Demons at Deadnight (2011) Read online

  “Both? Yeah.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Los Angeles but—”

  “Up from the big city.” He cut me off, eager for the next question. “What brought you to Gossamer Falls?”

  “Ah.” My gut twisted. My hands mirrored the movement. I shoved them in my pockets and fabricated a smile. I half turned, now desperate to be elsewhere. “I should—”

  “How many kids in your family?”

  Tristan gave his friend a questioning look, but Mr. Exotic waved him off.

  “Five.” I felt like he’d started a game of twenty-questions without telling me. Why was I playing?

  “Are you the oldest?”

  I narrowed a look. “Yes.”

  “I’m guessing sixteen? Seventeen?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Junior?”

  “Yeah. I think I’d better—”

  “So are we.” He slapped Tristan on the back. “We’ll probably have some classes together. Won’t that be great?”

  Tristan nodded a tight smile. He didn’t look like he thought it was great.

  “What do your parents do? Do they travel a lot?’

  My brow wrinkled. “No, they don’t.” I was tired of the interrogation. “Do yours?”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Do your parents travel a lot? Are they still married? How many in your family? How old are you? What classes do you have? Boxers or briefs? What’s your GPA? Do you always go around knocking strange girls off their feet and then hammering them with a barrage of personal questions?” I finished with a cocky smirk.

  Tristan hid a grin behind his fist. Mr. Exotic leveled me a steady stare, a sly smile gaining momentum. “Do you always end up straddling the guys who do?”

  Tristan choked. My smile froze. Crap.

  “And as for the boxers or briefs.” One hand went to his belt buckle. “I’d be happy to…”

  Double crap. I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder toward my house. “I’ve gotta go.”

  “No, wait.” He was laughing now. At my expense. “Just one more thing.”

  I gave Mr. Exotic an expectant look, but while he bobbed his head toward me, he spoke to Tristan.

  “Take care of it,” he said. “She had a bad run in.”

  My neighbor lit up with interest. “With the—?”

  “Yeah.” The guy twirled a long, slender finger around his temple. “So, you’d better—”

  “Got it,” Tristan nodded.

  “What are you guys talking—” Something smacked the back of my skull. Hard. My hand flew to my head and I whirled around to find—nothing. Right when I was trying to decipher what invisible force was playing hockey with my skull, a fresh wave of pain crashed through my brain. Knees buckled. I went down, a roar filling my ears.

  A hand grabbed my shoulder. My head jerked up and took another whack. At least this one I understood. Tristan reeled back from my unintentional headbutt.

  “Sorry.” I rubbed my head.

  He waved off the apology, but his wide purple eyes watered from the blow.

  Purple? I looked again. No, blue with a ring of violet around the irises. As I watched, the violet faded to lavender then only deep ocean-blue orbs held a worried expression. Too many knocks to the noggin must have given me a concussion because, unless these guys wore some funky contacts, eyes just don’t change color.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Tristan reached a hand. Even with his slender frame he easily helped me to my feet. “You okay?”

  The throbbing dissipated. I massaged the back of my scalp, surprised to find no lump, and nodded, still clueless as to what had transpired but ready to be rid of these two.

  “Rora!” Luna screeched from the doorway of our house. My fourteen-year-old sister wasn’t known for subtle. For once I was grateful.

  “Gotta go. See you guys later.” I walked backward and pointed at Mr. Exotic. “Keep your head up. I’d like to avoid another train wreck.”

  The two boys shared a startled look.

  “Wait, you—” Tristan began but stopped when Mr. Exotic raised a quick hand.

  “Dinner’s ready!” Luna gestured an impatient arm.

  I waved goodbye over my shoulder, glad to be away. What an odd pair.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Luna sniffed as I came into the house. “You seriously stink. Who were you talking to?”

  “The neighbors. Tristan and…” I realized the insolent hottie had never introduced himself.

  “Are they cute?”

  I smiled. “Smokin’.”

  My sister Selena launched herself into my arms, almost knocking me over. My theme for the evening.

  “School tomorrow!” the five-year-old squealed. “Yay!”

  “It’ll be fun.” I tickled her side to erupt giggles and cover my lack of conviction. New school, middle of the year, and demons trying to kill me? Forecast didn’t look sunny.

  I squeezed through unpacked boxes in the dining room and settled Selena into her booster seat. She sang her latest made-up melody about “schools that have snools.” Already in his high-chair, one-year-old Oron had one fist stuffed in his mouth and the other banging his tray. Luna and her twin, Lucian, started a back-and-forth rising crescendo of “Am not,” and “Are to,” after Luna called Lucian a “perv.”

  Some folks call it chaos. In our house? Welcome to dinner.

  “Lucian!” Mom barked as she set out her famous shepherd’s pie, plying us with our Irish heritage comfort food before our first day at the new school. “Enough boob talk.”

  I raised eyebrows at my hormonal brother.

  “Mom claims,” Lucian said with a dubious look, “she doesn’t mind Dad seeing other ladies’ boobs. It isn’t like the city. This town is small. He’ll know them. The ladies—not the boobs.”

  Selena sing-songed new lyrics. “Daddy sees boobs that look like snoobs…”

  Dad jumped in with his standard lecture about surgeons concerned with saving lives not ogling women’s “private parts,” and Mom changed the subject.

  “Aurora, have you met any old friends from before?”

  I grabbed bread for dipping. “Mom, I was eight when we moved from here. Do you remember anyone?”

  Mom shook her head, shoveling mashed potatoes into Oron’s mouth. “No. Clyde?”

  “Nope.” Dad paused with the fork halfway to his mouth. “Although, didn’t Aurora’s teachers call her Snow White?”

  Selena chimed, “Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it’s off to work we go.”

  “That’s right.” Mom paused a spoonful on its way to Oron who lost patience and plowed his hand into the spuds. Most of the mush made it into his mouth. “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs because she and those boys were always hanging out at school.”

  “You had seven boyfriends?” Luna asked, impressed.

  “No,” Mom said. “Not seven, just four or five. And they weren’t boyfriends, just friends. Aurora was a tomboy. She didn’t hang out with girls.”

  “Should’ve stuck with that plan,” Lucian muttered.

  A loud silence punched into the room. Mom, Dad, and Luna looked at Lucian like a landmine just clicked under his foot.

  Here we go. Even now, mention of “the incident,” the reason we moved out of the big bad city, brought tension. I rubbed my shoulder feeling the rough scars underneath. Demons weren’t the only freaks that tried to kill me, just the most recent. In truth, they didn’t scare me as much as humans. At least hell’s natives were upfront about wanting me dead.

  After Mom’s icy look and an elbow from Luna, Lucian apologized. Dad pulled my hand off my shoulder and held it tight, something he’d done a lot while I’d recovered in the hospital.

  I looked around the table. “I’m okay.” I knew the damage still bloodying my psyche would take time to recover, but I’d sworn I wouldn’t be some pathetic tortured soul just because a bunch of loser friends had gone whacko on me. I smiled at Dad. “Someone once told me that just because you’re beat-up…” br />
  “Doesn’t mean you’re beaten,” Dad finished his favorite motto. “Wise man. I’m sure he’s devastatingly handsome too.” He ignored our snorts of laughter.

  Luna said, “So about those seven boyfriends,” and we moved on.

  Mom shook her head. “They weren’t—oh, forget it. Do you remember them, Aurora?”

  “Kind of.” I mined through the catacombs of my memory. Images flashed. “Did someone have horses?”

  “Yes!” Mom nodded. “On a farm. You went riding a couple of times when the class went out on field trips. And there were twins. I remember because I had twins too and, oh, jeez, their mother was gorgeous. Hawaiian or something. Remember, honey?” Dad cleverly claimed ignorance on the hottie mom. “All of their parents kept to themselves, but so did we. I’ll bet at least some of them are still around. Want me to find out? You guys could hang out.”

  “Mom, they could be mutant zombie serial killers by now,” Lucian warned.

  “Enough with the mutant zombies. No more video games for you.”

  “Fine. Can I talk about boobs?”

  I hadn’t told my family about my demonic detecting skills. They’re far too normal to understand, and I’m afraid I’d end up in the hospital again. Only this one would have padded walls. But today’s encounter had upped the ante in a game I wasn’t sure how to play. I needed answers and a plan before I earned myself and everyone I loved a one-way ticket to dead.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Did Mom just drop us off at Dracula’s summer castle?” Luna asked.

  The twins and I gawked at the grand building of endless stone and glass where the kids milling around looked out of place.

  Awestruck, Lucian said, “This has got to be the coolest high school ever.”

  He had a point.

  Spires reached up several stories, with multiple turrets, towers, archways, and columns created from a dizzying palette of grey and tan rock. Glittering windows stood tall and thin like some giant beast had raked its claws down through the stone. One massive circular stained glass window hung above the entrance, like some all-seeing eye passing judgment on those who entered. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had blinked.

  The building stretched out in all directions, framed by rolling acres of well-tended lawn that held the surrounding dense forest at bay. The landscape boasted colorful patches of flowers, finely pruned hedges, meandering walkways, and streams that connected ponds with tall reeds around the edges and ducks or swans floating on the surface.

  Meticulously trimmed trees hovered over wrought iron benches, and centered in the front courtyard, a circular stone fountain sprayed at least twenty feet high. Threads of leftover morning fog weaved throughout, searching for cover from the rising sun. Out of the silence, Luna giggled and we all struggled to contain ourselves.

  Dressed like a Goth princess, my little sister fit right in. I’d kept my couture low-key, except for a few unusual additions. After yesterday’s encounter, I’d rummaged through boxes of my anti-demon accessories and found some stuff I’d first acquired when the demon thing began and I, well, freaked out.

  So it was running shoes and jeans plus a few extras. Several iron chains with tiny bells adorned the jeans, a “talismans of the world” charm bracelet dangled from my wrist, a large intricately carved Celtic cross—a gift from Grandma—hung on a sturdy chain around my neck, and gargoyles scare demons, hence the grotesque monster decorating my shirt.

  Captured in a ponytail, my dark red hair fell in thick soda-can-size curls down my back. A few stray locks spiraled down from my temples since I could never fully tame the entire mass. The fiery red highlights shone a bit too conspicuous for my tastes, but Dad’s gene pool had thrown them my way without consultation.

  I’d also inherited fair, freckle-less skin and Mom’s eyes, “the dark dangerous blue of an angry Irish Sea,” according to Grandma. She fancied herself a poet. My hair and height—well above girl average and all leg—made blending in difficult, but I tried.

  So far we’d drawn little attention. Mom dropped us within the massive wrought-iron gates after doling out lunch money which I promptly tucked in my bra—because while on the run, things may often fall out of your pockets, but never your bra. After hugs and kisses, she disappeared down a side road to Selena’s elementary school, separate but within the gated compound, and we meandered with the high school crowd up the gravel drive, neat pebbles crunching underfoot.

  I looked up, hands shading my eyes. On one of the higher turrets a herd of honest to goodness gargoyles stood guard. I touched the similar image on my T-shirt, and then it hit me. I did a lot of rubber-necking to be sure before my jaw officially dropped.

  Demons are more common than people think—for the people who even believe demons exist. Most often I’ve observed the relatively harmless creatures scuttling around people’s daily lives. But high school students are especially attractive to hellions who love to manipulate that lethal combination of angst, uncertainty, and need to fit in. But here—and I quadruple checked—no demons. Not one. Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zilch.

  Very peculiar.

  Close to my face, a backpack cut through my vision. I grabbed it and shoved it back at Lucian. “Jerk,” I growled then bit my lip. No demons was a good thing, right? Especially after yesterday’s fiasco. But were they hiding? Gathered somewhere plotting, lurking, ready to pounce? Only one way to find out. Our trio of newcomers headed up the steps, me still glancing around in disbelief.

  ***

  A lot of the building wasn’t used by the students, but I still had trouble navigating the endless hallways. Classes were the usual and the students normal even if the building wasn’t standard issue. Some said, “Hi,” others ignored me, and a few turned their heads if I glanced their way. No friends but no enemies either. And no demons. On edge, my sweaty palms rubbed the scars on my shoulder, a constant reminder that safety was an illusion and anything, or anyone, including these kids, was a potential threat.

  I sandwiched the paranoia between guts and grit, and weaved through the bodies, attempting little contact and less conversation. The bell rang. Doors opened to suck in the student body like a zombie vacuum. Empty halls promised I’d be late for P.E. so I picked up the pace and raced through the halls.

  But even with the yellow-highlighted map provided by the office, the contorted maze of Gothic architecture confounded my sense of direction. I hurried around a corner. And slammed into a wall.

  The impact bounced me off my feet. I flew backward. A hand shot out and grabbed my belt buckle. My fall whiplashed to a stop. I dangled in mid-air like a fish on a hook, belt digging into my back, bells on my pants jingling amusement.

  I looked up. And up some more. The “wall” was huge, and full of concern.

  “Hey.” The guy lifted me one-handed so our faces were level. “You alright?” I grunted and flailed. He got the message and plopped me on my feet without breaking a sweat.

  Puberty had been kind to Gigantor, but his pro-wrestler physique and strong, square features were softened by an easy-going grin and playful hazel eyes. Skin bronzed from the sun complemented his cinnamon curls, cut short but still mutinous to any kind of order. His nose kinked slightly, no doubt broken in some brawl—with a moose.

  Solid broad shoulders, arms that screamed “I work out religiously!” and a barrel chest were covered by a tattered T-shirt, plain dark blue with various faded stains. The shirt stretched tight over his impressive frame but didn’t seem so much for effect as he’d just forgotten to buy something new as the years morphed his body. In contrast, his faded jeans hung loose but just as worn. Hand-me-downs? Who was bigger than this guy?

  “Sure you’re okay?”

  “Fine,” I snapped, re-adjusting my jeans and resisting the urge to fix my wedgie.

  “Good,” he said unfazed. “Because girls shouldn’t hurt themselves when they fall for me.” He picked up my map and backpack, handing them over with the kind of smile that told me this was a good-humored
guy. “Now that you’ve found your heart’s desire.” He put a dramatic hand to his massive chest. “Moi. What else can I help you find?”

  I backed up and studied the map. “Just the gym, Casanova, nothing else.”

  Unperturbed, he put an arm around my shoulders. For all his worn hand-me-down look he smelled fresh, like Ivory soap.

  “It may be just the gym today, but trust me, babe, soon I’ll be the ‘X’ on your treasure map.”

  I wiggled out from his arm. “Right, but until then…”

  With a shrug he scrutinized the map. “Ah.” His massive paw rotated it clockwise before handing it back.

  I sighed, nerves and brain cells shot. “Of course. Thanks.”

  He winked. “I’ll collect later.” A gentle nudge nearly tossed me into the lockers.

  Something caught my attention, and I swallowed a gasp/squeal noise I’ve been known to make. A fairy, or sprite, or whatever you want to call it, flitted by, trailing shimmering puffs of copper dust, and landed onto Gigantor’s head, almost invisible as she burrowed into his curls. Her sparkly eyes wandered as he walked away.

  I rubbed my sockets thinking how tired I must be. But what the heck, for a girl who sees demons, fairies were a nice change of pace.

  ***

  I sighed at the empty gym, unsure of my next move, but a passing teacher showed mercy. She produced uniform sweats, found me a locker in the girls’ locker room, then directed me to the field to join my class where I now raced across the line to a tumult of screams. We were playing Capture-the-Flag, and my long legs helped score. I wasn’t thrilled about the clothing change and leaving all my anti-demon gear, but there were no visible threats so I tried to relax.

  A quiet guy with screaming white hair stared. When I caught his eye, he blushed and looked away, remaining on the sidelines, distanced from the group, tossing a football into the air. It twirled high then drifted down, landing feather-like into his palm before a flick of his wrist sent it up again.

  The sweats hung loose on his short wiry frame, their navy blue contrasting against his neon white hair and eyebrows, and translucent pale skin. Only dark green eyes interrupted the albino look. A kid snuck up behind him and snatched the football.