Misfit (23 page)

“I guess she thought she was helping me,” says Jael.

“I almost told her the other night. But I just felt like . . . I don’t know. Like she couldn’t handle it. She’s already got so much of her own drama to deal with. I felt like adding my own to it just wasn’t right.” She picks a little bit of pulp off the husk on her plate. “This is so much worse, though. Maybe if I had told her before . . .” She stares at the shel of squash. “Wel , it’s too late now.”

“I think your instincts were right,” says her father. “Rob here may be an exception, but I think that most people wil react the way I warned you about. It’s simply too much for them.”

“Like Father Ralph, huh?” says Rob. “I always kind of thought he was a punk.”

“Yes,” says Jael’s father. “He wil be the one to watch.

He’s never real y bought into the more traditional aspects of the Church. This wil certainly change his views, but for better or for worse, we’l just have to see.”

“Dad,” says Jael. “Does that mean . . .”

“I think there wil be difficulties and risks wherever we go,”

he says. “You’ve shown me that you have the courage to face them. And I’m getting a little tired of running.”

“Oh, Dad!” She can’t help herself. For the first time since she was a little girl, she reaches out and hugs him.

“So what’s going to happen to the Mons?” asks Rob.

“Oh,” says a growling voice from Rob’s water glass.

“I’m hoping for an eternity of suffering.”

Rob stumbles back, tripping over his chair as two clawed hands emerge from the drinking glass. Dagon slowly pul s himself through the narrow opening limb-by-limb, squeezing out like scaly yel ow toothpaste until he’s leaning casual y against the table. He picks up Rob’s half-eaten sandwich and shoves it into his mouth. His shark teeth shred it to ribbons.

“Uncle D,” says Jael, “that was a total y unnecessary entrance.”

He grins, leans over, and wraps her in his ragged, flaking arms. “You did good today, kid. I’m just on a coffee break, so I can’t stay. But I wanted to tel you that.”

“Ohshitohshitohshit,” whispers Rob. “A real demon, ohshitohshitohshit . . .”

“I also wanted to meet this guy,” says Dagon. He hunches down so that he’s eye level with Rob. “Hey, bud, I’m Jael’s uncle.” He holds out a massive claw.

Rob’s face is pale and sweaty, but he shakes Dagon’s hand.

“See, there,” says Dagon. “Nice, firm handshake. Or it would be if you’d stop shaking. Look out for my niece, right?”

Rob nods spastical y.

“And if you hurt her, I’l hang your guts on a fence for the crows to eat.”

“Not cool, Uncle D,” says Jael.

“Just kidding,” he says. Then he smiles so that his teeth splay out in rows. “Sort of.” He stands up and looks around at them al with his shiny black eyes.

Then he sighs happily. “This is shaping up to be the most interesting thing I’ve been involved in since that whole Knights of the Round Table thing.”

Then he disappears again, leaving only the stench of rotting fish behind.

Jael wakes up to a slice of sunlight streaming through her blinds. The first clear sky in days. Probably the last glimpse of the sun for months. She’s learned that once the rainy season sets in, she has to cherish moments of light like this, soak them up like a camel storing water. She lies in bed with her eyes half closed and lets the sun warm her face for a little while before she gets out of bed and starts her day.

After she showers and dresses, she goes to the kitchen for some breakfast. When she opens the refrigerator door, she finds a platter ful of freshly cut fruit covered in plastic wrap. Apples, oranges, strawberries, cherries, mangos, apricots, peaches, kiwis, and bananas—a rainbow of juicy sweetness so perfect and ripe that she smel s it through the wrap.

She stands there with the fridge door open and considers it for a moment, trying to decide what it’s for and if her father wil notice a few pieces missing.

She hears footsteps behind her and turns.

“Good morning,” says her father. He doesn’t actual y smile.

That would have been too weird. But he nods to her pleasantly as he pul s out the milk from the fridge and makes himself a bowl of generic cereal.

“Hey,” says Jael. She watches him as he sits down and begins to eat his cereal. She can’t remember the last time he ate breakfast.

After a moment, he looks up at her and says, “Are you going to eat that breakfast or just look at it? You’re wasting electricity with that fridge door open.”

Jael looks at the platter. “This is for me?”

“Yes,” he says, and goes back to eating his cereal.

“Thanks,” she says.

“Sure,” he says.

She pul s out the platter and peels back the wrap. She inhales deeply, savoring the bouquet of sweetness and citrus.

They eat breakfast together for a little while in silence, then her father says, “You know, this generic cereal is pretty terrible.

It gets soggy so quickly.”

“Yes,” says Jael. “It does.”

As she leaves her house, Jael glimpses someone turning the corner out of view at the end of the block.

She gets a strange tingle of recognition. Tal , thin, with wild black hair . . . Jack.

She walks quickly down the sidewalk toward where she saw him turn. She’s not going to let this guy get the jump on her like the Mons did. As she walks, she flexes and clenches her hands, feeling them get hotter and hotter. Whoever he is, he was able to put her entire class, including Father Ralph, under his spel .

Wel , when she catches up to him, she’l show him he’s not the only one with a little magic.

“Jael!”

She spins around, and a bal of fire ignites in her fist, cocked and ready to throw.

“Holy shit!” says Rob, shielding his face. “It’s just me!”

She smothers the flame with her other hand. “Jesus, Rob.

Don’t sneak up on me.”

“I guess not,” says Rob. Then he grins. “That was pretty sweet how you did that, though.” He flaps his hand in the air.

“Foosh!”

“Yeah, uh-huh,” says Jael, glancing back in the direction that Jack went.

“So where were you going?” asks Rob. “School’s the other way.”

“I thought I saw . . .” Then she shakes her head. “Never mind. So what are you doing here?”

“Walking you to school, of course.”

Jael raises an eyebrow at him. “Do boyfriends stil do that?”

“This one does,” says Rob. “I’m not carrying your books, though.”

“Yeah, that would be a little sil y,” she says.

“Considering your super demon strength,” he says with a grin. “Hey, by the way, meeting your uncle was awesome.”

“Yeah,” says Jael. “He’s pretty cool, huh?”

“I had nightmares last night for the first time in, like, forever.”

“Oh God, sorry!”

“No,” he says, his eyes bright. “It was so incredible. It was like some crazy super intense horror movie. I mean, scary, sure.

But the best dreams I’ve ever had.”

“Okay . . . ,” says Jael. “If you say so.”

They walk together in silence for a little while.

“You’re worried,” he says final y.

“Ya think? Sure, I don’t have to deal with the Mons anymore.

But Belial could show up at any time, and there’s this other guy from the bookstore sneaking around.

Somehow I get the feeling they’re going to be a lot harder to deal with.”

“Maybe that Asmodeus guy was wrong,” says Rob.

“Or maybe he was messing with you.”

Jael shakes her head. “Not him. We’re . . .” She can’t quite find a way to articulate the familiarity she felt with that sad former halfbreed. “I just feel like we understand each other.”

“Oh,” says Rob, and nods kind of stiffly.

“Wait,” says Jael. “Are you, like, jealous of a telepathic goat?”

“What? No!” says Rob, and scoffs. Then after a moment, he shrugs. “Maybe just a little tiny bit.”

She reaches out and takes his hand. He looks at her, smiling sheepishly. She leans in a little and slips her arm through his.

It feels comfortable. She decides having a boyfriend is pretty awesome.

When they get to school, Father Aaron is standing as his usual post just inside the front door.

“Miss Thompson, Mr. McKinley,” he says. “Good morning.”

“Morning, Father,” says Rob.

“Uh, Rob,” says Jael. “Do you mind if I meet you in homeroom?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure,” says Rob. He awkwardly removes his arm from hers, and continues down the hal .

“Hey Father,” says Jael after a moment, “is Monsignor okay? I mean”

“He’s better than he deserves to be,” says Father Aaron.

“The bishop has asked that he retire, effective immediately.

We’re tel ing the students it’s due to health concerns.

He’l live out his remaining days safety cloistered away in a remote monastery. His classes wil be split between me, Father Ralph, and your father.”

“Who wil be my—”

“That hasn’t been determined yet. Everyone wil get his or her new teacher assignment by tomorrow.” He says it like he’s dismissing her.

But she stays.

“Was there something else, Miss Thompson?”

“Yeah,” says Jael. “Thanks for not . . . making assumptions about me.”

“Miss Thompson,” he says with the same glowering expression as always. “You are a student in my care.

Nothing more. And nothing less. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly, Father,” she says.

“Good. Now, go to class.”

The Mons’s sudden retirement is announced by Principal Oz over the PA system and there are a lot of rumors, but none of them have anything to do with the truth. Britt doesn’t show up, but Jael isn’t too surprised. She knows they’re going to have to talk eventual y, but Jael isn’t quite ready for that yet.

But other than an awkward glance exchanged with Father Ralph in the hal way, the whole day goes eerily wel . Jael can’t shake the feeling like she’s holding her breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. So it’s almost not even a surprise when she runs into Jack on her walk home from school. He’s just standing on the sidewalk, like he’s been waiting for her. He looks like when she first met him in the bookstore, a col ege student with long, wild black hair and sharp blue eyes.

“Nice to see you again, Jael,” he says cheerful y. His hands push back the sides of his old sports coat and he tucks them into a slick pair of distressed jeans.

“Hey, Jack,” she says. “What do you want?”

“Quite a job you did on that priest yesterday,” he says casual y, like they’re talking about the weather. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen an exorcism blow up in someone’s face like that. Had me in stitches for hours.”

Jael isn’t about to ask how he knows about the exorcism. “I didn’t think it was funny,” she says.

He shrugs dramatical y, his pale blues eyes sparkling.

“Wel , you’re young yet. You’l grow to appreciate things like that. I’d be the first one to admit, it’s an acquired taste.”

Jael feels like she’s past getting jerked around by people and she’s about to ask this asshole who or what he real y is when a sudden gust of wind comes up and blows his long hair back for a moment.

He’s missing an ear.

Belial.

“Shit,” she says, and tries to run. But he grabs her by the neck and jerks her into the air. She flails around and gasps for breath that barely comes. She tries to poke his eye or pul his hair or kick him in the bal s or anything to get him to let go, but he keeps her at arm’s length, just out of reach.

“Ah yes,” he says, patting the old wound in the side of his head with his free hand. “A parting gift from your mother.

Something to remember her by, I suppose.” His smile takes on a hard edge. “And believe me, I wil never forget. Or forgive.”

His smile curls al the way into a snarl, then he slowly presses his thumb into the soft skin under her jaw.

She gasps and makes a weird barking sound, like a seal. Her vision narrows and spots start to appear.

Consciousness begins to slip away.

Then he loosens his grip enough for her to breathe.

She gulps at the air greedily.

“Oh, I’m not going to kil you,” he says. “Not right now, anyway. If I had been able to find you when you were a baby, I would have gobbled you up without hesitation.

But now . . .”

He brings her face up close to his and she can see rows of sharp little teeth. His breath smel s like static electricity. “I’l tel you frankly, I was somewhat undecided how to handle you for a little while. But once I saw just how weak and ineffectual you are, how easy to manipulate, I thought, perhaps she can be of some use, in her own pathetic little way.”

“Do what you want to me,” says Jael in a hoarse voice. “I won’t help you with whatever scheme you’ve got planned.”

“Planned?” asks Belial. “No, no, my dear. The ‘plan’

already happened. It started several hundred years ago. This,”

he gestures around them, “is precisely what we wanted. War, poverty, disaster, et cetera. It’s al going like clockwork. Which makes it a bit dul , I’m afraid.”

He pinches her cheek. “And that is why I enjoy your antics so much. When one lives forever, a laugh now and then is very much appreciated. That delightful romp with the priest is only the beginning. I have such marvelous entertainments in store, my little clown freak.”

He tightens his grip again, and she gasps.

“Oh, to be sure,” he says, “I’l kil you eventual y. I must, you see. You are utterly repulsive. It’s only the heaps of pain and torment I plan to inflict on you that makes touching you even bearable. Halfbreeds are an abomination that don’t belong in Hel or Gaia.”

“I am al mortal and al demon. I have a right to both places.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” he says, giving her a winsome smile.

“Who told you that? Your uncle? Or perhaps your mother, right before I tore her to pieces.”

She takes a swing at his face, but he catches her wrist and holds her out at arm’s length again. His grip suddenly gets so cold it feels as if her wrist and neck are encased in ice. He seems larger now. As big as Dagon. His skin takes on a silvery sheen, and his features sharpen until they look like they were carved with a chisel. Everything about him becomes jagged and sharp, panes of broken glass and ice. His hair curls out to either side, like two thick, black horns.

“Ah yes, I can tel already I’ve made the right choice.

This wil be quite a lot of fun,” he says, his dry, crackling breath on her face. “You know what? I am going to do you a favor.

Give you a little clarity. So that when you hear these charming opinions from your family, you’l understand where they’re coming from.”

He pul s her close to his chest, pinning her arms to her sides.

He presses his crystal cheek against hers.

“This may be a little uncomfortable,” he says.

Ice spreads rapidly out from his body and encases her in a gleaming, jagged shel . She screams and strains against him one final time, then her scream is cut short as a layer of ice covers her face. There is nothing but darkness and pain. Sight, sound, and even thought are not possible. There is only the endless, raw scrape of ice on skin. She spends a moment or a year in the ice tomb. It doesn’t matter, because there is real y only one endless moment of hopeless, crushing agony.

At last the ice crumbles away. She sucks in ragged mouthfuls of dry, hot air, unable to see anything other than splotches of dark, flickering colors. Her body throbs with the echoes of pain from the ice. She hears snarls and cackling laughter and the sound of tearing meat, and she knows that she is somewhere else.

Belial drops her to the ground, which feels like rough stone.

She struggles to her hands and knees, straining through her blurry vision to make sense of this place.

As her eyes gradual y recover, she sees that they are in a vast hand-carved cavern of a hal . The only furniture is a rectangular table that stretches hundreds of feet long. An airplane-sized chandelier hangs above. It looks like the skeleton of a giant octopus, if an octopus had bones. Many different creatures crowd around the table. Some are squat and round, others impossibly thin. Most of them seem to be a mixture of animal and human. One tal , thin creature looks like a man with mule legs and a giant peacock tail. Another has three heads: one man, one bul , and one ram. Wasn’t that how Asmodeus described himself? But now he’s acting like he doesn’t recognize her. Not that she blames him. Then she sees two that she knows she’s seen before. Baal, the giant ox-like demon who tried to attack her when she was eight, and Amon, the wolf-headed demon with the snake tail that attacked her and her father when she was a baby in Haiti.

Al of the creatures drink from seashel s, gourds, or skul s.

They stuff chunks of dripping, quivering meat into their mouths.

None of them seems to notice Jael or Belial.

Amon slithers up from the bench onto the table itself.

“Where’s the bread!” he howls.

“Bread! Bread! Bread!” the others yel .

Jael sees movement from a smal doorway in one corner of the hal . Her uncle squeezes through, balancing a stack of platters in each hand. His scales are dry and cracked from the heat.