Mooncalf

A/N: Hi folks! Here's another chappie just for you! I had a hard time with this one, so let me know if you think it turned out okay (or not). Please? Pretty please?

P.S. This chapter is dedicated to Faust, whose babies I would gladly bear. Or, you know, direct one of my minions to bear. Anyway, thanks, Faust! I heart you.



Chapter Six


Detention, as a punishment, is utterly useless. At Galmon Academy—like every other high school in existence—it goes like this: You show up, the teacher takes attendance, and then you write notes to your friends, doodle, or zone out for an hour.

For me, it’s really just a scheduled nap. Probably good for my health, really. Miss Jonsey keeps telling me I should use the time to work on my homework. She’s probably right. But something always comes up. Usually, it’s my lack of adequate REM. Jane occasionally got detention, too, and when she did, we would pass notes. She still hated me, though, so radio silence on her end. Jack, of course, was far too well-behaved to ever get detention. Except today, and there were extenuating circumstances, I assure you. In any case, he was so embarrassed to be there, he just silently worked on his English paper to prove he shouldn’t be expelled. Whatever. Not like he wasn’t going to be valedictorian despite getting detention. I wondered suddenly if he was actually eligible for the valedictory, having done the high school thing once before.

That left Marabell to amuse me. Since I had my gloves on, I stole her white-out pen. She saw me do it, too, but couldn’t raise a stink about it without Miss Jonsey giving her the evil eye. Every so often, Marabell would whirl around to face me and mouth, “Give it back,” but I always pretended I didn’t understand what she was trying to tell me. I grinned apologetically (in an ironic sort of way). When she gave in and turned toward the front of the room again, I would raise the pen and squeeze it until corrective fluid dripped onto her hair. The white hardly showed against her pale blond locks. She probably wouldn’t even find out it was there until she tried brushing her hair tonight. I’ve grown a lot more sophisticated since my gum-in-the-hair days.

Messing with Marabell would also have been a good way to keep my mind off the fact that I had alienated both of my friends, if I were the sort to care about that. Since I wasn’t, I used the time between white-out drips to reflect on the circumstances that got the four of us a week’s detention.

At this point, I would just like to proclaim that none of the circumstances were in any way my fault. I was completely innocent—a victim, even.

It began after Jack and I got back to Galmon after our trip to Milwaukee, and I found Marabell flirting with my father in my bedroom.

“Oh, hi sweetie,” Pops said cheerfully.

“Cam, you’re dad is so cool,” Marabell gushed.

“What the hell?!” I screeched.

Pops explained the situation. He’d come up for a visit to find Marabell in my room, a folded note addressed to me in her hand. She, of course, had instantly become enamored of my father, and so gave the note to him when he asked.

“I was a bit surprised when I didn’t see a note between friends, but this.” Pops handed me the paper. It was badly crumpled—I imagined my father had done that—but I could see it had been as intricately folded as the last note. Needless to say, I wasn’t terribly surprised to read the note.

“Mooncalf, I know you.”

What did surprise me was the scanned copy of my death certificate stapled to the note. Hey, when you don’t breathe or have a pulse, the doctors tend to think you’re stillborn. I whirled on Marabell.

“How did you get this? They destroyed this!”

Marabell blinked, so I pulled her hair.

“It was taped to your door!” she cried. “I found it! I didn’t put it there, I swear! I thought it was from your boyfriend. I was going to hold it for ransom, but I didn’t write that note!”

Pops whistled, impressed. My methods differed greatly from his—and by that I mean mine were much more violent—but there was no denying that my techniques were effective. I could have told him that the trick was to get a good hold of the short hairs at the nape of the neck, but then he would have told me that he liked his way better. I try very, very hard to avoid thinking about “his way” and how he earns his keep in hell. I mean, he’s my dad. Eeww.

I let Marabell go, and she promptly gave me a sly look.

“So, aren’t you going to introduce me to the strange man in your room? I mean, how do I know he’s not a serial killer or something? If I told Miss Jonsey, it would really be in your best interest, you know.” She batted her eyes at my father.

Gross. I know he only looks like he’s thirty or so, but Pops is like, older than dirt. I mean that literally. I think it’s the nose ring. The ladies always fall for it, which is ironic, since it was Heaven’s idea of a punishment.

“This is Azzael, Marabell,” I said sweetly. “He’s my father.”

“The ex-con?” she asked. It’s a small school, and gossip travels fast. I’d had to tell people something. I nodded.

“Your dad’s hot,” she responded. She turned her smile back to him, so I walloped her across the back of the head.

“Stop hitting on my dad. You have a boyfriend, and it’s gross.”

She blinked. “Oh, right.”

“And don’t think you’re going to blackmail me about my dad visiting, either, because you know I’ll make you regret the day you were born if you do.”

She blinked again.

“Right. Fine. Whatever. But what I want to know is, what does your dad being here have to do with that note? And why is that note so important, anyway?” She pointed at me abruptly. “And don’t you dare hit me again. I’ll hit you back.”

I raised an eyebrow elegantly at her cajones, and turned my attention to my father.

“Pops?” I asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Mara might have mentioned something about you getting threats,” he said.

Marabell stuttered, “I most certainly did not! When I said you were gonna get what was coming to you, I didn’t mean I would have anything to do with it, just that the principal was bound to find out you’ve been behind the black magic stuff that’s been happening.”

I glared at her. “Pops isn’t talking about you, you dolt. He’s talking about a friend of mine—one who happened to promise not to mention anything about this to my father.”

Pops shrugged. “Well, really, he mentioned you and looked worried, so I made him tell me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Pops, I’m turning seventeen next week. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of this myself.”

“Then why have you been assigned a bodyguard?” he challenged. I didn’t even bother asking who he seduced to find that out, and so soon after I’d found out myself, too.

“You have a bodyguard? Who is it?” Marabell asked, curiosity gleaming rabidly in her eyes.

“Some older fellow named Founder,” Pops answered for me. I shot him a glare. Hello? He was giving all my secrets away to the girl who’d broken into my room to hold my threatening note for ransom! He shot me one back. He didn’t like boys around me so much, and Jack wasn’t even a boy anymore.

“Jack?!” Marabell shrieked. “Oh my god, I knew there was something between you two.” My dad’s left eye twitched. “But I don’t know if he would be able to fend off a fruit fly.”

“Have you ever tried swatting a fruit fly? They’re almost impossible to hit, they’re so small. They go right between your fingers.” Why was I defending him? (And doing such a poor job of it?) Marabell wasn’t saying anything that I hadn’t thought myself.

“Maybe Mara should stay here with you for a while,” Pops suggested.

“Oh, no. I’ve waited three years to have a single room, and I’m not giving it up now for some girl who’s going to be killed or whatever,” Marabell argued.

“He’s not talking about you!” I reiterated. Honestly, with a mental capacity like hers, I was amazed she managed to tie her shoes every morning. To Pops, I said, “And don’t you think it would be a little obvious if some lumpy little demon started following me around everywhere?”

Fortunately, Marabell just looked confused.

“Hmm, you might have a point there,” Pops murmured. “But I don’t know if I trust this Founder fellow . . . And he isn’t even to be allowed into your bedroom—not that he should be, of course—“

Unfortunately, Marabell stopped looking confused to smirk at me.

Even worse, the door opened.

“What is all the commotio—“ Jane stopped abruptly to scoowl. “Hell has frozen over.” The sight of me chatting with Marabell and a strange man in my room didn’t go over with her too well, I guess.

“Not yet,” Pops said helpfully.

I sighed. My bedroom had become a three-ring circus.

“Jane, Pops. Pops, Jane,” I introduced. “Now, Jane, back me up here. Tell my dad that Jack is perfectly capable of looking out for me.”

“Jack? Who’s Jack? Oh, you mean your boyfriend, Stick,” Jane said snidely.

Pops actually growled.

Jane continued, “Sure, he can look out for you. Especially if you get attacked by a rabid chemistry book or something. Or a fruitfly.”

Seriously. What was up with the fruitflies?

Pops scowled. “I want to meet this young man. Now,” he said in that tone he only uses when he isn’t going to take no for an answer. I know my dad’s a demon, but I really don’t get why he has to be such a tyrant sometimes.

Great. There was no way I was going to get my father out of this room without a dozen of my dormmates falling in love with him—something people tend to remember, I’ve noticed. And it wasn’t like there was a hellhole handy in the boys’ dorm, either. Actually, the next closest portal was in the Walmart Supercenter on the other end of town, which would have worked if the buses were still running. Since they weren’t, I said finally, “Let me see if he can come over.”

I shoved Marabell out of the way so I could sit at my desk. The three of them watched in silence as I booted up my laptop and sent an instant message to Jack.

Ten minutes later, he clambered in through my window. I wondered how exactly he knew to climb up the drain pipe to the roof, then step down onto my window ledge and hit the wall just to the right of the window to loosen it enough to push up. It had taken me at least a week to figure it out.

He tripped on the window sill and promptly fell to the floor. He coughed as he stood, brushing himself off as if nothing had happened.

“This had better be serious, Cam, because I really don’t like getting messages telling me to come over here or forfeit my life as a joke. It’s not funn— Oh, you must be Azzael. Hi. I’m Jack Founder.” He thrust his hand out at Pops, who took it, because he obviously didn’t know what else to do in the face of the man who knew who he was and didn’t find his presence in my room disconcerting.

But Jack did look to me quizzically as he asked, “But what is she doing here?” He pointed at Marabell.

“It’s not polite to point,” Marabell said with a pout. She even fluttered her eyes again. I guess because Jack’s eye was still black.

Pops shook himself, getting his bearings back after Jack’s strange entrance and introduction. Then he punched him. In the other eye. For the second time since he had entered my room, Jack hit the floor. Apparently, Pops would employ a few of my violent techniques.

“That,” he growled, shaking his sore hand, “Is what you get for sneaking into my daughter’s room in the middle of the night.” It wasn’t even eleven, but whatever.

“She told me to come,” Jack protested. His eyes, one red and watering, the other black and blue, flew to me. “Why did you tell me to come?”

I shrugged. “Pops wanted to meet you.”

“My pleasure,” Jack deadpanned.

Pops smiled that smile that’s nothing but a threat.

“So, how exactly is he going to protect you?” Pops asked drily.

Marabell giggled. So did Jane, who added an eyebrow waggle.

“Oh, shut up,” I told them. These humans have immense amounts of hormones. To my dad, I said, “I dunno exactly.”

Jack interjected, “I am one of the foremost demonologists of the decade. I can help her because I know exactly what she is and what she can do, and I have access to databases cataloguing demons who may become her enemies.” Huh. Impressive.

“Demons?” Marabell asked.

“Demons?” Jane echoed.

“Why are you still here?” I asked Marabell pointedly.

“Because this is more interesting that an episode of Desperate Housewives.” Fabulous. My life can compete with primetime television. Now I can die satisfied.

To Jane, I said, “Can’t say I didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me? Tell me what? Lies. I don’t believe you.”

I huffed a sigh and dragged her by the arm to my closet and the portal within.

“Oh,” she said. “Not lies.”

“No,” I agreed. “Not lies.”

“I’ve got to sit down.” But she didn’t make it to the bed before her legs gave out, and I was feeling a bit peeved that she hadn’t believed me the first time around, so I left her there in the middle of the floor. When I turned back to the rest of the circus performers in my room, it was to see Pops and Jack discussing demons who may or may not be behind the notes and black magic, and to see Marabell opening my closet door to peek in.

“GET OUT!” I roared at her. Jane helped by throwing a shoe at her. Marabell scurried out the door.

“Well, she seems nice,” Pops said.

“Are you kidding?! She was going to blackmail me!”

“She was going to what?!” Jack gasped, just as Jane muttered, “Figures. That bitch.”

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” Jack intoned, giving me one of his patented Looks.

Pops nodded approvingly. “I’ve decided I like him,” he announced.

I rolled my eyes. He couldn’t have decided that before he punched him?

“And so, I suppose I had better get back,” Pops continued. “Please, Founder, inform me on your progress on my daughter’s case. Since I can’t trust her to do it herself. But if I hear about you kissing her, or continuing to sneak into her room at night, I can promise you unending pain.”

Jack visibly paled.

“Right.”

Pops turned to me and held his arms out. “You going to give your old man a hug before he goes, or what?” I hugged him, but only because my dad gives good hugs, not because I’m a softy of whatever.

And that’s when my door opened again. Marabell, again. With Miss Jonsey.

“I told you I heard men’s voices in here!” Marabell cried victoriously.

“You know this is grounds for expulsion, don’t you, Miss Goodchilde?” Miss Jonsey said, shaking her head in disappointment or whatever.

I looked to Pops, but he was already on it, smiling at her and commending her respect for the rules. Within minutes, Miss Jonsey had reduced my sentence to a week of detention, along with everybody else. Except my dad, who was taking her out to dinner the next night, and, of course, Marabell the Snitch.

Well, I couldn’t let her get away with it, now, could I? Especially when she mouthed, “This is for the shoe.”

So I convinced her to punch me. I’ve got to give her credit—she’s got an impressive left hook. If I were as weak as a human, I probably would have had a good bruise on my jaw. Even though I didn’t, I played the moment up, my hands flying to my face as I dropped to the ground.

“Oh! Oh, I’ve been attacked! Oh, Miss Jonsey, please, please don’t let her hit me again!” I sobbed.

So Marabell, looking stricken, got detention too. With a firm warning that Jack had better be out of the girls’ dorm in five minutes—my dad is that good—Miss Jonsey led Marabell out of the room by her ear as Pops regaled her with stories of my babyhood.

“You got me detention!” Jack whined.

“Yeah, well, we’ve got bigger problems than detention,” I told him I thrust the newest note at him.

“Is someone really threatening you?” Jane asked.

“Yeah. Whether they want to kill me or out me, I don’t know.”

“Out you because you’re—“ she pointed at my closet.

“Yeah.” I nodded.

“So what’s in this mysterious note?” she asked.

“My death certificate. Technically, I was stillborn.”

“Because you don’t have a pulse.”

I nodded again. “And I didn’t learn how to breathe until I was four or so.”

“And are you . . . evil?”

I shrugged. “I suppose that would depend on who you ask. I hear that my soul is still my own, so I’m not one of the Devil’s goons, if that’s what you mean.”

“And how does Jack know about all of this?” Jane asked.

“He, uh, works for the people who raised me.”

“Right. Okay. Right. Well, I’d better be off before I get in any more trouble.”

I offered her my hand to help her off the floor, but she flinched away. Oh. I guessed that made sense. There was a reason I didn’t announce to the general public that I was half-demon, after all—because people didn’t trust us too much.

She must have guessed what I was thinking, because of course she couldn’t have read anything on my face.

“It’s just—it’s a lot to wrap my head around,” she said before she closed my bedroom door after her.

Jack coughed, uncomfortable.

“You should really learn self-defense,” I informed him.

“I wouldn’t need to if you and your family would stop hitting me,” he argued. “But back to the issue at hand—“ He waved the note at me.

“This is a problem,” he said.

“I know. I told you it was.”

“No, I mean, a bigger problem. Death certificates are public documents, but the courthouse where yours was kept burned down shortly after you were declared dead.” The Guardians had the courthouse burned down? Cool. Though I shouldn’t have been surprised, knowing their penchant for grand gestures as I do.

“Meaning?”

“This scanned copy shouldn’t exist—because there isn’t an original left to scan. Or there shouldn’t be.”

I sighed. “Would you stop with the doomfulness and get to the point?”

“Someone has been biding their time, Cam. Someone has known from the beginning what you are.”

“But Pops never told any of the other demons about me. Only the Guardians, Mara, and Pops—and you and Jane, now—know what I am.”

“Exactly.”

“Oh. I’m in big trouble, aren’t I?”

Jack levelled a look at me. “I really think so.”

A few minutes later—before the five minutes Jack had been allowed were up, though—I was finally alone. Someone I knew, someone I trusted, had it in for me. I figured it hadn’t really sunk in yet, because the only thing in my head, which kept going round and round—not like that girl in The Exorcist, I’m a cambion, not possessed—was just one question: why?

“Well, that was certainly an interesting evening,” a voice said.

“Shut up, Grigori.”