Defy the Dark (22 page)

“Mortals are weak,” said Sabnack. “They get sick constantly.”

“What about your mother?” the old man said to me. “And even the body you occupy now is in the grip of a cancer. You can feel it yourself, can't you? Try and look—you'll see.”

I
could
feel something dark and heavy at the bottom of Bill's lungs.

“This is what he is: disease and decay,” said the old man. He turned back to Sabnack. “Will you deny your nature, demon?”

“Why would I deny it?” asked Sabnack. “Disease strikes down the weak. Decay repurposes them so that the strong may thrive. This is a fundamental law of the universe.”

I noticed that what Sabnack was sitting on wasn't really a horse. It was a white, horse-shaped creature. But its eyes were red, its teeth were sharp, and it had claws instead of hooves.

“You're making everybody around here sick?” I asked Sabnack. “On purpose?”

“I cannot be bothered to concern myself with the effects I have on regular mortals. And neither should you,” Sabnack said. “You have been granted a gift from the gods. The ability to transfer your soul to another and dominate it. You don't belong here. You deserve more. I can give you more.”

“But I have to kill somebody first.”

“You'll have to do more than that,” said the old man. “You will have to swear fealty to him and to Lamia, the Grand Duchess of the East, whom he serves.”

“The east of what?” I asked.

“Hell,” said the old man.

“What?” I said. “You're kidding!”

“I'm not,” he said. “It's actually not all bad. Hell isn't quite what most people think it is.”

“And you are not quite as good as you pretend,” said Sabnack. “Tell him what
you
are, and we will see if he still trusts your word over mine.”

The old man nodded. “My name is Poujean and I am a
bokur
, or what you might call a voodoo priest or witch doctor. And I make no claims of being good. I commune with powerful spirits, called
loa
, who grant me certain abilities. Some of these
loa
can be just as cruel as Sabnack. But ultimately, I am, like you, a mortal, often forced to make hard choices like the one you must make now.”

“So what's my choice?” I asked. “Get out of this place and have everything I've ever wanted but become a killer who gets bossed around by demons? What's the other option? Stick around here and watch my mom get beat by her boyfriend until he dies of lung cancer?”

“That's not the only other option,” said Poujean. “If you want, you may come with me on my travels. I can't show you magical lands, but I can show you the magic of your own land. Not a luxurious life, but a vibrant one. Perhaps together we can help you learn to master your own special abilities. And though my means are humble, I still have my humanity. I will never ask you to do something you feel is wrong.”

“Well,” I said, “that's good enough for me.”

Poujean held out his hand and I shook it. It felt dry and warm and strong. Handshakes are important to me, and his felt good.

“Stupid mortals, both of you,” said Sabnack, his lion face curling into a snarl. “Her Grace told me to bring him back alive if I could, but dead was an acceptable alternative.” Then he drew his sword.

But Poujean smiled and drew a small glass bottle from beneath his robes. “We have never met before, Sabnack, so you do not know that before I became a
bokur,
I was a priest. I still remember all the rites of exorcism, and it just so happens that I learned them from the best.” He popped the lid off the bottle with his thumb and flicked it so that water splashed on Sabnack. “In the name of Jesus, Moses, and Abraham, I command you to return from where you came!”

Sabnack hissed and his horse creature screamed. They stumbled backward, then the creature threw him. He landed in a clatter of metal. He stabbed his spear into the ground and pulled himself up with it. His legs looked too skinny and weak to hold him up by themselves.

“Shall we continue or was there somewhere else you had to be?” asked Poujean as he pulled a silver crucifix and rosary beads from his bag.

Sabnack roared at him; then both he and his hellsteed disappeared in a smelly, brown gas cloud. The spear he had buried in the ground remained, sticking up from the grass like a little tree without branches.

“Could you have really destroyed him?” I asked.

“I'm not sure. I've seen my friend Paul do it, but I've never had an occasion to try it myself before.”

“What if he'd called your bluff?”

Poujean shrugged. “Then we would have found out if I could really destroy a demon.” Then he put his hand on my shoulder. “Do you still want to come with me? It won't always be an easy life. Or a safe one.”

“I've always felt like this wasn't quite right for me. I want to go with you.”

“But?”

“My mom. This guy.” I touched Bill's big belly. “He's gonna hurt her again if I'm not around to stop him.”

“Ah, well, if that's all,” he said, and smiled. “Stopping a man from beating his wife or girlfriend is something I am
very
good at. Come, I will need to gather a few ingredients. Then before you release his body, we will give him a potion that will make him violently ill whenever he tries to harm your mother.”

“You can do that?”

His smile grew mischievous. “That and many other things, little nightwalker. Watch and learn.”

“What about that?” I asked, pointing to the spear sticking out of the ground.

“See if you can take it,” he said.

I walked over and tried to pull it out of the ground.

“It won't budge,” I said.

“It must be for someone else then,” he said. “Come—let's take care of this man and his violence problem before the sun rises and you lose control of him.”

 

Are You Kidding? I Don't Even Know What Day It Is Anymore

W
e were at a rest stop outside Chicago. I think a few days after I left home, or maybe a week. I'd left a note for my mom, but Poujean said it might make her feel better if I called. I wasn't looking forward to her freaking out on me on the phone, but I figured he was probably right.

Luck was on my side, though. Or maybe Poujean's
loa
. Because she didn't pick up her cell. I just leaned back against the side of the pay phone and talked into her voice mail. And I have to say, it felt really good.

“Hey, Mom, it's Sebastian. Just wanted to let you know that I'm doing great. Eating healthy, taking care of myself, getting sleep, all that stuff you're always fussing about. So don't worry about that. I hope your face is healing. Keep putting that cream on that I left for you. I know it smells a little funky, but my friend tells me it'll do the trick. Also, I don't think Bill will be beating on you anymore, so you don't have to worry about that, either. I'll try to make it home at some point, but it probably won't be for a while. I've got some stuff I have to learn, places I want to visit. That kind of thing.

“One thing I want you to know, Mom. You were wrong about there not being anywhere else. There are other places. Amazing places. And amazing people, too. There's a lot more to the world than you think. I'm seeing it now. I hope maybe someday I can show it to you.”

Myra McEntire

Naughty or Nice

W
hen I was seven and he was eight, I broke all of the crayons in Henry Bishop's supply box. He didn't tell on me.

When I was eleven and he was twelve, he tried to give me my first kiss. I laughed so hard I peed in my pants, which would've killed the moment had it not already been really, really dead.

When I was seventeen and he was eighteen, we went on a school trip to Bavaria. I learned to believe in monsters, and in Henry.

 

A
fter thirty hours of traveling and a scant amount of sleep, we finally circle W. A. Mozart airport.

“Get off me.” I push Henry's head off my shoulder. “You're drooling.”

Semi–sleep state or not, my best friend is ready with a comeback. As always. “No, honey, that's you. Tell me what did it. Was it the smell of my shampoo or my close proximity?”

I groan and return my seat to its upright position. Ignoring Henry, I lean my forehead against the cold window and look down.

Nature has spilled a sugar bowl over a gathering of Baroque gingerbread castles, the snow so white it's blue. Purple mountaintops are haloed by clouds, and the hills that remain green year-round seem too lush for the cold temperatures.

I've waited for this since I was a freshman—the annual and legendary senior winter trip our private school takes. It was also known as everyone's early Christmas present, like when Lucy Price got knocked up, or when Jerry Maner got suspended for skiing naked.

After the chaos of claiming our baggage, an hour-long train ride, and twenty minutes in a van that smells like diesel fuel and dead fish, we pull up to the hotel.

Six buildings make up the Edelweiss. The wood juts out at odd but pleasing angles, complemented by curves. When I look up, snow-covered mountains fill most of the sky. I have to lean my head all the way back to see the sun or a tiny slice of blue, and my eyes are watering from the cold. I'm grateful for my faux fur–lined boots, coat and matching gloves, and the resulting toasty toes and fingers, even if it does scream tourist. Still, I head inside before my eyeballs freeze.

The lobby is warm and cheery, and now crowded to all four walls with tired, stinky students. Our teachers corral us into lines so we can check in.

“Willkommen!”
The girl behind the desk offers us a bright smile. Her dress—
dirndl
—is a Swiss Miss fantasy come true, pushing her boobs so high I half expect them to fall out and land on the desk. The bodice is tight, the skirt is short, and the apron seems like an afterthought. Her name tag reads
ELKE
.

I check in first, and the smile never leaves her face. I think it's just excellent customer service until Henry steps up to the counter beside me, and I figure out she hasn't been smiling at me. She's been smiling
past
me.

“Welcome.” She takes his parents' credit card and enters the information into the computer. It takes twice as long as it should because she keeps stopping to look at him.

My chest tightens, a relatively new but altogether stressful response to the way girls react to Henry. It's not his fault he's grown five inches taller and his skin cleared up and he finally got his braces off. He's still my Henry.

Just . . . hotter.

When she hands the card back, she sounds decidedly less local. “My friends and I are having drinks later at Sterndlbar. It's down in the market. You should come.”

“Are both of us invited?” he asks.

Oh yay. He remembers I'm here.

“You want to bring your sister?” Such a subtle insult. The girl's a pro.

“Oh, no,” he says, winking at her. “She's not my sister.”

Elke's face falls a country mile. “Well then. You're both welcome. I guess.”

Henry leans closer to the counter. “She's just
like
a sister.”

Her smile is big again, and I swear she pushes her boobs together with her arms, creating an endless chasm of cleavage. “I'll see you tonight.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Our concierge is just over there.” Back to business, and the accent, Elke points to a man in
lederhosen
that were probably too short when he was twelve. “He'll assign a bellboy to help you with your bags.”

“Thanks.” Henry hooks his arm around my neck and pulls me away from the desk.

I jerk free the second we're out of Elke's range of vision. We've always horsed around, but his touch feels different now, and not just because I stopped winning the fights.

“You're such a douche.” I busy myself by straightening my scarf with my free hand. Henry takes my bag from my other.

“Proven, scientific fact. Women find men they believe to be attached more attractive.”

I take my bag back. “Are you using your mom's
Cosmo
s for bathroom reading again?”

“It has really good articles.” He shrugs. “Lobby in an hour?”

I stare.

“Come on, Bex, you have to go with me. You were invited. You can't be rude. International relations and whatnot.” He shakes his hair out of his eyes, and I can't help thinking of how soft it felt when he was asleep on my shoulder.

“Fine. I'll see you in an hour.”

 

T
he walk to the market takes forever. I have my faux-fur ensemble, and Henry wears one of those ridiculous fleece hats with the wool-lined side flaps. For some reason, on him, it works. His dark hair is contained, and I can actually see his eyes. I forgot how green they are.

The amber circles of the town market lights shine on the snow as we reach the pub. The bar sign swings merrily above the door, inviting us to come into the warmth and cast off our worries.

Or our inhibitions, as the case may be.

Henry scans the room, and his focus lands on Elke in a booth in the back corner. She has on a berry-red scarf and a matching beret.

“She's got on so much lip gloss that if you try to kiss her, you'll slide off her face like a penguin off an ice cap.”

Henry grins, like he could be down for that.

“She's so obvious.” I scoff, removing my coat and hanging it on a moose-antler rack by the door.

“I'm on vacation. Who needs complications?”

“Right.”

I take off my hat and he reaches out to smooth down my hair after a stealth attack of static electricity. “Your hairdo looks as uptight as you are.”

“I'm not uptight. I'm just . . . selective.” I smack his hand away with more force than necessary.

“It's a joke.” He waves his fingers in mock pain and then holds them close to his chest, like I've injured him. “You can laugh.”

“Oh, I am. On the inside.”

Henry tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. It's a sweet gesture, but his words don't go with it. “Come be my wingman?”

I sigh. “You can get off the ground all by yourself.”

“Bex—”

“I'm tired of being a means to an end for you.” I pull away from him. “How come you aren't ever my wingman?”

“Do you need one?” He honestly looks confused.

This is part of the problem of having a dude for a best friend. They get so used to looking at you, they never see you.

“I'm not asexual, Henry, in case you haven't noticed.”

He frowns and takes a step back to check me out, starting at my feet and making his way to my face. His gaze stops a couple of times before ending at my lips.

“Henry?”

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “Definitely not asexual.”

He sees me now.

A movement in the corner of the pub catches his eye. I don't bother looking over my shoulder. Elke and her friend. “Go. No complications, remember?”

I walk away first.

 

T
he pub smells like beer and Christmas. Voices are cheery. Holiday music plays in the background, and a fire burns in the hearth. Kids of all ages sit with their parents, and a few even have glasses of cider. European sensibilities.

A guy slings drinks behind the counter. Young, with wild hair and fast hands. Cute. Smiling at me.

No complications.

Sadly, mine will be going home with me, assuming Henry doesn't get lost in Elke's cleavage.

I hide behind a gaggle of French tourists for a while to work up my nerve, then make my way to the bar to order a Coke. “And can you put some ice in that?”

The bartender grins. In spite of the goatee, he's even better looking up close. “Not enough of the cold stuff outside for you?”

“I'd rather have it in my soda.” I watch him for a minute while trying to pragmatically figure out how to do this. Henry's the flirt. I'm the sarcastic sidekick. How would he handle the situation if he were in my shoes?

He'd start by hitting on a girl.

“You're Australian?” I ask after I clear my throat.

“British. But I'll forgive you.”

I know Henry's staring at me from the way the bartender keeps looking toward the corner. I'm guessing it's an evil death glare. I have no idea if it's protective or jealous.

Not my problem.

I screw up my courage and take another stab at it. “So, where are the best places to ski?”

“Do you really want to know, or are you trying to flirt with me?”

I am so not cut out for this. “I'm trying, and failing, to flirt with you.”

“Give me ten seconds so I can bribe a replacement.” The grin becomes a full-blown smile. “I'll flirt back.”

I blush, regretting that I'm too far away from the fire to blame it on the heat. I didn't expect success. Not so quickly.

The bartender's smile is still in place as he comes out from behind the bar and hands me a glass of Coke. “I'm Kit.”

“Bex.” I take the glass and we do an awkward sort of handshake thing. “Short for Rebecca.”

“I like it.”

“Thanks.” I sip my drink. It's full to the brim, and loaded with ice.

“Come sit with my friends,” Kit says. “They're with that guy you walked in with.”

I can't respond. I'm too stuck between having to sit with Henry and Elke and some random girl, and Kit noticing I came into the pub with Henry. Maybe it's a bartender thing. Totaling numbers in their head to make sure they're within fire code or something.

We jostle our way through the crowd. Languages twist together in an exotic chorus, and the sound is pleasant, if surreal.

“Kit!” Elke's smile flashes a lot of white, but she doesn't have a good teeth-to-gums ratio, and for some reason this boosts my confidence.

Neither of them introduces their friend.

“Thought we'd join you.” Kit pulls up a wide stool and nods like I'm supposed to sit down. When I do, he bumps my hip with his and then crowds in to share. We're close. Really close.

I stare at the floor, hoping he won't notice my grin. When I look up, I see that Henry did. His eyes are narrowed. I stick out my tongue at him and they go wide.

“Are you here from the States, then?” Kit asks, pouring beer from a pitcher into an empty glass on the table. He offers it to me, but I hold up my Coke.

Henry answers in some kind of weird, deep Man Voice. “Virginia, near Charlottesville.” The voice gives out on the last syllable and he coughs.

“We're here on a school trip,” I add over Henry's coughing. Elke hands him her glass of beer. He takes several deep swigs and slumps back in his seat, staring at Kit's hand, which has landed on my knee.

“A school trip?” The other girl has an expensive button nose with nostrils so tiny that snot blockage from a simple cold could suffocate her. I think her accent is British, too, but it's a little too nasally to be certain. “You mean you're not here for the Krampus walk?”

“What's that?” Henry's back to his normal voice, and he's eyeing the beer pitcher.

A look passes between Kit and the two girls. I speak before they can.

“The Krampus walk,” I say, happy to have a chance to show off my geek research side, “is a tourist thing, a festival to get people to come into town and spend money. I read it in my brochures.”

Henry laughs. “Brochure my ass. You have a stack of travel books bigger than you are.”

“Some people read other things besides
Cosmo
and
X-Men
comics.”

A shout goes up from the game of darts being played beside us. A guy takes a wide step back and bumps into me. Kit's fingers slide up, gripping my thigh to keep me steady. It has the opposite effect.

My voice is a little wobbly. “People dress up, buy masks to hide behind so they can run wild, get drunk in the street, hook up with strangers.”

“Sounds like a good time to me,” Henry says, his arm lowering from the back of the booth to Elke's shoulders.

“Sounds stupid to me,” I return. But I put my hand on top of Kit's.

No one at the table knows where to look, and the room goes quiet, like the universe put Henry and me in time-out.

“Anyway,” I continue when the bar noise returns to its previous volume, “it sounds like the Krampus is a cheap knockoff of Santa.”

Henry is the only one at the table who doesn't look at me like I've slapped his grandma.

“What did I say?”

“Krampus isn't anything like Santa. He's the anti-Santa,” Elke says, her local accent completely gone. Definitely British. “Santa gives out toys, but Krampus gives out punishment.”

“For being naughty?” Henry asks, his fingertips sliding down over Elke's collarbone. Lower.

She laughs. “Trust me, you wouldn't want to end up on his list.”

Henry picks up Elke's beer glass and takes a long drink. “Maybe it wouldn't matter. Depending on what got me on it.”

“I wouldn't let anyone hear you say that.” Button Nose tilts her chin up. I'm momentarily entranced by her perfectly symmetrical nose holes. “It could be bad news.”