Brimstone (28 page)

When I arrived at school Brian was in the crowded courtyard, sitting at one of the tables. He stood when he saw me. “Hey!” I said. “You’re not using your cane.”

“I don’t really need it first thing in the morning.” His smile grew forced and I was sorry I’d mentioned it. “Are you all set for tonight?”

“Yeah. I think so.” As ready as I could be to face one of my worst nightmares. Not to mention an ancient Babylonian demon.

“I didn’t know what color your dress is, so I just got white flowers. Is that all right?”

I stared at him blankly. “Is there some secret code for flowers?”

“No. But Jess—I was told it was important that they match your dress.”

“Oh. My dress is blue, so that would be a trick.” I ducked automatically to avoid a football, lobbed across the courtyard. “But you didn’t have to get me—”

And then I saw his face. Yeah, he
did
have to get me flowers, because secret mission or not, he thought I was going as his date. Call me clueless—Lisa would—but I’d been thinking of my allies as individually wrapped Ding-Dongs, and he’d been thinking two-packs of Twinkies.

Boy, for a smart girl, I could be an idiot sometimes.

“I love flowers,” I assured him as the football flew by us in the other direction. I saw the big body hurtling after it, right before Brandon bumped heavily into Brian, knocking him over. I wrapped my arms around him, sort of propping us both up and doing nothing to dispel the Twinkie notion.

Brandon ran by us with a grin. “Sorry, crip. Maybe you should use your cane.”

It was getting harder and harder not to just give that guy up for demon chow.

Upstairs in my room that evening, I risked a peek in the mirror to see if I was remotely prom-worthy, and was pleasantly surprised to find I’d turned out passably well. I rather liked the dress. Hemmed to lower-calf, the indigo satin stood out in a full, Dior-esque bell. The tighter-than-it-ought-to-be bodice cinched my waist and gave me actual cleavage. Mom had found a deep rose shrug and a crocheted bag that matched. My shoes were pointy and uncomfortable, but looked great with the dress. Even my hair was cooperating. It lay in a smooth, seal-brown bob, and I’d pinned two blue sparkly clips on one side. Besides the matching earrings, my only other jewelry was Gran’s cross. Better safe, as they say.

My camera would explain my presence at the dance, since I’d been vocal about not going. If Old Smokey sensed a trap and stayed away, I didn’t know if we’d ever be able to anticipate it this well again. Assuming I was correct, which, as Lisa pointed out, wasn’t exactly a certainty.

It also gave me an excuse to carry my camera bag, which was packed with canisters of salt. I’d be well armed and prepared, but nothing really stopped the nervous churning in my stomach.

The doorbell rang. No more time to fret about my appearance, or the possibility of my imminent demise.

Justin stood in the living room, chatting with my mom
and dad. I froze on the stairs, a funny sort of stab in the middle of my gut. He looked amazing in black trousers and a white dinner jacket, with his hair brushed tidily back from the rugged lines of his face. He reminded me of Indiana Jones at the beginning of the (vastly inferior) second movie. Not so much in looks, but in the easy way he wore the formal clothes, and his crooked smile when he saw me.

Oof. Stabbity stab.

“Magpie, you look beautiful.” My father beamed. So did my mother. I blushed awkwardly, especially when Justin’s grin widened; he knew me well enough to read my discomfort.

Mom hugged me when I reached the bottom of the stairs. “I’m glad you decided to go. You see? I doesn’t kill you to act like a normal girl once in a while.”

Boy, I really hoped those weren’t famous last words.

“Take a picture, Michael,” she told my dad.

“Oh,” I rushed to correct any misunderstandings while Dad went to get his camera. “Justin isn’t … I mean, we’re not … I’m going …” I’d gone incoherent. I blamed the dinner jacket.

“Maggie is trying to say that we’re sort of a foursome.” Justin came to my verbal rescue. “We’re not really a couple.”

“So you can’t take a picture?” asked Mom. “You two look great together.”

Dad came back with the camera. “Put your arm around her, Justin.” He obliged, his hand warm against my waist. Let’s just pretend my sudden breathing trouble was due to the corset-like constriction of my dress, and leave it at that.
The shutter clicked, preserving my flustered expression for posterity.

The doorbell rang again. Did I imagine that Justin was slow to drop his arm? The cool spot his touch left behind was real enough. I avoided his eye, quipping poorly, “That’ll be the next member of the Scooby Gang.”

It turned out to be both of them. Brian looked spectacular in his tux, the tailored jacket smoothed across his broad shoulders, the formal black emphasizing his blue eyes and his wavy blond hair. Next to him stood Lisa, echoing her Goth heritage in a dark-green-and-black silk dress with a corset-type bodice and flowing sleeves. Her coppery brown hair was twisted up in a knot of trigonomic complexity and she looked beautiful, except for the icicles forming around her at having to share air with Brian.

It was a good thing we would have demon hunting to distract us, because otherwise it was going to be a very awkward night.

f
ortunately, I hadn’t gone to the prom to have a good time, because I definitely wasn’t. Nerves stretched tight as violin strings, I watched for Brandon, jumped at every shadow, and sniffed the air so often that Brian finally asked if his deodorant had stopped working.

“No,” groused Lisa, her elbows on the table. “Maggie’s brain has.”

The hotel staff had cleared away our plates of rubbery chicken, leaving the vaguely coral-and-seaweed-shaped centerpieces and a littering of fish-shaped foil confetti on the table. The theme of the evening?
Under the Sea
. One of
the many items on which I’d declined to exercise my voting rights. We’d entered the Marriott’s ballroom through a thick curtain of aqua crepe streamers, most of which were now on the floor. A painted paper mural covered the walls, full of sand, seaweed, cartoon fish, and even a diver getting eaten by a shark. Lovely.

“Where’s Brandon?” I had lost sight of him for the fourth time since the DJ started blasting “Louie Louie” so loudly that the silverware bounced on the tables.

“On the dance floor.” Brian nodded to the large parquet area laid out for our terpsichorean pleasure. Or, more accurately, for wiggling around like a trout on a line. At least that fit the evening’s theme.

Brandon and his second-string friends had arrived so late that I’d become certain I’d misread the signs, and Biff lay in an alley somewhere while the freed Shadow went to town. But Stanley towered over the crowd, looking a lot like Lurch from the
Addams Family
in his tux. I was betting heavily that he would want the satisfaction of seeing the big dog taken down.

The Jocks and Jessicas, version 2.0, arrived staggering drunk. Jess Minor hadn’t let any grass grow under her feet. With Jessica Prime exiled to the nut farm, she had latched onto the BMOC. Literally. His arm was probably the only thing keeping her upright.

“She looks like she thinks she’s won the big prize.” Brian wore a concerned knot of pity between his brows.

“The booby prize,” Lisa added, as Brandon and his new entourage wove through the crowd.

“Nah.” I watched Jess and Thespica giggling tipsily,
trying to stay upright on their high heels. “That’s what they give to the first girl to fall out of her dress.”

Justin choked back a laugh. Lisa had almost started to smile, too, then caught herself and went back to scowling.

Presently, we sat with our chairs turned toward the dance floor, wincing as the DJ turned on the mike with a squeal of feedback that made the whole room groan. “Amateur!” shouted someone over the last blast of music.

“Whooooooooo!” shouted DJ Cliché. “Hello, senior class of Avalon High School! Are you ready to paaaaaaaaarrrrrrty?”

“Geez,” I said. “Did this guy time warp out of
Animal House
? Why couldn’t we have a band?”

“I think the class voted on it,” said Brian, as Jessica Simpson started singing some song I hadn’t liked back when it was actually popular. That would teach me to neglect my role in the democratic system.

I craned my neck, searching the dance floor. The flashing lights and brain numbing volume made it impossible to keep track of anyone. “Do you see Brandon?”

Beside me, Lisa pressed her fists to her eyes. “Jeez, Maggie. Would you just chill? If you’re right, the … thing will show up. If you’re not, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

I glanced from Brian to Justin, who admitted, “She’s right.”

“Of course I’m right.” She dropped her hands to the table with a thud. “But this waiting is making me nuts. I need to take a break.”

She pushed her chair back and strode off before I could
stop her, even if I wanted to. Justin turned to me, bemused. “I thought you said she was pretty much unflappable.”

“She is. Normally.” I stared at her retreating back as she headed toward the door. “Should I go after her, do you think?”

Brian shook his head. “Let her go. It’s not like this is a normal situation, and trying to protect Brandon can’t sit well with her.”

I frowned. “She has a serious hate for all of you. Brandon especially. What’s that about?”

“I have no idea.” This was clearly a lie, but I didn’t have a chance to challenge him, because he glanced over my shoulder and said, “I see him. I think he’s headed to the john.”

Justin rose to his feet, looking resigned. “You get the next pit stop. There’s bound to be a few, from the way he’s staggering.”

When he was gone, I twisted in my chair to face Brian. “You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”

He returned my gaze soberly. “Last week I had two baseball scholarships to chose from. Now I’m walking with a cane because I have advanced MS.”

My fingers covered his on the table. “I’m so sorry, Brian.”

He turned over his hand so that he could grasp mine. “Geez, Maggie. I’m not dead, crumpled like a tin can in Jeff’s car. I owe you for that. So no, I don’t think you’re crazy.”

Sighing, I looked at the corsage around my wrist, white roses. Very classy. “I’m sorry for ruining your prom. I know this isn’t what you had in mind when you asked me.”

“Life is full of surprises.” He levered himself up with the
help of the table and then tugged on my hand. “Come on. Let’s dance.”

One bubblegum pop song finished and something else started, equally brainless and rhythmic. “You sure?” I conspicuously avoided looking at his cane.

“I can probably manage to stand in one place and swing my arms around.” He led the way toward the booming music and flashing lights.

I wondered if he’d been a good dancer when he was steady on his feet, and didn’t have to worry about his legs giving out under him. Because now … not so much. But when one of his baseball teammates noticed him out on the floor, and flashed a thumbs-up, Brian grinned gamely. Then the boys around him started a sort of synchronized head bob. Pretty soon there was a cluster of guys dancing like Brian: feet in one place, kind of bobbing to the beat while the girls gyrated around them. Mostly around Brian, actually.

Some people are popular because they’re the stars of the team, and some people are popular because they’re not afraid to dance like a complete dweeb.

Despite all the slinky girls around him, when the music ended he pulled unslinky me into a tight, laughing hug. It felt just as nice as you might imagine being squeezed against the chest of a butterfly-swimming, home run–hitting jock would be. Which is to say, very.

“Hey, Crip-patrick. Hard to keep you down, huh.” Brandon’s voice carried in the silence between songs. Brian loosened his grip on me, but not completely. I felt one arm heavy on my shoulders, and stayed pressed against his side so as he turned, he could lean on me.

“Hey, Brandon.” The kids around us swung their heads back and forth like tennis spectators. Behind the looming footballer I could see Justin, lifting his hands in an apology, though I didn’t see how he could have warned us.

“Jess told me you were here with the snitch. I couldn’t believe it until I saw for myself.” Biff’s eyes lingered on my constriction enhanced cleavage and I resisted the urge to tug at my dress. “That must be some secret talent you’ve got, Quinn.”

Like I needed a reminder of our last meeting. “Not everyone can get by on muscle alone, Brandon.”

Jess Minor wrapped both arms around her date’s meaty bicep. “It’s not like you can get by on looks,” she said, in a pointed sort of way. And I don’t mean the obviously insufficient support of her clingy pink bodice.

I smiled sweetly. “Nice outfit, Jess. Find a good sale?”

Her claws dug into Brandon’s black sleeve as she looked from me to Brian. “I’m not the one here with castoffs.”

Brian’s arm tightened around me. I had bruises from underestimating her once. Maybe I would have gotten more if one of the teacher chaperones hadn’t appeared before I could voice my next smartass retort.