The Demon Side (6 page)

Etta walked past me to the far back corner. She studied a picture of a goat with a human face that sat on a throne of gold. I had stolen the picture of Lucifer from tenants back in the 1800s who were in a “Satanic” cult. They had been hilariously off base with their practices and beliefs. Trust me—no number of black candles could summon Lucifer.

Her footsteps barely made a sound as she drifted around the mannequin I had stolen from a cross-dressing personal trainer. It was the perfect item to display my chest plate on. Her fingertips traced each black embossed line, which made a red pentacle the backdrop of my chest plate. She inspected every detail of my blood-red, black, and gold armor.

“Ouch!” Etta stuck her finger into her mouth and sucked on it. The razor sharp spikes on my cuirass had pricked her fingertip even though her touch barely grazed them.

“Are you okay?” Not thinking of my actions, I flashed to her side.

“Yeah. So you’re a fallen, huh?” Etta asked, with a slight smile.

“That’s usually how one becomes a Demon.” I waited for the smell of her fear to waft its way into my nostrils. Much to my surprise, I smelled nothing. Etta wasn’t scared or uncomfortable. With no way for her to escape, I could have easily ripped off her clothing and admired what she desperately hid so well under her loose-fitting clothes. But I grew more curious about where this conversation would go than about how her body would feel squirming under my weight.

“You were an Angel once. What made you change sides?” Etta walked around the attic, examining each token of mine one by one.

I knew I had to choose my words carefully, but for some reason when I neared her, I suffered from rambling fits. “Look outside the window behind you, down by the water’s edge. That is where I found myself. I woke up wearing that suit of armor, my sword at my side, blood on my hands and face, and no memory of how I got there. I tried to teleport my way back home, but I could not remember the sequence of words.”

Etta looked out the small slotted window to the river below. Though I couldn’t see what she saw, I bent over her, placing a hand on each side of her on the wooden studs of the wall and pointed to the spot I remembered so well. I waited a moment before continuing. Etta made no attempt to get out from under me. Being so close to her enticed my senses. The aroma of lavender body wash and kiwi shampoo invaded my nostrils. The glow of her skin beckoned me to caress it. In all my years I’ve never wanted to take something or someone so strongly. But I’m a Demon. I’m not a monster. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. I had to resist my urges and turn my thoughts back to the objective at hand.

“Back then there was nothing here, just a forest of pine, ivy, and ferns taller than you. The boredom of waiting on the water’s edge for a summons back home drove me mad until one day I finally decided to walk into the forest to look for my shield. I found a Native American village not too far from here. They called themselves Omàmiwinini, but history books today refer to them as Algonquians. I sat and watched their superstitious ways and rituals almost every day. They were a stale group of people. Their daily routines of hunting, gathering, and playing became immensely boring for a creature like me. I assumed I would be called back to my home soon, so I didn’t bother terrorizing them.

“Almost a century passed and still no word came from my master, Lucifer. I grew impatient. I was on my way to the village to start having some real fun when I sensed a major power source coming from down river. The year was 1608 and the Europeans were beginning to settle on the Potomac. They were filled with everything I needed to not only survive but flourish—malice, hate, and a fear so rich in their hearts I could literally taste it on my tongue. Their settlement was great for me, but not so much for the Algonquians.

“I roamed through the settlements, implanting fear and hysteria in the hearts of the Europeans, causing them to turn on the Algonquians and vice versa. The natives that were lucky enough to survive the mayhem I created fled the area, leaving me with only the settlers to play with. Once the Europeans were finished killing everything in sight that wasn’t white, Catholic or Protestant, they began to build homes and farms. That was their first mistake. You should never build on top on a Native American killing ground; life will never be the same. It will become cursed. The spirits of the Algonquian people always remain in the land they once inhabited and protected. Those who try to live there will become ill and insane. At least I led the settlers to believe that.

“But it wasn’t until a home was built in this spot that I became trapped. They broke ground for a root-cellar and uncovered my shield. When I retrieved it, an enormous fire broke out. I tried to step through the flames to sit by the river and watch the panic, but found myself stuck inside the wall of fire. When my shield was unearthed, my territory had been set. On the inside of the fiery line, I could see everything as it was and is. On the outside of the line, I could only see my Hell. With such a small area to roam, there wasn’t much to keep me occupied or fully powered.

“A preacher built the two-room cabin for his wife and four daughters. When they finished the log house, I moved in with the unknowing family. After coming in from a very short walk, testing my new downsized perimeter one day, I saw just what a holy man he was as he laid on top of his youngest girl, while his wife looked the other way, baking bread. I had moved in with the perfect source for the energy I needed. After his untimely death, the family moved and another family just as deserving of my abilities took their place. Over the centuries, this home has been torn down and rebuilt more than a dozen times, but it never changed the type of people that moved in, moved out, or died here. So, short story longer, I’ve been here ever since, stealing the souls of the tainted and wreaking chaos on the innocent.”

In a roundabout way I’d just told Etta I had not only killed people, but helped almost eradicate an entire race. She didn’t need to know that I hadn’t physically killed them, but my hand had certainly facilitated their deaths. Relief came over me when Etta showed no signs of fear. I couldn’t have resisted my desire to take her any longer if the sweet odor of her fear filled the room.

“Did losing your wings hurt?” Etta dismissed everything I’d just told her with a shrug of her shoulders and ducked under my arm.

“Though I don’t remember the exact day I lost them, I do know it is a pain you could never imagine. But I have something else I want to discuss with you.” Etta’s body tensed up. Her breathing became labored and her heart raced. The smell of her fear drifting across the tight attic made me drunk with pleasure. I gritted my teeth down, trying not to get overwhelmed by my hunger, and promptly turned my thoughts to what had truly frightened Etta. Knowing I’m a Demon and that I’ve assisted the demise of so many for centuries didn’t frighten her. All I had to do to scare her was to tell her I wanted to talk or ask her questions about herself.

“I’ve got to go. My dad will be checking on me soon.” Etta walked toward the access in the floor. I flashed in front of her, blocking her exit. I’d told her everything she had asked for. It became time for her to do the same.

“The other Demon did those things to you, didn’t he?” I demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Etta attempted to duck around me. Clutching her arm, I could feel her pulse rise. At the rate her heart raced, I was surprised she didn’t go into cardiac arrest. I needed to calm her if I planned on getting anything out of her, but the sooner I knew everything, the sooner I could get everyone out of my house.

“You know exactly what I am talking about. The rapes and the molestations I saw in your head, he did them. Not a human, but a Demon, the same Demon that followed you here?”

“I don’t know what you think you saw, but you’re wrong.” Etta tried feebly to pull her arm from my grasp. The look of shame on her face told me I’d hit the nail on the head, but also that there was more to her story than I was able to gather from her thoughts, something she buried so deep that her subconscious hadn’t kept a record of it. That could only mean one thing.

He was an Incubus.

Incubi and Succubae are the worst kind of Demons. It’s not that they are more powerful or wicked than a Demon, they’re just driven by the sadomasochistic sexual desire to breed with the human world. Their half-breeds are unreliable and volatile. They have no concept or understanding of our rules of engagement and formed an uncontrollable plague walking the Earth, often drawing the attentions of the Arches. Not that I worry about upsetting the Arches. They are a weakening force in a world that no longer believes. But every slaying of the half-breed children tips the delicate balance of our worlds in favor of the Heavens, which isn’t good news for my kind.

“How long did you wait until you aborted?” I asked.

Etta’s eyes widened. She thought long and hard before answering. “I didn’t abort. I was on my high school softball team. During a game, I slid into home on my stomach. I lost the baby the next day. I didn’t even know I was pregnant.” Etta sounded upset. But through her choked up tone, I could sense she was lying about how she lost the baby.

“How far along were you?”

“Eight weeks.” Etta chewed her fingernails.

“Consider yourself lucky. Most women don’t know until it’s too late, and you weren’t far enough into the pregnancy for it to change you. But how did you really lose the baby?”

“Could you let me go now?” Etta gave one last pathetic tug of her arm and I released it. Seeing the tears in her eyes, I knew I caused more pain than I had intended. I stirred up suppressed memories of an unwanted child’s creation and demise. She climbed down the access back into her bedroom closet when something took over my brain and mouth.

“Etta, if I don’t know every detail, I can’t protect you.” I heard an unfamiliar note of compassion in my voice.

Etta clung to the opening, and then dropped to the hardwood floor below.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll talk tomorrow after school. But I have more questions, too.”

“That is fair enough. You will not see me until then.” What the hell was I saying? Did I just make a date with a fleshling? I admit, part of me enjoyed this unconventional developing relationship. I had a chance to get inside of a strong girl’s mind, to actually hear from her mouth all of her fears, weaknesses, and doubts. It could be a buffet of ammunition and an opportunity I couldn’t afford to miss. At least that’s what I told myself for the next twenty-four hours while I waited in the attic for Etta to come home from school.

Hearing the door open, I flashed downstairs to see the figure entering, sure it wouldn’t be Etta. She shouldn’t be home until three-thirty in the afternoon and René had left for the bar down the street a few moments earlier. I was hoping I would catch the Incubus when I was stunned by two brown eyes. Watching Etta come into focus from the blackened nothing made my body tingle until I saw a set of hazel eyes follow her. There in the family room stood a boy roughly six-foot-two, about a hundred and eighty-five pounds with a broad, muscular build. Probably a football player from her school. I knew his type, the all-American boy on the outside with his straight white teeth and shiny golden locks, but devious, dark, and dangerous on the inside. He feeds off his ego, his sexual conquest and social standing. Great makings for a Demon.

“Thanks for driving me home, Gabe. You didn’t have to do that.” Etta stood nervously at the end of the loveseat where the punk sat himself down.

“I was on my way home, anyway.” His heart rate picked up. This boy wasn’t on his way home.

“Etta, he’s lying. Get rid of him,” I commanded.

“Well, I appreciate it. Would you like something to drink?” Etta didn’t even acknowledge me. Either she was ignoring me or she had taken her medication and it blocked me out.

“Sure, you got any soda?” Gabe called out as Etta went to the kitchen.

“Pepsi,” Etta yelled back.

“That’ll work.” This punk, or should I say Gabe, walked around the family room picking up the family photos. He stared at each one. This boy was up to no good.

“You seemed pretty freaked out today. Do you usually get so hysterical over something as simple as a mouse in the girl’s bathroom?” Gabe lifted his shoulders as he took a deep breath. Something in the air caught his attention. His body language changed. He squared off his shoulders and lifted his chin. It wasn’t a normal stance for some high school riff-raff, but something you only see in true seasoned warriors.

“What can I say? It was a mouse.” Etta appeared from the kitchen carrying two sodas and handed one to Gabe.

“Etta, listen to me, you need to get rid of him. Something isn’t right with that boy.” This time Etta looked right at me as she flopped down next to Gabe.

She sat purposely ignoring me, and on top of that, breaking her promise to talk to me right after school. The audacity! She hit a nerve she should know better than to hit. I wouldn’t put up with her insolence anymore. I wasn’t her father, who would just shrug off her outright disrespect.

Before I acted out my punishment, I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. This was the first time Etta had company over to the house, and I’d never heard her talk about any friends at school. The only socializing she ever did was on the phone with her friend Mosh about their plans after high school.

“How do you like Quantico?” Gabe asked as he slicked his hair back with his hand, trying to draw attention to his flexed arms. This boy had watched too many cheesy movies. If that move really worked on girls or women, I would be the most sought after being in the world, with my twenty-two inch biceps.