Boyfriend From Hell (Falling Angels Saga) (23 page)

“Hey, Mom, did Armando drop by today?”

“Yes. He left just a little while ago. I told you not to bother him with this, although I’m glad you did. It was good seeing him.”

“I thought you’d appreciate it.”

My eyes met Maudrina’s. We now knew why my mother was suddenly so ill. Armando had placed the gris-gris somewhere in the room.

After about fifteen minutes, she drifted off to sleep. We went to work.

 We searched the drawers, the closet, her clothes, under the mattress, under her pillow, the bathroom, under the bed. We came up empty. No gris-gris. There aren’t a lot of places to hide something in a hospital room. We had searched them all.

“It’s not here,” Maudrina said. I could hear the frustration in her voice. It was starting to get to her, too.

“Maybe Aunt Jaz was wrong. Maybe there is no gris-gris,” I said.

“Or maybe he drew power from it while he was here and then took it with him,” Maudrina replied.

The emotional roller coaster was draining me again. I slumped into the room’s only chair.

“The chair!” Maudrina cried.

I jumped up, suddenly fresh as a daisy and turned it over. No gris-gris.

“What are you doing?” My mother’s voice. She was waking up.

“Nothing.” We were standing with the chair turned over between us, looking like a couple of school kids who’d gotten caught with their hands in the cookie jar. “Mom, did Armando bring you anything when he visited earlier?” I asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Just the flowers.”

On the windowsill across the room sat a crystal vase containing a small bouquet of red roses. I moved to the windowsill, stuck my hand inside. Feeling around in the water and thorny stems, I touched something made of cloth wedged between the stalks. A small bag. I could feel twigs and sand just beneath the surface of the cloth. It was bound tightly with wire and what felt like hair.

Bingo.

#

I was standing in my kitchen when he arrived.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes.”

I placed the tiny bag on the counter between us. It was a two-inch, multi-colored sack, bound at the top by thin wire and hair.

Matt’s eyes moved to it, fear and loathing just beneath the surface.

“What’s that?” he said, his eyes transfixed on the totem. A sick smile appeared on his lips.

“Oh, come now, Matt. Surely you recognize a gris-gris of your own making.”

“A gre-what?”

“The charm you used to raise the devil.” My voice was calm, fearless.

“Megan, please! Not this again. I thought you called me because you were finally ready to get some help.”

He turned to start away.

“DON’T-YOU-MOVE!” The words exploded from my lips. The fury in them froze him in his tracks. He turned back now, staring down at the gris-gris on the counter top.

“You made it from my binky—my old blanket that disappeared when I was a kid. I recognized it instantly. I always thought my mother threw it away. Then, imagine my surprise when I tore open the gris-gris and found plastic from my Cabbage Patch doll. Remember when Samantha disappeared?”

“No, I don’t! And if you keep talking like this they’re going to put you away,” he said, his eyes never leaving the gris-gris.

“Really? One day she was in her basinet in my bedroom, and the next… I guess the big surprise, though, is I was expecting it to be filled with things belonging to my mother.”

“Y… you’re not making any sense.”

“I’m making perfect sense,” I said calmly. “You didn’t raise the devil for my mother. You promised him me, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Matt was turning a pasty green, the color slowly draining from his face. He looked up from the gris-gris. There was pleading in his eyes.

“You may not recognize the gris-gris, but I’m sure it recognizes you.”

Just then the gris-gris moved. It was as if someone had nudged it ever so slightly. Matt’s eyes widened.

“It’s waking up,” I said.

The tiny bag magically lurched forward, sluggishly at first, like a larva waking to new life. Matt’s eyes grew even wider, as the enchanted totem began inching its way along the counter.

“I’m a trivia junkie, Matt. You know that. So I decided to do a little research. That was difficult with my computer being trashed and all. But I used Maudrina’s, and guess what I discovered?”

“What?” Pure horror in that word.

The gris-gris was now writhing and wriggling along the counter, making its way to him.

“Come on! Don’t you want to guess?” I teased.

As the gris-gris inched closer to Matt, it’s movement became more anxious, as if it sensed his presence and was excited by it. Matt’s eyes were frozen to the gris-gris.

“Okay, party pooper, if you’re not going to guess I’ll just have to tell you. Along with all the stuff belonging to me, that thing is made from a piece of your soul. And now it’s coming home. You probably didn’t know that, but eventually a gris-gris always returns to its maker. You need to study up on your trivia, Matt.” I laughed. There was a hollow emptiness to it.

“What do you want?” he groaned.

The gris-gris was next to him, nuzzling his hand on the counter like a faithful pet. He began stroking it with his forefinger.

“
Why?
Why on earth did you become the devil’s disciple? And of all the things you could have promised him, why
me?
”

#

It began when we were children, about a year after Suze and I arrived in Glendale. Matt fell in love with me, although as he described it, it seemed more like an obsession.

The first thing of mine he stole was Samantha. He said after Suze gave her to me, I paid more attention to her than to him. I loved her.

At first he’d taken her as a joke. He planned to tell me the next day that he had kidnapped her. But when he saw how much I needed him when she disappeared, he decided it was best that she stay gone.

That was the beginning of his stealing my stuff.

I liked Matt. I loved him. We were best friends, but I didn’t love him the way he loved me.

“We were just little kids, Matt.”

“Love is love,” he said softly. “I tried showing you in so many ways. But I understood why you didn’t love me back, at least I thought I did. I was a little skinny six-year-old nothing.” He lowered his eyes. “I have a confession to make. Remember the Halloween I got the flu?”

Of course I remembered. It was the first year I got to go trick-or-treating, the year I went with my mother. “Yes,” I said.

“I didn’t have the flu. I couldn’t go out with you. The older boys were always picking on me back then. I didn’t want you to see them knocking me around and taking my candy. I knew you wouldn’t love me if you saw that. So I faked sick.”

“But the older boys admired you. They always wanted to play ball with you.”

“You mean Danny Tambor, the boy you were so hot to throw the football with?” He said the name as if it was a nasty taste in his mouth. “He was the ring leader. But on that Halloween night I made a wish. I promised the devil my soul if he could make them stop; if he could make me popular. I was just a little kid. I didn’t know it would come true. But it did. Overnight I was a gifted athlete. Everyone wanted to be around me. Nobody picked on me anymore.” He sighed. “I had everything going for me… except you. Maybe I should have asked for brains.”

I looked at my best friend and realized I had no idea who he was.

He went on. “Over the years I continued collecting things that belonged to you; your binky, your retainer. Things that were important to you. They made me feel closer. I never planned to use them the way I did.”

“Then why did you?” I demanded.

“I got angry, okay!” It came out the confession of a spoiled child. “All the years of loving you and getting nothing in return. Something inside me snapped. I wanted to get even.

“So when you started talking about your mother dating, I got an idea. And on Candlemas, I carried it out.” He looked into my eyes. “You’re a strong-willed girl. You’d never freely give yourself to him. But I knew you would sacrifice yourself to save your mother. So he pretended he wanted Suze to trick you into being his bride.”

“But if the gris-gris is made for me, why did it work on her?”

“You share the same genes. Some might say, the same spirit. You are parts of the same whole. I guess he figured if you found it, you still wouldn’t realize who it was for.” A wan smile crossed his lips. “He underestimated how smart you are.” His voice became a near whisper. “I’m sorry, Megan. Once I realized I could never have you, I became desperate to get my life back. Can you ever forgive me?” He again pleaded with his eyes.

“No,” I said firmly. “You’ve ruined our lives. For that I can never forgive you.”

He nodded somberly, as if he knew that’s what I would say. He picked the gris-gris up from the counter and opened it. He held the tiny bag before his nose and breathed in, as if he was inhaling the fragrance of a cherished flower. Then he placed what remained back on the counter top. The gris-gris was gone. It its place was a pile of junk: hair, plastic, cloth, wire, bone. The gris-gris had been destroyed.

We moved to the kitchen table and sat. He popped Cheerios into his mouth like in the old days. He filled me in on a life of longing, a life I knew nothing about.

“I was there that night when Armando gifted Señora Marisol with eternal youth. When I saw you come down the basement stairs, I nearly died.”

“But you didn’t. Too bad.”

He looked at me with a pained expression. “I’ve loved you for as far back as I can remember.”

It was supposed to be a compliment. Hard to accept when I considered what his love was costing me.

“That’s a heck of a way of showing your love, promising me to the devil.”

He got a far-away look in his eye as if he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. “You’re not going to believe this, but at first I only dated Erin because I knew she liked me. I guess I figured if I couldn’t have you, your best girlfriend was a good second choice.” His eyes dropped. “But after we hung out together for a while, I started liking her, too. I really like her.” He seemed surprised that it was possible. “I guess if I tried that a long time ago, none of this would have happened, huh?”

“How do I beat him, Matt?” My voice was strong and firm. “How do I beat the devil?”

He stared at me for a long time. I held his gaze and could see him turning my request over in his mind. After a moment he leaned in. “Go to the house,” he said urgently. “The thing you need to defeat him is there.”

“What thing?”

“I can’t tell you.” He looked around nervously, as if he expected Armando to suddenly appear. “A book. That’s all I can tell you. If I tell you more, he’ll know.”

“So what? YOU OWE ME!” I screamed.

“I can’t,” he whimpered, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “Look for a book. You’re smart. You’ll know it when you see it.” His voice got even lower, so low I could hardly hear him, his words coming quickly. “In his human form he’s almost human. So he’s not all powerful right now. And he’s used up a lot of his power granting Señora Marisol’s wish and keeping your mother sick. But once he returns to spirit form, there’ll be no stopping him. In his human form he can’t know everything. He can miss things if he’s not tuned in. So go to the house, Megan. Go to the house. Now!”

It was close to midnight when the taxi dropped me off in front of the house. It was a chilly night, and I was bundled up in my warmest sweater under my windbreaker, a wool scarf and cap on my neck and head.

As the cab pulled away, I looked up and down the street. It was like any other residential street in Glendale. There isn’t a lot of crime in our city, and when families are home on a winter’s night, they usually stay inside and keep to themselves. There were lights burning in many of the windows of the homes that lined the street.

Armando’s windows were dark.

Matt had told me the house would be empty. Señora Marisol had cleared out over a week ago, off to her new life of youthful immortality. I got the sense Matt would make sure Armando was being kept busy elsewhere. He didn’t say he would, it was implied.

With shaky legs I climbed the steps and looked under the flower pot. The key was where he said it would be. I slid it into the lock and turned.
Click.
My heart caught in my throat. I guess a piece of me was hoping it wouldn’t fit and that I’d have an excuse for not going in. I couldn’t help but remember the last time I was in the house. It was the night I discovered my mother was dating the devil. That seemed so long ago, now.  

A car cruised up the street and I jumped as its headlights passed over me. I stood unmoving on the top step, watching until the car was out of sight, and the street was once again dark and quiet. Then I pushed open the door and entered.

Inside, the house was dark as pitch. I pulled the pen light from my windbreaker pocket and turned it on. The tiny beam swung around the room, passing over the paintings of landscapes on the walls. I didn’t want to look at them, didn’t want to see the ghost-like naked figures, frolicking. I aimed the narrow beam down the hall  toward the study, and started down, making certain I kept my eyes off the walls. I had a feeling if I looked at the paintings, I might run from the house and never come back.

The smell of incense was gone. The house now smelled slightly musty, which was strange, considering someone had been living here just a few days ago. I told myself it was the smell of hell.

I reached the study door. It was partially open. I swung it open the rest of the way. Through the shadows, I could see someone seated at the desk.
Armando.

My heart thumped as I swung the tiny beam  toward him, fully expecting to see him smiling at me from behind the desk. No one was there. Just the shadowy outline of the high back chair.

A truck rumbled by on the street outside. Then silence. I stood in that one spot without moving, allowing the frantic beating of my heart to return to normal—well, as normal as possible.