Demon Derby

by Carrie Harris

  “Uh … kind of. How do I know the difference?”

  He shifted awkwardly, looking suddenly unsure. “Practice.”

  “Why am I worried that you have no idea what you’re talking about?”

  “Partly because I don’t. I’m a creature of balance, so I haven’t really experienced this firsthand. My job will be to put you into a bunch of different circumstances so you can figure out how to stay centered regardless of what the demons throw at you. You’ll still be afraid, but you can use that fear as a tool instead of letting it force you into poor decisions.”

  I picked up one of the throw pillows and fiddled with it for a second while I thought about this. “So you’re going to try to piss me off and make me scared.”

  “And then have you attempt to create Relics.”

  “That’ll be great for our relationship,” I said dryly, and then I felt like a bit of an idiot, because we were still in relationship limbo. Not quite together, but not quite apart either. “That was a joke.”

  “Was it?” he asked. The look he gave me made it so tempting to throw logic out the window.

  “Yeah,” I said, standing up before I did something stupid. “Should we get started?”

  There was a long pause. I was all too conscious of his presence at my back. When he moved closer, I felt it without even looking. I wanted to turn around and kiss him. Part of the reason I wanted it so bad was because I knew I couldn’t, but the knowledge didn’t make it any easier to resist the impulse.

  “That would probably be wise,” he said.

  “All right.” I took a deep breath and let it out. “Let me meditate for a minute before we start. Because I’m not exactly centered right now.”

  “That’s fair.”

  I sat on the floor, a meditation pillow propping me up so my legs didn’t go instantly numb. Meditation was a big part of practice at the dojo, so I knew what to do even if it had never been one of my favorite things. I fell into a slow circle of breathing, in through the nose and out through the mouth. My eyes slowly closed. But still, it took a long time before my mind quieted.

  “There’s a chance they might try to get to you through your family,” he said.

  My eyes flew open. “What?”

  “I told you I was going to jerk your chain. Now make a Relic.”

  “You expect me to create a Relic after that?”

  He stood there silently, waiting. Part of me wanted to rant that this wasn’t fair. He should have given me something easier to start with. But I’d seen how 693 had operated, and he’d been even younger than Michael. I didn’t want to think about how much harder it would be to face an older, more experienced demon.

  So I took a deep breath and pushed away the urge to smack him. How had it felt to make those first few Relics—the necklace and the key chain? If Michael was telling the truth, I’d made them into weapons; I’d channeled the Between into them without even knowing it. If I was going to do it again, I’d have to recapture how it felt. I remembered feeling desperate and afraid and confused, but then there was the part of me that had seen a challenge to be overcome. The part that wasn’t afraid of death. It wouldn’t go down without a fight. That part of me had taken my determination and honed it into a weapon. That was what I needed to access.

  So I threw every ounce of my will into the throw pillow on the floor a few feet away. And for a second, I saw it flare with bluish, ghostly flames. A feeling of triumph rose in my throat; I let out a squeal of excitement. The flames went out, but I didn’t care. I’d done it, and I could do it again.

  “Good,” Michael said, his voice stern and undeniably sexy. “Again.”

  I’d never been into shopping, but when Darcy invited me to the mall about a week later, I had to say yes. First of all, I still hadn’t hung out with her except for at practice, and I felt like I should at least make an effort. And second, I would have agreed to stick bamboo sticks under my fingernails if it would have saved me from another afternoon spent trying to make Relics while Michael came up with new and interesting ways to screw with my head.

  So she picked me up, and to the mall we went.

  “Are you looking for something specific?” I asked as we walked toward the gleaming doors of the Wildwood Shopping Center.

  “Actually,” she said, “I just wanted to spend time with you. It seems like you’re always with Michael these days. It’s like I never get to see just you.”

  “I’m sorry.” I nudged her with my elbow, trying for playfulness. “It’s not because I don’t want to see you. I’m just … you know. Thanksgiving family crap and homework and a new relationship and all that.”

  “Well, if you ask me, it’s not such a good one if he’s taking you away from all your friends.”

  “But he’s not …” I trailed off. The reality was that I’d been doing my homeschool work every morning and Relic training every afternoon, followed more often than not by derby practice and more time with Michael. The only day I hadn’t seen him was Thanksgiving, because I had to go to my grandma’s and listen to her tell my parents for the umpteenth time that she wanted them to get real jobs. I’d talked to Kyle on the phone a few times and had gotten together with the crew once to play video games. After a few frosty moments, we’d shot at each other with virtual machine guns. That had seemed to help, although they still hadn’t invited me freerunning again. I wouldn’t have had the time anyway.

  I hadn’t meant to blow them off, but I was doing just that. The saddest thing is that Michael and I weren’t even really dating. Although, that saying about how you could cut the tension with a knife? I was starting to really understand what it meant. It was just a matter of time before something broke.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t want to be one of those girls. We’ll hang out more; I promise.”

  “So you’ve got time?” She perked up immediately. “I mean, I’ve got to get a new charger for my cell, but can we stay for a while after that?”

  “I’m not much of a shopper, but sure. Where do you want to go?”

  “You’ll see.”

  It took only a few minutes to buy a charger, and then she took off so quickly that I practically had to run to keep up. She had much longer legs than me. I was faster on skates now, but not so much on foot.

  Finally I caught up to her in the middle of the Sears concourse. The area was pretty empty at the moment. In a month or so, the mall employees would decorate this space to look like Santa’s workshop. But for now, it was just a big open space with lots of raised areas and random walls. It looked like a giant had dropped a big load of blocks on the floor, and instead of moving them, someone had decided to cover them with carpeting.

  “Dude, what are we doing?” I asked, stopping at her side and panting a little.

  Instead of answering, she flashed me an excited grin and sprinted at one of the mid-sized walls. It was maybe five feet tall. She ran straight up it, grabbed the top, and vaulted herself over.

  Okay, now, this was cool. It didn’t look like giant blocks to me anymore. It looked like one big freerunning course. We started leaping over blocks and tumbling down the other side. I ran up walls and did corkscrews and backflips and tic-tacs. I taught her some freerunning techniques on the biggest wall, a six-footer. Darcy did a few gymnastic passes across the floor, and then we started trying to outdo each other with the craziest flip combos we could come up with.

  We gathered a small crowd of onlookers, and a few of them got out their phones and shot some video. The saleslady at the jewelry store next to us wasn’t too happy about our impromptu show until one of our admirers went into her store and started trying stuff on. It bought us some time, but eventually the security guys showed up on their stupid Segways and told us we had to leave.

  “That was the most fun ever,” I said, wiping sweat from my forehead. “But I’m dying of thirst. Food court?”

  “Definitely.” She linked her arm with mine. It felt a little lame, but I didn’t have the heart to pull away.
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  We got orange smoothies and sat down on the edge of one of the fountains in the middle of the food court, our legs dangling but not quite reaching the floor.

  “So, what’s up with you and Michael?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “We’re dating, I guess. He’s pretty cool.”

  “Doesn’t he seem … I dunno. Weird?”

  I shrugged again. “All guys seem weird to me. I think it’s in their DNA.”

  “Can’t argue with that.”

  “What about you?” I looked her over. On the surface, she was still the same old Darcy. Gap-toothed, pigtailed, slightly dorky. “You’ve gone all quiet lately. You used to be …” I couldn’t think of a way to say it that didn’t sound like a putdown.

  “A total spaz?” She smiled. “I think derby’s settling me down. I feel very centered when I skate.”

  “And you’re okay? Nothing you need to talk about?”

  She cleared her throat and shook her head. “Nope. Nothing at all. Although, I wonder if that video of us is going to get YouTubed tonight.”

  “Oh my God, we totally have to check after practice.”

  We did. It was. And I have to say that we looked pretty darned awesome too.

  I showed up at the convention center for our next bout assuming I’d be warming the bench. Of course I wanted to skate, but I kept reminding myself that it would come with time. With every practice, it felt like the team accepted me a little more. Regardless of whether I skated this time, I felt like I’d proved that I belonged, both to them and to myself.

  I’d just sat down on a folding chair to watch the rest of the team begin their warm-ups, when Barbageddon hobbled up in an Aircast.

  “What happened?” I leapt to my feet like a demon might pop out at any minute and try to take out her other foot too.

  She shifted her crutches and patted me soothingly on the shoulder. “Calm down. It’s just a bad sprain. My sister and I crashed our neighbor’s trampoline. And I do mean crashed.”

  “Oh.” I sat back down, feeling foolish. “Well, that sucks.”

  “Are you kidding?” She flashed me a grin. “Once I stopped swearing, I realized this wasn’t such a bad thing after all, because it gives me an opportunity to watch you skate.”

  I blinked. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked. “Get your gear on, idiot!”

  I stuck my tongue out at her first, but my heart wasn’t really in it. It was too busy alternately racing with nervousness and leaping with excitement. I tried to play it cool as I joined the rest of the girls on the track, but Darcy squealed when I skated out to join them, and I couldn’t resist echoing her. Besides, I was entitled to a little excitement after everything I’d been through.

  After warm-ups, we reported back to the bench for our pre-bout strategy meeting. I tried not to take it too personally when Michael designated Ruthanasia as our first jammer. She smirked at me as she stretched the starred helmet panties over her head. I never understood why they called them “helmet panties,” since they were really just stretchy fabric that you put on your helmet to designate what position you were playing at the time. I think someone just liked the word “panties.”

  “Okay, so Ruthanasia is jamming.… Ragnarocker, you take pivot,” Michael said without even looking up from his clipboard. I opened my mouth to protest—after all the hard work I’d put in to get here, he wasn’t going to let me skate? “We’re going to keep Casey as our secret weapon for a little while. We’ll tire ’em out, and then you’ll skate their pants off. Okay, Case?”

  “Call me Casaclysm,” I said. I liked my new derby name. It cracked me up.

  It felt good to be a secret weapon. But it still hurt to sit down on the row of folding chairs that served as our bench and watch as Ruthanasia, Ragnarocker, and a bunch of our other skaters took their places on the rink alongside the Tilt-a-Girls. My hands fiddled nervously with my official yellow and white Apocalypsies jersey. The longer I sat, the more nervous I got.

  “Oh my God. I can’t believe how many people are here,” Darcy said, plopping down next to me.

  I scanned the crowd. If I’d known I’d be skating, I would have invited my parents, but it was probably too late now. Not that I would have been able to locate them if they’d been there, because the place was nice and busy. About half of the five thousand seats were already full, and this was only the junior bout. People would keep trickling in for the main event. I saw signs and derby tees and lots of people with Day-Glo hair. The crowd hummed, a steady stream of sound that made it necessary to speak up if you wanted to be heard. I’d have to remember that out on the track.

  “I think it’s pretty average attendance.” I tried to sound calm, but it was an uphill battle. My nerves would settle down as soon as I got out there, but I wasn’t built for waiting.

  “Yeah, but it’s totally different when you’re out here and all those people are staring at you.”

  “No kidding.” I held out my fist to her. “Good luck, Dee Stroyer.”

  “You too, Casaclysm.”

  She bumped my knuckles with hers and gave me one of her gap-toothed grins. I was glad to see her in a good mood.

  The whistle blew to start the jam, and the pack moved off their line, setting a fairly brutal pace. The second whistle—Ruthanasia and Hoosya Mama, the Tilt-a-Girl jammer, flew off their line, jockeying for position. Ruthanasia came in way too hot, hitting the pack like a bowling ball full of dynamite, and instantly earned a major penalty for illegal contact to the back. The ref signaled her out; she slid into the penalty box with a scowl. We watched as Hoosya Mama racked up an easy triple grand slam. I could have punched Ruthanasia right then for making such a stupid mistake. Her douche baggery was going to cost us the bout if she kept it up.

  Frankly, I couldn’t decide who to scowl at more. Ruthanasia for being her usual hotheaded self, or Michael for not seeing that I was the better choice to start, if only because I was a little better at keeping my temper under wraps these days. All the Relic training was starting to make me all Zen.

  Darcy left with a squeal to skate in the second jam, and now I was one of the only players still warming the bench. I tried not to feel bad about that, with an emphasis on “tried.” It got particularly hard when Ruthanasia got pinned behind the Tilt-a-Girl powerhouse blockers, Honey Beater and Skirt Cobain, and couldn’t get anywhere. But Dee Stroyer, Ragnarocker, and Angel Pop kept Hoosya under wraps too, and the jam played out without much of anything happening.

  Michael came up behind me. “It’s time. Show them how it’s done, Casaclysm.”

  I didn’t wait to be told twice. I launched off the chair like one of those demon dogs was nipping at my heels. It was finally happening. When I hit the jammer line, I took a moment to look around at my pack. Ruthanasia at pivot, Dee Stroyer, Ragnarocker, and Dawn & Quartered blocking. Skirt Cobain was jamming for the Girls. I’d seen how she moved—quick and light on her skates despite her solid, muscular form. But I knew I was faster.

  The ref sounded the first whistle for the pack to start moving, and my muscles tensed. I crouched low on my skates, balanced on my toe stops. He sounded the second whistle for the jammers. I flew off the line, my torso low, the hiss of skates hard and fast as Skirt and I fought for dominance. The pack was moving slowly, the blockers jostling for position too.

  We reached the back of the pack; Dee Stroyer took my hand and whipped me forward, rocketing me past two of the Tilt-a-Girl blockers. I came up behind Ragnarocker, my fingertips light on her shoulder, using her as a shield while I looked for a hole in the defense. Stop Tart, another Girl blocker, came up alongside me, shifting her hips and trying to drive a wedge between Rock and me. We moved in automatic, well-practiced unison. Rock shifted right, hitting Stop Tart so hard that she fell over and skidded out of bounds. I shifted left, legs pistoning as I rocketed through the empty space that suddenly opened in front of me. I skated hard and fast, eyes and ears alert for additional defende
rs.

  The announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, referee Edward Sullen points the fickle Finger of Power at rookie jammer Casaclysm, designating her as the lead jammer for the first time in her skating career!”

  Sure enough, there he was, one hand pointing straight at me and the other up to the heavens like I’d been chosen by a divine power. Which I guess in a strange way wasn’t so far from the truth. I couldn’t resist a little hotdogging; I pumped my fist in the air, and the crowd cheered.

  Enough of that. My skates hit the floor in an increasing rhythm. The pack lay ahead, just around the next curve, and I was dying to score some points. I crouched low, rocketing past the Tilt-a-Girl pivot before she even saw me.

  “Jammer on right!” she shouted, her words distorted by the mouth-guard.

  I dodged left, ducking under the outstretched arms of D&Q and Honey Beater as they struggled to own the space. Another blocker swerved in front of me, and I didn’t even have time to see who it was. I spun, skimming past her by the barest of margins, and ended up out in front of the pack, rolling backward and not entirely sure how it had happened.

  Before I could totally lose momentum, I spun back around and kept on skating, sparing an eye for the clock. Still almost a minute left in the jam, plenty of time to score another grand slam. Perhaps I was getting a little cocky, but maybe I deserved a little self-indulgence.

  The next pass was even easier. It was like I felt the holes before I even saw them. My body moved instinctively through the crush of the pack, and my blockers knew exactly where I needed them. They cleared the floor, and I charged through.

  I would have scored another grand slam, or maybe even two, if Ruthanasia hadn’t tripped me.

  It was like one minute I was sailing out into the empty rink in front of the pack, and then there was a leg in front of me, a leg wearing tights printed with daggers and skulls, and then I was flying. There was just enough time for me to appreciate how much it was going to hurt when I landed, and then I was down. The pads absorbed most of the shock, but I still managed to ding my hip pretty bad. Another ref by the unfortunate name of Bustin Jieber sent Ruthanasia out again. I scrambled to my feet just as Skirt charged forward and scored. I called off the jam a moment too late, giving away two points.