Almost Demon (The Sigil Cycle) (18 page)

Thom left soon after, assuring me that he would ask around and find the demon we needed. I told him I was staying at Charlotte’s that night but that I was free the rest of the weekend to work whenever he needed me.

Back in the house, I packed a bag with toiletries, what I liked to call public-pajamas (the kind you could answer the front door in) and a change of clothes. 

When I was finished showering and had changed into what I referred to as fancy-sweats (the kind you never exercised in), I heard a commotion in the kitchen. 

“Hey Dad,” I said, unsure of which father would be greeting me today.

“Hey, pumpkin,” he said, looking normal but weary, scouring through the junk drawer. “I thought I would throw on some steaks.”

“I’m on my way to Charlotte’s house. Remember, the sleepover.”

“Right. I forgot. I’m sorry. Can I offer you a ride without fearing for my life?” 

I looked out the window and it was already dark. Charlotte’s house was more than a mile away. I could have managed on my own but I couldn’t risk seeing my dad’s other face, especially after having gotten on a motorcycle with Thom.

“Sure. Yeah that would be great.”

He smiled and grabbed his keys off the small tray he emptied his pockets into every day.

“Come on,” he said, and I braved myself for the second trip of the day. 

When we drove up to Charlotte’s house, along the neat pattern of pavers and passed the elaborate bronze fountain and birdbath, the moon was already heavy in the dark night sky.

“See you tomorrow,” I said, planted a kiss on my dad’s cheek and bolted up the stairs. He waited until the front door opened and I stepped in before he waved and drove away. 

“Gem, did you just do what I think you did?” Charlotte asked. She was wearing a baby pink cashmere slouch sweater and  gray crop leggings. 

“What?”

“Like get in a car.” She shut the large wooden door behind me.

“Oh yeah. Figured it was about time to give it a try.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“I didn’t think anyone noticed.”

“I’m not anyone.” She squeezed her cheek to my arm and led me passed the formal dining room and kitchen to the casual, yet professionally decorated, den. It was the kind of room that was meant to be cozy and inviting but was way too put together to give it the real lived-in feel. I knew that the Senator usually locked himself in his library with a tumbler full of scotch in one hand and the whole carafe in the other. Charlotte’s mother, Patricia, was either at a fund-raising meeting or shopping, drifting from one champagne glass to the next until she came home and blacked out on her bed, surrounded by bags filled with her designer purchases that would probably end up with the tags still on, never to be used.

“True,” I replied. “So where are your parents?”

“I kicked them out for the night,” she answered. “Here, make a plate.” She passed a square of white porcelain and I filled it with the bite-sized sandwiches and appetizers that had been thoughtfully arranged on the large, wrought-iron coffee table.

Charlotte flipped through the channels while we waited for Emma and Morgan to show up. “I wanted tonight to be intimate,” Charlotte said, explaining the short guest list. 

“I hope you didn’t do that for me?” I said, biting into a miniature-sized burger. 

“Nah. It’s because of the surprise I have planned. Super exclusive and hard to get. I couldn’t have more than three other people.”

 We were halfway into a juicy episode of
True Life
“I hate my plastic surgery” when the doorbell rang. Charlotte brought Morgan and Emma through and we all vegged out while debating who was the most underrated celebrity. 

The next time the bell rang, all of us, except Charlotte, was caught by surprise. “Oh wow. That must be our surprise.”

“How is it your surprise if you know what it is?” Morgan asked, tossing a piece of caramel kettle corn at Charlotte’s head.

“Is it a stripper?” Emma asked in a tired voice. I could tell though that she wouldn’t complain if her night involved a lap dance by a hot, built, topless, preferably Italian, guy in a G-string.

“Nope. This is even better.” Charlotte ran back to the front of the house and returned with a woman who looked like she could be any one of our mothers.

“Um, hi.” I waved.

“I’m going to let you introduce yourself,” Charlotte said to the petite woman with spiky bleached hair. 

“Hello, girls. My name is Sylvia Nicks and I am a psychic and medium.” Charlotte pulled a chair for her and she sat down between the two overstuffed love seats that Emma, Morgan and I had divided ourselves amongst. 

“I’ve seen you on TV, right?” Morgan asked.

“Yes. I’m asked to share my gift sometimes.” She smiled.

Charlotte took the empty spot beside me and whispered,

“This part was for you.” 

“Let me pull some tarot cards out first while we wait for any spirits to come forward. Sometimes it takes a little time. Who would like to go first?”

“Birthday girl,” Morgan squealed.

“Yeah, Charlotte. You should go first,” Emma seconded.

“Oh wow. This is too cool.”

“Please cut the deck and focus in your mind’s eye the question you are putting out to the universe.” Sylvia handed her the large deck of cards. They were double the size of playing cards and decorated in an ornate curlicue pattern of deep red, blues and silvers. I noticed that her manicured nails were done up in the same colors as the cards.

After a short silence, Sylvia drew ten cards, placing some in a cross-shaped pattern to one side and the remainder in a straight line on the other. One by one she turned each card over, displaying their pictures and positions on the coffee table.

“This is the three of swords and it is the heart of the matter. You are unable to reconcile certain new parts of your life.”

“Ohmygod. That is so true,” Charlotte said, leaning in closer to the table and the cards she thought would hold all the answers to her life.

“The next card is the hanged man. You are trying too hard to please others and work to their benefit instead of your own. You need to focus more on yourself and what you want.”

The rest of us crowded in on the reading. It was starting to get good.

“This is the Queen of Pentacles and it is a practical woman in your life that is getting in the way of true success.”

“That’s totally your mom,” Morgan whispered.

“Shush,” Emma blurted, edging closer to Sylvia’s chair.

“The five of discs shows that you recently tested this new you and have had measurable success. And this,” Sylvia tapped on the card with a beautiful woman seated on a throne holding a sword in one hand and a scale in the other, “is Justice. Your future is filled with a balancing act. It is up to you to keep both sides equal.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emma asked.

“Wait a minute. Someone is coming through the veil.” Sylvia placed three fingers to her temple and looked off to the side as if she were listening to someone speak. “Yes, I understand. Does anyone know of a girl with a J name? A Jennifer, Joanie?”

“Jenny?” I asked. I didn’t want to be too forthcoming and make her job at snowing people over too easy but I couldn’t resist giving her that bit of information with the hopes that she could actually commune with the dead.

“Yes. Jenny has a message for all of you. She said that she is at peace and didn’t feel a thing. That she passed on quickly and that her grandmother was there to bring her over to the other side.”

We all looked at one another and I found my surprise reflected on everyone else’s face. I remained quiet, not wanting to sever whatever connection Sylvia had with our friend.

“She also wants you all to know that it wasn’t Gemma’s fault and that you should stop letting her take the blame for it.”

I nearly choked on the cracker I had mindlessly put in my mouth. I grabbed a can of soda and washed down the dry flakes that had coated my throat.

“What does she mean by that?”

Sylvia continued to listen and nod her head. “She says that Gemma will tell the rest of you when its time. Whew. That was a doozy.” Sylvia took a napkin and wiped the sweat form her brow. “She was a strong one. Now where were we?” 

Sylvia continued her vague predictions of Charlotte’s future and then Emma’s. Morgan passed, claiming that she didn’t really want to know her future. 

“Ditto,” I said. My mind was reeling with the message that had come through from Jenny. The fact that Sylvia was even able to get that detail proved to me that she had a gift of some sorts. 

How come it wasn’t Brian?

“Okay, so how about we move on to something different?” Sylvia asked and we all nodded our heads in unison. “Let’s start with you, Morgan. Since you didn’t want to see into your future, how about we pick through your past lives.”

Morgan perked up. “Sure.”

“I’m going to need a little more space for this.” 

Charlotte, Emma and I all squished onto one couch while Morgan lay on the other, her head close to Sylvia’s chair.

“Have you ever gone under hypnosis before?” 

“Nope,” Morgan answered.

Sylvia lowered her voice and began soothing her with words, reassuring Morgan that she’d be sliding deep within her psyche to reconnect with her past selves. I watched as Morgan’s eyes grew heavy and shut. Her hands, palms up, relaxed into the pale green paisley cushions.

“Morgan? Tell me where you are.”

“It’s beautiful. A field of wildflowers.”

“What do see?”

“Pinks and yellows and blues. The sun is shining.”

There was a flicker of activity beneath her eyelids.

“There is laundry. It’s white and smells fresh. The house is small. It’s made from wood. There’s a daisy chain in my hand.”

Morgan was mumbling and jerking now.

“No. No. They’re coming. The house is too far. It’s so loud. The ground shakes from them. I grab my mommy’s apron. She’s carrying the baby. I can’t hold on. She’s on the porch, waving her hands. Mommy is screaming and I’m running. I see them now. The buffalo. No!” Morgan was screaming now.

“Morgan, I am snapping my fingers,” Sylvia said, unperturbed by the distress she was showing. The snap of her fingers cracked like a whip. “Wake up.”

Morgan opened her eyes. “Was it good? Was I like Nefertiti or something?”

“No, Morgan. You were a little girl who got stampeded by a herd of buffalo,” Emma said.

“Wow, Emma. Be cool,” Charlotte said in a warning tone that I rarely heard her use.

“Fine. Now it’s Gemma’s turn,” Emma said.

“Okay.” I switched spots with Morgan. “Let me know what kind of awful life I had.”

Sylvia went through the same charade and I had to admit I was feeling a bit loose and tired. Time had suspended. Everything had fallen away into a spiral of blackness where there was no light or sound. Before I knew it, everything was dark. Then there was a snap.

“So was I Marie Antoinette and had my head chopped off?” I joked, bringing myself to a seated position. When I looked up, everyone else was quiet, jaws open. “Are you guys okay?”

“Gemma, honey-” Charlotte started.

“You came up blank,” Morgan continued.

“And sounded like the kid in the Exorcist,” Emma added.

“What do you mean?”

“I know what you are.” Sylvia pointed a long nail at my face and stood up. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. Happy Birthday but I’ve got to leave. There’s no charge.”

Sylvia left like the house was on fire and I was the one holding the matches.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

After Psychic Sylvia’s departure, we went on to watch the entire season of a recent paranormal activity show from start to finish as we super-analyzed all the relationships in school, including the strange one between Allison and her new lap dog, Matt. 

“I heard he was hoping to make QB,” Morgan said.

“Didn’t take him long to start riding the bitch train,” Emma muttered as she dipped a stalk of celery into the homemade ranch dressing. “I kind of wanted him.” She grinned shyly from  behind the tall plate of crudités.

“Guys. A bit of sensitivity here,” Charlotte said nodding her head in my direction.

“For me? Don’t bother. I don’t know why I wasted my time with him. I never even really liked him. He was just friends with Brian since we were all in diapers.” I swirled the swizzle stick in my lemonade and stabbed at a piece of fresh strawberry. It was Charlotte’s idea of a mocktail. “Now that I think of it, Brian probably orchestrated the whole thing.”

“I wish my brother would hook me up with some guys.” Emma sighed.

“Your brother is twelve!” Morgan cried.

“You know what I mean,” Emma replied, throwing a fancy silk pillow to get back at her, knocking a drink to the floor.

“Emma, look what you did,” Morgan shrieked, jumping up from her seat and letting a pool of the pink sticky drink run off her lap and onto the oriental rug.

“I’ll get the paper towels,” I said, zig-zagging between the furniture through the sliding pocket door and into the gray and white marble kitchen. I found a roll of paper towels hanging beneath one of the cupboards and wadded a long stream of it into my hand. As I ripped it, there was a flash from outside the kitchen window.