Brimstone (32 page)

“I feel your terror, Magdalena.” It moved again, herding me. “It boils below the façade of your bravery.”

“That’s my acid indigestion.” Prickles of sweat broke out on my skin as I reached the edge of the platform. I guess this is what they mean when they say “Between the devil and the deep blue sea.”

“I can smell your fear.” It drew a noisy breath through the two elongated ovals of its nose, and smacked its misshapen lips. “Your stubbornness hides a bounty of dread.”

The balance tipped with my final step; the effect was tangible, an inevitable teeter-totter slide into the depths. Azmael’s horrible mouth curved into something like a smile.

An updraft caught at the bell of my skirt. The familiar, irrational terror of the deep—of sinking into the abyss—crawled around in my brain like a parasite, and I gave it rein. I hung my heels over empty space, and opened my mind to my ravaging phobia.

The demon couldn’t resist. It sprang at me with a voracious scream, like an animal, a feral, starving thing. I fell back, into the void, and the creature jumped after me.

Dear God, let this work
.

I hit the water with that prayer, and then wished that I’d listened to Coach Milner’s instructions on how not to die a horrible death coming off the high dive. She might not have covered the part with the Hell-born psychic vampire, but at least I might have known that surface tension was not my friend.

The impact felt like hitting a wall at five or ten miles an hour. As the water closed over my head my entire being, down to my cells, screamed in protest. Then I heard the demon splash down beside me. It sank, grabbed on to me
with long, sinuous arms and pulled me deeper, drinking in my terror and my despair.

Part of the plan
. I chanted it in my head as my skirt billowed up around me like a shroud. Part of the plan, a salt bath, a cleansing, a solution. But the Maggie that curled up in my brain, catatonic with fear, only knew the tentacles of a monster dragged me down.

Part of the plan
. The creature’s limbs had gone amorphous and pliable. The demon was losing substance, and its elongating fingers entwined my arms and legs like slimy, rotten vines. With a spark of hope, I started to kick.

My legs churned the water, sped the process as each molecule of NaCl bound to a demonic atom, making it inert. The snaky fingers that gripped me broke apart. I reached blindly out, stretched my arms into the water and grabbed double handfuls of the protoplasmic mess that remained of Azmael. Now that it was shadow-substance again, I could hear it in my head, flailing mentally in fury.

And then it disintegrated completely. My hands held nothing, and my mind was empty.

Numbing panic rushed to fill the void. I swirled my arms and legs through demon-free water, but I had no idea which way was up. The burning in my chest grew intolerable, and little dots of light jumped at the edges of vision.

A hand grabbed my arm, a solid, human hand, pulling at me insistently. I tried to kick, tried to move my arms, but it was like moving through Jell-O. My skirts wrapped around my legs, trapping them. I was so tired, and the dancing sparkles flooded the whole of my sight.

m
y head broke the surface of the water and I sucked in a greedy lungful of air. Something constricted my middle—Justin’s arm, holding me afloat while I coughed and sputtered and reminded my body what oxygen felt like.

“Good to see you,” I managed between gasps.

“Told you I’d be here.” He swam to the ladder, pulling me along. “Can you climb up?”

“Maybe,” I lied. My limbs were spaghetti.

He wrapped my arms around the railing. “Just hold on.”

That, I might manage.

He climbed from the pool, then hooked his arms under
mine and hauled me out. I think I was heavier than he expected. I hoped he assumed it was my waterlogged dress. He fell back, and I sprawled on top of him like a big, soggy fish.

For a long time neither of us moved. I didn’t think I could. Not one muscle in my body wanted to obey my commands. Truthfully, though, it felt good to rest there, Justin’s chest rising and falling under my cheek as he caught his breath. There was another issue as well, but I hadn’t figured out what to do about it.

“When I saw you dive from that board”—his hand stroked my back, almost absently—“and I use the word
dive
very loosely—I thought my heart would stop.”

“You, too?” Mine still beat kind of erratically.

He looked at the pool, which rippled innocently against its concrete borders. “Is it—the demon—gone?”

“Yeah.” It
felt
gone. The way it had disappeared from my head with a little pffft, just like its Hell-dog offspring, made me certain. Well, as certain as I could be, with my vast experience in matters mystical.

“Do you think you can get up?” he asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because my dress slid down when you pulled me out of the water. I’m not decent.”

“Oh.” His cheeks flushed visibly in the dim light, which I thought was kind of cute, until I noticed a tinge of guilt in his blush, and it occurred to me he might not have been completely unaware of that fact.

Call me clueless. And slightly flattered.

He covered his eyes while I sat up and quickly tucked things back where they belonged. Collecting the dinner jacket crumpled on the tile nearby, he handed it to me, his head still turned.

“Thanks.” I wrapped the fabric around my bare, wet shoulders, grateful for the warmth. “You can turn around now.”

He offered a hand and pulled me to my feet. My knees buckled—no, really, they did—and Justin caught me tight against him.

“Thanks.” I rested my hands on his shoulders, not quite able to meet his eyes. “For helping me save the world and all.”

“Anytime.” His crooked smile never looked better. If this were a movie …

The kiss couldn’t possibly have felt so good. He bent his head and fit his lips to mine, as naturally as, well, breathing. But I’d never again take oxygen for granted. I slid my arms around his neck and kissed him like I might never kiss anyone again, ever. He kissed me as though I’d scared him to death, and he needed to tell me something important before I did something else foolhardy. I think I got the message.

A few blissful centuries later, he broke away and wrapped me tightly—tighter still—in his arms. “Maggie Quinn, when you take a leap of faith …”

“I knew it would work.” I rested my cheek on his shoulder, very warm beneath his sodden shirt. “I just thought: water. The universal solvent.”

He laughed. Even with the incredulous shake of his head, it was a wonderful sound.

“Hey!” I startled guiltily at the voice, calling from above. “Maggie? Is that you?”

“Lisa? Are you okay?” I saw her pale face at the edge of the diving platform.

“What the Hell am I doing way up here?”

“It’s a long story,” I said. “Can you make it down?”

“Yeah. If I made it up in this dress, I guess I can make it down.” Her head disappeared.

Justin let his arms fall away from me, obviously reluctant. “I’ll give her a hand.” I wrapped his jacket close and watched Lisa’s shaky descent; once on the ground, she stood for a moment, grasping the ladder and brushing off his assistance.

Then she looked at me, confusion knotting her forehead. “Why are you wet?”

Justin spoke, not coldly but not kindly, either. “She vanquished the demon with a trap in the water.”

Her eyes widened. “The dive pool?” A dizzying jumble of emotions chased each other across her face. Shock, awe, relief … shame, grief, and regret. Finally she raised a shaking hand to her face. “I didn’t understand what it was. A vengeance spirit, Stanley said. I didn’t think it would …” She trailed off as we all remembered what it had done.

“Why did he come to you?” I asked.

She gave a bitter laugh. “I’m D and D Lisa. He thought I knew about sorcery and things.”

“But you came up with the spell.” Justin’s tone clipped the damp air.

Lisa walked to a bench and sat, as if her legs wouldn’t hold her any longer. “Research and improvisation. An academic exercise. I didn’t really expect it to
work
.”

I moved to her slowly, my arms folded. “Did you send the demon after me?”

“Of course not.” That sounded more like Lisa, impatient with me for even thinking it. “Stanley made the list. It had to be written in the same ancient script as on the artifact, and he had his mother’s books. I couldn’t even read it. Fortunately, he thought your name was Margaret.”

“Not so fortunate for Karen,” I pointed out. “Was it just coincidence, that she was your closest competition for valedictorian?”

“I hoped so.” She sank her face into her hands. “But it was like the thing was taking thoughts out of my head. I knew what would hurt the Jocks and the Jessicas, but I never wanted to
act
on those ideas, not seriously. Except maybe Brandon. And I would only want to beat Karen fairly.”

I could sense the guilt that wracked her; I’m not sure how. Still as stone, she didn’t ask for forgiveness. I suspected from the starkness of her voice, she didn’t think she deserved it.

“We should go.” Justin touched my arm. “I’m going to check the hall. Meet me at the door.”

I nodded, understanding he was giving us privacy. I sat on the bench and took my friend’s hand. “You forged the weapon, Lisa. You didn’t wield it.”

She raised her bleak gaze to mine. “But I didn’t stop it, either.”

“I’m not sure you could have, once it started.” I looked away, at the rippling blackness of the pool. Curiosity, anger, arrogance, denial. I couldn’t judge Lisa, because I’d been guilty of all those things at one time or another. Sometimes all at once.

And we would need each other. Azmael knew us. He was gone from this plane, but had he ceased to exist? Vanquished was not the same as destroyed.

I stood, decisively, and pulled her with me. “Come on. It’s time to go.”

“H
allucinogenic Drugs Suspected in Wild Dog Attack on Senior Prom”—that was the headline Saturday morning.

“Wild dogs?” I posed the incredulous question in our living room, full of family. “Who’s going to believe that wild dogs attacked the Marriott?”

Dad settled on the couch, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. “More people than will believe demon-spawn did it.”

“I would rather believe in wild dogs,” said my mom, warming her hands on a mug of tea. “I’m not sure I can handle the truth.”

She might not believe it at all if I hadn’t brought Justin
home to tend to his bite marks. The circumference was more like a shark than a dog, but fortunately it hadn’t gone very deep. I couldn’t say the same for Mom’s denial.

Justin was still there—Mom had insisted he stay in the guest room. Lisa had stayed upstairs with me, but she was gone by the time I woke up.

Gran had arrived with doughnuts, just as the coffee was finished perking, of course. She stole a moment to tell me how proud she was, then pinched my ear, hard, for not keeping her in the loop. She couldn’t have been too angry, though, because she brought blueberry-filled doughnuts, and no one likes those but me.

I stuffed the rest of a doughnut in my mouth and read the article. “Listen to this: ‘When asked about strange reports of ghost dogs that couldn’t be killed, Dr. Silas Blackthorne said, “Ridiculous. That would run counter to all natural laws of physics. Clearly someone must have spiked the punch with some kind of perception-altering drug. You would be amazed the effect that certain combinations of chemicals can have on the brain.” ’ ”

Maybe Silas Blackthorne had a career in fiction after all.

“Well,” said Justin, sounding very amused as he read the paper over my shoulder, “he did say he would make something up.”

I looked up at him from the floor in front of his chair. “Do you think people are really going to buy that?”

“Your mom is right. No one wants to believe in demon-dogs. Even eyewitnesses search for a logical explanation, no matter how big a stretch.”

A valid point. And really, there were few who knew the
whole truth. He, Lisa, Brian, and I. Brandon and Stanley weren’t talking.

The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” I said, levering myself up from the floor. “Maybe it’s Lisa.”

I had seen no reason to go into details of either Lisa or Stanley’s involvement. Stanley’s parents were going to have enough to deal with. The EMTs had found him wandering the golf course, babbling about the snapping jaws of Hell. His condition backed up the “experimental mind-altering drug” theory, and he was undergoing psychiatric observation. Maybe he would recover, maybe not. My gut told me, though, that he’d been a victim of Azmael, too.

As for Lisa, she stood on my doorstep, the purple shadows under her eyes speaking to a sleepless night. “Hey, Mags.”

“Hey. Where’d you go this morning?” I floated the question, not wanting to make it an accusation.

“The hospital.” Running a tired hand over her face, she seemed to unravel a little as I watched. “He’s not dead.”

I knew she meant Brandon. His critical injuries were mentioned in the paper, but no death.

“He doesn’t remember anything at all. And he’s going to have months, maybe years of orthopedic therapy ahead of him. But he’s not dead.”

I pulled the front door closed, leaving us in privacy on the porch. “You talked to him?”

“Yeah. Sort of. I snuck in. He was on serious drugs.”

“How …” I tried to think of a way to ask if she was all right, when she obviously wasn’t. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I used to think I would do anything to get back at him for making me feel that way, so powerless.” She looked up at the gabled roof, blinking hard. “But when the demon was tearing him up, I lost track of which one of us was the monster. It was an ugly place to find myself, Mags.”

“I know.” Except that I didn’t, really.

“Nothing justifies that.”

Possibly I could say something placating, like she didn’t really know what she was letting loose, or he deserved it. Both those things were true but both were also too easy.