins removing my gear.

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  “You’re not fine,” Gran says.

  She marches through the door flanked by Tuck and begins assisting Dr. Tucker.

  “That was quite a hit, Mellie,” Gran says. “Does he need to go to the hospital?”

  “I don’t think so,” she says. “He never truly lost consciousness, and there’s no sign of contusion or swelling.” She presses her stethoscope to my chest. It’s cold against my skin. “Darien, you looked very disoriented on the field. Can you tell me what happened?”

  The sounds of the continuing game echo through the room. I roll my neck. Nothing broken. Nothing hurting. I’m fine. It’s just my freaky vision …

  Tuck is watching me from the doorway with crossed arms. I shrug.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “I just … ”

  I’m about to tell Gran about the shadow, but then, as I look into her face, weeks of grief etched into her skin, I bite back the words. She’s having a hard enough time without worrying about me, too. Plus, the playoffs are coming up, and if I’m tied up with medical exams, I can kiss my game time goodbye.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “I slipped on the grass, and my knee buckled. It hurt really bad, and it took me a second to recover. Then, I got hit. That’s all.”

  “Nothing else?” Dr. Tucker asks. “Blurred vision? Seeing stars? Nausea?”

  I shake my head as she continues her list.

  Outside, the crowd thunders and the band erupts into the school song. Tuck glances out the door. “Congratulations, hero,” he says. “Another win for the blue and gold.”

  I blow out a breath. I almost screwed up that last play.

  Something’s going on with me, but I don’t know what. Ever since Pops died, I’ve been having headaches and these weird black splotches in my vision. My dreams are always the same. A pair of dark brown eyes. A girl surrounded by light. And when I wake up, I swear I’ve really seen her, but I can’t remember where. For weeks, I’ve been ignoring it, hoping it’ll go away, but so far, no luck.

  “Keep an eye on him tonight,” Dr. Tucker is saying. “Marius can stay with you if you think it’s best.”

  “As long as Marius doesn’t mind,” Gran says. “He’s been staying with us a lot since Thomas passed.”

  Tuck nods. “No, worries, Gran. How ’bout it, D? You about ready to go?”

  I nod, and Gran continues her conversation with Dr. Tucker. But as they speak, their voices are accompanied by a strange hissing. The sound is low and breathy, thick, like the wheeze of a heavy smoker. I narrow my eyes in concentration, searching for the source of the other noise, my eyes scanning the block walls of the locker room.

  I hear it again, this time from the opposite direction.

  “What is that?” I ask.

  “What’s what?” Tuck asks.

  He lumbers toward me, his eyes following the direction of my stare.

  “Didn’t you hear that?”

  “Hear what, Darien?” Gran takes my hand, worried lines etched in the wrinkles of her skin.

  “I don’t know, it’s like a hissing or something.”

  “Probably just the radiator,” Tuck says. “This school could use some serious upgrades.”

  But then, I hear it again. Definitely not the radiator. I watch the expressions of my caregivers, but they don’t blink, they don’t move, and obviously, they don’t hear it. Dr. Tucker takes a light out of her pocket and asks again if my vision is blurry.

  I take a moment to look around again, while Dr. Tucker waits none too patiently for an answer. She has an old coffee stain on her white jacket, just barely visible now that it has been treated and washed. The soapy residue has settled over it in a dry, crusty film. Should I even be able to see that? But nothing is blurry, which is her main concern.

  “Actually, um … everything’s really … sharp,” I reply.

  She tries to disguise it, but I hear Gran’s sharp intake of breath. Tuck takes her hand. And Dr. Tucker is concentrating on not noticing the exchange.

  The hissing is growing more pronounced each time I hear it. I look up at Dr. Tucker when she doesn’t respond.

  And that’s when I see it.

  I lurch forward on the table. I scoot back, feeling nothing but air until I hit the ground hard and push myself backward. I reach the wall, still trying to scoot, still trying to get away from it.

  “D, what the hell?” Tuck blurts.

  Behind Dr. Tucker, clinging to her like a leech, is … some kind of … creature—and somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember the figure that attached itself to Logan. This must be what I saw.

  It’s different up close.

  The creature is tall and skinny, and though it has long reptilian arms, it somehow manages to coil around Dr. Tucker, though it isn’t actually touching her. With sharp claws, it’s digging, as if trying to penetrate some unseen barrier between it and my best friend’s mother.

  Its face, which peeks out over Dr. Tucker’s shoulder, is like nothing I’ve ever seen before, not ev
en in horror movies. Its bones are sharp and jagged, its skin is scaly and slick, and its face is all bony angles with deep hollowed out holes, endlessly dark pits where its eyes should be.

  It turns its head in my direction as if it can see. It opens its mouth, revealing several rows of razor-sharp teeth that are dripping with thick, yellow saliva. The creature is solid and strong, but it blurs at its edges with thick, putrid smoke that expands from its skin. Just when I’m certain I’m losing my mind, it releases a low, guttural hiss, moving its mouth as though it’s speaking, only I can’t make out any words.

  I’ve never known this type of fear in my life.

  I can’t move, I can’t speak, and I can’t breathe. I can only stare in sheer terror at the creature and tremble with a shock that’s so overwhelming, my entire body feels numb and tingly.

  And I’m itching.

  Why are my palms itching?

  I absently scrape my nonexistent fingernails across my palms.

  “Darien?” Dr. Tucker moves forward, reaching out her hand to me, to help me up. Tuck and Gran follow. But the instant Tuck touches his mother’s shoulder, the creature disappears. A tendril of black smoke lingers behind.

  They’re looking at me like I’m insane. Maybe I am.

  “Darien, what’s wrong?” Gran asks. “What is it you see?”

  But I’m shaking my head. “Nothing.”

  I blink back to the room and take Dr. Tucker’s hand. “Nothing. I think I just want to go home.”

  “Okay, well, I want you to go straight home,” Dr. Tucker says. “Marius will drive you. And I want you to drink plenty of water and rest. No parties, no late-night texting, no gaming marathons.” She gives Tuck a pointed look. “Understood?”

  Tuck and I both nod.

  “Lillian, I’d like to speak to you outside a moment.”

  Gran nods and follows Dr. Tucker out the door, leaving me alone in the locker room with Tuck. I take a deep breath. My vision is still screwed up, but the hissing I thought I heard and the creature I thought I saw are both gone. With any luck, they’ll stay that way.