The Devouring (2 page)

“Don’t hurt him,” she said.

“I won’t,” said Aaron.

“I was talking to Henry.”

Henry let loose with a flurry of kung-fu chops and battle cries, and Aaron covered his head in mock fright.

“I give! I give!”

“Don’t mess with the best!” Henry hopped to his feet, tri-umphant.

He ran toward the redbrick elementary school and joined the stream of kids pouring in. As Aaron got to his feet, Reggie brushed the snow off him and handed back his hat. He put it back on and the two of them headed across the street to Cutter High.

The quad was crammed with sleepy teenagers in their usual state of semi-android techno-consciousness, leaning on the walls and squatting on the stairs. They were isolated by headphones, entranced by cell phones, tapping on laptops, and mutely communing with the WiFi spirit world. The four-story stone relic of a school loomed over it all. Reggie always expected to see an Igor incarnation peering down at her from the rooftop, a squawking raven perched on his shoulder.

Reggie and Aaron were neither popular nor unpopular. They were part of the group Aaron called the
heynodders
 — those whose social standing meant that if they made random eye contact with someone in the hall, they’d probably get a nod back, and maybe even a quick “Hey.” They both had their share of friends — kids they could hang with at their lockers or the lunch-room — but the exchanges were mostly teenage business-as-usual: music, TV, and movie critiques, where who bought what, and news flashes about hookups and broken hearts.

As Aaron and Reggie climbed the steps to head into school, the Kassner twins stepped from the crowd and blocked the doors. The two wore hooded sweatshirts under black field jackets, filthy jeans, and steel-toed boots. They looked like thugs with shaved heads and broad chests. Keech rarely spoke, Mitch never did, and neither seemed interested in anything other than destruction.

The Kassners had been sent from Boston to live with their mother after getting into some sort of trouble with the law — both had to report to a probation officer once a month and weren’t supposed to be out after ten o’clock — but nobody knew exactly what they’d done. What they did know was that, since the twins’ arrival at Cutter High, four students’ cars had been broken into, the gym equipment shed had been burned to the ground, and the biology lab’s collection of fetal pigs had mysteriously appeared in the cafeteria line as that afternoon’s featured lunch.

But the Kassners’ size and aggression, while daunting to most of the student body, was a boon to the football coach, who immediately recruited them to play right and left tackle. This status seemed to give them permission to pick on anybody they wanted to, and they did. Aaron was a favorite target, ever since he’d made a sarcastic comment about the twins’ Cro-Magnon looks in world history and word got back to them.

Keech grabbed the fedora off Aaron’s head. “You think this makes you look tough, Cole? Like a gangster?”

Aaron just looked at the ground.

“Taking someone’s hat? Really? Is that it?” Reggie glared at them and stepped forward. “You’d think with such a fat head you’d have more brains in there.” The twins intimidated the hell out of her, but she’d never let them know that.

Keech held the hat out toward Reggie. She grabbed at it, but he pulled it away again and crammed it on his own bald head.

“How’s it look?” he asked his brother.

Mitch just stared Reggie down.

“Yeah, a little small for my
fat head.
” Keech pulled a pocketknife out of his coat and flicked it open. He cut slits in either side of the hat and stuck it back on his head.

“Perfect,” he said as the first-period bell rang. The quad’s sea of bodies started flowing toward the school’s entrance. Keech flipped the knife shut and stuck it back in his pocket, then turned with Mitch and headed into the school.

“Thanks for trying,” said Aaron as he and Reggie shuffled off to class. “God, I need to grow a pair.”

“They’re just assholes, Aaron. Don’t let them get to you.”

As they made their way through the crowds, a voice rang out from behind them.

“Keech!”

The brute jock turned around.

Reggie looked over her shoulder to see Quinn Waters, a junior as much renowned for his athletic prowess as his dimples, making his way toward them with a confident strut and easy smile. Tall and lean, with dark curls, he was the best quarterback in Cutter High history, an upperclassman god in a rugby shirt.

“Hat!” he called down the corridor.

Keech stared at him for a moment before the hat came sailing over the crowd. Quinn caught it with one hand and gave it back to Aaron, frowning at the cuts in the sides.

“Sorry about that, man. I’d kill them myself if they didn’t keep me so damn snug in the pocket.”

“Football speak, Reg,” Aaron said. “A pocket is —”

Reggie punched Aaron’s arm. “I know what a pocket is.”

Quinn grinned at her.

Aaron looked at Reggie, who seemed to be under some sort of Quinn trance, staring at him with her mouth slightly open. He leaned toward her as he dug around in his backpack.

“This is business,” he whispered. “Try not to drool.”

Like I’d even have a chance with him,
she thought. Quinn was an A-list guy, and he went out with A-list girls. It wasn’t that she thought of herself as some sort of cow or freak, but she just wasn’t much of anybody. If Cutter High were a movie, Reggie Halloway would be an extra. She wore T-shirts or plain, solid-colored sweaters, jeans, and sneakers or army surplus boots. Reggie considered her best feature to be her long, dark hair, the color of rich chocolate — but because she had to make the family breakfast and take care of Henry every morning, she never had time to style it. More often than not, it was tied back into a long, frizzy ponytail. Makeup usually was at a minimum, too. Her eyes were dark and shining, though. Aaron said they were “vampish”; she guessed that was a pretty high compliment coming from him, but doubted that was Quinn’s taste.

Aaron had dug a manila folder from his book bag. He glanced around furtively as Quinn handed him a fifty-dollar bill in exchange for the folder. Quinn eyed the pristine five-page paper inside.

“‘Hamlet’s Dilemma.’ Good for a B plus?”

“Yup.”

“Sweet.”

Aaron had started “the business” two years ago. At first, it had been tricky — finding the right voice to write papers that read like something a guy like Quinn would hand in, only a little better. At this point, he found that keeping his steady clientele to six or seven worked best. It brought in some steady cash and raised his social standing a notch. Reggie considered it unethical, immoral, and illegal. Aaron agreed and looked at it as valuable preparation for the real world.

Aaron pocketed his fee and started to leave.

Quinn looked up.

“Wait a sec. Tell me what —”

“Sorry — three more deliveries.” Aaron winked at Reggie. “Any questions, ask my protégée.”

Aaron disappeared into the crowd, leaving the two of them standing together. As people passed by, it seemed as if every other student said “Hey, Quinn,” or “What’s up, Q?” Reggie wondered what it was like to have to say “Hello” back to a hundred people a day.

Quinn studied Reggie for a moment before saying, “Halloway, right?”

Reggie was stunned. He knew her name?

“Uh-huh,” she said.

“Freshman?” Quinn asked. “I think you’re in my study hall.”

“Uh-huh,” Reggie said, successfully executing another nod. She
was
in his study hall, but she hadn’t thought his field of vision extended to the table in the back where she sat.

Quinn had turned his attention back to the paper. He flipped through it and frowned. Reggie didn’t think she’d ever seen him without his faint, cool smile. They were almost alone now in the hallway. Somehow, it made her a little braver.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

Quinn looked up.

“Huh?” he said.

Reggie’s mouth felt dry. This is ridiculous, she thought. She was not one of those girls who went all gaga just because a cute boy talked to her.

“You just look a little ... I don’t know,” she stammered. Dear God, he probably thought she was mentally challenged. “You, uh, just look like something’s wrong.”

Quinn’s pale green eyes studied her. He unwrapped a stick of gum, popped it in his mouth, and chewed nervously.

“I’ve got English first period — right now — and . . .”

“You didn’t read the play.”

Quinn shrugged and smiled at her. But it was different from his perfect smile. It was wistful, and a little crooked. Right then, Reggie realized she was witness to a historic event. Quinn Waters was human. Imperfect. Uncertain, even. It was almost as if she were seeing a stage actor slip out of character for a second.

“Don’t get the wrong impression, okay? I’m not a dumb jock. I can write term papers just fine. I started the play, dug the whole father’s ghost thing, but then I got slammed . . .”

His closeness made Reggie’s pulse quicken. He smelled really good.

“Teachers love to pour it on before break. Some sort of code,” she said, slumping melodramatically under the weight of her satchel. The shoulder strap ripped, and Reggie’s books and binders spilled all over the floor.

“Damn it!” Her face reddened, and she wished she could climb into her emptied bag and hide there. And just when she had started speaking like a functioning person, too.

She knelt on the ground and began shoving the books back into her bag. Quinn bent down to help her and picked up the journal before she could stop him.

“What’s
The Devouring
?” he asked, examining it curiously.

“Huh? Oh, that. Just some monster story. Written like a journal. I collect . . .” She was nerding out and couldn’t stop. “I’m a horror fan and I collect stuff like that — scary stories and stuff. I know. I’m a total geek.”

Quinn helped Reggie to her feet. “No, no. Not at all. That’s cool. Very.” He handed the journal back to her.

“Cool? Very?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“You got me. You are a geek.” Quinn laughed and ran his fingers through his hair. “But not a total geek — total geeks aren’t usually cute.”

He stopped abruptly, as if he couldn’t believe he’d just said that out loud. Reggie felt her cheeks burn.

“So, um, Hamlet,” she said.

“Right! Hamlet!”

“The nutshell: he knows his uncle killed his father and waffles about whether or not he should take revenge.”

“Does he? Take revenge?”

“Yeah, but he’s too late. He poisons his uncle but then —”

“He dies, right?”

“Everyone dies in Shakespeare.”

“Sweet.” Quinn glanced around the empty hall. “Late for class. Gotta go turn in my paper. Thanks for the help.”

Reggie stared up at him like a puppy dog. “You’re welcome.”

Quinn walked a few steps but looked back at her to say, “See you in study hall. I’ll save you a seat.”

She nodded, not entirely believing what had just happened.

3

The wind, like a stranger demanding entry, rattled the window shutters of Reggie’s bedroom. She lay on top of her bed’s quilt, absently flipping through an old
Vault of Horror
comic. Aaron sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, reading aloud from
The Devouring.

They lurk in the cold and dark. Hungry and

wicked, they wait for their one chance to devour the

weak on Sorry Night. Then the Vours feast on a

banquet of fear. Your fear. They steal your soul but

your body remains. No one knows the difference.

He looked up at Reggie. “Whoever wrote this journal was clearly insane.”

“You love that stuff.” She tossed the comic book aside.

“Oh, hell yeah!” Aaron laughed. “Ever since you let me borrow it, I can’t get it out of my head. So, are we still going to give the Vours a call tonight, Bloody Mary–style?”

“If you brought the supplies, sure.” She grinned. “We have to terrify ourselves. That’s how they got Jeremiah.”

“So if I get devoured, will you come save me?”

“Not a chance.” Reggie took a lighter from her pocket and then lit the three black candles on her nightstand. She switched off the bedside lamp. “You ready to
face your fear
?”

“God, we’re über-geeks,” Aaron said. Shadows cast in the flickering candlelight cavorted across the wall behind him. “First night of vacation, other kids party, but we —”

“What’s with the candles?”

Henry stood in the doorway, scratching his pajama-clad butt. Reggie frowned.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

He yawned before saying, “Not tired. What’re you guys doing, anyway?”

Reggie stood up and pointed to the doorway. “Go back to bed.”

Beyond the window, a gust of wind howled. The shutters rattled in reply. Henry winced.

“The blizzard’s keeping me awake. I should just stay in here.”

“Nice try,” said Reggie. “Bed.
Now.
”

“But Dad’s gone tonight! Who cares?”

When Dad said he was going to be out of town overnight bidding on contracts, she knew that it wouldn’t mean more freedom, but less. Most kids would see it as a chance to have a house party, but for Reggie it meant an unpaid babysitting gig.

She stood up and loomed over her brother.
“Go.”

Henry hung his head.

“Fine,” he said.

“Night, Henry,” said Aaron.

“Night.”

“Come on. I’ll tuck you back in.”

They walked back to his room, and Henry squealed when Reggie snatched him up and flipped him onto his bed. He wriggled under the covers.

“What are you and Aaron going to do?”

“None of your business,” she said as she walked toward the door.

“Wait! What if I have nightmares?”

“Is this still about the Vours? Henry, they’re not real.”

“But tonight’s Sorry Night!”

Reggie sat down on the bed.

“Listen, if you get scared, close your eyes and think of something really good. A good time you had, or a favorite place, or somebody you love. You’ll be asleep before you know it — and it’s a hundred percent nightmare-proof. Okay?”