Misfit (11 page)

A strange flush of satisfaction runs through her and she realizes it’s nice to have someone look at her like that, even a fish monster.

“What happened to me?” she asks. “Out there?”

“Mortals have a lot of safety mechanisms, like perception filters. If they were to ever understand the whole universe at once, they’d probably go crazy and die. It’s a lot to take in, and most of them just aren’t built for it. A demon doesn’t have al those filters, though. We don’t have limitations on what we can see or understand. My guess is that since most demons are thousands of years old, we’ve had time to adjust.

You, on the other hand, are just jumping into the deep end on your first time out. Every halfbreed is different.

There’s going to be a lot of unexpected surprises.”

“Right . . . ,” says Jael. She looks back at the bowl of water.

She sticks a finger in, breaking the surface.

“Wel , let’s start packing,” says Jael’s father, walking over to her. He’s shaken off his earlier sadness and now he’s al business.

“We can be gone by sunrise.”

“What?” says Jael. “What do you mean ‘pack’?”

“We have to move, of course.”

For a moment, it’s hard for her to catch her breath. It brings her back to the reality of her life like a sharp pain. Two real y good friends—one of them possibly even a boyfriend in the making. And she’s about to lose them. “But Dad . . . ,” she says, trying to find her voice.

“I think we should try somewhere less populated,” her father is saying. “Maybe rural Australia . . . or Alaska.

We home school from now on, that’s certain. And then

—”

“And then what, Dad?” says Jael. “What about col ege?”

“You can get degrees online these days, can’t you?”

“How am I going to get a job?” She’s just throwing things out there, trying to trip him up long enough for her to figure out what she needs to say to stop this from happening.

“It’d have to be something that you can do from home, obviously,” he says. “Perhaps Web design, or copywriting, or telemarketing, or something like that.”

“That’s it?” says Jael, not even trying to hide the misery in her voice. “That’s my whole life you’ve got figured out?”

“I know it’s disappointing,” he says, laying his hand on her shoulder. “We al have dreams that just can’t come true. But trust me, I’ve had sixteen years to think about this, and it real y is the best option.”

“Sure,” says Dagon with exaggerated casualness. “If you want to live like a shadow.”

“Dagon, don’t butt in,” says her father. “You aren’t—”

“I’m not what, Father Paul?” Dagon asks. He places a massive, clawed hand on the table and leans across to stick his fanged muzzle right up close to her father.

“I’m not al owed?

Entitled? Wanted? I’m her uncle and your time being the one and only voice in her life is over. That was the agreement. That was the promise we made to Astarte.”

Dagon and her father glare at each other for a minute, Jael and the table in between them. Then Dagon turns back to Jael.

“Listen, kid,” he says. “You don’t want that kind of life.

Always hiding and sneaking and running away. It’s not even fit for a mortal, and you’re much more than that.

Your daddy’s kept you safe, and that’s great, but now it’s time to fly the nest.”

“You want her to go to Hel ?” says her father. “You’re insane!”

“Of course not Hel proper,” says Dagon to her father.

Then back to Jael, “But kid, I know this little group that’s kind of . .

. neutral to the whole thing. Heaven, Hel , halfbreeds . .

. they don’t judge. You stay with them while you’re getting yourself together. I’l visit when I can. We’l work on getting your abilities focused and in control.

And then . . .”

“And what?” says her father. “Go out and pick fights with other demons? Or maybe get them to accept her, like that poor bastard Asmodeus did?”

“No!” says Dagon. “Not like Asmodeus! That’s not an option.”

“Isn’t that the guy who—”

“So what then, Dagon?” her father interrupts, his voice rising as he scowls up at the monster twice his size. “If it were up to you, you’d just throw her on some backwater burnt-out husk of Hel and let her go native until someone catches on and rips her to pieces? And you even want to bring the Deadlies into it? You can’t be serious.”

“They’re fine, now!” says Dagon defensively.

“Who are the Deadl—”

“Dagon,” her father interrupts again, “she isn’t welcome in Hel and you can’t guarantee her protection.”

“You can’t protect her either,” says Dagon. One clawed hand digs into the wood of the table; the other clenches into a fist. “If you actual y think that hiding in Alaska is going to save you from Belial, then you’re even dumber than I thought!”

“Real y,” says Jael. “I don’t think Alaska—”

“At least I have a plan,” her father says. “You haven’t even thought this through. You want to make it up as you go along, just like you always do. And look where it’s gotten you.”

“I’ve made my choices and I stick by them!” growls Dagon.

“You don’t know anything about mortals!” shouts her father.

“You don’t know anything about taking care of a child

—”

“Hey,” says Jael, “I’m not a—”

“Oh, yeah, Father Paul,” says Dagon, putting his hands on his hips and leering at him. “Because you’ve been a model parent. So supportive and loving.”

“Damn you!” says her father. “I’ve done everything—”

“Everything but accept her for who she real y is.

Everything but believe in what Astarte was trying to do,” says Dagon.

“What I am stil trying to do.”

“Get it through those thick scales of yours!” says her father.

“There isn’t going to be a Reclamation! You wil never be gods again! I won’t stand by and watch you throw her life away on your delusions!”

“STOP IT!” shouts Jael.

Her father and her uncle look down at her in surprise, almost as if they had forgotten she was there.

“You’re not even trying to figure this out anymore.

You’re just fighting,” she says as she stands up and walks away from them. Then she turns back, her arms folded on her chest. She gives them both a level stare. “Wel , since neither of you seems to have a good plan, what about my idea?”

They look at each other, then back at her.

“And?” says her father. “What is your idea?”

“I’m just going to stay right here.”

“Jael,” says her father. He takes a step toward her.

“You don’t real y have the ful picture yet of the kind of danger you’re in—”

“No, I think I get it, Dad. Scary monsters are after me, my life span is probably going to be short, and there’s nothing either of you can do to stop that. So if I’ve only probably got a few years at best, I want to at least try to enjoy it.”

“That’s fine, kid,” says Dagon, “I get that. But don’t you want to do something more interesting? Go places?”

“I have been places. I have done interesting things.

And I am so lonely,” she says and she has to fight to keep the tears away.

“My mom said I have a right to my mortal life and my demon life. I want both. I want to learn about being a demon. I want to know everything I can about my mother and my family. But I also want friends my own age! Real friends, for once. We’ve been here two years and I’m so close, Dad. If I leave now, you take it al away again.”

“You’re saying you want to keep going to Our Lady of Mercy?” asks her father, not bothering to hide his shock.

“Hey, come on,” says Dagon, nudging him. “A demon in Catholic school? Could be good for some laughs.”

Her father glares at him.

“Okay, okay,” says Dagon. “In al seriousness, I think this could work. Maybe not for a long time, but for a little while. It might even be the best option. Think about it. We know who everyone is. We know who might become a problem.”

“But how is she going to fit in?”

“She’s half mortal. Holy objects don’t affect her.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” says her father. “In fact, as far as her traits and abilities, we don’t know anything for sure. We’re flying completely blind here.

Unleashing her on an unsuspecting population of mortal high school students could be catastrophic.”

“Unleash me?” says Jael. “Jesus, Dad, you make it sound like I’m some kind of menace.”

“Of course you aren’t,” he says, maybe a little too quickly.

“But . . .”

“But what, Dad?”

“Yeah, Father Paul,” says Dagon, a touch of hardness in his voice. “But what?”

He looks at them with a helpless expression.

“Please, Dad,” says Jael. “Give me a chance to show you this can work.”

He is silent for a little while and just stares off into a corner of the room, his face tense. Then at last he takes a breath and says, “If we did this, you would have to promise me something.”

“What?”

“You cannot talk to anyone about this. Believe me, people wil not understand. There wil be times when you’l be tempted, for whatever reason. But no matter how nice they seem, once you turn their world upside down like that, they wil not thank you for that. The truth wil terrify them, and they wil project that fear on you.

Is that clear?”

“Yeah, I get it. Dad, I’ve had to keep this to myself since I was eight. I’m pretty good at it by now.”

“It’s different now,” says her father. “We don’t know what you might be capable of. People could get hurt.”

“There you go talking about me like some kind of walking disaster again!”

“Just . . . promise me,” says her father. “The moment someone even gets suspicious, or if you accidental y do something that makes you stand out in any way, you wil tel me.”

“Us,” says Dagon.

“Us,” says her father reluctantly.

“I promise,” says Jael.

He stares at her for a moment longer, then nods.

“Fine. We’l try it. For now.”

Jael lets out a slow breath and her stomach knots start to unkink.

“Thanks, Dad,” she says.

Her father says nothing. Instead he goes back to staring into the corner. Jael fol ows his line of sight and realizes he’s staring at the broken silver pendant clasp from the necklace.

Jael wonders what it means to him to see it there, empty and useless.

“I think,” he says at last, “that if Jael is going to insist on going to school tomorrow, we should get to bed.”

The next morning, it takes Jael a while to get out of bed. Not because she’s tired. In fact, she feels more awake, more energized, than she ever thought possible. No, what keeps her from getting out of bed is the fact that everything looks, sounds, and smel s amazing. Last night she had been too distracted by the argument to real y take it al in. But now, the way the sunlight glances through the window, the way dust motes drift through the air, and even the weaving cracks of the hardwood floor seem so fascinating that she can hardly tear herself way from them. It’s as if these inanimate objects cal to her in some strange way.

Eventual y she makes it through her morning routine and down to the kitchen. She finds her father sitting at the table, flipping through student assignments.

“Jael,” he says quietly.

“Morning, Dad. Running late?”

“No,” he says.

If he never needed to leave so early, Jael wonders, why did he? She almost wants to ask, but doesn’t.

She’s in too good a mood to spoil it.

She reaches into the cupboard for a cereal bowl, but the thought of eating cereal suddenly nauseates her.

Instead she scans the fridge, looking for something more appealing. The figs are al gone, but there’s a bunch of asparagus and for some bizarre reason, they look real y tasty. She grabs the whole bunch, sits down at the table, and begins to chew them raw.

“Your mother was the same way,” her father says quietly.

“She only ate live food.”

Jael freezes, a stalk of asparagus halfway to her mouth.

“Live?”

“No meat,” her father says quickly. “She never ate meat.

And nothing cooked or cured or frozen. Just raw fresh fruit and vegetables.”

Jael continues eating. She’s never real y cared for asparagus much, but now it tastes incredible. Rich and sharp, with plenty of satisfying crunch.

“Does this mean I’m an herbivore?” she asks.

“I believe so,” he said.

“Are al . . . um . . . demons herbivores?”

“Ah, no,” says her father. “Definitely not.”

The way he says it, Jael is afraid to ask for more details.

Instead, she just eats her vegetables in silence. After a little while, she says, “Where’s, uh . . . Uncle Dagon?” She’s stil getting used to having an uncle, human or demon.

“Hel ,” he says. “He had to work.”

She eats another stalk of asparagus. Then she says,

“Is he coming back?”

“When he can.”

“Okay.” She’s not sure why the idea of having a giant, hulking fish monster shambling around the house makes her feel better, but it does. She finishes the last of her asparagus, then stands up and grabs her bag.

“Bring extra snacks,” says her father. “You’l probably get hungry more often now.”

“Sure. Fine.” She carries her bag over to the fridge and dumps a bunch of grapes into it.

“Just . . . be careful today,” her father says. “Don’t draw too much attention to yourself.”

“Dad, if there’s one thing I’ve learned with you dragging me from school to school my whole life, it’s how to blend in.”

“Right, like the way you blended in yesterday at Mass.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, and heads out the door, relieved to get away from him and al his negativity.

She feels amazing. Better than she ever has in her entire life. She can handle anything.

School is going to be a breeze.

But a problem surfaces as she walks to school. She thought the objects in her room were interesting.

Outside, it’s much more intense. The green of the trees; the yel ows, reds, and blues of the smal houses; and the rainbow cascades of flowers al sparkle in the faint sunlight. Every smel hits her nose like a surprise.

Pine, bam! Rose, bam! Grass, bam! The sounds of insects and cars, birds and planes, al work together harmonical y and rhythmical y, as if improvised by jazz musicians. It’s al so fascinating that she has to force herself to keep walking; she knows that once she stops, she’l never make it to school.

She’s so impressed with the simple gardens in her neighborhood that she expects to be blown away by her new view of the sleek sports cars and SUVs that pack the school parking lot. But as she weaves through the clusters of vehicles—some empty, some containing students applying last-minute makeup or sucking down one last cigarette—the hulking clumps of metal al seem somehow frail. Like they could col apse on their occupants at any moment.

Jael watches Rob’s friend Chas climb out of his shiny black SUV. The massive vehicle seems like it’s barely holding together. And come to think of it, Chas himself, who seemed so cool yesterday, looks like he’s barely holding together as wel .

There’s something precarious and desperate about both him and the vehicle. A panic just below the skin.

It’s such a distinct feeling, almost like she can smel it on him.

It occurs to her that she is now just standing on the walkway in front of the school and openly staring at Chas and that Chas is staring back at her. She quickly turns and hurries up the front steps. She has to prove to her father that she can blend in As she passes through the front door, she realizes that her socks aren’t pul ed up. She braces herself for the inevitable reprimand from Father Aaron. But it doesn’t come, so Jael just keeps going. She resists the urge to look and see if Father Aaron is paying attention.

On her walk to homeroom, Jael notices that Chas isn’t the only one. Other people she passes in the hal way are staring at her. Ful on, blatantly staring. Is she unconsciously doing some weird demon thing? Are horns at this very moment sprouting from her head?

She detours into the bathroom.

She looks into the mirror. Nothing has changed since the morning except her hair, which seems even more unruly than ever. But there are no glowing demon eyes, no horns or scales or bat wings sprouting from her head. She wets her hands and takes a few pathetic swipes at her hair. It’s hopeless, though, and anyway, she has about three minutes to get to homeroom.

She’s just going to have to deal with the occasional stares from her classmates.

But “occasional” isn’t the word for it. As she continues down the hal , everyone she passes gives her a look almost like amazement. No, more like hunger. Like she’s a candy bar. Or a supermodel. Is she doing this to them? Her mother was a succubus. So has Jael inherited some kind of succubus vibe?

Wel , if that’s the worst part of being a demon, she’s in pretty good shape. So she’s magical y gotten hotter overnight. How bad can that be, real y? People wil probably get over it pretty quickly.

She heads for her chair, trying to pretend like most of the room isn’t staring at her.

She hears Rob’s voice. “Hey, Betty. How’s—”

The moment she looks at him, he freezes. His mouth is open and his eyes are so wide she can see the whites al the way around.

“What?” she says.

He blinks a few times and closes his mouth.

“Wow,” he says. “Uh . . .” Then he freezes again.

“Hel o?” she says.

“Uh-h-h-huh . . .” He sputters like a broken-down car and then just looks away.

Throughout class, other students keep turning and glancing at her, trying to look like they aren’t staring and failing miserably.

Rob, on the other hand, stares fixedly at his desk.

“Rob,” says Ms. Spielman. “Can you tel me what that angle is?”

“Uh . . . Sorry, Ms. Spielman. Can you repeat the question?”

“What is going on with everyone today?” says Ms.

Spielman.

“Are you al asleep?”

No, thinks Jael. They’re trying not to stare at the demon freak.

When the bel rings, Jael lets everyone else leave first.

Even then, people look over their shoulder at her so much that they bump into one another. When the rest of the students have al filed out, she gets up to go.

Ms. Spielman says, “Jael, can you stay for a minute?”

“Sure,” she says.

Ms. Spielman squints at her for a moment but thankful y she doesn’t have the same hungry look on her face that everyone else does.

“How did your talk with Father Ralph go?”

“Oh,” says Jael. “Okay, I guess.”

“Jael,” says Ms. Spielman, and then she hesitates, like she’s trying to decide if she’s going to say something or not. “I like your father enormously. He’s a wonderful teacher and a very bright man. But I could see how it would be . . . difficult to live with him. I imagine there’s a lot of pressure on you right now.

So you need to have someone—and I’m not saying it’s me or one of the priests—but you need to have someone to talk to. To be completely open and honest with.”

“Yeah,” says Jael. “I think things are going to be better now.

My uncle came into town and he’s straightened up some stuff for me.”

“Wel , that’s great,” says Ms. Spielman. “You know, your father never mentioned that he had a brother.”

“Oh, he doesn’t. It’s my mom’s brother.”

“Your . . . ,” she starts to say, then stops. Then she just smiles and nods. “Wonderful.” Jael has noticed that most people react that way when she brings up her mother. Like they have to be extra gentle with her.

Then Ms. Spielman’s smile drops away again. “But you stil need to talk to Father Ralph again.”

“Why?”

“Because you demolished his textbook.”

“Oh,” says Jael. “Right.”

As she makes her way to her social ethics class, weaving in and out of boys who are so spel bound by her that they seem unable to even move out of the way, she decides that she’s already over this hotness vibe or whatever it is. Maybe for other girls, this is a dream come true. But for Jael it’s just creepy.

She bursts into the classroom like it’s some kind of refuge.

But as she makes her way to her seat, she hears chairs shift and conversations trail off. She pul s out her Bible, flips it open, and pretends that she’s total y engrossed in it.

The Mons comes drifting into the classroom, looking as peaceful and serene as usual. He turns to face the class, a gentle smile on his lips.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he says.

“Today, we wil be talking about—”

Then he sees Jael. He doesn’t do the hotness stare.

Instead, his kind old face twists into a look of utter horror. Jael buries her face back in her Bible. The room is completely silent for what seems like an eternity. Then at last she hears the Mons clear his throat.

“Yes, as I was saying,” he says. His peaceful smile returns,

but

there’s

something

forced

and

unconvincing about it. “Today we are discussing the parable of the Good Samaritan.” He keeps the smile up, but throughout class, while he talks on and on as usual about the kindness of Jesus Christ, his eyes keep darting back to Jael. And there is no kindness in his gaze.

When the bel rings at the end of class, Jael thinks he’s going to ask her to stay behind. She can’t imagine what he knows or thinks he knows, and she braces herself for something crazy.

But instead of approaching her, he’s the first one out the door.

In a way, that worries her more. Could someone like the Mons real y spot the demon in her that easily? She promised her father that she would tel him the moment someone seemed suspicious.

It hasn’t even been a whole day yet, and already things feel like they’re getting out of control. Maybe her plan real y is stupid.

Maybe she real y should just give up and resign herself to life as a telemarketer in Alaska.

No. She’s not going to give up that easily. And maybe this can al be fixed. If she’s doing some invisible demon thing unconsciously, her uncle can probably tel her how to stop doing it. Just get through the end of the day, she thinks. After al , it’s just people looking at her funny. No one’s actual y doing anything.

“Hi, Jael.”

“Hey, Jael.”

“Yo, Jael.”

The boys are over the shy stage. They wave to her or cal out to her in the hal way as she walks to lunch.

How do they even know her name? It isn’t like she’s ever talked to any of them before. She’s never even had a class with most of them.

But by this point, there’s something even more pressing than her sudden popularity. She’s already eaten the extra bunch of grapes she brought, and now she’s starving. It’s not like any hunger she’s ever felt before. Her entire body is cold and aching, crying out for fuel. She stalks through the cafeteria line, but even a quick glance at the lasagna turns her stomach. She moves right along to the desert station where she has her choice between a piece of chocolate cake, an apple, or a banana. Of course, each student is only supposed to take one.

“Hey, Chuck,” she says to the lunch cook. “I know this is against the rules, but can I just have an apple and a banana and forget everything else?”

“Uh . . .” Chuck’s mouth hangs open. He looks like he’s just gone brain-dead. “S-S-Sure, Jael. Have as much as you want!”

“Seriously?” asks Jael. She feels strangely like she’s taking advantage of him, but the hunger is painful.

“You bet. As much as you can carry.”

“Thanks, Chuck,” she says. Feeling elated and sketched-out at the same time, she snatches up a pile of fruit and quickly walks over to the table that Britt has staked out.

“Wow,” says Britt. “I can’t even explain how good you look today.”

“Um,” says Jael, attacking an apple.

“For real,” says Britt. “What are you doing? Is it makeup?

Some new skin cream?”

“We both know my dad wouldn’t buy that stuff,” says Jael around a mouthful of apple.

“So, what is it?” asks Britt. “Come on, you’re supposed to tel your best friend these kinds of secrets.”

Secrets. Jael is used to keeping secrets, but she feels like she’s nearing some kind of breaking point.

Maybe if she just tel s Britt . . . but she promised her dad she wouldn’t. That was the deal with staying here.

A vague look from the Mons is one thing, but just flat-out tel ing someone? And what if her dad’s right?

What if Britt total y flips out and turns on her? She is hard-core Catholic, after al .

“I just blossomed, I guess,” she says at last. She takes another big bite of her apple and swal ows. She can actual y feel her blood sugar rise and her muscles loosen. “Grew into myself or something.”