Markus’s eyes softened. Releasing her arms, he crushed Jordan to his chest. Untamed tears wet her cheeks. He spoke, his voice mellow, albeit with grand authority. His divine words bound the besmirched Legion.
The imploding rampage came from within. Her head felt like a balloon pumped with water, nearing its breaking point. She endeavored to find some form of stability.
Firm and steadfast, Markus held her. His ceaseless prayer felt as if he was sucking life from her soul. Hatred ruptured her brain. Her body jerked and seized as Legion departed, leaving her defenseless and withered in revenge.
Markus gathered Jordan in his arms, laying her on the bed. Her eyelids slit open for a moment to see her distraught angels face swim out of focus.
UNTOWARD TALONS
SUNLIGHT SHIRKED THE curtains, crossing the windowsill. The beam speared Jordan’s eyelids. Her battered body, soaked in icky sweat, sprawled over the mattress. She chucked the quilt to the floor, hoping the cool air would revitalize her. Then she felt just plain cold, so she dragged herself off the bed. She noted the brightness of the room, and glimpsing the clock, grumbled, “Two hours late for school.”
A half hour later, padding into the kitchen with her hair still wet after a hasty shower, she found her grandparents and mother eating breakfast. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
Seeley studied her face. “I thought you could use the day off to rest.”
“That was some party you had in your bedroom last night,” Henry butted in. “All that noise and banging around.”
“Banging around?” She scratched her eyebrow in quizzical thought.
“Jordan was sick most of the night.” Seeley jumped in. “I kept running to check on her. Let’s get you back upstairs.”
As random memories started to piece together, she tailed her mom and flopped on the bed. “Was it as bad as I think it was?”
When Seeley turned, her face revealed anguished fatigue, fine lines, and bloodshot eyes.
“Yes. It was bad.” Her mom inhaled and exhaled and then relaxed her balled fingers. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if we hadn’t had Markus and Zeke.”
“Zeke was there too?”
“He was standing by, just in case.” Seeley’s palms ironed over her pants, a nervous compulsion. “I have to go to work. I need you to rest, then borrow Henry’s car and see Father James.”
“That was the creepiest feeling ever.” Jordan screwed up her nose, and jiggled her body as if she was cold. “It felt like…like I was there, but…screaming behind some kind of glass wall. I feel so used.”
ALREADY LATE FOR work, Seeley hoped Mr. Donavan wouldn’t be too angry. Thankful for the snowplows, the highway was clear to the city. Traffic thinned as she veered off the ramp onto Swan Street. Out of the corner of her eye, she recognized a familiar person. Decked in a designer zebra coat and corresponding boots, that provocative stride and those hand movements belonged to none other than Veronka. She walked beside a girl with silky black hair, possibly Jordan’s age.
Seeley felt it was imperative to warn the girl. Does she know Veronka is a demon? Obsessed to the brink of madness, she slammed on the brakes, parked, and bolted from the car. People bundled in winter apparel crammed the sidewalks, blocking her erratic progress. She snaked among the throngs and spied the striped fur entering a coffee shop.
Seeley paused before going in. A plan was needed. She peeked through the storefront window and glimpsed the girl’s profile.
Veronka suddenly swerved her head, meeting Seeley’s gaze. Red lips sneered, and Veronka leaned toward the girl and whispered in her ear. The girl’s mouth parted in laughter. She then wrapped an arm around the girl’s back, almost maternally, and turned her away from Seeley.
The motherly gesture was more than she could stomach. Seeley headed in to confront them when her heels skidded on a patch of ice, hurling her backward. A pair of arms rescued her from utter humiliation.
“My, my, so nice of you to drop in,” said a phony voice.
Seeley came face-to-face with Asa. Apparently, today’s schedule included a congregation of fiends. The man’s mystifying electricity was palpable as she retreated from his inscrutable gaze.
“Are you recruiting, Asa?”
“Why, Seeley, whatever do you mean?” He seemed to relish her name on his lips.
She tweaked her head, indicating the coffee shop. “Your demon slave is holding a teenager hostage.”
“The girl came to us through, shall we say, channels.” He made a throaty noise, as if pleased with his own witticism. “She needs our expertise in handling certain devices and skills.”
Seeley brushed her coat sleeves, shaking off the sensation of his contact. Feeling ill equipped to rescue the girl from their clutches, she sighed. “Does she even know what or who she’s dealing with?”
“It was her choice to meet with us on numerous occasions.”
“I want to talk to her.”
Asa clasped her wrist in a surprisingly strong hold. “Enough. Enough of your savior exploits,” he said harshly. “You can’t stop people from seeking spiritualism.”
“So that’s what you call it?” She wrestled her wrist out of his grasp.
“I give up.” He lifted his hands as if surrendering. “Go and talk with the girl. But be warned, you won’t like what you hear.”
She moved toward the store’s entrance.
“Seeley,” Behind her, Asa’s voice sounded as if it was wound so tight that it was ready to snap. “I’m no longer a patient man. I’ll need your decision soon. Very soon. We’ll meet again.”
She shrugged off his threat and stepped into the tantalizing aroma of coffee. Scanning the patrons from table to table, Seeley counted a majority of red-ringed eyes watching her. Veronka and the girl were not among them. Where’d they go? She briskly walked to the restrooms and back to the front, it’s as if they vanished. Shouldering the doors, she stepped outside and looked in every direction—no sign of the women or Asa.
Seeley shoved her hands into her coat pockets, attempting to repress her abhorrence for the creatures inside. Her fingers twiddled with a plastic container of holy water. Mustering courage, she unscrewed the vial, and using her index finger as a plug, she hid it beneath her coat sleeve. Discreet and with conviction, she went back in.
Meandering around the room, she feigned interest in paintings exhibited on the walls. She dribbled holy water over the shop floors, which were already pooled with tracked in snow.
Exiting, she leaned against a brick wall. Pumped with energy, she concentrated, focusing on the restaurant’s wet tile. The power rushed through her, and she felt the drain of strength. The water rippled and began to bubble and sputter as if it were boiling. The shop rang with fiendish yelps as a shower of holy water rained from the floor up.
Striding to the car, confidence written on her face, she complimented herself on a task well done.
SEELEY WAS EDITING a controversial article on euthanasia, when her boss, Declan Donavan, signaled her into his office. Smothering an irritating yawn, she grabbed pen and paper. As she settled into a less than comfortable wooden chair, she analyzed the pragmatic man shuffling paperwork.
He’d discarded his suit coat early in the morning, and a sage green dress shirt stretched across his shoulders, tucked into tawny pants at a trim waistline. She admired Mr. Donavan’s distinguished salt-and-pepper hair and rugged features. Looking up from a hodgepodge of paperwork, his eyes captured her scrutiny.
A cocky grin spread his face and he handed her the Business First newspaper. It featured a photo of Asa Trebane and his associates at the Financial Seminar in Pennsylvania.
“This affluent man lives in our area.” Mr. Donavan tapped the picture with his finger. “He’s secretive, wealthy, and a hometown boy. I want you to interview Mr. Trebane for a feature article for the business section.”
Her jaw unhinged. She’d never refused her boss an assignment, but this was too much. “Declan, this isn’t for me. Ask Charlie o
r Max. They’re the financial experts.”
Declan leaned on the edge of his desk. “Yes, but they’d never dig down to the nitty-gritty of the man as you would. They’d get the facts and figures, but I want more than that.”
“How can I get more information from Mr. Trebane than Charlie?”
Declan’s gaze surfed over her. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?” he said sounding husky. “Who wouldn’t tell you their whole life story? And don’t start harping on sexual harassment. I think you’re capable of going deeper and getting the scoop.”
Surprised by his compliment, she felt her cheeks heating up. “Can I think about it, Dec?”
“Don’t think too long.” His disquieting eyes seemed to snap.
Back at her desk, Seeley noted the time and called Jordan to check on her.
“Feeling great. No adverse reactions. By the way, I talked with Father James. Everything’s cool.”
“Good, I’ll be home soon.”
“I know you’re probably wiped, but could we go to the mall tonight? The Winter Ball’s coming up, and I don’t have anything to wear.”
Seeley smiled—anything to get her mind off the assignment. “That’d be fine, but only for an hour. I’m bushed.”
THE MALL, OVERCROWDED with holiday shoppers, was bedecked for the season. Christmas carols resonated loud and clear, enticing shoppers with the spirit of giving.
Seeley and Jordan rifled through formal and informal, strapless and beaded, racks and racks of pricy dresses.
“So what’d you think?” Jordan paraded past her mother. The gown molded every slender curve.
Seeley hemmed, her expression peaked. “You look…nice.”
“Really, Mom? I wouldn’t be caught dead in this dress. I just thought it’d be fun to try on.”
“Phew.” Seeley swiped her forehead. “For a minute, I was worried.” They giggled.
They’d purchased a tea-length emerald dress, now slung over Jordan’s arm.
CELEBRATE, THE WORST
IS YET TO COME
THE INTERNAL STRAIN Jordan had experienced throughout the day melted under the shower of cascading water. Uptight about her first high school dance, she strived to keep her mind a blank, but it wasn’t working. She’d heard the words often enough, “geek,” and recently, “the weird girl who lives in the woods.” It didn’t matter what they thought of her. Does it? She went to the school to do a job—like saving them from the beasties.
Not one for primping, she took an inordinate amount of time drying and brushing her hair. Satisfied with its shine, she applied a light layer of mascara. Clothed in the green dress, she slipped her foot into her new heels and tottered across the room, feeling clumsy.
Her mother stood in the doorway, beaming with pride. She offered Jordan a small velvet box. “I have something for you. These are from your father. He’d want you to have them.”
Jordan lifted the lid to discover glittering emerald studs. “I can’t take your earrings.”
Seeley’s encouraging smile warmed her. “I loved your father’s eyes, and yours are exactly like his. When he gave them to me he said, ‘So you’ll always remember me.’”
ROLLY, THRILL, CAYDEN, Paisley, and Ronan gathered at Jordan’s house, the closest to the school. Her friends assembled, dressed in formal attire, in her rinky-dink living room.
Full-bodied Paisley was stuffed into a rosy-mauve gown, flattering her bodacious curves. Her platinum hair, caught up in a French twist, showed off her tattoo. Jordan had learned it was called an ouroboros.
Cayden’s maroon dress made her appear even thinner. Well over six-feet tall in pumps, she had her wispy locks drawn back in a rhinestone clip with matching earrings. However, no one compared to Ronan, sensational in a silk magenta halter dress. Glossy hair layered in ringlets that hung down her bare back, and her dark, almond-shaped eyes, emphasized in kohl outliner, were bewitching.
Thrill spiffed-up well, accenting his athletic build with a charcoal gray suit, a white button-down shirt, and a multicolored striped tie. His affable eyes shined in his adorable face. No girl would be able to resist the eligible boy.
Rolly, large and in charge, the constant jester with barking laughter, had borrowed his father’s big brown suit coat, which made him look even larger. Wearing the suit coat over a pair of jeans, he said, “I’m not out to impress.”
A proud mother, Seeley grinned, admiring her daughter. Lacking a pretentious nature, Jordan’s beauty was natural. Auburn hair carpeted her shoulders, and the emerald satin dress accented her tiny waistline— the perfect choice.
Henry, lounging in his recliner, observed the gregarious guests. A smug grin decorated his weathered face, and his chest shook with mute snickering at their comedic antics. After introductions, Seeley wrestled the rambunctious teenagers, trying to get them to hold still for pictures.
She took a candid snapshot of the laughing group. Checking the camera’s screen to see how it came out, she tensed. Ronan’s profile transported her back to the coffee shop. Ronan was the girl with Veronka. It made perfect sense. Being in league with Veronka would explain the girl’s supernatural skills. Producing a small purse from the hall closet, she stashed a vial of holy water in it—just in case.
“Jordan, here’s your purse.”
“I don’t have a purse.”
Seeley opened the clutch. “You do now.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Grudgingly, she took the purse.
They flocked out underneath an infinite velveteen sky filled with bright constellations. They walked, or more so, skated, over the sheet ice to Thrill’s car.
Cayden suffered a graceless slip and fell into Paisley’s arms.
“You’re such a klutz,” Paisley said righting the tall girl.
Bursting with high expectations, Thrill zoomed down the driveway. Once on the avenue, he said, “Perfect place for a few strategic doughnuts.” The Chevelle whipped around, not once, but twice, on the slick asphalt.
Everyone screamed, loving it.
Cars and limousines jammed the school’s drive, unloading passengers. Most kids parked in the lot and walked, mindful of the slush and the lackadaisical falling snowflakes.
Thrill angled near Jordan’s ear and said, “I didn’t want to say anything in front of your mother, but you are hot tonight, girl.” He steadied her elbow as they crossed a snowdrift.
The decorating committee had transformed the gymnasium into a winter garden. Twinkling miniature lights and shiny silver stars hung from the ceiling. Variable sizes of artificial pine trees, sprayed with fake snow, glittered along the perimeter of the gym. Silver melamine covered tables topped with glass jars filled with pillar candles.
Jordan wasn’t stunned when, one by one, girls clung to Thrill’s arm, asking him to dance even before the music started. He handled the parade of starry-eyed teens with pleasure. The majority of girls eyed Jordan as a freak of nature. Then, when Thrill put his hand on her shoulder to guide her through the tables, she spied the same look on Paisley’s face.
A couple had claimed a prime table next to the dance floor, but not for long. One glance at Ronan traipsing toward them, they moved.
Being a witch has advantages.
“I found a great table,” Ronan said.
Rubbernecking, Jordan was amazed at the metamorphoses. Sophistication honored the rural village of Elma. Polished boys in suits and girls in vibrant gowns graced the vicinity. Beth Schaffer, Markus, and their friends had entered the mix. With his height and good looks, he stood out in the crowd. His groomed, wheat-colored hair emphasized his prominent cheekbones and strong chin. Something Beth said to him produced a perfect smile. Beth, of course, looked spectacular in a strapless, champagne wrap.
Markus waved to Jordan, and leading his friends to the table, he asked, “Mind if we join you?”
“Of course you can,” Ronan was quick to reply. “Mark, sit next to me.” She shooed Cayden off the chair for him.
Jordan made an effort not to smirk at h
er obvious mania—and not to blush when Thrill touched her arm.
Finally, the music boomed to a round of applause. Not one to dither, Thrill asked her to dance, and a look of envy shaded Paisley’s face. The Winter Ball rocked with a rhythmic beat as students converged, circulating the gymnasium. Thrill wasn’t only an excellent football player, his dance movements flowed with the beat, not jerky or awkward like many of the boys.
Jordan barely caught her breath before Rolly yanked her up. “I love this song. Come on, Jor.” Instead of feeling embarrassed by his outrageous dancing spectacle, it made her laugh. He twirled her like a ballerina, and for a finale, he wound his bulky arms around her waist and spun her in the air. Unwinding, thanks to Rolly, she decided to have fun.
Séances and demons flitted from her mind.
Paisley had asked Thrill to dance, and Jordan noticed the strain between them. Not wanting to be nosy, though she really was, she asked Ronan, “Does Paisley like Thrill?”
Ronan’s head wobbled from side to side, as if the answer was yes and no. “They’ve been friends forever. She just about lived at his house when we were younger. They were close. But this tarantula, Megan, got her fangs into him. Paisley knows how he feels, and she needs to get over it.”
Jordan kept her mouth shut concerning Megan. Thrilled had already explained that weirdness, which had labeled Ronan as a witch.
The tension was rising between Beth and Ronan, Jordan could almost touch it. Each bordered Markus, attempting to grab his undivided attention, and his hands.
“Mark, let’s dance,” Beth said, taking the initiative.
Thrill joined the activity, lifting Jordan off her feet and carrying her into the middle of the dancers.
“I think you can put me down.” Buried in his embrace, Jordan kinked her neck to see Ronan’s features tied in a hard knot. “Thrill, ask Ronan to dance. I think she feels uncomfortable with everyone more than likely remembering last year’s . . . you know.”
Wickedly They Come (The Wickedly Series Book 1) Page 12