Almost Demon (The Sigil Cycle) Page 7

  “So listen,” she said as she checked herself in the mirror she had strategically placed on her locker door, and slathered on another thick layer of gloss. “I decided that this year I want a sleepover party for my birthday.”

  “What’s the catch?” I asked, knowing that she always had her mom and dad bend backwards as payment for being stuck with them for parents.

  She laughed and threw her arms around me with enough vigor to send us both crashing to the floor.

  “Can you two dykes take it somewhere private?”

  I heard Allison’s voice and then looked up, watching for any sign of the Dybbuk but only a pair of ice cold eyes stared back. Her and her usual gaggle of followers stood around us in a fit of hysterics.

  “That’s a pretty homophobic comment, coming from the student body president,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Just try complaining, freak.” She spat on the floor next to me and walked away, her clucking friends not far behind.

  “Nothing crazy. Just a few girls. And my again best friend,” Charlotte said, bringing me back to our conversation. The recent altercation with Allison hadn’t even fazed her.

  I wish I could do that.

  “Sounds fun.” I was eager to get Allison out of my head and remembered what I had originally wanted to ask Charlotte. “How was the concert? You weren’t here yesterday.”

  “Super! But I totally needed to catch up on my sleep.” She put the cap back on the tube. “Oh, and I got to meet the band. How cool?”

  She scrolled through the pictures on her phone and gave me a play by play of the entire night.

  “Maybe you could trip on some free pedicures next time.” I laughed.

  “I’ll see what I can do. Just. For. You,” she replied, tapping my nose to the beat. The bell rang and I watched Charlotte falter a bit on her five-inch platform wedge booties. There had to be sensible shoes somewhere in her closet.

  Thing didn’t get interesting until lunchtime. Charlotte had rescheduled a test she missed while nursing some post-concert laryngitis, so I was left to fend for myself.

  “There’s my girl,” Ian said, taking the seat in front of me.

  My girl. Ohmygod.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  Could I play cool or what?

  “I was thinking,” his voice was dark and playful, “that we could take another trip soon.”

  “I’m in,” I said, sounding a bit eager. I chose to ignore the entire conversation with my dad from this morning and instead focus on the way that Ian’s black-collared shirt made his neck look extra delicious.

  “How’s tomorrow sound?” he said in between bites of his pizza.

  “Great.”

  “So what’s the deal between you and Queen Bee over there?” he said, motioning to Allison who was busy exercising power over her table full of subjects.

  “She was my brother’s girlfriend.” I left it at that.

  “There’s got to be more to it than that.”

  “Well,” I cleared my throat, “Allison, like everyone else in town, my father included, thinks that the car accident that killed my brother and my two best friends is my fault.”

  “Why would they think that?”

  “I was the one driving.” I kept busy with the salad I had gotten in an effort to eat healthier.

  Would dousing it in Ranch dressing be okay?

  “And do you think it was your fault?” he asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders and didn’t answer. He didn’t look very convinced by the story.

  Senior year was on its own collision course, losing most of its purported luster on the first day. My thoughts were caught in a constant tangle of Ian’s smile and worry over what evil intentions the smoke-filled spirits of the Dybbuk had for this town.

  Alone again with Mr. Flynn, or should I say Thom, I decided to make a case for the angel I had picked. There was no way I was going to summon a demon if I could get out of it. Visions of red-skinned, horned creatures taunted me at the mere thought.

  “So, after reading through the book and doing some research online-” I said.

  “Are you daft?” he interrupted, his vowels becoming longer creating a more brogueish accent. “Was this in between searching for Katy Perry’s favorite color and pictures of Brad Pitt’s arse?”

  “Listen.” I smacked the desk and stood up, meeting him eye to eye. “I have had with people either telling me what to do or telling me off. I am trying to help. So we’re going to lay some ground rules.”

  Stay strong Gem. Don’t wimp out, no matter how scary angry he gets.

  His pupils dilated and his jaw became stiff.

  This was becoming a showdown.

  Don’t flinch. Don’t flinch. Don’t flinch.

  The line of his mouth began to curve into a smile.

  “Go ahead, Gemma. Tell me about your rules.”

  Teacher. Teacher. Hot Teacher. Not really. He’s just a sub and, technically, he’s still in college.

  For a moment, I lost myself in the endless pools of Thom’s dark eyes but the smirk on his face reminded me that he had just dissed me for my unconventional demonic research methodology.

  “One, you have to take my work seriously. I know I’m kind of new to this whole magic thing but I’m at least giving it my best shot.”

  “Keep going,” he said.

  “Two, you need to try to be a little more predictable. Between barking orders and ignoring me, I can’t tell if all this is real. And three, you can’t just run off.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You do it all the time. Say something completely earth- shattering then pick up your stuff and leave.”

  The clock ticked off a new minute.

  “Very well.” He circled my desk. I could feel the heat of his body radiating behind me. “But let’s make something clear.”

  His breath tickled the hairs on my neck.

  “You will help me at all costs. That means getting your wee little head out of bed at dawn and working long after our little meetings. And this stays between the two of us.”

  Before I could reply, I caught a glimpse of something black in the corner of my eye. The Dybbuk that had faithfully clung to the wall all week long had detached itself in a flurry of activity, circling around itself until it sped out the door.

  I followed it out into the hall and continued down to the end where a large picture window stood overlooking the grassy knoll in front of the school. I looked to my left and right where the hallways continued on, spanning the width of the building.

  “Run off, did he?” Thom said. “Curious.”

  “Is there some way to track them?” I continued to stare outside and caught a flash of discolored shadow weaving through the parking lot. “Over there,” I said, pointing to the spot that was now empty.

  “They can’t be caught if they don’t want to be.” He placed a hand my shoulder and after a few moments, the heat from his touch became unbearable.

  I jerked away and rubbed the spot beneath my shirt, which now felt raw.

  “What was that?” I shrieked.

  “Let’s get to work,” he said, his face now a mask of indifference.

  In the classroom, it was back to business. I didn’t ask about what voodoo powers he may have and he didn’t mention them. Instead, he went back to trying not to taunt me too much.

  “Please regale me with your findings. I have spent a great deal of time combing through ancient texts. I’d like to know what you came up with from your Google.”

  It was now or never. If I didn’t pull this off with confidence, there was no way I was having a say about anything with him. Ever.

  “Ambriel. I figured the angel of communication would, you know, communicate.” I flipped open the grimoire to the angel’s page. The letters of his name were gilded and illustrated in colored inks, like the ones found in hand-illuminated Bibles from the Middle Ages. They were vertically placed on the left hand side while on the right, small neat calligraphy went on to describ
e the angel’s rank, tasks and abilities along with, what I had discovered online, yes, online, was an incantation.

  “Let’s give a go,” Thom replied. “Oh and before I forget.” He walked over to his desk and pulled out a package, which he dumped in front me. “That’s for you.” The way he tapped on the brown paper wrapped box exuded impatience. Anyone else would have me seeing red. From him, it was endearing.

  The folds on the edges were so crisp that they must have been scored. I stuck my finger beneath the clear tape and inched it open with great care. After getting all three sides done, I peeled away the paper, revealing a stack of more paper. Cream-colored index card-sized parchment that was as smooth as suede beneath my fingertips.

  “It’s real goat hide.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable.

  “Um, wow.” I was starting to sound like Charlotte.

  “It will absorb the ink better.” His elbow brushed my arm as he drew one leaf away from the stack and placed it in front of me with reverence. I felt the warmth rolling off his body.

  “Thanks.”

  “Go ahead.” He placed a silver nib fountain pen in front of me.

  I picked it up with the same care he used when setting it down and turned to the page with the sigil wheel. I placed a piece of scrap paper over it and circled each of the letters of the angel’s name in order. A-M-B-R-I-E-L. Then I drew straight lines attaching the small rings together, doubling back between R and I because of the close proximity between the two on the chart.

  “Good.” Thom’s voice broke the silence. “When you get a little practice in you, you’ll know how to add some flourishes. It’ll make you stronger and root the power more firmly.”

  I then took the piece of parchment and copied my design carefully on it, picking up my hand after each smooth stroke to avoid smudges.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “For an angel, just recite the incantation. For a demon, there’s a bit more involved. Summoning circle, candles. Think of The Craft.”

  “Movies? You’re on my case for consulting modern man’s version of the encyclopedia and you’re telling me to get my ritual information from a cheesy, yet very watchable, 90s movie?”

  “Just as a familiar reference point.” He laughed. “But surprisingly accurate.”

  “You said yourself that angels and demons are pretty much the same. Why the difference between the summonings?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. It settled in a haphazard mop to the left side of his head.

  “They’re more two sides of the same coin. Demons need the summoning circle to keep them contained until you give them leave to depart. Angels always follow orders and return to where they were prior to the summoning.”

  “Then I’m glad we’re calling an angel,” I said.

  “Let me know what you think after you speak to him.”

  I brushed away the confusion at his last remark and went back to the page with Ambriel’s incantation and started at the words.

  “Out loud,” Thom said with an insisting nudge.

  How the hell was he so warm?

  I was more embarrassed than anything but decided it was probably easier reciting the ridiculous chant than invoking the wrath of Thom.

  “I conjure and pray ye, O Angels of God, to come unto my aid. Come and behold the Signs of Heaven. This being done, let Ambriel arise.”

  The room remained still. Nothing happened. We sat motionless until I began losing feeling in my leg. I leaned over to give my shin a good rub when Thom yanked at my arm.

  “Sit up,” he hissed.

  “What’s your problem?” I asked, bumping my head on the underside of my desk. I was ready to tear him a new one, when the new presence in the room caught my attention.

  “Ambriel at your service.” There was a mock tip of a nonexistent hat from a squat, freckle-faced red-headed boy who couldn’t have been older than eleven. The lapel of his white robe lay crooked on his neck and the hem was in tatters. His feet were bare but clean.

  “I was kind of expecting a bit more,” I blurted.

  “And I was expecting Angelina Jolie.” He eyed Thom sitting next to me, winked, and then turned back to me. “Like I said, I’m at your service.” He began chewing his nails while I tried to regain some composure.

  “So. Ambriel. Um. I was hoping you could help me with a little problem we have going on here.”

  “Not likely,” he answered.

  “Why not?” I said, unable to hide the anger in my voice.

  “I don’t get involved. Sorry.” He began walking around the room.

  “Why not?”

  “Not much finesse in this one,” he said to Thom.

  “Excuse me, I’m right here.” I was starting to sound like a child and decided that a deep breath would do me a world of good.

  “Look, girly,” Ambriel started. I wanted to wring his little neck. “I can’t help you. None of us can. Angels have a strict ‘stay out of human business’ rule. It would interfere with free will.”

  “Free will? But the Dybbuk think it’s fine to take over other people’s bodies and make them go crazy and do things that aren’t right,” I said.

  He put his open palms up in the air in the universal sign of I can’t do anything about it.

  Before I could rail against the lack of justice in this world, the skin on the inside of my wrist began to tingle. I scrunched up the sleeve and watched as the pricking sensation intensified. “What the f-!” I screamed.

  A dark mark began to take shape on the thin pale skin, darkening bit by bit until it finally came into focus.

  “Tell me this comes off,” I continued.

  “A small price to pay to be a sorceress. It’s a badge of honor.” The impudent little mother effer snapped his fingers and disappeared, leaving a hideous stamp of evidence like a calling card on my skin. His sigil.

  I scowled and then turned to Thom, letting him know how pissed off I was at my new tattoo.

  It was late by the time I got home. The furniture was cloaked in the blanketing darkness of shorter days. I almost wished to find my dad waiting with his arms crossed and his face in a grimace. The biggest disappointment of the day, though, was Ambriel’s refusal to help. Thom had said as much with his retelling of the creation story but I wouldn’t believe it until I had seen it. He had known it wasn’t going to work. And he let you do things your way, to be fair. He also left out the bit about getting a tattoo with each new sigil I create.

  I grabbed a stack of cookies from the pantry, forgoing a more traditional frozen dinner. The summoning had drained more energy than I had noticed and the fatigue was settling into my bones. I toed off my boots, kicked them to the side, and headed straight for the bathroom, pausing shortly in front of Brian’s room. Thinking of all the crumbs I got on the carpet the other day, I decided against wallowing in my sorrows there and instead went to run the water.

  After a bath and another tower of snickerdoodles, I lay in bed, thinking back to Ian’s invitation for another ride on the roller coaster of the absurd.

  Remembering the scrap of notebook paper he had scribbled on, I went back to the coat closet for my bag, flustered at the idea of storing Ian’s number in my phone.

  After keying in the digits and double checking for errors, I added Ian to my contacts and toyed with the idea of calling him. Instead, I opted for the coward’s way out. Texting.

  Me: Hey. It’s Gemma.

  Ian: Hey! What’s up? We still on for tomorrow?

  Me: Not really supposed to be going out after school. Daddy said.

  Ian: You don’t seem the type to care what Daddy thinks.

  Me: No, I don’t. He either already forgot or doesn’t want to bother enforcing his own rules.

  Ian: Fear not, my fair damsel. We shall ride again.

  Me: Tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it.

  Ian: Me too.

  Me: Goodnight.

  Ian: G’night.

  The moon was full and high, spilling bands of whit
e light into my room. I was able to make out the lines of the sigil that had embedded itself to my skin. I traced the lines and my body hummed.

  And although I was comforted by the visual reminder that I wasn’t imagining any of this, I lay awake, worried what would happen next time. When it would be a demon summoning. And why Thom’s touch burned like the sigils on my skin.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The next morning, I tore through all seven drawers of my double-wide espresso stained dresser in a desperate yet futile attempt to find something that would cover the mark on my arm. Concealer didn’t cut it. I stormed into Brian’s room and after a bit of rummaging, found the black leather cuff he always wore while playing guitar. It was a bit loose and bore the unmistakable rainbow prism of Pink Floyd but managed to cover the sigil completely.

  As soon as I stepped into the kitchen, my father’s angry eyes were on me. “What part of our conversation did you misunderstand?” he barked.

  “Sorry?” I asked, squashing the urge to laugh in his face.

  “Cut the act.” He stood up and took a step closer, placing his hands on his waist. I took notice of how wrinkled his lab coat, slacks, and button down shirt were.

  He must have been at work all night.

  “What act? How could you possibly even know what time I came home?”

  “Gemma, you are making things very difficult for me. You’ve forced me to use some extreme measures. There are some cameras in the house so I can monitor you from the office. And I’ve activated a tracking device on your phone.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, Dad. I don’t mean to mess up your life but you’re doing a great job on mine.” I walked around his imposing figure and scooped my bag out from its usual spot in the closet.

  “Yeah but you did,” he called after me. “It’s enough you killed Brian. Can’t you just follow my rules?”

  The sharp intake of my breath was the only sound in the room. Everything else became fuzzy. I turned to look at my dad through tear-filled eyes to check if he meant what he said. I saw no signs of hesitation. I could usually find weakness when he was unsure of himself. There was none. No chewing the inside of his cheek. No twisting of the hair in the back of his head. No other nervous tactile movements.