Mooncalf

A/N: Another chappie just for you. And thanks to my reviewer, Faust. I've never been so happy to be threatened. :)))

ddf


Chapter Three

“Do that again and I’ll break your kneecap,” I warned Marabell pleasantly. She sneered but ran toward centerfield, her kilt—rolled up a few times at the waist band to nearly show her butt—flapping in the wind.

I hate field hockey. I’d only signed up because the Guardians had suggested it might be a good outlet for my aggression. In reality, it just aggravated my homicidal inclinations—at least when it came to Marabell. She was a good forward—probably the best on the team, to be honest (I can say that because I play mid)—but when she came up against me in scrimmages, she hacked at my shins like crazy. One of these days I was going to grab her stupid stick out of her stupid hands and hack her in the stupid head with it.

A week had passed since the principal requested information on the devil-worshipping bastards. Fortunately, I hadn’t heard anything more about it, and no nasty messages had shown up on my door. If I were welcome to thank the Lord, I might have. As it was, I was just relieved.

Jane and Stick were waiting for me by the bleachers at the end of practice. Neither of them were in a sport. Jane had decided she didn’t believe in organized sports, and had quit tennis to smoke. Stick was in debate. He’s such a dork. The three of us headed to our spot.

Our spot wasn’t too unique for our campus. One hundred acres was a lot, and there were a lot of trees and bushes, and the landscapers apparently hadn’t thought of teenagers up to nefarious deeds when they had put in all the shaded, secluded corners on campus. The pot smokers had their spot, and the sluts used lots of spots, and we had ours. Our spot was sheltered between a rock wall at the edge of the property and a line of tall bushes. Jane told me that even in the dead of winter, our spot wasn’t windy. If the winter was worse than the fall, though, we’d freeze our butts off, wind or no wind. It was only mid-November, but it was really cold.

It didn’t seem to bother Jane, though, as she plunked down against the wall and lit a cigarette. Stick pulled a fleece blanket out of his backpack and spread it out before sitting down himself. I sat by him because the ground would be slightly warmer with the blanket, and because he didn’t smell like nicotine. Actually, he kind of smelled like pine trees and soap.

“Hey, Cam, this was on your door,” Jane said, tossing an intricately folded piece of notebook paper.

I unfolded it, glanced at it. And forgot to breathe.

“Mooncalf, I see you.” I crumpled it into a ball and threw it away from me.

“Jane, did you read this?” I asked sharply.

“No way. I’ve never been good at that folding stuff. You’d have known in an instant.”

Well, it was good to know that the only reason my best friend wasn’t spying on me was her crappy hand-eye coordination.

“Cam, you okay? You look really pale. What did it say?” Stick asked.

“I’m so screwed,” I moaned.

Stick fetched the note and smoothed it out on his knee. “Is it okay if I read it?” he asked.

I nodded. What harm could it do? If he hadn’t written it, he wouldn’t understand, and my cover was blown anyway. It was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down on my head. The Guardians were not going to be impressed with this at my Trial.

“I think you need to show this to the principal,” he said after a moment.

“Lemme see!” Jane tore the note out of his hands. “I don’t get it. What’s the big deal? Who’s Mooncalf?”

I winced. Well, I had thought before of telling her, right? And since everything was going to hell anyway (well, me, in any case), I may as well tell them. The best-case scenario was that they would think I was crazy. At worst, they’d try to exorcise me.

“I am. It’s . . . not a nice word where I come from.”

“What, Milwaukee?” she said.

“Are you really saying . . . You are.” Stick looked at me like I was crazy, which I suppose was good but made me feel even worse. “You’ve read The Tempest?” he asked Jane.

“No. What does that have to do with anything?”

Stick bit his lip and looked at me before explaining. “Well, there’s this character in there, Caliban. His mom was a witch or a devil or something, if I remember right. And some other characters called him ‘Mooncalf.’ Have I got that right, Cam?”

I nodded again.

“So the person who’s writing this is calling you a scary man?” Jane laughed. “Oh, yes, that’s very serious. We’d better tell the principal right away.”

“No, the person who wrote this is calling her something unblessed, a child of the devil. It was a favorite term in Salem, during the witch trials. It’s a serious accusation, Jane.”

Jane looked skeptical. “It’s not like we’re in the sixteen hundreds, here. No one’s going to dump rocks on her chest or burn her at the stake, or anything. I’m sorry, ‘kay? I can see this freaks you two out. But I really don’t get why this is such a big deal.”

I looked up from my knees at my friend, soaking in her concerned look. The disgust she would wear in a moment would wipe the niceness away.

“It’s a big deal because it’s true. I’m a Cambion,” I said at last.

“Like in Dungeons and Dragons. Riiiight.”

“Don’t believe me? Feel my pulse.”

Jane rolled her eyes, but moved to sit by me and pressed her fingers to my throat. After a moment, she tried repositioning her fingers. And then again, and then again.

“I can’t find it,” she said finally. “So what?”

“I don’t have one,” I said simply.

“Just because I didn’t take a first aid course doesn’t mean you don’t have a pulse, Cam. Now, stop joking around.”

“How can I prove it to you? Hold my breath for a few hours? I can do that, if you want me to. Want me to show you a portal to hell? My dead goldfish, still swimming around? What do you want me to do?” I could have just convinced her, of course, but I wanted her to believe me because she believed me, not because I’d made her believe me.

“This isn’t funny anymore. When you’re done making fun of me, let me know,” Jane said icily and stalked away.

“Well,” I said, turning to Stick, “That didn’t go exactly as I’d planned.”

“You planned to tell her?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Not really. But I thought it would be nice for somebody to know. I think the Guardians are going to cull me soon, and there’s no one like me anymore.”

“Well, I know,” he said, attempting to soothe.

“You believe me?”

“Hard to believe what you already know. Look, Cam, the Guardians sent me here to keep an eye on you.”

I punched him in the eye.

I was in my room ten minutes later, ensuring myself of my good looks in the mirror. I had let Mara out of my closet, and he sat silent on my bed. Mostly because I had told him that I wanted company, but I didn’t want to hear one word from his stupid mouth.

“I mean, I guess I should have expected it, but seriously. Couldn’t they have sicced a teacher or something on me? Why did it have to be one of my friends? Maybe you don’t get the concept, Mara, but I trusted him. He was always nice to me, and never treated me like I was the worst thing to ever walk the earth, and he smelled nice. It isn’t fair!” I ranted. “I hate him so much right now.”

“So why don’t you do something about it?” came a small voice from behind me. I turned, fist raised, toward my lumpy demon friend, but he shook his head madly, his eyes wide and innocent as a demon’s can be. He looked toward my dresser. I sneered at Mara. Did he really think he was going to fool me into thinking that my dresser was possessed?

“I’m right here,” the voice came again. From the direction of the dresser. From the fish tank sitting on the dresser, to be exact.

My undead goldfish was talking to me. Even in my world, this was weird.

I couldn’t think of anything clever to say. I settled for, “What the hell?”