Demon High Page 3

  A light shone on my window. I dropped the old Scooby Doo pillow I’d been using as a lap desk and edged closer so I could peer out. Brittany stood on my front lawn, holding a Coleman lantern. She pointed it directly at me, blinding me. I blinked, cursed and considered tossing the heavy book I still held down on her head.

  I’d told her I’d come down when I heard her car, that Nana slept like a log, but she’d insisted we be more clandestine. As a kindergartener, Brittany’d had a love for the dramatic. Apparently that hadn’t changed.

  I slid the book under my mattress and grabbed a piece of paper I’d found tucked inside the book when I’d first opened it.

  It was a note with two columns of what I assumed were demon names written in my mother’s handwriting. A third of the page had been torn off. Right at the tear I could see the bottom loop of a circle. As if Mum had made a list of demons then circled one, I assumed to call. I also assumed all the names on the list were demons she had considered. Which seemed a good starting point when selecting my own target demon.

  I’d looked for all the names in the book and only found a couple. One was a trickster demon who liked to shift from goat to human to pig, then back again. Another cried blood. Neither appealed to me. Then I’d referenced my friend Google. Only one name showed up there, but I thought he was a winner—an old vaudeville star, Theodore Thornton. He’d hit the big time despite widely held opinions that he was a lazy hack. Rumors spread that he had sold his soul to Kobol, archangel of laughter turned demon. His name on my mother’s note seemed to confirm this.

  If the rumors and note were right, he would be about as low a ranking demon as I could find and a good target for a first-time effort. Plus I knew his full name and was able to print off a picture of him. Those would both strengthen my call.

  I shoved the note and the picture into my backpack. My hand hesitated over the book. I’d already memorized everything it had to say about the actual ceremony, and I really didn’t want Brittany to think I needed a crib sheet. I shoved the book under my pillow and headed into the hall.

  On the way past, I paused at Nana’s room. She was snoring, a steady, soothing sound, as long as you weren’t trapped in a room with her. I pressed my hand against the wood and murmured an apology for what I was about to do. Then I crept down the stairs.

  Brittany was plopped down on the front steps, an energy drink in each hand. She had the battery-powered lantern strung on a nylon strap across her chest like a beauty queen’s sash.

  “Here.” She shoved a can at me. “Don’t want you drifting off in the middle of something important.”

  I took the can, but didn’t open it. I was already buzzing inside. I didn’t need any outside stimulus.

  She had parked halfway down the street. I didn’t comment as we hiked past bushes cut with geometric precision and lawn jockeys sporting bright red coats. Our neighborhood varied from historic mansions at one end to convenience stores at the other. Brittany had parked at the high-rent end. The Baxters’ repossessed home lay at the other.

  “Too bad it isn’t a full moon,” Brittany commented from somewhere to my right.

  “You want me to call up a werewolf?” I asked, my voice low. Thinking of the Baxters reminded me why I was doing this; it set me edge.

  “Could you?”

  Instantly suspicious she was making fun of me, I stopped.

  Brittany kept going. When she reached her car, she opened the driver’s side door, but didn’t get in. “You coming?” she asked.

  “Are you going to take this seriously?” I gripped the can she’d handed me tighter. The metal made a crinkling noise.

  She tapped on the roof of her car with her fingernails. “Can you do it?” she asked.

  “If you don’t think I can, why are you here?”

  ”You said you had something I could sell, probably for big bucks. If you can, I’m interested.” Her gaze was steady, testing.

  I squeezed the can again, made the aluminum pop. “Well, I can.” My voice was soft. I wasn’t sure the sound of cars driving by in the distance hadn’t drowned it out.

  She ran her fingers through her hair. Lit by her car’s dome light, the long locks fluttered behind her. Her gaze latched onto mine. “When I see you can, I’ll take it seriously.”

  I set the can on her hood and murmured, “You need to take it seriously, or I won’t do it.”

  We stared at each other for a few seconds. Finally, she slipped behind the wheel. “So, where are we going?”

  I twisted my lips to the side, but got in too. She didn’t wait for me to buckle myself, and didn’t comment on the can I’d left on her hood. As we sped off, it fell to the ground. I heard it pop beneath the rear tire.

  o0o

  I directed Brittany to a dirt road a few miles out of town. Caldera was settled in the early 1800’s. A ten-minute drive by car today was more like a day’s journey then. When people died, their loved ones didn’t take them to town for a funeral. They started their own family plots instead. Land owners, children, slaves, all kinds of people were buried in what was now woods or cow pasture.

  I’d located a couple of such plots when I first came up with my plan. The one I was taking Brittany to had a particularly large monument still on it. Size of the tombstone didn’t matter for demon calling, but it did show the person had money. And if they had money, they were more likely to have brought a preacher out to consecrate the ground.

  Hallowed ground. It was a good thing to have access to when you were calling demons. A bigger cemetery would have been better, safer, but bigger also meant more people and increased odds of getting caught. So, I’d balanced my costs and benefits.

  My accounting teacher, Mr. Reed, would have been so proud.

  “Here?” The high C note of Brittany’s voice told me she wasn’t feeling the cattle crossing I’d asked her to bump her car across.

  “It’s over there.” I pointed vaguely to the west and the trees that edged the cow pasture and hid the cemetery.

  “You realize we are in a field.” She’d stopped the car; her hand was resting on the drive shaft. I got the feeling she was three seconds from whipping her pricey import into reverse.

  “We can walk,” I offered. I didn’t like the idea. I’d have much preferred to have the car nearby in case…well, in case.

  “We’re going to have to. I’m not taking my car across that.” She gestured at the rock and weed covered field.

  “Fine.” I got out of the vehicle. The door slammed behind me. “Sorry,” I muttered. Then I started the trek across the field.

  “You’re crazy,” Brittany yelled at my back.

  I kept walking. I hoped she didn’t decide to give up and leave me here, but I knew my best bet to get her to follow was to keep walking.

  Her door slammed, even louder than mine had. Then the beam of the lantern formed a yellow circle in front of me. I could hear her slogging through the dry grass and muttering under her breath. When she got next to me she said, “You know there is cow shit out here.”

  I shrugged. “As long as it doesn’t hit the fan, we’re good.”

  She laughed. It sounded a bit begrudging, but it was still a laugh. “Yes, I guess we are.”

  We walked in silence after that, more relaxed.

  The line of trees that hid the cemetery looked dark and uninviting. Despite the strong front I was trying to maintain for Brittany, I shivered. Hoping she would mistake trepidation for a chill, I wrapped my sweater closer to my body. Somewhere to our left a cow mooed.

  “If we do this. Get others to pay us for this. Will it have to be here?” she asked.

  “I can call demons anywhere. In your living room if you like. This is just safer.” The cemetery was further than I’d realized. Cows moved past. I tried not to look at them, not to check to make sure they were cows.

  We walked a bit more. I could hear her breathing. I didn’t think she was out of breath. I’d seen her jog by my house almost daily this past summer.

 
“You’re real, aren’t you? Or think you are. If it was anyone else, I’d think they were setting me up for the world’s biggest practical joke, but I can’t see you doing that.” Brittany’s voice was low.

  Her lantern spotlighted a fresh cow pile. I stumbled to the side to avoid it.

  “No, I wouldn’t do that.” Where practical jokes were concerned, I was much more likely to be on the butt end than the front end. I doubted the same was true of Brittany—not that I thought she’d pulled a lot of jokes on people. She was too cool for that, but I was willing to bet my mother’s demon book no one had ever pulled one on her.

  At the cemetery, I looked back over my shoulder. In the dark I couldn’t see where we had left the car, but I knew we hadn’t really walked that far. It just felt like we had. I wondered if the trip back would feel as long….

  I took a breath. The air was clear out here. It felt clean and sharp. Maybe it was just the time of night…or what I knew we were about to do. I took another breath and held it in my lungs for a second.

  Brittany disappeared into the gravestones with her lantern. Realizing it was time, I took off my backpack and dug out my own flashlight. A few feet from the edge of the cemetery, there was a flat area that the cattle had worn down to rock and dirt. A knocked-down bit of rusty iron fencing showed where the actual boundary was. I started my circle one arm’s length away from it. And I used paint. It would be harder to hide when we were done, but, assuming we didn’t leave at a run, it would be worth the extra effort.

  When I was done, I called to Brittany. She came crunching forward, her feet smashing through years of dried oak leaves. “Did you see that big monument? He was only seventeen when he died.”

  I waved my hand. I was too nervous to play how-sad-was-that. “Stand over there.” I pointed at the fence, telling her to stand behind it—on sanctified ground.

  She let out a “whatever” sigh, but did as I said.

  I placed both of her hands on the rust-pitted metal that stood between us and kept my hands on hers as I spoke. “Whatever happens, don’t leave the cemetery. Wait until whatever happens, happens. Then wait longer. Until you think you can’t stay anymore. Then…wait some more.”

  She stared back at me, her gaze steady. “And then what?”

  “Run like hell.” I waited to make sure she understood.

  She raised a brow and folded her arms over her chest.

  Not quite the reaction I’d been looking for, but after our discussion on my street, I knew she wasn’t going to believe until I made her, and I couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t sure I believed yet.

  I believed in demons. I just wasn’t sure I could call one.

  I left her standing behind the fence and pulled tools from my mother’s bag.

  When I had everything lined up, I stood outside the circle. According to the book, you could stand in a circle for protection or you could use it as a trap. The latter was my plan. I would call Theodore into the circle and keep him there long enough for Brittany to see him. Then I’d send him on his way. He was a low level demon. From what the book said, I knew calling him was as safe as calling a demon could be.

  Still, I glanced over my shoulder at the cemetery boundary, assuring myself that Brittany was behind the fencing and that it was still a short two-foot leap for me to get there too.

  “Okay, I’m going to start.” I pressed my hands against my thighs to keep them from shaking.

  Brittany nodded, her eyes alive, interested, but also wary.

  She wasn’t as stupid as she portrayed herself at times.

  I picked up the candle first. It was black, but the color wasn’t important; what was important was what had been mixed in with the wax—something related to a moment of great pain or anguish. Demons feasted on human pain. I knew that from my mother. This candle held ash from a house fire. An entire family had died in that fire. While others mourned, my mother had taken a bucket and scraped up the ash. Then she’d gone home and made candles. Just touching them made my stomach clench.

  With the candle lit, I squatted and shoved the end into the dirt. Next I pulled out the picture of Theodore Thornton.

  I tossed the picture into the circle and picked up the last tool I’d need for this, a hand bell. I rang it nine times and began my chant. With my eyes closed I mumbled under my breath. The call was between me and the demon, Brittany didn’t need to hear it.

  For a while nothing happened. Sweat trickled down my spine. My hand holding the bell began to cramp. I started to ring it again, but stopped myself. That wouldn’t be the magic nine.

  I didn’t know what a tenth ring would do. The book hadn’t said. So, I waited and waited some more.

  My hand hurt, and I was covered in sweat. As the moisture evaporated off my skin I started to shiver.

  I wished I’d brought the book, wished my mother was there to ask what to do now, but I had neither. I had no choice but to keep chanting.

  I must have stood in one spot for fifteen minutes, chanting under my breath, clinging to that bell. I heard Brittany move behind me. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. I knew I was losing her.

  It hardened my determination. I let my mind leave her behind and put force behind my desire. Theodore, where are you? I’m getting impatient. Ever been trapped in a circle by an angry caller? Don’t test me. I thought the last with enough force, my eyes flew open. I could feel power surging through me, could feel my hair lifting off my scalp.

  “Lucinda—” Brittany.

  I ignored her. My call had found its mark or a mark at least, I wouldn’t know for sure until the demon materialized if I’d managed to ring my target on my very first try.

  “What in the—?” The voice came through first, annoyed and with a New England accent, then the body, or form—a short fortyish man dressed in a classic tux, complete with spats and tails. He didn’t seem to see me at first. He blinked blindly around the circle, then dropped whatever he’d been holding to the ground.

  A smile spread across my face. I’d done it. As he bent to retrieve what he had dropped, I glanced over my shoulder at Brittany. She was frowning.

  Realizing a middle-aged guy in a tux didn’t scream demon, I set the bell on the ground and crossed my arms over my chest. “Theodore Washington Thornton. Show your real face.”

  He glanced around again, then sauntered closer to the circle’s edge. He had a pair of opera glasses in his hand. He peered through them. “I only got one face, now my wife she’s got three, the one she puts on in the morning, the one she takes off at night and the one I try and forget lies under both of them.” He paused, like he was waiting for something.

  I tapped my fingers on my arm, not sure how to respond.

  Behind me, Brittany muttered. “Pathetic.”

  Theodore tapped his foot and leaned forward his hand over his eyes like a visor. “Now don’t get me wrong. I take my wife everywhere—New York, California, even Canada. Unfortunately, she keeps finding her way back.”

  I could feel Brittany’s groan. This wasn’t how I’d thought this would go; I held up one hand. “Theodore.”

  He broke into another joke. “What do you call an honest lawyer?”

  “Unemployed!” Brittany yelled. Then she reached over the fence to tap me on the shoulder. “Who is he?”

  Theodore drew himself up to his full five foot eight inches of height. “The punch line is broke.”

  “Yeah, well so are your jokes, old, broken and lame. But go ahead, hit me with another one, I could use a good nap,” she responded.

  As Theodore’s eyes narrowed, they flickered yellow. Something flickered inside me too.

  “I am the most famous vaudeville comedian to tread the boards.”

  “Uh, yeah, no.” Brittany tapped me again. “This is the best you could do? To get the big bucks we need something I don’t know scary…all dark and sexy or maybe—.”

  “Like this?” Theodore’s voice boomed at us.

  My gaze snapped back to the circle; by Britta
ny’s intake of breath I guessed hers did too.

  Theodore had grown fourteen inches. He towered over us. His skin had darkened too, to somewhere between cocoa and cappuccino. His chest was bare and every muscle bulged. On his back were wings. Wings that started at the ground and reached to four inches above his head.

  His face was angelic, high cheekbones, full lips and eyes so blue they were almost clear.

  I didn’t know who this demon was, but it sure as hell wasn’t the weak vaudeville-star-turned-demon who I’d called.

  Chapter 4

  “Who are you?” I asked. My voice came out as a croak, but with the panic welling inside my chest, I was impressed words came out all.

  “Who did you call?” asked the creature. He tilted his head to the side and raised one brow.

  You don’t answer a demon’s questions. It gives them control, something else my mother had repeated frequently enough it had apparently settled permanently into my brain. “You know who I called,” I replied.

  “Do I?” He smiled.

  I could feel my lips moving with his, smiling along with him.

  He laughed and I had to fight to keep the chuckle forming inside my chest from bubbling out. Brittany was less successful, or she wasn’t even trying. Her peal of laughter was young and excited, filled with a joy I couldn’t at that moment staring at that demon grasp.

  “God,” she murmured. “This we can sell.”

  And then Theodore was back. “You think? What kind of crowd you planning to pull in? What venue? Surely not here.” He scuffed at the ground and sent a pebble skidding into the barrier, where it stopped as if blocked by a wall.

  “Where did—.”

  I cut Brittany off. “Theodore, was that you?” Dear God, let him say yes.

  He looked up, his eyes mouse brown, his body fully clothed and not showing a single muscle. “A little trick I picked up back home. You like?”

  “We like,” Brittany murmured. “What else can you do?” she asked. “How about celebrities?”