The Dark Divine (30 page)

Don’s accusation surprised me—but not the monster part. It made it easier to reject Daniel when I thought of his taunting Don.

“I’m sorry he treats you that way. But don’t worry, I won’t be hanging around Daniel anymore.” I tucked the angel figurine into my dress coat pocket.

“Not Daniel. He does good work for your father and Mr. Day.” Don shook his head and slumped down the porch. He stopped at the end of the front walk. “I was talking about the other one.”

LATER THAT NIGHT

I was rooting around in the pantry for some ibuprofen, or anything that might make my head stop pounding, when I heard a howl from the front room. I ran to see what it was and found Charity watching her wolf documentary. It was the same part from before, with the two wolves savoring a fresh kill. It seemed extra morbid to me now.

“Why are you still watching this?”

“My final report’s due on Friday,” Charity said. Her middle school didn’t get out for Christmas for another two days. “I wanted to get in a wolfy mood before I finished typing it up.”

Wolfy mood. She had no idea.

I stood and watched the plight of the little omega wolf, desperate for food but being denied. My heart sank as the alpha lunged at his throat, taking him down into the snow, and snarled into his pleading face. Then the little omega rolled over and exposed his belly and jugular to the alpha—giving up. I wondered how anyone could survive being treated that way his whole life.

I thought of Daniel and his father. The way his dad had screamed and snarled at him for any little thing. I remembered how, when Daniel joined my family for dinner, he would stare reluctantly at his food while the rest of us ate—until my dad, joking, would tell him to stop
being shy. I remembered all of his bruises. I remembered what it sounded like when his father beat him into oblivion for disobeying his rules about painting in the house.

How had Daniel ever survived his father’s monster?

But then I realized that he hadn’t. He’d let the monster overpower him. The pain had been too great, and he had rolled over and given up, too. That he’d lasted so long was a miracle.

And now he faced a lifetime as a monster himself. And even if he died, there was no escape. He’d be damned as a demon for all eternity.

I’d wondered if that was the fate Daniel deserved. But it all seemed different now, like looking at a Seurat painting from a whole new angle. Daniel had done something undeniably wrong. But did he have to live with that mistake forever? Couldn’t he be redeemed? Couldn’t everyone? That’s what Dad taught with every sermon. It’s the meaning of my name.
Grace
.

Or was it possible that some souls could not be saved? Isn’t that what demons are? Fallen angels—damned to hell forever. Was Daniel’s giving in to the bloodlust such an irredeemable act that he was now one of these fallen angels, too? But perhaps he wasn’t actually a demon. Maybe the demon was simply inside of him. Was the wolf trapping Daniel’s soul in its clutches, in some kind of limbo, keeping him from salvation?

Daniel said it himself: the wolf was holding his soul ransom.

So didn’t that mean there was a price that could be paid? Was there something that could be done to free his soul and make him just like the rest of us? So grace could have him instead of the darkness?

Dad had said that he couldn’t help Daniel anymore. It was out of his hands. But he didn’t say it wasn’t possible. He didn’t say there wasn’t a cure. He’d given me the book. He’d put it in
my
hands. He’d told me I had a choice to make.

I ran up the stairs to my bedroom and pulled open my desk drawer—the book was gone. My heart hammered into my throat. I pushed things off my desk, hoping the book was in among my schoolwork. I threw the pillows and blankets off my bed. It had to be here somewhere! Then I felt ultimately stupid and grabbed my backpack. The book had been in there since I went to the library. I pulled it out, more brittle bits of pages sprinkling from the binding.

I carefully turned to the last letter I’d read. Half of it was missing—disintegrated in the hostile environment of my school bag. My dad and that priest were so going to kill me. I flipped to the second to last marked letter, one I hadn’t read yet. Katharine’s brother had come up with the idea of the moonstones. Had he found one in time to stop himself from going after his sister? Had he bought himself enough time to find the cure?

My fingers curled around the book. I wanted to throw it away, but I forced myself to read on.

And there it was—scrawled in faded brown ink across a yellowed page—the reason that everything had changed when I told Daniel I loved him. It was the thing Daniel said he could never ask. The reason he said all those awful things the way he had—the reason he’d tried to scare me away.

He’d known the truth that night under the walnut tree. My father must have told him that afternoon. It’s why Daniel was so distraught. He feared that there was no cure for him because he thought no one could love him. But I think what he really feared was that
I
did.

I was the one.

And he could never ask me to kill him.

THIRTY MINUTES LATER

I sat with the book open in my lap until a small brown spider crawled across the brittle yellow pages. The spider paused for a moment and then climbed up onto the back of my hand. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t brush it away. Its tiny legs pricked my skin as I let it wind up my arm.

The spider perched on my shoulder—only inches from my face. I scooped it up and cupped it in my hand. It would only take a slight flexing of my fist to smash it.

I imagined it squished in my palm: all brown and gooey and warm.

I shuddered and opened my hand a bit. The spider tried to scurry out of my grasp. I cupped it again, blocking its escape.

Killing was wrong. Isn’t that one of those basic
truths?
Thou shall not kill
, and all that commandment stuff. But that only pertained to people, right?

I thought of Mr. MacArthur and his spaniel’s spring litter. I thought of Daisy, all runty with only three legs. She’d been so tiny, so helpless. Mr. MacArthur had wanted to put her down—for her own good. That had seemed so wrong to me. But maybe he was right. Maybe she would have been better off going out that way. Better than being ripped to pieces by my next-door neighbor. By the Markham Street Monster.

But then she wouldn’t have been
my
Daisy.

The spider twitched inside my hand. Wasn’t it okay to kill a pest? To kill something dangerous? A beast? A monster? That was the real difference here, wasn’t it? Daniel had a demon inside of him. And the only way to kill the monster was to kill him. It was the only way to save his soul.

But would I be the one who went to hell instead?

Would I lose myself?

I shook my head. Katharine’s brother wouldn’t have asked his sister to do such a thing if that were the case. He wouldn’t trade her soul for his.

At least, I wouldn’t think.

I walked to the window and pushed it open with one hand. I pulled out the loose screen, climbed through the window, and crouched on the eave of the roof in the bitter night wind.

The spider was restless in my hand, twitching and
fluttering its legs against my skin. I felt a sudden sting in the middle of my palm. My fingers flinched inward. I
wanted
to smash it. But then I hesitated and opened my hand and dropped the spider. I watched it scuttle across the shingles and out of my reach.

A small red lump rose in the middle of my hand. The stinging was only slight compared to what I felt inside. I loved Daniel. I was probably the only person who had ever loved him so much. And that made me the only person who could save him. But what he needed me to do was impossible. I’d lived without him before, and I thought I was prepared to do it again when I told him to leave town.

But how could I let him die? How could I be the one who killed him?

I looked up at the almost-full moon that hung over the walnut tree. Through my blurry eyes, it seemed too bright and strangely colored—a blood-red moon. I wished on it then like I had when I was kid. I wished this responsibility could pass to someone else. I wished for another way. I wished for a world free of darkness.

But I knew those wishes couldn’t come true. So I wished for something different.

I wished for time.

THURSDAY

As terrible as the truth was, there was something restful about it. Like knowing the answers finally calmed my brain enough for me to sleep peacefully for the first time in weeks. I woke up to a rustling sound. I assumed it was the wind and rolled over on my blanketless bed and saw the book lying open next to me. I wondered why, if the clock said it was only 2:00 a.m., it was so light out. I got out of bed and pulled my blinds open. The sun glinted off the walnut tree, and I realized it was afternoon.

Something rested inside my windowsill—a white cardboard box, like something you’d put a present in. My name was written across the top. I picked it up and was surprised by its weight. I backed away from the window and pulled off the lid. There was a note on top of a large paper-wrapped bundle. I recognized the handwriting from my childhood.