I ground my teeth, realizing that I had no time to interrogate Brink about the key, the library and the door that had disappeared.
“Fine,” I said, working my hand through my hair. “Tour first.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Brink asked.
“I think it’s best if you haunt the dungeons. It’s the creepiest place in the entire castle.” Maybe, just maybe, I should have given it more thought as to how Brink was to scare the visitors.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked, sounding nervous, confirming that I had failed to devise a winning plan.
“Just do demon stuff,” I said. “But don’t burn off their ears! Make creepy sounds, like whooooo and booohaaaa.”
“I am NOT a ghost.”
“Just go to the dungeons, please!”
CHAPTER SIX
OR
HAUNTING GONE WRONG
I left Brink to run down the stairs, two at the time, to meet the visitors in the hallway.
I pushed all thought of keys and strange doors out of my mind. It wasn’t easy. I could still smell the dusty library, could still feel where I’d landed on my butt.
I had to focus on the tour now.
“Welcome to Greencastle, everybody this way.”
Three people followed me. A little girl with pigtails and her mom and dad.
We never had many visitors. But soon busloads of people would come to Greencastle, I was certain of it. And they would spend good money to see Brink, the dungeon demon.
We’d be famous.
“Greencastle is haunted by the most gruesome demon.” I told them in a whispery voice.
“I don’t believe in demons,” said the little girl with the pigtails.
They followed me down the stairs while I told them the history of the dungeons as I had done dozens of times before. But today was different. Today I had a real demon hiding in there.
The dungeons were dimly lit, perfect for Brink. I looked for him but couldn’t spot him.
“Brink,” I whispered as the parents left my side to explore the dungeon on their own. “Start spooking.”
“I don’t spook,” I heard him answer, his voice somewhat muffled.
“What did you say?” asked the pigtailed girl.
“I said, terrible things happened here in the dungeons.”
“Like what?”
“Like, too terrible to speak of things.”
Where was Brink? There! I saw a knight’s armor shaking slightly. He must have slipped inside.
“Boohoo,” said the knight, shaking a little more.
“Was that a ghost?” The girl swirled around, searching the room. “I like ghosts.”
“Actually,” I said, “it’s a demon.”
“Demon’s aren’t real,” she said, her gaze fixed on the armor. “That knight...I bet there’s a loudspeaker.”
And off she ran.
“No, don’t look inside!”
But it was too late. On her toes, she flicked the visor open and peeped inside.
Brink peeped out.
I guess if you weren’t prepared, then finding a boy with red skin was unusual enough. Add ears that plumed black smoke and you had plenty reason to be taken aback. But if you added to all that red glowing eyes and the widest grin showing the sharpest white teeth, then you were in for a nasty surprise.
Even I took a step back at Brink’s wickedly demonical face.
I cast a nervous glance at the girl.
It was an amazing sight.
Her mouth fell open, and she had grown pale, her eyes stared, large and unblinking.
Brink scratched his head as if puzzled, only to reveal his two short, black horns.
The girl seemed to suck all available air into her lungs and then screamed.
And screamed.
And screamed more.
Her voice was so high that dust and stones from the ceiling tumbled down onto our heads.
Brink climbed so quickly from the armor that it fell apart, metal pieces crashing to the ground with a sound that echoed through the entire dungeon. It brought her frantic parents running.
That finally stopped her screaming.
Her dad and mom took her by the hand and stormed out of the dungeon. “No!” she yelled. “I want to staaayyyy and find more demons!”
But it was no good.
All that screaming woke the owls from the tower. They were flying in the entrance hall, showering the family with owl droppings. The girl’s father said a few words, which I couldn’t quite hear, but I thought they were rude. The family rushed out the door, into their car and left at high speed.
I flinched, hoping my mom hadn’t noticed that the castle tour had been a major fail. I waited a few minutes with bated breath for her to show up and demand an explanation for the ruckus, but my failure had gone unnoticed. Even the owls went back to sleep in their tower.
“Brink,” I said into the quiet. “Hello?”
No answer.
Where did he go?
The library was empty. I searched the tower and the kitchen. The last room I checked was the laundry. The washing machine was running with gentle “whoosh, whoosh, whoosh” sounds. I was about to start my search all over again, when I finally spotted him.
Behind the glass door of the washing machine, something large and red turned around and around and around.
CHAPTER SEVEN
OR
A SMELLY TURN FOR THE WORSE
I opened the round glass door. Water splashed out and with it, the demon.
“Why in the world where you...” I stopped.
Ugh! What was that smell? I waved my hand for fresh air. It smelled unspeakably, horrendously, appallingly VILE.
I took a step away.
“What were you doing in there?” I asked.
“What is this horrible device?” Soap bubbles came out of Brink’s mouth. Water dripped and steamed off his nose. His skin color had turned from deep red to a mottled, blotchy crimson. He looked absolutely livid when he formed an O with his mouth and blew more bubbles.
“Horrible,” he said, belching soap.
“What where you doing in there,” I asked again, popping a soap bubble with my finger.
“I figured this would be a secluded place to do some reading without being disturbed by screaming humans.”
“And you thought hiding in here—” I pointed to the washing machine “—would be a good idea?” I shook my head. “Weird.”
“I was out of sight,” he said, scowling. “It was a quiet place to read. But then someone closed the door with a snap and water came rushing over my head.”
“You can’t expect my mom to check the laundry for hidden demons.”
He shuddered and held up the book up he’d been reading. It was soapy and dripping, its pages beyond repair. “I should give your mother a taste of hell’s fury. I should shrivel up her soul and—”
I held up my hand. “Easy now.”
“That book was one of a kind!” Brink looked outraged as he let the ruined book drop to his feet with a watery thud.
“It’s from my dad’s library. I doubt he has one of kind books in there.”
“What makes you think it’s from your dad’s library?”
“Where else would it be from?” I thought I was being rather clever, trying to trick him into talking about the other library.
“Nevermind,” Brink pressed through his many teeth.
Ah, well.
“And why didn’t you just blast the door open,” I interrupted him, catching another whiff of a truly foul smell.
“I tried, but nothing worked.” He shook himself like a wet dog, more steam rising from his clothes. “I’ll probably have nightmares for life.”
“Demons have nightmares?”
“Figure of speech.” He gave me a glowering look and worked both hands through his hair until every strand stood up in spikes.
“Nice work with the glowing red eyes though,” I said.
“Don�
�t mention it.”
“Not trying to be rude, but you…stink,” I said cautiously to not make him more upset. “What’s wrong with you?”
He sniffed at his arm, made a face. “I just need to properly dry up.”
I took a deep breath, but that was a mistake. I coughed and moved away. Maybe I should give Hell another call and ask them for an explanation why my demon suddenly reeked like a basket full of old, wet socks.
Brink was standing in front of me, head down, still dripping water everywhere. He looked clammy.
“Let’s go in the kitchen,” I said, heading upstairs with Brink on my heels. “Maybe some hot milk will set you straight.”
Hot chocolate for him, phone call for me.
Ten minutes later, Brink was seated at the kitchen table sipping hot cocoa.
Before I could pick up the phone, it began ringing with a weirdly thrilling sound I’d never heard our phone make before. It was a deeply ominous sound that reminded me of cats miaow-shrieking after you’d accidentally stepped on their tail. It wasn’t a pretty sound.
Guess I didn’t need to call Hell.
They were calling me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
OR
HELLISHLY BAD NEWS
“Hello?”
“Jack, I trust you’ve received your delivery?”
I recognized Torque’s pleasant, sing-songy voice immediately.
“Who are you anyway?” I asked. “And what are you?”
“I’m your customer service representative,” he said, “and I’m calling to see if you’ve received your order.”
“I’m not happy with your service.”
“Your happiness is of no importance to our service.”
“Clearly.”
“Are you satisfied with the delivery?”
“Not that I asked to have him delivered.”
“But you opened the crate.”
“Well, how could you not?”
“Exactly,” he said slyly.
“What does that mean?” I cast an apologizing glance at Brink. I didn’t want him to think that he was unwelcome, but I had in fact not really ordered him.
Brink had found my mom’s cook book and was reading it with a single minded focus. I doubted he was aware what went on around him.
“And for the record,” I said, “it’s not cool to keep demons in crates for over a year. Someone should sue you.”
Silence on the other end of the line as if Torque was pondering my last words, then: “Suing Hell. What an interesting idea. So you are confirming that you received the demon?”
“Course I’ve received him.”
“We’ll be expecting payment by the end of day today,” he said, all businesslike.
“But I didn’t order him!”
“You opened the crate.”
“And if I don’t have any money?”
“If you can’t pay for him, order him back into the crate. The Collector will pick him up.”
Brink had finished his cocoa and was still reading intently. His hair had dried spiked up and he looked like a red-skinned punk kid with devils horns.
I breathed deeply in and immediately regretted it. A pack of wet, dirty dogs would smell better.
“Back into the crate?” I echoed, a tight feeling in my stomach.
Brink looked up suddenly, clutching the empty cocoa mug in his hands. “I’m not going back,” he said, shaking his head. “I won’t.” He didn’t sound scared but his eyes were wide and defensive.
Guess he’d put on a bit of a brave face when he’d told me that he hadn’t minded being locked away for so long. I couldn’t blame him. Maybe my parents had enough money to pay for him?
“Well,” I said into the phone, “how much money do you want anyhow?”
“His weight in gold.”
“His weight in gold,” I repeated slowly.
“Pay up or we’ll collect him today. I hope the delivery crate and demon are still in mint condition?”
“Not exactly,” I mumbled under my breath as another whiff of rotten demon reached my nose. “Just a theoretical question, but what happens if a demon gets wet?”
“And I even asked you if you knew how to care for a demon.” Torque gave a huge sigh. “Never get a demon wet. They might lose their powers or get R.D. How bad is it?”
“Pretty bad.”
“That’s R.D. He’ll fade away over the next hours.”
“Fade?” I cast Brink a quick glance. He did look a bit translucent around the edges. “What does that mean, fade away?”
“Fade away as in cease to exist.”
“As in dying?” I had a huge lump in my throat. Surely, surely that couldn’t be right. Brink couldn’t just fade away, he just got here!
I cast another glance at Brink who’d found the Get-a-Demon advertisement I’d left on the table.
“Yes, as in dead,” Torque confirmed unfeelingly. “You can’t return a sick or dead demon. The Collector will collect full payment tonight.”
CHAPTER NINE
OR
WHERE I FAIL AT EVERYTHING
“I’m not going back in that crate,” Brink said when I’d hung up.
“I think we have another more pressing problem,” I said, searching for the right words to tell him that he was in deadly danger. “Have you ever heard that demons shouldn’t get wet?”
“There’s no water in Hell.” He scowled. “And certainly no washing machines.”
“Well, it seems you have something called R.D. Any idea what that is?”
“No.” Brink held the advertisement up. “So that’s how you ordered me?”
I nodded yes and then made a face, trying not to breathe in too deeply. The air around him was pulsing, and the stink wafting off him was almost palpable.
“There’s something on the back of the advertisement,” Brink said.
Indeed, on the back of the paper were a few handwritten sentences in green ink:
A stinky demon is easily fixed,
Just mix:
Old eggs and spice,
with one handful cabbage lice.
When everything smells quite rotten,
fresh dirt should not be forgotten.
“It’s a recipe,” I said. “Let’s try it.”
It wasn’t as if we had any other options.
“I don’t know,” Brink said slowly, absently reaching for the key beneath his shirt, a thoughtful look on his face. “There’s a book in the library about—“ He broke off. “Nevermind. Let’s try the recipe.”
He wasn’t fooling me.
“You mean the other library, don’t you?” I said, torn between getting away from him because his smell made me sick to my stomach and staying right where I was to find out more.
“Let’s grab the book from the library, seems like the better plan,” I said.
“Let’s give the recipe a go, seems quicker,” Brink replied.
I wasn’t fooling him either. He knew I wanted him to use his skeleton key to open the mysterious library.
“Well, suit yourself.”
I was a bit hurt that he didn’t trust me.
“It’s not like your life depends on it or something,” I said.
“I don’t think it’s that dramatic.”
“Fine, the recipe it is.” I heaved a sigh and got another full whiff of Brink’s rottenness.
“Wow, seriously, I can’t cook like that.” I coughed, tears welling in my eyes. Time was clearly of the essence. “Go wait outside in the fresh air. The garden. I’ll find you there once I’m done.”
After Brink had left, taking his stink with him, I got to work. I put the mixer on the table. I slammed eggs, sugar and pepper into the mixer. Topped it with cinnamon and chili powder. I took a handful of dirt from a potted plant and put it to the egg-spice concoction. I turned the mixer on. It was too thick, so I poured some old milk into it.
“Yum, a spicy-egg smoothie with dirt flavor.” I grinned, happy that I didn’t have to drink it.
<
br /> I served some into a tall glass and headed for the castle garden.
“Brink,” I called when I stepped into the open. I followed the path through the kitchen garden. “Your drink is ready.”
I found him sitting on the ground with his back against the apple tree. He’d lost almost all color and looked like a washed out copy of himself. Without a doubt, he was fading and fading fast. The rotten smell however, was still very much present.
“How are you feeling,” I asked when I reached him.
“I feel strange,” Brink said. “As if I’m only halfway here and halfway somewhere else.” He rose to his feet.
I handed him the drink and he gulped down the thick fluid. His body was wavering as if I was looking at him through flowing water.
I stared at his face, waiting for him to gain color and become less rotten.
He didn’t.
I ground my teeth in frustration. Before he got sick, he was always a solid red. Now he was almost transparent. I could see right through him. I could see the apple tree and the compost heap and the frog pond behind him.
Brink was dying in front of my eyes.
“I must have made a mistake mixing the drink.”
I thought it over. Well, the dirt from the potted flower wasn’t new. And instead of cabbage lice I’d used an old, dry bug.
Brink opened his mouth, a confused look on his face as if talking was difficult. He took off the chain around his neck, the sunlight reflecting brightly off the silver skeleton key.
I closed my fingers around the cool metal as he placed chain and key into my hand.
“Go…find book…Remedies for Demonic Illness…”
I could still see him and even though his mouth was moving, I couldn’t hear a word of what he was trying to tell me. And with every passing minute, he became more transparent.
I stared transfixed at the key. My stomach dropped, a sense of fear rising up my spine. I pocketed the key, my hands shaking. If he gave me the key, he must think that it was his last chance. I’d either save Brink.
Skycastle, the Demon, and Me: Book 1 in the Skycastle series Page 3