Demon Derby

by Carrie Harris

  “We’re fine, thanks,” I said pointedly.

  She flounced off with an extra wiggle in her step. Michael didn’t even seem to notice, which was good, because I might have had to throw something at him if he had. He just smiled gently at me and laced both his hands behind his head. I attempted to ignore what this did to his pectorals, but trust me, a part of me noticed.

  “There’s no way to know for certain.” He stretched. “I can show you the wings again if that will help, but some things you’ve just got to take on faith.”

  “Faith.” I snorted. “I only believe in things I can beat up or jump off.”

  He smiled. “Yeah. That’s why I like you more than I ought to.”

  My brain was struggling to parse everything I’d learned so far. It felt like someone had sprained my reality, which I guess wasn’t too far from the truth. So I took refuge in small talk. I asked how long Michael had managed the team (one month), and what had made him interested in roller derby in the first place (he wasn’t; he had applied to manage the men’s rugby team but hadn’t gotten that job), and what class he was taking this semester (Introduction to Philosophy, and his instructor always wore bolo ties).

  When the waitress brought our food, I was beyond relieved. I sucked down my chicken in record time and drank enough Coke to flood Rhode Island. My appetite seemed to be coming back. I took it as a good sign. We exchanged numbers.

  Then he drove me home.

  “So,” he said, rolling to a stop in front of our town house, “why don’t you take a week or so to think about all of this? If you decide you want in, I can start teaching you what I know about demons and Relics and whatnot after derby practices.”

  “After practice?” I punched his shoulder playfully as I got off the bike. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  He laughed low in his throat, standing up and capturing my hand. “I’m trying to save you, idiot. Make you tougher.”

  “Don’t make me beat you up,” I teased, leading him up the steps to our front door. I would have talked more smack if he hadn’t leaned forward again. It was our third almostkiss of the night, but somehow this one felt like it was a go. To heck with the ramifications. If we didn’t kiss, it was only going to distract us from our duties, right? It would be better for us in the long run to get it over with. Our faces got closer and closer, and I felt strangely breathless, like I’d just been out running. It would have been very wise to look away, but I couldn’t make myself do it.

  My dad opened the screen door, nearly smacking Michael with the handle. We flew apart like we were on strings.

  “Well, well,” Dad said, looking Michael over and folding his arms. “I’ll have you know I’m an expert swordsman.”

  “Dad!” I said, blushing. “He’s just kidding, Michael.”

  “Mostly.” My father shrugged. “But if you hurt my baby, all bets are off.”

  “That’s fair, sir,” Michael said.

  “Sir?” I said, and snorted.

  “My family’s in the … ah … military. Remember?” Michael’s cell rang, and he checked the number. “I should probably take this. It’s my brother. He’s acting as my guardian, because my parents are overseas.”

  “Okay. See you soon?” I said. I didn’t know how long I’d make it without calling him. Not that I was turning into one of those obsessive stalker girls, but I’d probably have a new list of questions for him by about midnight.

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “Don’t forget practice.”

  I expected the third degree when Dad closed the door, but he just kissed me on the forehead. “After teaching for fifteen years, I’ve learned to trust my instincts when it comes to people, and I like that one, Case. What’s his story?”

  “He’s the manager of our derby team. I’m an alternate now.”

  “Congratulations!” He folded me into a hug. “I look forward to seeing you skate.”

  “I’ll get you the schedule. But I’ll only be in a bout if somebody’s out.”

  “Yes, I understand the meaning of the word ‘alternate.’ ” He softened the words with a smile and then ambled down the hallway, cleaning his glasses on his shirttail. “But no more staying up until all hours of the morning with him and sleeping all day, you get me? The deal was that you had to log your homeschool hours if you want to engage in activities. Dozing through them doesn’t count.”

  “I know.” I sagged against the wall, suddenly exhausted. “And I’ll keep up my end of the bargain. It’s just nice to get out there again. I was starting to feel—”

  “Lost?”

  “Petrified. Like the wood.”

  “And this boy is the inspiration for your new zest for life?”

  “Not exactly. Although, I do like him more than I should.”

  “How old is he?” And now we got to the third-degree bit. He replaced his glasses, looking at me with one of his rare keen gazes that miss nothing. The truth almost popped out of me, despite my urge to resist. My dad probably would have thought I was being a smart-ass if I’d told him Michael was only one.

  “Nineteen, maybe? He’s a freshman at the U.”

  “All right,” he said. “I’m going to trust my instincts, but please be responsible?”

  “Don’t worry, Dad. I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

  “Of course you aren’t,” he said. “But I can’t help myself. So I’ll keep giving you my so-called wise advice, and you pretend to be floored by it on occasion, okay?”

  “That’s a deal.”

  He started down the basement steps, then paused to look back at me. “I’m downstairs watching a little Inside the Actors Studio if you’re interested. Christopher Walken’s on. Did you know he used to be a tap dancer?”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, but I think I’m going to get in touch with Rachel. We haven’t really spoken since … you know.”

  After all that had happened, I needed to let our argument go. Life was too short. And in my case, that could be a literal statement. When I thought about it that way, it seemed ridiculous to wait another second to call her.

  “Good for you.” Dad went down the stairs, humming tunelessly to himself.

  Upstairs, I threw myself onto my bed and put my feet up on the wall. Normally I’d text, but this felt like the kind of thing that needed to be said out loud. The phone rang only once before Rachel picked up, and I didn’t even say hello. I apologized right off the bat, because I wanted to get it over with.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, all in a rush. “I know you were looking out for me last time you were here, and you did have a good point, and I shouldn’t have gotten my undies in a bunch over it. I just really wanted your support.”

  There was a long pause. “I’m sorry too. But I can’t support the derby thing. I really want to, but … I can’t. I’m glad to hear from you, though.”

  “Me too.” I wanted to argue my case, but that didn’t seem wise if I intended to avoid another fight. A change of subject was in order. “So, uh, how have you been?”

  “Bored. Abnormal Psych is kicking my butt. I’ve got a ton of reading and no motivation whatsoever to get it done. What’re you up to?”

  I made my voice as light as possible, because she was worried enough without hearing about how I’d killed a demon at our favorite childhood park.

  “Nothing, really. I’m only an alternate for the Apocalypsies, so you don’t need to panic too much. I won’t see much rink time, and maybe that’s for the best. It’ll give me a chance to get stronger. We’ll be practicing extra this week to get up to speed for our next bout, but we don’t have anything else planned. You?”

  “Not much.” She finally perked up. “How about I buy you a train ticket and you come and stay with me next weekend? You don’t have practice, do you? I’ll have to ask Sadie, but I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

  “That would be awesome!” I said, so Rachel ineffectually covered the receiver with her hand and shouted at her roommate. Sadie was a tiny chain-smoking Brit who wanted to be a
filmmaker and had as much luck with guys as Rachel. Between the two of them, they’d pretty much decimated every frat boy in a hundred-mile radius of Smithton.

  “Bloody yes, she can come!” Sadie yelled in the background, and Rachel whooped.

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  The rest of the week was uneventful, with no attacks by freaky flaming guys, and I began to hope the demon-hunter training wouldn’t be necessary. Maybe it was over. I was feeling pretty good when I left for my visit with Rachel. The train ride was only about forty-five minutes, which was long enough for me to write and delete nine texts to Michael. I hated myself for being so obsessed, but I couldn’t help it. Finally I had to turn off my cell just so I wasn’t tempted anymore.

  I had a ton of stuff to learn about the whole demon-fighting gig, but first I needed to decide how I felt about it all. I kept hoping the defeat of 693 would be the end of the demon attacks, but he couldn’t have been running that factory on his own, could he? I had to be prepared just in case. I needed to know whether I wanted to volunteer or hide under my pillow until it all blew over. Maybe if I stayed home for the rest of the year and homeschooled, dropped out of derby, and avoided the dojo, the demons would forget about me. I’d waited this long to put my life back together; I could wait a while longer.

  It was tempting. I knew the bobblehead scheme was evil and needed to be stopped, but the whole experience with 693 had proved without a doubt that these guys were serious. I didn’t want to think about what would have happened if I’d stayed hiding in the tree or if I’d taken that deal, but I knew it wouldn’t have been good. My only options were to hide out or take the demons on. And wouldn’t that be like putting a big demonic KICK ME sign on my back? The idea scared the crap out of me. I hadn’t fought my way from the brink of death just to turn around and risk my life again.

  None of the choices were good ones; I kept thinking in circles without making any progress whatsoever. Finally, in desperation, I distracted myself by mentally reviewing all the ninjutsu moves I could think of and making a list of tricks that Darcy and I could attempt on skates. Maybe we could come up with some legal derby moves to show our teammates once she was over that flu thing.

  Before I knew it, I was sitting at the dining table in Rachel’s so-called suite. Apparently, in college-dorm-speak, “suite” means “tiny room with rickety furniture linked to two equally minuscule bedrooms and a bathroom the size of a postage stamp.” I had no idea how four people could cram all their stuff into such a small space. The only reason they had room for me was because their other two roommates had gone to visit their boyfriends for the weekend. That was just fine with me, because one was a hair-tosser, and the other laughed like a hyena.

  But Sadie was pretty cool, so I was all for it when she plopped a grease-stained pizza box on the table and said, “Dinner’s on me, girls, so long as you’ll go with me to this party.”

  Both Rachel and I perked up. We really needed something to distract us from staring at each other and trying to figure out what to say. We fought so infrequently that neither of us knew how to handle it. Which would have been funny if it wasn’t true.

  Sadie shoved a flyer across the table, and Rachel and I bent over to read it: FOAM PARTY AT THE SPOTTED DOG!

  “What the heck is a foam party?” I asked, flipping the box open and helping myself to a slice of pepperoni and mushroom.

  “I’m not quite sure,” Sadie said, “but I’m assuming it is a party with foam. Which seems like a brilliant idea to me.”

  “I’ve got to see this,” said Rachel. “It’s always been my greatest aspiration in life to party with foam.”

  “Hey, I’m game, as long as you can get me in the door,” I said.

  Sadie waved the flyer in my face. “I know the bouncer, love. We’ll get you in.”

  “Woo!” Rachel shouted, throwing her arms up over her head and nearly upending the pizza in the process. “We’re gonna get our foam on!”

  About an hour later, we walked over to the Spotted Dog. It was your typical dingy college bar. Not that I’ve seen the inside of many college bars, because I’m only seventeen, but if you’ve seen one ratty old bar, you’ve seen them all. It was the kind of place where you squatted to pee and decided not to wash your hands, because it would actually be grosser to touch the sink.

  So we walked straight through without touching anything, about seven hundred stamps on our hands proclaiming us to be under twenty-one, and went out to the patio. It was pretty big, with its own bar hung with strands of lights shaped like peppers and hula girls, and ringed by a big wooden privacy fence. Every available surface I could see was covered in plastic sheeting. I wasn’t sure if there were tables or not, because the rest of the place was full of white, fluffy foam. It reminded me of a giant bathtub gone out of control.

  I heard a low, steady hum from the far corner of the patio. A stream of foam shot out into the air. A pair of guys stood there in Spotted Dog tees, spraying white clouds of dish soap out of a Shop-Vac. It was still early, but I could only imagine what it would be like once the place got rocking. The foam would be a big draw.

  “I love this foam!” Sadie yelled, holding her cigarette over her head and wading into the stuff. She was so short that it came all the way up to her neck; she looked like this little bobbing head in a sea of white. Rachel and I couldn’t stop laughing.

  “Well, come on,” Rachel said, grabbing my hand and plunging in.

  The foam wasn’t particularly wet, but it tickled something fierce when you moved through it. The bubbles popped against my skin, and if I put my ear right up to it, I heard the hiss of the foam as bubbles broke and reformed.

  “This is the coolest thing ever,” I said.

  “Oh, pants,” Sadie said, eyeing her foam covered cigarette.

  I snorted. “It cracks me up that you think that’s a swear word.”

  “It’s a Brit thing. You wouldn’t get it.” She dropped the smoke into the foam and watched it disappear. “I’ve been meaning to quit anyway.”

  “Haven’t you been saying that ever since I met you?” I asked.

  She nodded. “But this time I have the power of foam!” Then she scooped up a big pile and dumped it onto my head.

  It was mass chaos for a long time after that, because a group of guys at the bar joined in the foam fight. I was having a lot of fun until someone spilled something wet on my foot, but I couldn’t really see what it was because of the foam.

  “I need to wring out my shoe,” I told Rachel. “Be right back.”

  My favorite pair of orange Chucks smelled like beer. I dried them as best I could with a napkin and then couldn’t resist turning on my cell to check my messages. Maybe Michael had called.

  Unfortunately, my phone was not foam compatible. I didn’t get any reception at all, not even roaming, and I started wandering around with it held up over my head, trying to find some corner where the stupid thing might work. I was changing service providers when I got home.

  I’d just checked the screen again, when I heard a snuffling noise in the foam somewhere to my right. Was Rachel trying to sneak up on me? If it was her, I was going to get her so bad.

  First, I’d have to flank her. I pushed away from the wall, staying beneath the foam and placing each foot carefully on the ground to avoid tripping. My hand in front of my face kept my eyes foam-free. The neon glow of the bar lights got dimmer and dimmer until I couldn’t see it anymore.

  Now I curved around toward the corner where I’d heard the noise, moving slowly and deliberately. I found a chair lying overturned in the foam and went around it. And then I saw another low shape off to my right. At first, I thought it was another chair, but then it moved. Someone crouching? I peered through the foam, trying to make out the shape. It trotted toward me.

  A dog.

  I huffed out an amused breath. I’d just stalked a dog. He’d probably snuck in under the fence. Somehow the poor thing had gotten stuck under the foam in this deserted corner, and it
was probably scared stiff. I debated shouting for one of the employees, but it wasn’t like I couldn’t handle a dog, and I might scare it off and lose it in the foam. It would be much easier to let it outside myself.

  “Here, boy,” I said, pitching my voice low so I didn’t startle it. “Come here; I’ll help you get out.”

  It came closer. Its features were still distorted by all the foamy awesomeness, but it was big, with a black coat and long tail. A Lab, maybe? I wasn’t exactly a dog expert.

  I knelt down as it approached, and I put out my hand. I’m not sure what tipped me off that something wasn’t right. Maybe I realized that the shape of its head wasn’t quite natural. Or maybe I caught a glint of red in its eyes or a hint of the sulfuric scent that hung around it. Or maybe it was my instincts recognizing danger.

  But the reason wasn’t important. I was just glad I pulled my hand back before the demon dog bit it off.

  I jerked back as it lunged. Its mouth opened on hinged jaws like a snake’s, exposing curved fangs way too big for its head. They snapped shut on air inches away from my hand as I threw myself into a backward roll and came up in a defensive stance.

  “What the hell?”

  The thing had the build of a big dog, but instead of fur, it was covered in glistening black scales. The tail was tipped with a wicked-looking rattle, and the head looked like a strange hybrid of the canine and serpentine.

  I was never going to escape these things. They’d never let me go; what had I been thinking? I’d taken out one of their demons. Of course they were going to hunt me down and make me pay. And now, my idiocy was going to get me killed, because I wasn’t prepared.

  Running wasn’t an option, because I didn’t want to let this thing loose on the other people here. My hand fluttered up to my bare neck. I really had to get that chain fixed. And my keys were back in Rachel’s dorm room with my jacket. I’d have to try to make another Relic. I’d done it in the park with my key chain. How hard could it be?

  All of this flashed through my mind as the snake dog crouched a few feet away, preparing to spring. I fumbled through the foam, knocking over a chair. Finally my hand closed on something slippery smooth, and I pulled it up to look at it. A beer bottle.