The Demon's Deadline (Demon's Assistant Book 1) (9 page)

She starts to hug me and stops and then gives me a pained look. Then she heads back down the hill toward the coffee shop and her car. I sit and replay the conversation, wondering how insane it sounded. I have no idea what she thinks I’m mixed up in—I’d bet money the drugs theory is still high on her list—but clearly telling her the truth was a mistake.

I fight back tears as I walk toward my apartment. People always say the truth will set you free, but they don’t mention the part about how much that freedom might cost. In this case, it might have cost me my best friend.

The black envelope sits in the center of my bed on my faded purple bedspread. I watch it like it might suddenly speak or grow legs and do a dance. Or at least explain why Azmos made my deal at all. Why was he there when the car crashed? Why did he save me of all the people who probably died that day? Why am I, as he put it, an “exception,” and an exception to what?

After hours of debating whether or not I should make the first move or let him do it, I text Cam a short apology. It’s already six o’clock, so no doubt Mel is at her tea party, and Cam is probably on his way to Amy’s sister’s booze-filled bash. It’s probably a good thing my dad is home and watching television in the living room. If I were alone, I might be tempted to steal one of his beers.

Thinking hurts. The gaping chasm in my stomach throbs like a physical wound.

The dreary, violin-backed music I play on my iPod swirls around me. I turn off the overhead light so my room is illuminated only by the white and red Christmas lights I’ve hung up near the ceiling. At least I can set the mood for my misery. I sit against my headboard and stare at the envelope some more.

The singer on my stereo belts a lyric about being left alone. I check my phone. There’s nothing from Cam or Melissa or anyone else. I toss it aside and pull my knees up to my chest.

Cam has every right to be mad, which only makes me feel worse. I let him think I was still in danger when the danger had passed. Why didn’t I just tell him? Because I didn’t want to say it and make it real. I didn’t even want to believe it. And I really didn’t think I could take seeing his elation in the face of my misery about the whole thing. But it’s more than that.

I stare at my name in swirly, silver letters on the black envelope. It wasn’t merely shock and disbelief that kept me from wanting to move on; it was fear. I’m scared of being nothing. Of being unimportant and left behind. Of having no purpose. If nothing else, working for Azmos gave me meaning. And it gave me a place outside the normal rat race, which I never had any aptitude for anyway. I was a square peg who finally found somewhere I fit.

I liked having a secret identity, a secret purpose. I could fail my math test and know that, even though I wasn’t cut out for Mathletes, I could be somebody.

There were times the job was a hassle, sure, but it connected me to a world most people will never know exists. Azmos may have annoyed me when he had a job for me at a bad time, but if I’m honest, I never wanted him to stop showing up completely.

I remember why Xanan came to the coffee shop in the first place: Azmos is missing. Not just from my life, but entirely. The thought scares me more than Cam being mad at me or Mel thinking I’ve completely lost my marbles. How does a demon disappear?

Maybe he wanted to, I tell myself. Maybe
he
’
s
moved on. Maybe that’s why I was fired, and whatever he said about having issues with contractees isn’t really important.

Not for the first time, I look up demons and demonic deals on my laptop, but all I get are hits for fictional television shows, legends about crossroad demons, and a lot of stuff about
Faust
. Dad calls me for dinner. I close the computer and try to act like I’m not falling apart.

For a girl whose life has literally revolved around demons, I am not prepared for the hell that is school on Monday. Against my better judgment, I sent Cam four more texts on Sunday. I know it’s a no-no to keep bombarding him with text messages when he’s not replying, but it was like I couldn’t stop myself from hitting “send.” He’s never ignored me for this long and I don’t know how to handle it.

Ironically, no force on the planet could make me text Mel, even though I should have, if only to assure her I was sitting in my room doing homework and reading comic books, not strung out on whatever drug she thinks I’m using.

Cam is my usual ride to school, except on Wednesdays when he as a Zero Period tutoring appointment—he’s the tutor—and it doesn’t even occur to me to make other plans until seven o’clock in the morning. Dad is sound asleep and I have no cash to pay a cab, so I end up walking. It’s not a hard walk, but if I wanted to make it before first bell at seven-ten, I needed to leave earlier.

By the time I get there, check into the tardy office, and get my tardy slip, first period is nearly over. Instead of walking in at the end of the class, I hide in the girl’s bathroom until the bell rings. I’m about to leave the stall when the bathroom door swings open and I hear Amy’s familiar Southern voice saying how great the weekend was. I hesitate.

“Your sister knows how to throw a party,” someone says. It takes a moment, but I realize it’s Katrina Rogers, my t-shirt twin at Cam’s party.

“I think that’s all she learned at college,” Amy says. I hear the telltale sounds of lipstick checks and hair mussing.

“Do you think this shade of peach works for me?” Katrina asks.

“Definitely, sweetie.”

I’m about to come out, make nice, and run off to class, when Katrina says, “I hope Cam’s okay.” I freeze. My heart starts to race.

“I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just a little lover’s spat,” Amy says.

“It didn’t sound little.”

“No,” Amy agrees, but at least she has the decency to sound sad about it. “But give him a little time. He’s been with her for like… ever. If it’s really over, he’ll need to re-adjust.”

My heart leaps into my throat. Give him time until what? She jumps him in an alley with concert tickets and bats her eyelashes until he takes her on a date? Katrina and I have never really been friends, and her crush on Cam is no big secret, but the fact that she’s apparently been biding her time, waiting for us to have a fight so she could pounce, makes me feel sick.

Katrina makes a dismissive noise, a
pfft
. “You’re so sweet, Amy.”

They make their way out of the bathroom, and I’m glad I’m near a toilet because I’m pretty sure I’m going to puke.

It didn
’
t sound little.

What did Cam tell them? I can’t even think about it, because the possibilities make me feel nauseated. I splash water on my face, goth-liner be damned.

Third period is Spanish, and when I walk in, Cam’s sitting in his usual seat, next to my usual seat, for which there is a seating chart and no escape. He’s laughing with Donnie, who sits on his other side. I slide into my desk. “Morning,” I say and manage to keep my voice from shaking.

“Morning,” Cam parrots my greeting, but he doesn’t look at me. He becomes very interested in his Spanish notebook, pretending to check his work. I know he’s pretending, because Cameron Walters does not come to class before double-checking his work.

It feels weird not to talk to him in Spanish class, as it’s how we met. I decided to take my foreign language starting in sophomore year, but due to other class obligations, Cam didn’t start until his junior year, so we were both in Spanish 101 together. We started dating around the holidays last year, almost a whole year ago. It feels like a lifetime. The demon showed up about two months later, and without Cam at my side, I’m not sure how I’d have handled it. Now that the demon is gone, and I might have lost Cam, I don’t know who I am anymore, if I ever did at all.

Melissa arrives and sits on my other side. I look at her hopefully.

“Good morning,” she says pleasantly, but I know the tone. It’s the “my Gothic Lolita philosophy means I cannot be rude” tone.

“Morning,” I say again.

I spend all of class trying to stare straight ahead, painfully aware of the enemies on either side of me. I keep seeing Cam’s messy blond hair in my periphery. It falls over his glasses when he leans over to read, and he swipes it back up with his palm. I start plotting to catch him after class. We have lunch right after this, and maybe if I can get him to speak to me for three minutes, we can fix things. But when the bell rings, he’s off like a shot and out the door before I get my notebook put away. Melissa lingers, which gives me hope, until I realize she has a question for Señor Steinberg. I wait anyway, but she walks out, pretending not to notice.

“Did you need something, Señorita Sorrentino?” Señor Steinberg asks.

“More coffee,” I joke, and I leave.

I wander across the street to the burger joint and have a basket of fries and a giant cola for lunch. The rest of the day goes quickly enough.

I realize again that I have no ride home, so I walk through the parking lot. I see Cam’s Toyota pulling out of its space and then my heart drops out of my chest and into my stomach because Katrina is in the passenger seat. I duck behind a tree until they’re gone.

It’s nothing, I tell myself. She probably lives near him or she asked for a ride. No big deal. Cam has trouble refusing anyone a favor without a really good reason. And, I remind myself, Cam would never cheat at anything… and definitely not on me. But then, I don’t know if I’m still his girlfriend. I mean, if he won’t even look at me, how can we still be a couple?

Katrina’s conversation with Amy replays in my mind several times until I think I’m going to be sick again.

I try to think of anything else. I wish Azmos would pop out from behind a building with an errand. At least then I’d have something to do.

I don’t think the day can get any worse, so when I walk in and hear my dad crying, I’m pretty sure the universe is messing with me. He’s in the living room, and when I start to ask if he’s okay, he shakes his head.

I go to the sofa and sit next to him. I hug him and then I start crying, too.

It takes him a few minutes to get the words out, but he doesn’t need to speak them aloud. I know Nonna has passed away.

Dad brings his laptop to the table as we eat delivery Chinese food, so he can work out plane tickets. Given how everything at school is miserable and my two best friends hate my guts, I try to talk him into letting me go with him the next day, just to escape the current hell that is my social life, but he says it’s not a good idea. He and Aunt Mary have a lot of things to take care of and the date of the funeral will have to be delayed. Scheduling depends on how soon family, like Nonna’s younger brother, Anthony, can fly in from Italy.

It’s my own fault. All of my arguments against missing school come back to haunt me. But, also, I suspect Dad wants some alone time in Nonna’s house. Aunt Mary lives across town in Palmdale, so Dad can stay at Nonna’s place by himself and wallow in memories.

“How’s Aunt Mary?” I ask.

Dad shakes his head. “They were so close, you know? It’s going to be hard for her.”

Dad and Nonna were pretty close, too, even though we lived so far away. He pecks away at his computer keys and shovels rice into his mouth.

Images from my mom’s funeral come to mind, unbidden and unwanted. The gleaming wood of the coffin, the way the church smelled like bleach and perfume and it gave me a terrible headache. It was a closed casket service. I wore Mary Janes that were too tight and tried to focus on the pain in my feet, rather than the pain in my heart.

I am not looking forward to another funeral.

“I’m really sorry, Dad,” I say. He looks up, brow furrowed, and meets my eyes. I have my mother’s blue eyes. Dad’s are dark hazel, shifting from green to brown, and they glisten with the ghost of tears.

“I know you are, kiddo,” he says. He grabs my hand and squeezes. “I know you’ll miss her.”

I notice he’s avoiding talking about himself and decide not to push. The worst thing you can do for someone who’s grieving is to grill them about how they’re feeling if they don’t want to share.