Death, Doom and Detention

I chuckled. “I think we should call her that. Crack.”

“That’s why I call her Moon Pie.”

With interest piqued, I asked, “What does a MoonPie have to do with it?”

He stretched and let out a yawn before answering. “When we were in the fifth grade, I saw a MoonPie in a store that was broken. It had a crack down the middle that reminded me of her aura.”

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. “That’s why you call her that?”

He laughed too until Brooke stirred. We quieted instantly, but the image was one I would cherish forever.

I ended up talking to Cameron for much of the night, learning about what it was like growing up with his abilities. Being able to see what he sees. On one hand, the idea of detecting ghosts and auras was fascinating. On the other, the things he saw would have scared my hair straight. I wasn’t sure any kid, nephilim or not, should be subject to such knowledge. How did he make sense of it growing up? How did knowing what he knew shape his psyche? His behavior? He’d always been such a loner, never had many friends, and kept to himself pretty much his whole life. Now I understood why.

I looked at the clock as sleep finally settled around me. Two in the morning. I would look horrible for school. Especially since I woke up a little over three hours later to the strangled sounds of my own breathing.

STRAWBERRY SHAMPOO AND CINNAMON ROLLS

A nightmare. I’d had a nightmare, and it was enough to cause an asthma attack. Thankfully, someone thought to put battery acid in an inhaler for just such an occasion.

Standing barefoot in my bathroom, surrounded by a billowing cloud of steam, I wiped condensation off the mirror and leaned forward. Probing. Searching. I studied the pupils of my gray eyes and rapped on the silvery glass. “I know you’re in there,” I said to the demon lying dormant inside.

Talking to the demon was better than dwelling on the fact that Jared never came home. Even my grandparents started asking questions, to which I just shrugged. If they knew he was missing, they would send me packing for sure. For my own safety, of course.

Then again, maybe Jared wasn’t just missing. Maybe he’d been called back. He was the Angel of Death, after all. He had a job to do. Would he leave without saying good-bye?

The thought made my chest ache with sadness.

Since it was Monday and I couldn’t sleep anyway, I’d dragged myself out of bed earlier than I thought humanly possible and forced my reluctant body into the shower. The warm water helped, but it didn’t dissipate the dream I’d had. The same dream I’d been having for weeks, reliving the possession as though it had happened yesterday. The residue lingered, dark and eerie, like a thick smoke suffocating any thoughts of a normal day.

I narrowed my eyes at my own reflection, hoping the demon inside was looking out, watching me watch him. I didn’t want to be rude, but it was my body he was trespassing against.

“If you don’t come out of there this instant, I will drag you out by your fingernails and serve you to the buzzards.”

“Really?” Brooklyn inched the shower curtain aside and peeked around it, shampoo bubbling down her long black hair. “I got five bucks says you can’t take me on your best day.”

“I was talking to Mal,” I said, staring him down in the mirror.

Mal was our little nickname for the monstrosity within me. Malak-Tuke was just so formal. I often wondered how Satan was getting along without his go-to guy, him setting up shop in my innards and all.

“Is Mal talking back to you?” Brooklyn asked me.

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, if he ever does, let me know,” she said, seconds before she sucked in a sharp breath, then followed it up with a whole lot of coughing and sputtering. Either she’d accidentally swallowed shampoo or she was coming down with something. Probably something serious like scarlet fever. Or Ebola.

I almost worried when she started making vomit sounds.

“Your shampoo tastes horrible.”

“Really?” I asked, feigning surprise. “It smells so fruity.”

I turned back to the mirror and saw Cameron standing at my window. He’d gone out early to do reconnaissance. I had no idea what that meant exactly, but it sounded important. I tightened my robe and strode to open the window. A bitingly harsh wind whipped inside as Cameron bent to talk to me through the opening.

“Pervy much?” I asked him before he could say anything.

“Why?” He looked past me into the bathroom. “Is Brooke in there?”

I maneuvered around to try to block his view, but since he was well over a foot taller, I doubted I was doing any good. “Did you find anything?” I asked, referring to our missing team member.

He shook his head. And he seemed worried, which was not like him.

I tried not to let that news push me further into a state of despair. Jared was a big boy. He was a millennia-old big boy. And me worrying about him was like a gnat worrying about the well-being of a guided missile.

“Hey,” Brooke yelled to me, “did you take my favorite towel?”

I bit down and tossed Cameron a conspiratorial gaze. “No,” I said, slowly pulling the towel off my head and stuffing it behind her bed. “I have no idea where it is.”

Cameron grinned. “Maybe I should take her one.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” He shrugged, then frowned at me when he realized I was shivering. “I’ll meet you downstairs,” he said, but I grabbed his jacket sleeve to stop him.