Demon Derby (20 page)

“What do you mean?”

He set me down next to his bike, answering quietly. “New demons tend to devour the things they love first. It would have been bad.”

Did that mean he loved me? I wanted it to, but I worried about what that would mean. It was selfish to want him if those feelings were likely to doom us both. But that didn’t make it any easier to stop feeling the way I did.

But I still couldn’t help stepping forward and resting my cheek on his chest for just a second, thinking about how it would feel if we could just be together without all this demon crap getting in the way. His arms went around me in response. I knew if I kissed him, he’d kiss me back. We could shut out the world, just for a minute. I pulled back just far enough to look into his eyes, our lips only inches apart. Slowly, inexorably, we began to drift closer. But then, moments before our lips touched, I started to worry. Was I hurting him? Would the demons use me to make him fall like 693 had tried to?

He must have had the same misgivings, because he paused
too, our lips barely grazing. My heart hammered, and I could feel my hands tremble against his waist. I was torn between what I wanted and the responsible thing to do. One little kiss couldn’t hurt, right?

If I really cared about him, I’d set those feelings aside and take care of business. I swallowed hard, trying to summon the willpower to pull away. His mouth quirked up in a wry grin that I felt more than saw.

“Crappy timing, huh?” he murmured.

“You can say that again.”

“Crappy timing, huh?”

I let out a laugh that finally broke the tension between us, and we released each other. I knew it was a good idea but couldn’t keep from regretting it. It would happen between us someday, but that wasn’t soon enough.

He took a deep breath and let it out.

“Yeah,” I said. “I totally agree.”

This time he laughed. I rode the wave of it and then tried to come up with something constructive to say.

“So … about those demons …” I trailed off because I didn’t know how to end the sentence.

“Yeah?” He arched a brow.

“What now? I learn how to hunt them myself?” I paused as a sinking thought occurred to me. “Were those other two derby girls demon hunters? Is that why 693 killed them?”

He shook his head, handing me a helmet. “You’re the first fully manifested hunter I’ve seen. I thought they’d be so much easier to find.…”

“Well, the roller derby isn’t the first place I’d look.”

“I needed ways to meet people, and I thought athletes might make more likely hunters, since athletic training is a fairly strenuous process. I’m also playing in an Ultimate Frisbee league, and I coach high school soccer. And I take guitar lessons, but that’s just because I want to.”

“You have a very busy social calendar for someone who’s only been alive for a year,” I said faintly, climbing onto the bike behind him.

“Yeah, I take a class or two at the university each semester so I don’t seem too suspicious. Plus, I live with a senior Sentinel who poses as my brother. He doesn’t leave the apartment, but he’s really good with technology, so he searches for and mentors hunters online.”

“Oh,” I said. Then I finally worked up the courage to ask the question that was really on my mind. “So why did 693 kill those girls?”

“He’s trying to either recruit me or get me to give up and leave. I’m not sure the why matters; I’m more interested in how to stop him.”

“Good point.”

He fired up the bike, cutting off any further conversation for the moment. It was a good thing too, because all my witty banter had been designed to keep both of us from realizing that I was about two centimeters from complete hysteria. I needed the jokes to distract me or I’d be cowering in a corner. Good thing the ride wasn’t long enough for me to really get thinking; we quickly pulled up in front of a fifties-style diner,
one of those places where all the corners are curves and every surface is covered in spit-shined metal. I climbed off the bike and almost knocked heads with him.

“We should go inside,” he said, taking me gently by the elbow and steering me toward the door.

“Yeah, that would be good.”

It took us a few minutes to get seated; Smuckers might have looked like it was upholstered in disco balls, but they had the best fries in the city. The seating area was always packed. Finally we ended up in a saggy-springed booth in the corner underneath the brooding gaze of James Dean. It wasn’t the greatest poster in the world; the camera angle made him look kind of like a bobblehead. But at least it wasn’t dogs playing cards.

The bobblehead thought made me frown, my mind circling back to try to make sense of all the weirdness. Very unsuccessfully.

“What are you thinking about?” Michael asked, leaning toward me over the smooth expanse of pink Formica.

“Bobbleheads.” I paused. “I found one in my friend’s hospital room. She’s miraculously back in remission, but her mom won’t get out of bed. Could she have …” I couldn’t say it.

But Michael could. “Sold her soul to save her daughter? I’m afraid it’s possible, but there’s no way to know for sure without getting a good look at the bobblehead. Demons are eternally hungry. If left unchecked, they’ll consume entire solar systems. Soul jars are like little to-go boxes to them.”

“I keep waiting for you to tell me this is all a joke and you’ve got a camera hidden in your hair or something.”

“I wish. Black holes—you know how they suck everything in around them?” I nodded. “That’s what happens when we miss a demon. They just keep eating until there’s nothing left.”

“So if there’s a soul in the bobblehead, some demon’s going to steal the bobblehead and eat it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know how it works, and I don’t think I want to. They seem to be able to collect without having physical custody of the bobbleheads, though. I tried locking some of them up in our apartment, but one day, the souls were just gone.”

“Oh.” It came out as a whisper.

“Are you okay?”

“Well, I’m trying not to freak out.” My eyes flicked back to the menu. “I’m also torn between the waffles and the chicken strips.”

Of course, our waitress picked that very moment to scurry over and demand our orders in a voice so breathless that it was nearly unintelligible. Michael ordered a cheeseburger with a level of reverence normally reserved for the Pope, the Dalai Lama, and holy relics. Between his extra-polite demeanor, his overall hotness, and that voice of his, the waitress was practically purring by the time she left the table.

After she left, Michael just stared at me. I was pretty used to being stared at, but usually there was a good reason behind it. Pre-cancer, it usually had something to do with the fact that I was either hanging upside down from or jumping off something. Post-cancer, it usually had something to do with the fact that I was bald and marker-scribbled. But he wasn’t
staring at my scalp, and I wasn’t performing any stunts. And it was hard not to stare back.

“So, what do you want me to do?” I asked. “Take my necklace and go out hunting?”

“Objects like your necklace are called Relics. I can teach you how to reach into the Between and make them at will,” he said. “They’re anathema to demons.”

“Am I going crazy?” I asked. “Is this some elaborate practical joke? I’ve got to know, because I’m really starting to doubt my sanity. Like maybe I have a brain tumor, and this is all a hallucination. How do I know this is real?”

Of course, the waitress picked that moment to sashay over.

“Here’s your coffee, honey,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him so fast that I swore I could feel a breeze. “Cream?”

“We’re fine, thanks,” I said pointedly.

She flounced off with an extra wiggle in her step. Michael didn’t even seem to notice, which was good, because I might have had to throw something at him if he had. He just smiled gently at me and laced both his hands behind his head. I attempted to ignore what this did to his pectorals, but trust me, a part of me noticed.

“There’s no way to know for certain.” He stretched. “I can show you the wings again if that will help, but some things you’ve just got to take on faith.”

“Faith.” I snorted. “I only believe in things I can beat up or jump off.”

He smiled. “Yeah. That’s why I like you more than I ought to.”

My brain was struggling to parse everything I’d learned so far. It felt like someone had sprained my reality, which I guess wasn’t too far from the truth. So I took refuge in small talk. I asked how long Michael had managed the team (one month), and what had made him interested in roller derby in the first place (he wasn’t; he had applied to manage the men’s rugby team but hadn’t gotten that job), and what class he was taking this semester (Introduction to Philosophy, and his instructor always wore bolo ties).

When the waitress brought our food, I was beyond relieved. I sucked down my chicken in record time and drank enough Coke to flood Rhode Island. My appetite seemed to be coming back. I took it as a good sign. We exchanged numbers.

Then he drove me home.

“So,” he said, rolling to a stop in front of our town house, “why don’t you take a week or so to think about all of this? If you decide you want in, I can start teaching you what I know about demons and Relics and whatnot after derby practices.”

“After practice?” I punched his shoulder playfully as I got off the bike. “Are you trying to kill me?”

He laughed low in his throat, standing up and capturing my hand. “I’m trying to save you, idiot. Make you tougher.”

“Don’t make me beat you up,” I teased, leading him up the steps to our front door. I would have talked more smack if he hadn’t leaned forward again. It was our third almostkiss of the night, but somehow this one felt like it was a go. To heck with the ramifications. If we didn’t kiss, it was only going to distract us from our duties, right? It would be better for us in the long run to get it over with. Our faces got closer and closer, and I felt strangely breathless, like I’d just been out running. It would have been very wise to look away, but I couldn’t make myself do it.

My dad opened the screen door, nearly smacking Michael with the handle. We flew apart like we were on strings.

“Well, well,” Dad said, looking Michael over and folding his arms. “I’ll have you know I’m an expert swordsman.”

“Dad!” I said, blushing. “He’s just kidding, Michael.”

“Mostly.” My father shrugged. “But if you hurt my baby, all bets are off.”

“That’s fair, sir,” Michael said.

“Sir?” I said, and snorted.

“My family’s in the … ah … military. Remember?” Michael’s cell rang, and he checked the number. “I should probably take this. It’s my brother. He’s acting as my guardian, because my parents are overseas.”

“Okay. See you soon?” I said. I didn’t know how long I’d make it without calling him. Not that I was turning into one of those obsessive stalker girls, but I’d probably have a new list of questions for him by about midnight.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Don’t forget practice.”

I expected the third degree when Dad closed the door, but he just kissed me on the forehead. “After teaching for fifteen years, I’ve learned to trust my instincts when it comes to people, and I like that one, Case. What’s his story?”

“He’s the manager of our derby team. I’m an alternate now.”

“Congratulations!” He folded me into a hug. “I look forward to seeing you skate.”

“I’ll get you the schedule. But I’ll only be in a bout if somebody’s out.”

“Yes, I understand the meaning of the word ‘alternate.’ ” He softened the words with a smile and then ambled down the hallway, cleaning his glasses on his shirttail. “But no more staying up until all hours of the morning with him and sleeping all day, you get me? The deal was that you had to log your homeschool hours if you want to engage in activities. Dozing through them doesn’t count.”

“I know.” I sagged against the wall, suddenly exhausted.
“And I’ll keep up my end of the bargain. It’s just nice to get out there again. I was starting to feel—”

“Lost?”

“Petrified. Like the wood.”

“And this boy is the inspiration for your new zest for life?”

“Not exactly. Although, I do like him more than I should.”

“How old is he?” And now we got to the third-degree bit. He replaced his glasses, looking at me with one of his rare keen gazes that miss nothing. The truth almost popped out of me, despite my urge to resist. My dad probably would have thought I was being a smart-ass if I’d told him Michael was only one.

“Nineteen, maybe? He’s a freshman at the U.”

“All right,” he said. “I’m going to trust my instincts, but please be responsible?”

“Don’t worry, Dad. I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

“Of course you aren’t,” he said. “But I can’t help myself. So I’ll keep giving you my so-called wise advice, and you pretend to be floored by it on occasion, okay?”

“That’s a deal.”

He started down the basement steps, then paused to look back at me. “I’m downstairs watching a little
Inside the Actors Studio
if you’re interested. Christopher Walken’s on. Did you know he used to be a tap dancer?”