“Is there a parent or guardian at home?” PC Edwards asks, her thin lips pursed tightly. She stares hard at me, trying to keep her dark-green eyes neutral to cover the prejudice she’s feeling. But I can read her thoughts.
Hispanic-looking teen living in one of Toronto’s poor areas and out at curfew. Likely being brought up by a drug-using single mother who is out at night selling herself. Might even end up as one of the bodies we’ve been finding scattered all over the city like dog shit on the sidewalks….
I nod, trying not to let it get to me. She’s right about the single mother part, but that’s it.
“My mom is definitely home. I contacted her as I left my friend’s place. It’s just that she has lupus, so she’s pretty sick most of the time. That’s why she couldn’t come and get me.” It’s not a total lie. Mom suffered from lupus for many years, and it nearly killed her. In fact, she’d likely be dead right now if Raphael hadn’t come along.
“Well, we’ll wait here until you’re in the building,” she says. “Don’t let this happen again. You’re getting in with only a minute or two to spare. Any later and we’d be issuing a Teen Anti-Social Behaviour Order.”
I really am not in the mood for a lecture from this woman, who is so sure she’s responsible for keeping the city safe, when I know the truth. A blindfolded Seer could crack her in half like a walnut. And police guns and bullets are as about as useful as feathers when it comes to dealing with demons. The truth would deflate her bloated ego in a heartbeat.
“I’ll be sure to remember that,” I say as I leave the cruiser, making sure to close the door just a little too hard on my way out.
On my way up the stairwell (the elevator in our building only runs for about an hour a day), I try to think of what to tell Mom about why Jasmine isn’t with me. I could say my sister is staying the night at Cassandra and Lily’s, but Mom will hit the roof if she’s hearing that from me rather than Jasmine asking for permission herself. It could even result in Mom calling Cassandra and Lily’s parents, which would complicate things way too much. But I can’t see any other story that would be even slightly believable.
The thing is, Mom doesn’t know what Jasmine and I are … or about the true purpose of our high school, Beaconsfield. I often think she suspects something is up, especially since we’ve become uber-fit over the last year or so, and most of our close friends are identical twins. I hope she never needs to find out, because if she knew the whole truth, she’d be scared to death every waking second. In fact, the entire world would be terrified if they knew what was actually happening.
I finally reach the front door of our apartment. Before I can even get my key into the lock, the door flies open. Mom stands on the other side, her face flushed with emotion.
“Where have you been? Do you know what time it is?” she asks as she pulls on my sister’s red high-top Converses and twists her long, dark hair back in a ponytail. Her face is a mask of concern.
I open my mouth, but no words come out, because I don’t want to lie to her. After all the heartache and suffering she went through because of my abduction when I was younger, I just can’t do that.
“You need to come with me,” Mom says, grabbing her purse. I open my mouth again to remind her about the curfew but immediately close it. If she’s leaving the safety of our apartment, there’s no way I’m not going with her. An Anti-Social Behaviour Order is nothing compared to Mom being at the mercy of roaming demons.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Mom stands and looks straight at me, her bottom lip quivering. “Your sister’s been attacked. She’s at St. Michael’s Hospital. With Mr. Khan.”
JASMINE
Searing pain spreads across my throat. I can barely breathe. My airway is closing, the soft tissue crushed between the cold hands around my neck. I’m dying.
First Mom loses Jade for five years and has to live that entire time with the heart-wrenching belief that her daughter’s dead, having been taken from the front lawn of our house by a stranger in the middle of the day. And now she’s going to lose me. Except this time there will be no miracle reappearance. I’m going to be die … and likely be reported as just another victim of our city’s serial killers (who are supposedly part of organized climate-change terrorism).
Tears leak down the sides of my face. I’m not crying for me, but rather for Mom and Jade. My heart twists as I think of Raphael as well. The thought of never seeing him again makes me ache with sorrow. No matter how hard I try, I can’t help but be frightened. And I know that’s making the demon stronger.
I manage to open my eyes and look at its face, which looms above mine like a helium balloon.
I’m not ready to surrender yet.
“Jamie?” I ask. My voice is barely more than a squeak.
It’s a long shot, and I’m not even sure I’ve got the name right, but I figure it’s worth a try.
A flicker. It’s brief, like the passing of a shadow, but some part of his humanity is still in there. I can see it in his eyes. He’s thinking about his mother. He’s not completely demon. Jamie’s not dead. Not yet.
I think about the tear-soaked, deflated face of Jamie’s mother as she was broadcast across the city last week, pleading for news about her son’s whereabouts and for his safe return. He was definitely loved during his lifetime, and some memory of that clearly remains in what’s left of his soul.
Besides, that glimmer is the only chance I have of survival.
“Jamie, your mother told the whole city how much she loves you and misses you…. How proud she was of you.” My voice is barely a croak now. In the distance, I can see a light. And, though the lack of oxygen might be causing me to hallucinate, I swear I see my father and grandmother standing in the light, motioning for me to come to them.
I move my gaze back to the demon. “She clearly loved you very much. You were special to people…. You made a difference while you were here.”
Something shifts in its eyes. The blackness starts to break apart like oil doused with dish soap. A few moments later, hazel eyes filled with deep sadness are staring back at me rather than the flat, black pupils of a demon.
The pressure around my throat loosens for a second. It’s only a second, but it’s enough.
I stretch my right arm out and touch my pole. As the lips above me mouth the word “Mom,” I bring my knees up in one fluid motion, propelling the thing off me, and roll out from under it. It reacts with a surprised and angry growl, and the demonic darkness is back. But I’m already scrambling to my feet. Seconds later, I bring my pole down across the back of its neck.
The pole slices cleanly through flesh and cracks the bone of the spine in two. Then there’s that familiar gurgling sound, and the smell of copper washes over me like a tsunami. But this time the feeling is different. This time it feels a little like murder. And as I look down at the head lying at my feet, a stream of putrid blood flowing from the jagged cut my pole made, I don’t see a demon. Instead I see the face of Jamie, the young bartender who’d had something happen to him that shouldn’t be possible in our world. Something beyond terrible.
I stagger backward, my hand covering my mouth. Vomit fills my throat. The world spins around me, and I try to steady myself, but there’s nothing to grab hold of. I’m falling. My face slams against the concrete of the sidewalk, pain reverberating along my left cheekbone and temple.
Tendrils of grey smoke linger around Jamie’s body for a moment. It’s the demon. Now without a vessel, it will leave in search of another to possess. Right now it’s like a snail without a shell.
I’m a Seer. I can’t lie here for long. Those who are hunting us will sniff me out like a lion stalking its prey. Fear washes over me, causing beads of perspiration to erupt on my upper lip and forehead. I lick my dry lips, tasting the saltiness of my skin, and try to push the fear away. Negative emotions, especiall
y fear, will only make the demons stronger and lead them straight to me. It’s critical that I get back up and to a main street.
Thing is, every time I try to lift my head, it feels like hot knives are being thrust into the left side of my face. Waves of nausea and dizziness wash over me and the world tilts dangerously. It’s like I’m on an amusement ride.
Clutching my pole in my right hand, I drag myself forward like a dog that’s been hit by a car. Each tiny movement is excruciating. There’s no way I’m going to be able to get anywhere like this.
I roll over onto my back and stare into the blackness. There used to be so much more light pollution at night, but now you can see the stars above Toronto. I’m beginning to swim in and out of consciousness. I won’t be able to fight if I’m attacked. I’m spent.
You came back to save me from the fire. Sometimes I swear I feel like you’re still with me. I need you now. Please save me again. I don’t want to die.
He wasn’t supposed to save me. According to Ms. Samson, that’s something he’s forbidden to do. And yet he did it all the same.
My eyes are closing. I try to force them open, but they feel so heavy, as though they’re made of lead.
What does it mean to be elegido? And why did he use the Spanish word for chosen? Does it mean I’m the next Seer chosen to die? If that’s the case, it seems the job has been done.
Footsteps. My blood runs cold. I hold my breath and listen. The footsteps stop, and I wait, holding my breath. I know I’m not imagining things. There’s definitely someone, or something, out here with me. My heart thrums loudly in my chest.
“Jasmine?”
The voice is instantly recognizable. It’s Mr. Khan. My Protector. I press my free hand over my mouth to keep from shouting out in relief. It’s too dangerous. Instead I give a low whistle.
A video phone flashlight clicks on, its beam of light casting a ghostly shadow on the sidewalk to my right, by the alleyway between two darkened houses. Mr. Khan’s slender silhouette is visible against a backdrop of brick.
I whistle again, and the beam slowly moves toward me, hugging the ground in its search.
The light washes over my Converse-clad feet, then up my body to my face. I smile weakly and try to wave. Mr. Khan turns off the beam, rushes over, and kneels down beside me.
“Are you badly hurt?” he asks, pushing his dark hair back from his forehead and peering down at me.
“Well, I don’t think I can walk on my own, which probably qualifies as ‘I’ve been a lot better during my relatively short life.’”
Mr. Khan looks around and briefly turns on the flashlight again to scour the alleyway adjacent to us. He frowns before quickly turning it off and putting it into his bag.
“We’ve got to get you out of here,” he says, his voice thick with concern.
“Really? Tell me something I don’t know,” I reply.
“Jasmine, this is no time to be a wiseass. You’re in immediate danger. We’re in immediate danger.”
I want to tell him to be careful with his emotions; his fear is so strong, I can almost taste it.
“The city is becoming more heavily populated with demonic entities. There seems to be a nightly rise in the population. The rift must be wide open. I’m getting us an ambulance.” He turns on his video phone.
In less than ten seconds, a concerned-looking dispatcher appears on the screen. Mr. Khan tells her our location and then pulls a gym towel out of his bag.
“It’s used,” he says apologetically as he folds it into a makeshift pillow and gently eases it under my head. Every centimetre of my throat screams with pain at the tiniest motion. I’m definitely injured.
“Not all the demons are getting here through the rift,” I say. “Go take a look at the one I just killed. Look at its face.”
Mr. Khan gets up and switches on the flashlight again. He walks over to the decapitated head lying a few feet away from us. I can’t turn my head enough to see his expression, but I know he’s closely examining it.
He walks back over and crouches down beside me.
“What happened here, Jasmine?” he asks, his voice low. I can read his thoughts.
That’s a human head. She’s murdered a human. Don’t tell me Jasmine is losing her mind. Don’t let her end up like Fatimah. Please. Not Jasmine.
“But it wasn’t human,” I say. “Well, not entirely. He … it presented as demon. And I’m not losing my mind.” There’s a long pause. I don’t want to tell Mr. Khan that I appealed to the glimmer of humanity still there to save myself, though I don’t know why it feels like something I need to keep secret. The faint sound of sirens in the distance reaches us. I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Well, it’s certainly human now,” he says, sitting back heavily onto the sidewalk and wrapping his arms around his knees.
I frown. “The thing was definitely a demon when I killed it,” I say, trying to pull myself up onto my elbows. The pain is too much and I collapse back against the towel. “And it was trying to kill me. Kept saying I was elegido, chosen, whatever that means.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath from Mr. Khan. “It called you the Chosen One?” he asks, his voice low.
“Yeah. And said they’ve been looking for me. But the demons are looking for all of us, aren’t they? All the Seers?”
The ambulance is louder now. It’s close. Hopefully closer than any demons.
“Jasmine, you mustn’t tell anyone else what you’ve just told me. Not yet.”
There’s deep fear in Mr. Khan’s voice, but now I can’t read his thoughts. I’m not always able to tap into that ability. Sometimes the connection works, sometimes it doesn’t. Except I think he’s now deliberately trying to block me from knowing what he’s thinking. I open my mouth to ask why, but don’t have the energy to say a word. As the ambulance swings toward us, its lights bathing us in a scarlet glow, I slip into unconsciousness.
JADE
It takes Mom over twenty minutes to get a private cab hired via her video phone account.
“This is madness,” she says, frowning at the screen. “Hardly any drivers are working, so the fees are four times higher than usual. And the connection keeps cutting out.”
I stare out the glass doors of our building into the inky blackness, trying not to think about the things lurking out there. If I really think about it, I’ll be scared, and that will only make them stronger. My throat feels really sore now, and I wonder if I’m coming down with strep or something, since every time I swallow it feels like glass is mixed with my saliva.
“It’s because of the curfew and abductions,” I say, turning around. “No one wants to be out at night. Hired drivers keep getting questioned by the police about every disappearance. You couldn’t pay me enough to be driving at night right now.”
Mom gets up off the torn fake leather sofa in our front lobby and begins to pace back and forth beside a palm that stoops over in its pot like an elderly man. Worry is etched between her eyebrows.
“I’m going to have to pay the extra because we really need to get to your sister as soon as possible.” She stops pacing and shakes her head. “It’s times like this when I really miss … I really …” Her voice wavers. Unable to continue, she takes a tissue out of her purse and dabs at her eyes. “Sorry, it’s just sometimes I can’t believe she’s gone.”
I go over and throw my arms around her. “I know you miss Lola hugely. Please don’t cry. We’ll just cut back on spending next week to make up for the ride to the hospital.”
Mom nods and hugs me back. “My wise girl. Sometimes I feel that you are the madre and I am the child. However, I don’t know how we can possibly cut back any further this month unless we eat dust. Dios! No wonder people are thieving so much these days. It’s simply to put food in their mouths.”
I walk back to the window and wait for Mom to tell me th
e name of the driver and the make of the car that’s coming to pick us up. Lola. I was careful not to say we miss her. And that’s because Jasmine and I don’t. We don’t miss her even one tiny bit. I mean, it’s not like we’re celebrating the fact that she’s dead, but Mom has no idea that her so-called best friend was the reason I was abducted. Lola’s betrayal was the reason I spent five long years living in a place that is literally one small step away from Hell. It would kill Mom if she ever discovered the truth about what Lola did to me — to our family. Or the truth about where I was. All I’ve ever told her, the swarms of media that descended on us when I reappeared, and anyone else who asked was that I couldn’t remember anything, or was so traumatized by my experience that I’d completely suppressed it. If only they knew….
“It should be a red Honda. Our driver’s name is Jordan.”
Mom’s video phone beeps.
“The car’s here already,” she says. “Can you see it?”
I lean my forehead against the glass, cup my hands on either side of my eyes, and look out. The car is just pulling into the drive in front of the building. The yellow beams from the headlights illuminate the scraggle of bushes in our unkempt courtyard.
Someone is standing near the bushes. Or is it just a shadow? I narrow my eyes, straining to see. I’m positive there was movement when the car rounded the drive. It looked as though someone, or something, ducked behind one of the clumps of bush just before being exposed by the light.
“Jade? Do you see the car?” Mom’s beside me now. “Come, he’s here,” she says, pointing out the window.
Taking a deep breath, I link my arm through hers. I want her close to me, because I’m pretty sure our driver is not the only one waiting for us out there.
JASMINE
I’m wheeled out of the ambulance by the paramedics. A misty curtain of rain falls on my face as we move toward the emergency entrance. Mr. Khan pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head. Hair is important to him, even at a time like this. I smile through the pain. My throat feels really swollen, and each breath I take is excruciating.
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