by D.L. Miles
Chapter 3
A week goes by without another incident with Nico or anyone else for that matter. The burn on my neck fades to a blurry red and Ithinara returns to her usual self. She makes snide comments about those around me, and occasionally asks me to kill someone; she’s yet to admit who that someone is. At volleyball practice Thursday afternoon Coach calls us into a circle to introduce a new teammate. I wonder who it could be, because anyone that wanted on the team at the beginning of the year is already there.
“This year I’m going to be co-coaching the team,” Coach says, her lips a little downturned. “It’s a last minute decision with the new History teacher transferring into Wayward.”
I peer around but see nobody new; I hadn’t even seen the new History teacher around. After the event at Target I’d been on high alert for anything out of the ordinary, especially since I’d heard we were getting another transfer student from Highland High. It didn’t help that Ithinara kept saying that there was change in the air. Whatever that means.
“Without further ado I’d like to introduce you all to our new co-coach Nico Steele.” My heart dropped.
Across the gymnasium the doors open loudly and slam shut, and Nico turns the corner. She wears a white blouse and black pencil skirt, not something a coach should wear, but it goes well with her spiked heels. With great ease she approaches us and smiles.
Our eyes meet, and my chest hurts. Out of habit I play with the edges of my shirt, certain my eyes are almost bulging out of my skull.
“Please,” Nico says, “Call me Nico.”
Even her name scares me now.
“I have to quit volleyball,” I tell Beth and Delilah. “I have to quit volleyball and never come to school ever again.”
We sit in the convertible with the top going down, letting in the warm air. It’s no longer sticky hot out, and the sun shines brightly down on us. Even though Nico has been weighing on my mind, I hadn’t mentioned anything to them. They each peer at me from the front seat.
“What are you talking about?” Beth asks.
“Nico Steele,” I say, her name making my tongue dry. “She’s the new volleyball coach, or co-coach or whatever. Something about her makes me sick. Like crosses do.”
Beth raises her eyebrows while Delilah looks skeptical. I don’t mention how Ithinara said Beth once made me feel the same. She suggests, “Maybe it’s your imagination.”
“Yeah,” Delilah agrees, “maybe she just has a crazy cross tattoo below that skirt.”
“She has a cross on her ring,” I say, “but it’s something more. Ithinara says she’s dangerous.”
Beth huffs. “Ithinara is dangerous.”
Tell her I don’t like her, Ithinara demands. And that her dress makes her legs look fat.
“I’m not saying that,” I tell her. Looking back to Beth, “I just…something makes me uneasy.”
I can see her trying not to mention how ridiculous that sounds. And considering who lives inside me I know exactly how it sounds. “I’m being stupid, aren’t I?”
“A little,” Delilah admits. “It’s just the cross.”
Beth starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot, her fingers playing along her own necklace. She hates the fact that her cross makes me feel sick, but she’s yet to remove it. After we drive in silence for a few blocks Beth admits, “Nico is part of my church.”
“What?” I ask. “But you introduced yourself at the Target!”
“Well I’d never officially met her,” she argues, “I just recognize her is all. I’m sorry…but maybe that’s why she makes you feel this way.” She’s trying not to ask if she makes me sick. And she doesn’t, so I tell her just that.
“Guys, we’re missing the point here,” Delilah cuts in, “we have a new transfer student from Highland coming too. Tomorrow. I hear he’s going to be in Creative Writing, Willa.”
I sigh. “I don’t care about the transfer. I care about Nico Steele, even though I’m probably being stupid.”
Trust your instincts.
I just wish I knew what my instincts were saying.
“You’ll care about him when you hear his last name,” teases Delilah.
“What’s his name?” Beth asks.
“Cain Steele.”
My life could not get any worse.
Dad can tell something is wrong with me when he gets home, if not by my silence then by the dozens of crumpled pieces of paper surrounding me. I sit in the living room, creating constant lists of the pros and cons of staying on the volleyball team. Or staying in school at all.
“Still stuck on your essay?” he asks me, tossing his jacket on the back of the couch.
Well, he gets points for noticing something is wrong. “Among other things.”
“Don’t worry sweetie, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He gives me a kiss on the head and moves into the kitchen. “Would cooking for your father help you think?”
I roll my eyes and reluctantly smile. “I guess I’ll have to try it and see.”
I put my notepad aside and follow him into the kitchen. Together we make our traditional spicy stir fry; something we have at least twice a week since Mom died. Through the meal he tries to spark ideas for my essay but all I can think about is Nico Steele and her nephew that’s going to be at school. I want to ask Dad for his advice, but he doesn’t know anything about Ithinara; as far as he’s concerned she was my imaginary friend until I was eight. A possible symptom of my possible schizophrenia.
“Are Beth or Delilah writing any essays?” he asks me.
“Beth wrote her essays in like seventh grade,” I joke. “And Delilah doesn’t start anything until the last second.”
“What are they wanting to do anyway?”
I shrug, shifting the food around on my plate. I can’t even remember what their plans are after high school; it’s hard enough to focus on what I want. What job opportunities are there for girls with demons?
Assassins do quite well, Ithinara suggests.
Dad begins to shift his food on his plate as well. The kitchen table wobbles with the movement of his arm, like it always does. I glance outside, not wanting to see the sadness on his face; he’s about to talk about Mom.
“Maybe you should write about your mother in your essay,” he says. “I’m sure you could write something beautiful.”
I stand, anger taking over. “Or horrifying.” My footsteps are heavy as I move to my room, and I’m careful not to slam the door shut. From the safety of my bed I listen as Dad cleans up my dishes and retreats to the living room.
That was quite mean, even by my standards, Ithinara says. She doesn’t sound like she’s being hurtful but actually…sorrowful.
“Shut up,” I order. I’m in no mood to deal with her, no matter what kind of advice she wants to give. Her low voice is like a screeching bird tonight. “You’re only here because of her.”
Ithinara cannot deny that.
I sit at my desk and open my computer. Would the admission boards enjoy an essay on my pain? Probably. It would show how I can overcome everything and still keep my grades up, even though I failed kindergarten because of my mother’s death. Because that was when Ithinara showed up. My father was right; writing about my mom might be a good idea. I just wasn’t sure I could handle it.
I try to think up titles but I just feel too depressed to try anything. Dad had said I could write something beautiful about Mom, but she didn’t die in a beautiful way. I decide that writing about my mother is the worst idea possible and go back to trying to think of a better topic to focus on.
Why not volleyball? suggests Ithinara. It’s pointless and silly; I’m sure humans would love to hear about it.
I snort and roll my eyes; typical Ithinara. She never did understand sports or anything I enjoy. And for some reason unbeknownst to me she loves watching reruns of The Jersey Shore and old NASCAR races.
My head rests in my hands and I g
o back to staring at the blinking cursor. It sits there, flashing in and out of existence without any thought. Lucky.
My phone rings. “Hello?”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Beth asks.
I pause. “About what?”
“Nico Steele,” she tells me. “I know we agreed that it’s just your imagination or something getting the better of you, but it was upsetting you that she’s there right? We can talk about it.”
I open my mouth, wanting to tell her everything again but wonder what Dad would think if he overheard. He’s never listened in on my conversations before, but I worry he might hear something now. I don’t usually talk about demons and Ithinara and crosses at home. “Meet me somewhere?”
“How about I grab some coffees and meet you at the graveyard gate.”
“Sounds good.” I’m about to hang up. “Beth?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
As promised Beth is waiting in her convertible before the cemetery gates. The top is up so I have to open the door to get inside. She passes me a coffee and we just sit in comfortable silence for a moment; she’s the only person I can sit in silence with, and we’ve been doing it since we were children. I notice she isn’t wearing her cross.
The sun sets past the hill in the cemetery, casting pinks and violets into the sky. It’s beautiful and warming, and I have to close my eyes to block the image out. I don’t want to see anything beautiful right now.
“I think Nico Steele is dangerous,” I say, shifting the lid on my cup back and forth.
“Why?” She isn’t judging, just listening. I sigh.
“Just a feeling,” I tell her, because there isn’t any other way to explain it. “It’s more than a cross or the church. She scares me.” I think a moment. “She scares Ithy too.”
Don’t call me that, Ithinara demands. She’s always hated when I call her Ithy; it’s what I nicknamed her as a child, when I thought there was a chance she wasn’t real. And I’m not scared of her.
Liar, I think. “Do you know much about her?”
“Well,” starts Beth, “she’s kind of a recluse at church. Her brother does most of the socializing, but she’s always seemed nice. I’ve never seen her nephew there though; I think he lived with his mother or something somewhere else. She has been…”
“What?”
“I don’t know how to explain it,” says Beth, “Nico Steele has always been like, a hard core believer. I mean, most people in my church don’t believe in literal demons, just the ones we create with alcohol and all that; nobody thinks about it much. But I always had the feeling that Nico truly believes in them.”
“What are you saying?” I whisper. The hot coffee in my hands doesn’t seem as appetizing as it normally would. I feel sick, for very different reasons than a cross or a church.
“When we did that exorcism a few years ago…I had asked my Dad where I might find the proper words to use, but he didn’t know.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “I lied and said it was for a school project, and the person that told me where to find the words was Nico.”
I crush the cup in my hands, coffee spilling onto me and the car. The heat is nothing compared to what I’ve felt before, and it’s hard to see out the windshield. My vision is blurry and it’s hard to breathe.
“Willa,” Beth calls as I leap from the car, “are you okay? Willa?”
I don’t slam the door shut like I should, and Beth doesn’t care at all that I just dumped an entire cup of coffee into her immaculate convertible. She just rushes to my side as I fall to my knees and is careful not to touch me.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, over and over and over again. “I never thought anything of it back then, I was just so happy to have found the right words. And—and then it didn’t work—and when we ran into her I just didn’t really—”
“It’s okay,” I say, “it’s okay.” I’m not sure if I’m talking to Beth or myself.
“It’s not okay,” Beth says, “it’s so not okay. You almost died because of her.”
Have you figured it out yet? Ithinara asks, a hint of a laugh in her tone.
“Figured what out?” I ask back. I hold a finger up to Beth.
What Nico Steele is.
I shake my head. Beth looks confused but says nothing. Together we stand, and when she sees I’m speaking with Ithinara she goes to clean up her car. I question, “What is she?”
Ithinara chuckles, dark and secretive. She’s been hiding the truth from me this entire time.
You’re scared of her because I live within you.
“What is she?” I repeat.
She can sense what you are.
“What is she?” I almost scream the words to the darkening sky.
Ithinara whispers one word. Hunter.