Mooncalf

A/N: Hiya, folks! Sorry for the very much too long hiatus. I have reasons. Some of them are even good ones. But I know you'd much rather read the next chappie than listen to me prattle. By all means, go ahead! (But leave a review if you forgive me? I'm really interested to hear what people think about this chapter.)


Chapter Nine


I covered his sorry butt as he left, bold as you please through the girls dorm, dissuading anyone from being shocked by—and more importantly, from remembering—his presence. I, meanwhile, was left rather thunderstruck. What was his problem? I protest his suicidal tendencies, and he gets all prickly with me? I really don’t get you humans. You are all so needlessly emotional and sensitive.

I logged onto AIM and sent a message to Jane, ordering her to go to the library if she didn’t want to be alone for the next few hours. I needed to stew. She wondered what Stick had said to piss me off, but I promptly informed her where she could put her questions. I set my profile as invisible, turned off the volume, and turned to the one creature present who I knew wouldn’t judge me for what I can’t help being: Grigori.

“Seriously, dude. What the hell just happened there?” I vented. The fish made a motion with his fins and gills that I chose to interpret as a shrug.

“He just totally flipped out. What was he thinking, calling my dad? Just because violence isn’t his first inclination doesn’t mean that Pops wouldn’t have beat the crap out of Jack for allowing that other demon to attack me. And I could totally see him insisting that the Guardians fire Jack and find someone else to babysit me, or be my bodyguard, or whatever. And then the Guardians would know that I keep in way better touch with my dad than they think or would approve of, and that’s not exactly the sort of thing I want to draw their attention to just before this stupid Trial. Grigori—“ I took a deep breath. And then I forged ahead before I realized what a bad idea this confession would be.

“Grigori, I think this Trial matters to me. I . . . it’d be nice if they decided they didn’t want to put me down. I think that’d be . . . good,” I finished lamely. I peeled my eyes—which I had squeezed shut to avoid my goldfish’s condescending gaze—open, and looked up for my companion’s reaction.

I saw nothing mocking in his expression. No scoff, no laughter, no cocked little fishy eyebrow (How did he do that?!), nothing. Except Grigori, floating belly up. I’d just bored my undead goldfish to redeath. This might have been an all-time low for me. Yeah. That was definitely the last time I dabbled in feelings.

I snorted in disgust and decided I didn’t care, anyway. I even briefly considered “burying” my scaly friend in one of Marabell’s fancy shoes. But I settled for flushing him. Again. Hey, it’s about as dignified an ending as something living with plastic plants can ask for, right?

And not that I was hoping he would be, or anything, but he wasn’t back in the tank when I returned from the bathroom.

I flopped into my desk chair, spun twice. Then I realized that the only thing I had available to do tonight was my homework. So I spun in my chair for a few more minutes. So I felt a bit queasy and assumed I was seeing things when I glimpsed something flashing on my computer screen. I blinked hard and looked again. Someone was IM’ing me, even though I was set as invisible. The screenname was something generic, mary_gurl, or something equally wretched. I didn’t think I actually knew anybody who would use such a dopey screenname, but I accepted the message with mild curiosity. It was probably one of my classmates trying to “reach out,” or something equally gag-worthy. The message did cause the overcooked cauliflower I’d had for lunch to churn a bit, but not for the reason I expected:

mary_gurl: I know your secrets, Mooncalf.

Oh, crap. Where was Jack when I needed him? Not too happy with me, of course. But maybe by now—

mary_gurl: Don’t contact your little boyfriend, please. I’d hate to have to do something drastic, like interupt him from the book he’s reading right now.

MostBrutish: You are so wrong on so many levels. God. Do you really think I’m scared of you?

mary_gurl: You are a blasphemous, lying, blight on God’s good earth, and you shall end where you belong.

MostBrutish: You’re probably right. So what?

mary_gurl: Soon. You are judged.

MostBrutish: If you know so much about me, you know my Trial isn’t till next week, genius.

mary_gurl is offline and will receive your IMs when signing back in.

Oh yeah, run away. Real brave, Mary. Clearly the girl was all talk. Which was sort of the problem. What was the point of that conversation? I knew now that my stalker was a girl, and that she had a name: Mary. I had learned that it was someone who had access to Galmon Academy’s student directory, because that was the only place where I listed my screenname. She’d let slip that she knew about Jack and the fact that I sort of maybe felt something other than disinterest for him. And I had stood my ground and hadn’t let my typing show how badly my hands were shaking.

I copied and pasted the conversation, and emailed it to Jack. Even if he was pissed at me, he’d want to know about this. Maybe he’d be upset enough that he’d risk my father’s wrath again and sneak in the window.

“It’s never boring around you,” said a familiar voice. I felt more tired than exciting right then, but I got my second wind as I whirled my desk chair around to look at the source.

“Took you long enough to get back, you freak.” I might have smiled at Grigori. But only a little bit.


“Are you sure you can’t think of anyone else you know named Mary?” Jack asked, looking at the very short list of improbable suspects. Mary Jenkins was just a freshman, and too scared of me to do more than flash her metal-mouth at me nervously and flee. Mrs. Mary Faulks worked in whatever department it was that started hounding you for money the minute you graduated. She wouldn’t have a reason to get on my back till June. And there was a Mary Himmelstein that had been a lunch lady in one of my previous schools, back when I was eight or nine. It was probably my eighth or ninth school, too. Mary Himmelstein had been terror in a hairnet, but she always gave me lots of curly fries.

I shrugged at Jack. “I dunno. There are probably more. I mean, I’ve been in like thirteen schools. How am I supposed to remember every last person I’ve ever met? Maybe if you had an ounce of intelligence, you people wouldn’t all have the same names. You hear a demon’s name, and you can find them, because there aren’t forty gazillion other demons calling each other the same thing.”

“Yeah, blah blah. You think demons are great,” Jane said, sounding bored. Jack had run to the library after receiving my email to pick her up. I wished he hadn’t.

“Well, then, I guess I’ll have to see if I can drum up anything on these people,” Jack said doubtfully. We were gathered in his room, because the librarian has banned me forever from the small study rooms in the library, and Mary apparently had access to what happened in my room. Creepy. And here I’d once thought that my biggest pervy worry was Mara watching me change for field hockey if I forgot to close my closet door. Now there might be hidden cameras. Jack had promised to check for bugs later tonight. Now his fingers flew over the keyboard of his laptop, and within a few minutes, printouts of the Marys’ health records, school records, and police records were spitting out of Jack’s printer. An ordained demonologist hacker. And so dedicated, too. I suppose if I had to have a babysitter, at least it was one with some useful talents.

One who showed no signs whatsoever of his temper tantrum less than an hour before. You know that phrase, “when Hell freezes over?” Well, if Jack’s demeanor was so icy that if he visited Hell right now, a lot of unlikely things would happen. I wondered if he would show any expression if I kicked him in the shin.

He flipped through the computer printouts and snorted.

“Anything?” Jane asked, clearly eager to have the whole stalker business finished so she didn’t have to worry about demon squatters in her body.

“Nothing,” Jack intoned.

“So where does that leave us?” I wanted to know.

Jack’s mouth thinned. “Exactly where we were before: preparing for your Trial. I have some suggestions for things you can do to bolster your defense. He pulled a notebook off a neat pile on his desk.

Flipping open to the first page, he showed me a list of everything I had gotten in trouble for in the past twelve months. The list continued for another two pages. Without descriptions or consequences.

“For a lot of these, I suggest you argue that while you clearly have been in a lot of trouble, you’ve already been punished for these bad deeds, and while they were all bad things to do, they weren’t damnably so, by any interpretation of the Bible.”

Jane, who’d been reading over Jack’s shoulder, shot me an amazed look. “You got kicked out of Chuck E Cheese because you threw balls from the ball pit at a four-year-old until he started to cry?!”

I grinned. “He started it.”

Ignoring the interruption, Jack continued. “I’ve got a partial list composed of acts that you have not been adequately punished for.” This list took up way more than three pages. And it’s not like Jack had big handwriting or anything, in spite of his big hands. “I’d recommend adding the things I don’t know about and going to confession.”

I winced. That would be a lot of hail marys.

“And finally, I suggest we cash in on the one good point you have, Cam.”

Gee, with that kind of flattery, it’s no wonder I was half in love with him, was it?

“I think, since all the Guardians know you’re a vegetarian, that you should volunteer at the humane society.”

Oh, holy mother of everything that sparkles. Had I really just let that thought into my head? Bad head. Bad, bad head. No cookies for you.

Well, it wasn’t like I actually was half in love with Jack, or in anything with Jack, except trouble, as usual. So clearly it was just my head playing tricks on me. I wondered how many Our Fathers I would have to say for that.

“Cam?” Jane prodded. “Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”

“Sure, whatever you say, captain,” I said, waving her off like a buzzing bug. Actually, that was a fairly accurate description.

“Good. I already called, and you’re scheduled to help Saturday morning.”

I mean, I didn’t even notice that Jack was a boy until recently. And now that I did notice, sure, I wanted to shove him up against a wall and kiss him until his brain ran out his ears, but that was because my dad was an incubus, not because I liked him. He was bossy and disapproving and occasionally imbecilic, like when he tried to commit suicide via my father. Hormones and pheromones (or whatever it is that flies have) are all well and good, but I’d be damned if I would care about any guy. And certainly not one that would freeze me out just because I’d objected to his death wish.

Bastard.

“Cam? You’d better write that down, because I’m not dragging my butt out of bed to make sure you get there on time,” Jack said, waving a pen under my nose.

“Write what down?” I asked.

“Saturday. Eight o’clock. Humane society. Volunteering. So you can show the Guardians you aren’t all bad.” I didn’t move to write it in my planner quickly enough, so he dug the calendar out of my bag and wrote it in for me.

I had only one problem. Well, besides getting up to volunteer.

“This is stupid.”

Jack stopped writing and looked up at me, meeting my gaze for the first time since he’d stormed out of my room earlier.

“I beg your pardon?” God, I hated that supercilious tone he liked to take.

“This Mary chick told me that I’ve already been judged. So, shouldn’t you—we—be looking into that? I mean, my Trial hasn’t been cancelled or rigged, has it? I’ll have a fair Trial? Because if the Guardians have already decided to off me, I want to know so I can get a head start to the wilds of Canada.”

Jack finished writing the date in my planner before deigning to answer.

“Don’t be absurd. Of course you’ll have a fair Trial; that’s why you’ll have so much to do to get ready for it. None of the Guardians actually think you’ve found the Nail-Knocker.”

“Oooh, sounds scary,” Jane laughed. “Who’s the Nail-Knocker? Some serial killer with a hammer or something? Or better yet, a nail gun?” She looked at me to ensure I joined her in her humor. I didn’t.

“Yes, Jack. By all means, explain who the Nail-Knocker is,” I purred. Did you know that not only domestic cats purr? Big cats can, too, though only on the exhale. On the inhale, they’re more likely to eat you. I showed Jack my teeth and watched his adam’s apple bob hard. Wisely, he deigned to answer immediately, with no condescencion in his tone.

“Dunno, exactly. If Cam would promise someone her soul and allegiance, and plot with them to overthrow the Guardians to allow evil to reign, that person would be her Nail-Knocker. Every Cambion to date has fallen through a Nail-Knocker.” He shrugged. “It’s a crap title, but they got it from Shakespeare, The Tempest.”

I hate Shakespeare. Stupid jerk with his stupid play is ruining my life. If I had the power to make the whole world agree with me, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Also because Romeo and Juliet is the sappiest, angstiest trash I’ve ever been forced to read. Honestly. What kind of nitwits would hatch up that complex of a plan and then have it all hang on the timely arrival of the mail?

“But you don’t have to worry about it,” Jack hastened to add. “I’ve already explained to the Guardians that whoever is stalking you is pissing you off, not tempting you into joining their side. So you should be fine. Well, with a little volunteer work, anyway.”

I should be fine. Well, that was just dandy, then. I’d just go to confession and the humane society and forget all about the fact that a demon and an unknown woman were out for my blood. Or soul. Or whatever the hell it was they wanted for me. And I’d just not worry about the fact that the Guardians had encouraged me to believe that I was doomed to damnation, and had conveniently neglected to mention that they knew someone would be after me, leaving me unprepared for some role in some play that everyone had seen the script for except me. And maybe Jane. And here I was supposed to be the evil being, blind to justice. All I was blind to was their constant changing of the rules. Hate rose in my throat, and the stench of human hypocrisy had me gagging. I had to get out of here—now. This marionette was cutting her strings.

Without thought, I forced Jack and Jane to choke along with me. If they noticed me leave, they didn’t care, too distracted by their efforts to pull air into their lungs. I strode down the hall of the boys dorm, much as Jack had done in my dorm earlier—was it just a few hours ago?—with no care for the attention I attracted. . I ran into the teacher on dorm supervisor duty—some young, idealistic thing fresh out of college, I think—as I approached the door of the building.

“Don’t forget to sign out,” he chirruped helpfully.

“Oh, I didn’t,” I assured him. I didn’t even bother to convince him to let me go without a problem. Let him report me. What could he do to me? Give me another detention? I already had more than I could honor before the end of my high school career. Oh, I suppose he could rally for a suspension. The Guardians would smooth things out with their money if that happened, just as they had done every time before. I needed to blow off some steam.

The teacher still stood before me, looking flummoxed. Poor guy. Despite the fact that he stood head and shoulders above me, he didn’t have half my physical presence. He clearly thought this situation might escalate further. I could actually smell his fear. I grinned.

“You might want to get out of my way.” I loved it when people did what I told them to, even when I didn’t make them. No matter what the good people of the world say, fear is an effective tool. Efficient, too: the teacher scurried out of my way before he even realized he was supposed to be the authority figure here. I left him to his fear and indignation and incident report forms. There was a whole night out there, just waiting for the havoc I could wreak.

I headed downtown. It was a good mile from campus, but that just gave me time to brainstorm all the wonderful terrible things I could do. Why create chaos if there is no one there to panic over it? I casually “bumped” into two men walking out of the florist’s and switched the cards. Both would have unhappy flower recipients on their hands when it was discovered the cards were written for some other woman. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly. I ran out into traffic, just to scare people. One guy on a cell phone in a Volvo actually slammed into my hip as his car screamed to a stop. I sauntered over and tapped on his window. He rolled it down, allowing me to grab the phone from his hand and snap it shut.

“If you’re not careful with this thing, someone’s going to get hurt,” I promised. I kept my fist around the phone and moved on to bigger quarry. I dialed the local weather station. It took only two minutes to convince the person on the other end that I had just seen a tornado—despite it being November—on the outskirts of town, and less than a minute for the emergency sirens to start wailing. My spine thrummed with the noise—one of the sirens was located by the water tower just a block away. People just starting to head home from work, scurrying for their cars in the frigid wind looked up at the noise with confusion and anxiety.

Clearly it was time for my next move. A semi in the middle of a busy intersection ought to do it. And if the driver were making a left-hand turn, I could theoretically block every lane of traffic. The trucker was pliable. Going above and beyond my suggestion to block the intersection, he rammed his Mack into a traffic light post and mail collection box. Letters fluttered everywhere in the preternatural stillness, but people leaned into the wind they believed roared down the street. In perfectly controlled unison, every pedestrian on the street, every person in every car lifted their cell phones to report the incident to the police. Yes, there had to be at least fifteen people calling. Not many, because this god-forsaken town was so small, but certainly enough to overwhelm the police. People with technology are so laughably easy to manipulate. With my heightened hearing, I knew that radio broadcasters were warning listeners of the impending tornado doom they were about to face. The traffic light groaned and tipped precariously over the truck and street beyond. People shouted as they fled. Someone screamed, adding a note of hysteria to the scene.

In victory and rage, I added my own voice to the cacaphony. It was beautiful.



A/N: So, what do you think?