Misfit (20 page)

“Stop!” she says.

It does.

She isn’t sure what’s weirder, that she talked to the ram or that it understood. But she decides that it’s a good sign that it obeyed.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

My name is Asmodeus and I am here to help you.

“How are you talking in my head?”

I am sorry to be so invasive, but your father made me swear never to possess another man or woman, and this animal is unable to articulate sounds clearly enough for you to understand.

“Asmodeus, huh?” she says, taking a few steps closer. That was the demon her mom asked her dad not to kil . “So you were, like, sort of a friend of my mom?”

Her love for you was something I had never encountered before. I hadn’t realized such fierce kindness was even possible

. . . It changed everything for me. So I vowed to watch over you and aid you in whatever smal way I can, warning your father when other demons get too close.

I even tried to warn you directly once, when Baal found you. But that was not particularly effective.

“When Baal . . . wait, the bird, right? You were that sparrow that kept chirping at me!”

Yes, in urban areas I often choose birds or squirrels to escape notice.

“So why a ram this time?”

In my true form, which I can only take in Hel , I have three heads. One man, one bul , and one ram. By using a ram for this, our first true meeting, I wanted to be something like myself.

“Wel , uh, nice to meet you, Asmodeus.”

I wish this were no more than a pleasant meeting, little one.

But I come to you tonight with a grave warning.

“What’s that?”

Belial is coming.

“What?” she says, something cold and hard settling in her gut. “How did he find me?”

Your uncle disappeared from his post in the middle of a shift. That made Belial take notice.

That must have been the night Jael cal ed him out of the bowl. Al for her stupid hair emergency.

Then you made quite a bit of noise while practicing your magic yesterday. It was like a beacon in the skies of Hel .

“So what do I do?”

Run or fight.

“How can I possibly fight this Belial guy? He’s like some super demon and I’m just half demon.”

Not “just.” A halfbreed is not simply half demon and half human. A halfbreed is something else entirely. A rare and potential y dangerous creature. Merlin, Perseus, and many others in your legends were halfbreeds. That is why you are feared and hated so much. The power of the elements is joined with your wil . The power of the Earth itself.

“Don’t get me wrong,” says Jael. “Freezing things is cool and al , but I don’t think it’s going to do much for me in a fight.

Especial y if this guy is king of the ice or whatever.”

It is true that the elements of Gaia have been passive for a long time. But they don’t have to be. Perhaps they need only the right catalyst.

Jael thinks about that for a moment. She remembers her first night of connecting to the elements and how she wondered why something as powerful as the wind was so timid.

“You’re saying I could get them into action?”

I am saying that if you fight, they wil fight with you.

The ram turns and begins to walk away.

“Wait!” says Jael. “How do you know so much about halfbreeds?”

The ram stops and lowers its head.

I used to be one.

“Yeah, you said something like that to my mom, but I couldn’t figure out what you meant. You were a halfbreed, but now you aren’t?”

I was so desperate to be accepted by Belial and the other Grand Dukes, so afraid of the consequences of what I was, that I destroyed my mortal half.

“How did you do that?”

Just as your mother extracted the demon half from you for a short time, I extracted the mortal half from myself.

But instead of protecting it as your father did, I cast mine into the Void.

“Oh,” says Jael. She doesn’t real y know what else to say.

“Did it hurt?”

It is stil an agony to this day. It is a wound that wil never heal.

“But they stil didn’t accept you, even after that?”

Of course not. And even if they did, my power is now so diminished, I am not of much use.

“I’m sorry,” says Jael.

Don’t be, little one. Every success of yours buoys my spirit a little more. You make me proud to be a halfbreed, a feeling I never thought possible. Now I must return to Hel , and you must decide what you wil do when the Grand Duke comes for you.

Then the ram shudders and a fine mist coalesces above its head then dissipates.

“Asmodeus?” says Jael.

“Baaa!” says the ram, then runs off into the night, its cloven hooves echoing in the stil night air.

As she continues her walk home, Jael wonders if there’s any chance that Asmodeus is right. Could she real y turn this al around? To not live in fear or on the run? For the first time in her life, to just be stil ? The idea buzzes warmly in her chest. She would risk just about anything for that.

Jael decides to let herself in through the front door. It’s pretty late. Her father has probably gone to bed already. But when she gets inside, she finds that he has fal en asleep on the couch, his worn old Bible open on his chest. The candle on the coffee table is stil lit.

“Great, Dad,” she whispers. “Real safe.”

She walks over to blow it out, but stops and looks at her father. His head is tipped back and to the side, leaving his mouth wide open. He looks different when he’s asleep. The tension is gone from his face and he looks years younger. Like the man in the necklace who loved her mother.

Who is this guy? she thinks. She’s lived with him her entire life, and yet she feels like she barely knows him at al . She looks down at the flickering candle that watches over him every night.

Does the flame know him? No, not real y. The fire is new every night and doesn’t know or remember anything. The candle doesn’t seem to care.

She decides not to blow it out. Instead, she takes it up to her room and puts it on the dresser at the foot of her bed. She could use some distraction, so she asks the fire if it would like to dance for her. It says that as a matter of fact it would. So Jael lies back in bed and watches the flame stretch and shimmy and flicker in a silent dance. It isn’t long before al of the day’s thoughts and worries slip away and she drifts off to sleep.

The flame, of course, wants to be free of its candlewick tether. Now that it’s been encouraged to move in ways that it doesn’t ordinarily, it’s worked itself up into a frenzy of hunger.

It begins to stretch higher. It reaches for something it can hold on to. Something it can eat besides the sluggish wax beneath it. It wants to eat the room, and the house, and everything else it can.

But the air in the room has been hanging around far longer than air usual y does, partial y because of poor ventilation, but partial y because it likes Jael. She’s such a funny little thing. So serious. So stuck. But artlessly charming, like the rustle of tal , wild grass.

The air decides that it doesn’t want the fire to eat her, or the room, or the house. It doesn’t have anything against fire in general. In fact, they usual y get along rather wel . But this time is different.

So the air withdraws itself from the fire.

And the fire slowly suffocates and dies.

Britt sits back down at her desk and stares at the image of the pouty male model on her computer desktop. Something is up with Jael. She knows it.

Something that Jael didn’t say. Britt wonders if she talked too much. If she didn’t give Jael a chance to get it out.

She sighs and rubs her eyes. Maybe she should go to bed early tonight. Last night was pretty intense. But instead of shutting down her computer, she opens chat.

blue-eyed_devil: Hey, what’s up?

brittalicious: Hey. Not much. I fail at being a friend.

blue-eyed_devil: why do you say that?

brittalicious: o, my buddy J was trying to talk to me but I just can’t shut up and listen sometimes. Why do I always have to make everything about me?

blue-eyed_devil: don’t b 2 hard on yourself. if it was real y that bad, she would have said something anyway.

brittalicious: I guess so . . .

blue-eyed_devil: I KNOW so. you want to grab a bite somewhere?

brittalicious: wel , it is a school night . . .

blue-eyed_devil: come on! I need to get out of the house. my parents total y suck. And that chocolate shop on Greenwood is open until midnight! my treat . .

.

brittalicious: bribing me with chocolate . . . you real y are a devil, Jack.

blue-eyed_devil: >:D I’l pick u up in 10 minutes.

Britt shuts down her computer. She can’t quite stop the stupid little smile that creeps onto her face. This one real y is different. She just knows it.

The rain pours down much harder than usual for October.

Since Jael lost her raincoat to lava, and she doesn’t quite feel comfortable wearing her demon-scale cloak to school, al she has left to wear is her red hoodie. By the time she gets to school, she’s completely soaked.

She walks through the front door of the school quickly, grateful for the shelter. She peels back her wet hood and runs her fingers through her spiky hair, flicking water droplets everywhere.

“Miss Thompson, front and center,” she hears Father Aaron say.

Jael stops and looks down at her socks. She actual y remembered to pul them up this morning, but they’re so heavy with rainwater that they came down on their own. She slowly turns to face Father Aaron, her leather shoes squishing.

But beneath his usual sour frown, there’s something unfamiliar in Father Aaron’s expression.

“Keep your head about you today, Miss Thompson,”

he says. “Be smart.”

She stares at him for a moment.

“What? . . .”

“The bel ’s about to ring,” he says. “Better hurry, or you’l be late for class.”

“But—”

“Miss Thompson, that is al .”

“Y-Yes, Father,” she says. She turns to go, then says,

“Thanks, Father.”

“There’s nothing to be thankful for,” he says quietly, and his tone sends a chil down her spine. “Now, go to class.”

She nods and hurries down the hal to her classroom.

As soon she sits down at her desk, Rob says, “You okay?”

He looks worried.

“No,” says Jael.

“Did you get in trouble for tel ing me everything?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“So are you grounded or something?”

“No,” she says. “He says we’re moving.”

He just stares at her, like she’s slapped him across the face.

“Sorry, I probably should’ve tried to break that a little more gently,” she says. “I just . . . there’s no one else to talk to.”

“He’s moving you guys just because you told one person,”

says Rob. “Doesn’t he know he can trust me?”

“He doesn’t trust anyone anymore,” says Jael. “I think .

. .

not since my mom tricked him into letting her die to save us.”

She puts her head down on her desk. “Maybe it’s for the best.

This demon my mom knew showed up last night.

Asmodeus. He said that Belial knows I’m here. That he’s coming for me.”

“Isn’t that the guy that kil ed your mom?” asks Rob.

“Yep.”

“Oh shit.”

“Exactly.”

“So, I guess that’s freaking you out a little?”

“A little?” says Jael, lifting her head up. “I mean, first of al , here’s this giant demon that is so fierce he makes other demons pee their pants, and he is coming to eat me. But what’s even worse is I keep thinking of al the other people I’m putting in danger just by hanging around. So maybe it’s better that we’re moving. What if he showed up when I was hanging out with you?”

“Are you kidding me?” says Rob. “I want to be there.

I’m gonna cheer you on while you kick his ass!”

“But that’s just it. How can I possibly win? My mom and my uncle couldn’t take him and they’re real demons. I’m just a halfbreed.”

“But maybe that’s better,” says Rob.

“That’s what Asmodeus said, but I can’t see how.”

“Okay, check it. Last night after I left your house, I went home and did some serious Google-Fu on halfbreeds.”

“You did what?”

“Online research. On halfbreeds. And the only one I could find any record of in the last two thousand years was Merlin.”

“As in the guy from the King Arthur stories? I think Asmodeus mentioned something about him.”

“Merlin was one of the most famous wizards who ever lived.

So maybe you could take on this Belial guy. I mean, think about it. Why is it the bigwigs don’t want halfbreeds around? Why do they always make a point of kil ing them when they’re just babies? . . . Maybe it’s because when they grow up, they’re al as powerful as Merlin.”

“Maybe,” says Jael. “My uncle said each one is different.

Just because Merlin was awesome, doesn’t mean I am.”

“Mr. McKinley and Miss Thompson,” says Ms.

Spielman from the front of the class. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to begin teaching a little math.”

“Sorry, Ms. Spielman,” says Jael as they both look down at their textbooks.

After a few moments, Rob whispers, “I think you’re awesome. And I believe you can do it.”

Her first impulse is to chuck something at him. What does he know, anyway? But then she thinks, What do I know? Maybe Rob could be right. Is that such a crazy idea? That someone else might be right?

After class, they’re walking out of the room when Ms.

Spielman stops them.

“Jael, would you stay behind a moment?” she asks.

“Uh, sure . . . ,” says Jael, looking at Rob.

“Hey, I’l catch you after school?” he says.

“Yeah, okay. Good,” she says.

After Rob is gone, Ms. Spielman gives Jael a little smile.

“He’s a nice boy,” she says.

“Yeah,” says Jael, blushing.

“Everything okay?” she asks. “I didn’t see your father in the lounge this morning.”

“Oh, sure, yeah,” says Jael. “I think he took the day off for some reason.” To pack.

“Jael,” says Ms. Spielman, then she stops for a second and just looks at her. “If you ever want to talk to someone, I’m here.

Sometimes it helps to have a . . . female perspective.”

“Oh, uh thanks, Ms. Spielman. I definitely wil . Uh, if I need to talk about anything.”

Ms. Spielman doesn’t quite seem satisfied with this brush-off. She frowns a little, then reaches out her hand as if to touch Jael’s cheek. But she stops short.

“You have so much potential, Jael. Once you believe that, you’l take off like a rocket. I promise.”

Jael forces a smile at her. “Okay, Ms. Spielman.” If she only knew what Jael is up against, she probably wouldn’t be that confident.

“Maybe,” says Ms. Spielman, “you feel as though no one real y understands what you’re going through.

What obstacles you have in front of you.”

“What?” says Jael. It’s like Ms. Spielman picked the thought from her head.

“Jael, everyone feels that way sometimes,” says Ms.

Spielman. “It’s al right. If people only had the courage to admit it to each other, none of us would feel quite so alone.”

“Sure,” says Jael. She suddenly doesn’t feel comfortable in the room. “Thanks, Ms. Spielman.

Have a good day.”

“You too, Jael,” she hears Ms. Spielman say as she walks out.

“Hal oween,” says Father Ralph to his history class,

“or Al Hal ows’ Eve.” He shifts his belt buckle, which is a cutesy cartoon version of a skul . “It exists in some form or another in just about every culture.”

Jael isn’t real y paying much attention. Britt didn’t show up at lunch today. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s skipped school, but Jael wishes it hadn’t happened today. What if Jael doesn’t even get a chance to tel Britt that she’s leaving? Maybe she should have said something last night after al . . . .

“But,” continues Father Ralph, “Hal oween wasn’t original y about monsters and demons.”

That word gets Jael’s attention.

“Al Hal ows’ Eve, Dia de los Muertos, or similar holidays,”

says Father Ralph, “are about those who have died.

They are reminders to us al that the dead are always with us.”

There are some laughs scattered from the back, where Andy Link and his fel ow soccer jocks sit.

“I don’t mean ghosts or zombies,” says Father Ralph.

“The real haunting is the memory of a loved one. And driving away demons is symbolic of us attempting to drive away our own inner problems.”

Why does he keep using that word? Jael wonders.

“Why do ghosts frighten so many people?” says Father Ralph. “Is the concept of a spirit coming back from the dead inherently evil? Remember that for much of the Church’s history, the Trinity was known as the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. But now, it’s the Holy Spirit. So what happened?

When did the word ‘ghost’ become associated with evil?” He looks around the room. “Yes, Jack?”

There’s no one named Jack in Jael’s class.

She slowly turns around in her seat. In the last row of desks, she sees him. The guy from the bookstore with the long, wild black hair. But he looks as young as a high school kid now and he’s wearing a school uniform.

“Wel , Father,” says Jack. He speaks in a casual, breezy tone, as if he’s lecturing the entire class, but the whole time, he stares at Jael with his piercing, light blue eyes. “The word

‘ghost’ became more and more associated with evil when society drifted away from a concrete concept of spirituality. As religion became more secularly regimented, the spiritual aspect of Christianity became threatening and alien. Indeed, many who consider themselves to be devoutly religious believe that the spirit realm doesn’t exist at al .”

“An excel ent answer, Jack,” says Father Ralph. He and everyone else in the room is acting like Jack has always been in the class.

Jack continues to look at Jael, an ironic smile on his face.

Then he slowly winks at her.

“Jael, please face front and pay attention,” says Father Ralph.

“Sorry, Father.” She turns back around.

For the rest of the class period, the hair on the back of her neck prickles, like she can feel Jack’s blue-eyed gaze on her. She has to force herself not to squirm in her seat. Who is this guy?

Clearly he’s not just some bookstore guy and there’s some kind of magic going on. Is he a demon, or something else? He was real y friendly at the bookstore, but now it feels like he’s messing with her.

Maybe he figured out what she is. She did accidental y light a book on fire in the store, after al .

He probably saw that.

But what does he want? She decides to corner him and get some answers at the end of class.

Final y, the bel rings and Jael turns back around.

But Jack is gone.

As the rest of the class files out, Jael stays behind, watching Father Ralph sort through some notes on his desk. After a moment, he looks up at her.

“Oh, hi, Jael,” he says casual y, like he doesn’t remember how he couldn’t even look at her on Friday.

“Thank you for replacing your book so quickly.” Then he goes back to his notes.

“No problem, Father,” says Jael. “Um . . . hey, Father?”

“Yes?” he says, stil sorting through his papers.

“When did Jack start at Our Lady of Mercy?”

“Jack?” says Father Ralph. He looks up at her for a moment, frowns, and scratches his beard. “Sorry, Jael. I don’t think I know a Jack. Is he a freshman?”

Jael stares at him for a second, then says, “Uh, right.

Because there’s no one in this class named Jack.”

He gives her a strange look, like he has absolutely no idea what she’s talking about. “Of course not.”

“Thanks anyway, Father.” Then she turns to go.

“Oh, Jael, wait a moment. I’m glad you stayed behind.

I almost forgot.”

Jael turns back.

Father Ralph suddenly looks embarrassed. “This is a somewhat strange request, I know, but . . . Monsignor asked me to bring you by his office after class. He said there’s something very important he needs to talk to you about.”

“Oh,” says Jael. Mons. The Exorcist. A sudden sick fear shoots through her.

It must show on her face, because Father Ralph quickly says,

“You’re not in trouble. Or at least, I don’t think so.

Frankly, I’m not sure I understand what it’s al about.”

“Okay,” she says.

“Don’t worry.” Father Ralph smiles. “I’l be there to protect you from the mean old Mons.”

“Great,” says Jael and she forces herself to smile back.

Jael fol ows Father Ralph to the wing of the school where students are hardly ever permitted: the Residences. Al three priests live there in studio apartments. A few old oil paintings of saints on the hal way wal s, and a noticeable lack of classrooms, are the only indicators that this isn’t a regular part of the school.

But to Jael, entering the hal way feels like walking on forbidden ground.

“Monsignor or I wil write you an excuse for your next class,” says Father Ralph as he leads her down the dim hal way.

Jael nods, but doesn’t trust herself to speak.

“Not that this wil take long, I’m sure,” he says cheerful y.

Maybe he’s right. What if Jael is making too much of this? So what if the Mons used to be some exorcist.

Would an exorcism even affect her? And anyway, it was a long time ago that he did that kind of stuff.

Maybe he sensed something was off on Friday.

That’s understandable. But she’s got that a lot more under control now. He’l probably just ask her some questions. Al Jael has to do is be cool and play dumb, and he’l probably let her go.

They’re at the door now. It’s made of a rich, dark mahogany with no window. Father Ralph knocks on the door. After a moment, she hears the Mons say in his peaceful voice, “Please enter.”

See? The Mons sounds downright cheerful.

Father Ralph opens the door, then gestures for Jael to go in first. Despite her inner pep talk, adrenaline crackles in her veins and she walks into the room with a stiff, self-conscious gait. It’s dim and stuffy inside.

The only furniture is a desk, a smal couch, and a bookshelf. One smal window lets in the feeble light from outside through old plastic blinds.

Standing next to the window is Britt. She looks at Jael, her mouth set in a hard line.

“What are?—” Jael starts to say. Then the door slams shut behind her and she hears a dead-bolt click. She turns back and sees Father Ralph by the door, looking very confused and flustered. Next to him is the Mons, dressed in his ful priest getup: the robe, the scarf, the whole deal, like he’s ready to say Mass.

Except the look in his eyes is not the one she sees when he prays for the sick and dying.

“Jael Thompson,” he says in a booming voice, his face grim and determined. “Father Ralph, your dear friend Brittany, and I are here, with the grace of God, to help you.”