The Mooncalf

Chapter Two


I would just like to point out that whatever goody-two-shoes was trying to out me was being mean. Seriously. Mooncalf? But I’m forgetting that you’re pretty stupid. You probably don’t know what that even means, do you? All right. How can I put this so that even your limited brain power can process it?

Calling me Mooncalf is like Draco Whatshisface calling Hermione Whatever-her-name-is “Mudblood.” (I don’t like to read.) Only worse, ‘cause it insults my beauty, too. So of course I ran into my room to be sure that my face was still okay.

Yep. Still okay. Better than okay, actually. Gotta say, I’m really hot. It’s the demon blood. We wouldn’t be able to tempt anyone to eternal damnation if we looked like the elephant man. I’ve got long dark hair and big dark eyes and dusky skin—my dad looks Mesopotamian. It’s a long story, but the quick version is that is the place he first visited, and that form is nostalgic.

“You’re still not blond.” The voice came from behind me, on the bed. I spun around to glare at the little lump of a man on my bed.

“Mara, get out of my room, you freak!”

“You’re still not blond,” he said again. Bastard looked real sad about it, too.

“Brilliant observation. So you have no reason to be here. Go away!” But Mara just looked at me in that way of his. It’d be spooky, if I were human. But since I’m not, and since I’m not blond—he’s a bit of a fetishist—he’s unlikely to sit on my chest as I sleep. He tried it once. His nose is even uglier now, if that’s possible. My pyjamas didn’t look too sweel either, with demon blood splattered on it.

“You got a message. On your door.”

“Yeah, so?” I put my hands on my hips.

“Are ya scared yet?” Mara wanted to know. “If you are, you can come sit by me. I’ll console you.”

“Yeah, I just bet you would, Pervy McFetishpants.” But I sat by him anyway. He’s pretty okay, actually, to talk to. “How’d you know? Do the Guardians know?”

Mara blinked, then a shudder rolled over him. “I try to stay under their radar.” That was probably wise, since if they knew I was consorting with other demons, they’d probably kill me. “As for me, I was waiting, hoping your friend would drop by.”

Here’s the thing about having a portal to hell in your closet: You gotta make sure you close the door, or someone is bound to try to watch you change for gym. (Don’t you dare laugh. It’s my dad’s idea of speed dial.)

“Jane? Leave her alone, Mara. She’s bottle-blonde.” I thought he was going to cry with disappointment. Hey, at least he’s nice enough to fall in love with all his victims before he induces the night terrors.

“So, I think the best course is pretend it never happened. I mean, maybe someone was just reading The Tempest and thought they were being clever,” I said.

“This is high school. Do I even have to tell you how unlikely that scenario is?”

“Shut up. I like it just fine. It’s just a word. Whoever wrote it probably doesn’t know what it means. It certainly doesn’t mean that anyone knows what I am. So there’s really no need to go to the Guardians yet.” Mara nodded, like I knew he would. Any plan that involves avoiding the Guardians is a good plan, in his marbly eyes. “Or my father. Promise,” I added when he looked a little shifty. His gaze darted around—toward the closet, to be exact. Some moron artist mistook him for an incubus once, and Mara and my dad bonded over it.

“If you make one move toward that Hellhole without promising me you won’t tell my dad, I’ll break your nose again, you little clod.” I smiled and lifted my fist. It was as big as his face.

“Fine! Fine. I promise. Bully.”

I shrugged. “My right as a Cambion. I get to have my way.”

“Or else?”

I smiled.

“Okay, I promised. Can I go now?” Those big eyes are hard to resist, if they don’t scare the crap out of you first.

“Sure. But—Mara. Leave the girls around here alone. Even the blond ones. If the Guardians find out there’s demonic activity. . .” The Nightmare nodded and scrambled for the closet. I was never going to get the smokey smell from my clothes. Febreeze might help. I’d have to sneak out of my room tonight after curfew and get some.

Stick shouted at me from the common room at the end of the hall, which was as far as boys could go into the girls dorm.

“What?” I hollered back.

“You’re late to class!”

“You’re late to puberty!” Hah. I poked my head out to see how he took that. Unfortunately, he looked bored, not insulted. I swear, that guy was no fun. I huffed and grabbed my backpack. It would have the wrong books in it, but I didn’t really care. If I didn’t want to get in trouble for it, I wouldn’t. Like I told Mara, I can be really convincing when I put my mind to it.

“Why do you always wait for me?” I asked Stick as we walked to English. “You know I’ll only make you late.”

He shrugged, his shoulders rising at my eye-level. From my place at his side, I could see the little dark hairs on his chin. He hadn’t shaved this morning. Alright, so the puberty comment might have been a bit inaccurate. I tell Marabell that she looks like a cow all the time, and that’s not true either. It’s just fun to watch her turn purple.

“If I didn’t wait, I don’t think you’d go at all.” Hmm. Perceptive of him. When the Guardians call to congratulate me on getting an A in English, I’m going to blame Stick.

“So, have you started your paper yet?” he asked. He really thinks there’s hope for me, I think. It’s cute, and it makes me want to bash his head in. I just looked at him. Really. Stupid paper wasn’t due for three days.

“Yeah, well, just because you’re smart and can write a good paper in one night doesn’t mean you should. Bad habit.”

“Blah, blah, blah. Snorting crack is a bad habit. Procrastinating is just a negative view on prioritizing.”

Stick looked disapproving. I didn’t really care.

“Well, are you okay?” he asked.

“What the hell are you takling about, Stick? I’m fine.”

“Oh. Well, I just saw something on your door, and it didn’t look nice.”

Crap.

“It’s a band. They’re really big in England.” What Gisele is to modelling, I am to lying. Easy peasy.

“Oh, okay.” For a minute I thought he sounded unconvinced, but that must have been my own nerves talking. I convinced everybody. Except the Guardians. Oh, I lie to them too, don’t get me wrong. They’re just so blessed by God that they see right through me. It totally blows. Well, it won’t matter if they kill me when they find out my cover’s blown. So much for balloons at my seventeenth birthday party. Nope. It’s a sulfury eternity for me.

You know what I said about boarding school being the worst plane of existence? I take it back. I really don’t want to go to hell.

English went by slowly but without incident. So did Pre-Calc. British History? Not so freaking well.

The principle came in at the end, looking serious.

“Anybody want to tell me what this is about?” He dumped some black candles and darkened chicken feathers out of a bag onto Mr. Genal’s desk. I gagged. I could smell the chicken blood even from my seat in the back. (Though no one else seemed to notice.) Marabell, sitting kittycorner in front of me, actually wiped a tear away. Overdone, if you ask me.

“There have been rumors of devil worship in this school for the past several weeks, but I didn’t give them credence until these were found. If you have any information, please inform me or one of the teachers or prefects. You are dismissed.”

“You’re in for it now, goth girl,” Marabell hissed.