The Devil's Heir

by Leilani Lopez

  I look around for an escape but find nothing. We’re absolutely alone, just like he wanted.

  A blessing comes in the form of a piercing scream.

  The sound echoes through the trees.

  “Lily,” I say.

  Ducking under Luke’s arm, I take off in the direction it came from. Luke calls out my name but I ignore him, needing the distance as much as I need to make sure Lily’s okay.

  The sound is gone as quick as it came; the trees silencing once again.

  I don’t know if I’m going in the right direction, but I don’t care.

  My feet sink into piles of dead leaves and I’m grateful that I put on a pair of boots.

  Luke is on my tail, close behind me.

  I go left, he goes left.

  I step around a tree, he steps around the same tree.

  The dead leaves crunch under our boots. I think I’ve seen this tree before. I call out Lily’s name and get no response. I can’t tell how far we’ve gone and the makeshift path leading to the house is long gone.

  He calls out my name desperately, and only then do I turn.

  “What?”

  His posture is stiff and he motions for me to come to him. He calls out my name, his tone low and stiff.

  “Come here.” He pauses. “Please.”

  My brows rise. “What’s wrong?”

  “Please.”

  I step toward him, unsure why panic is all over his face.

  “What’s the matter?”

  A twig snaps.

  I move to look over my shoulder when Luke grips my face, stopping me.

  “Hey,” I snap at him, push his hands off my jaw.

  He’s looking behind me, shaking his head and mouthing something.

  “Lily,” I call out and crane my neck back.

  Lily stands a few feet behind me, wearing a beanie with a white pom-pom. Standing over a body.

  Blood covering her face.

  “Hey, Calla,” she says in a light tone. Wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing the blood across her pale cheek.

  I shudder, a chill sinking to my bones.

  “Dammit, Lilith, what did I tell you about cleaning up your messes?”

  Lily spits something out of her mouth.

  It lands a foot in front of her, on top of some dirt.

  It’s a pinky finger.

  Luke holds onto my forearm as I lean over and throw up the meager contents of my stomach. Thankfully I didn’t have time to eat before we left or it’d be on the floor too.

  A pair of shoes step into vision. There’s a red splatter on them.

  My chest heaves. My stomach clenches into a painful twist.

  I reach up and grab Luke’s wrist to keep on my feet.

  His other hand is rubbing small circles on my back.

  When there’s nothing else for my stomach to force up, I keep my eyes closed. Take in deep breaths and try to focus on my breathing.

  Maybe this has been one big nightmare.

  The worst one yet.

  I’ll count to three and open my eyes. Hopefully I’ll be back in my bed with the alarm going off.

  One.

  Two.

  “Why are you counting?”

  Three.

  Lily is crouched down, looking at me when I open my eyes.

  Her eyebrows are lowered over her eyes and the blood is mostly gone. The remaining stain looks more like smeared red lipstick.

  I shrink back, away from her.

  Lilith is what he called her.

  As in the Mother of Demons.

  And she just spit out a human finger.

  Why would he call her that? Is this some kind of game that they play together? Luke AKA Lucifer. Lily AKA Lilith?

  We both stand to our full height.

  I eye her and step back. Purposefully avoiding Luke’s embrace. Instead, I prop myself up against a nearby tree.

  Lily frowns at my retreat.

  “I know this is probably a lot to take in.”

  I lick my dry lips, wrap my arms around myself. I have to psych myself up before I look over at the fallen body.

  “Is that Sasha?”

  I already know the answer. Lily’s wearing her beanie.

  She barely looks over her shoulder.

  “She was saying some things that I didn’t like.”

  My jaw shifts. I swallow.

  “And what was that?”

  “She was trying to leave me to do all the work and go find my brother. Then I started thinking about when you were drunk and told me that you’d chop off her fingers so she could never touch him again, so...”

  She shrugs.

  Her words sink in.

  She killed Sasha Warren for being interested in Luke. Because Lily wants me to date her brother.

  She removed her fingers because of something I once told her.

  I start to heave.

  Shaking fingers cover my mouth once again. My chest hurts already from throwing up.

  Tears fill the brim of my eyes.

  I look over at Luke, look at him directly in the eyes.

  “Did you kill my grandmother?”

  He pulls back, his brows lowering over his eyes.

  “No.”

  I let out a cry. Take a deep breath in through my nose.

  “Did you kill all those people? The people around town?”

  His face is hard, stoic.

  “No.”

  “Did you make me”—my voice cracks—“did you make me have those dreams?”

  He frowns, takes a step forward.

  “What dreams?”

  I hold a finger up to him, wanting him to stop, and he does.

  That’s all I need to know. That’s all that matters to me.

  I take a deep breath in, exhale the shivers running through me.

  My eyes focus on a tree behind him, not wanting to look at him a second longer.

  I have to get out of here. Far, far away from here.

  Slowly, as to not draw attention to myself, I push off the base of the tree and put one foot in front of the other. I walk away from the siblings, leaving them to clean up their own mess and make the active decision to take myself out of the equation.

  My neck is stiff from how high I’m holding it.

  But I refuse to drop it any further. I angrily swipe away a fallen tear.

  Behind me Luke scolds his sister, but I’m not close enough to hear a response.

  The dead leaves crunch under my shoes. A twig snaps in half, the sound ringing in my ears.

  I flinch.

  Imagining it’s similar to the sound of Lily biting off Sasha’s fingers.

  Biting them.

  My God.

  Those pearly white, flat teeth have enough force behind them to bite through skin, tendon and bone.

  And she spit it out like it was a sunflower seed.

  My hands grow numb at my side, but I can’t gather the strength to put them in my pockets.

  And she’ll never get caught.

  I doubt this is the first time she’s killed.

  A fifteen year old murderer.

  Jesus.

  If I can make it back home in one piece, I’ll never leave again. I’ll tell Aunt Polly that I’m ready to leave. That I’ll accompany her anywhere.

  I follow the footprints I left back to the trail.

  The mound of red pitchforks is easy to spot amongst the muted fall colors.

  I find myself standing above them. My feet close enough to kick one.

  I should have gone with my friends. The ones who make me feel comfortable.

  Nothing like the Hales.

  I lean down and pick up a metal stake.

  “Calla.”

  I turn around at the sound of an urgent voice right behind me.

  The metal swings with me, catching onto Luke’s T-shirt and ripping it. It presses lightly into Luke’s abdomen.

  His dark gaze looks down, his brows rising when I don’t pull back.

&
nbsp; “My sister shouldn’t have done that.”

  I ask him my last question. The last question before I erase the memory of the Hales from my mind. There’s no way I’m going to the authorities about this. With my luck, I’ll probably get arrested for being involved. If rich people like to dabble in cannibalism, I want nothing to do with them.

  And I definitely don’t want to ever feel Luke’s warm gaze on my skin again.

  “Why did you paint that portrait of me?”

  “Sorry?”

  I huff. My hands clench around the metal rod.

  “The painting you have locked up in your room. Is it supposed to be me?”

  The bone in his jaw strains against the flesh.

  I can see the lie on his lips. So easy for him to give into.

  We level each other, both waiting for the other to respond first.

  “No.”

  He destroys me.

  With a simple word, everything he’s ever said to me, every touch has been a lie. Everything he just said to me is a lie. He doesn’t see any of that light within me like the woman he portrayed in that painting.

  And I let him do it.

  “Are you really the Devil?” I ask hoarsely. “Tell me once and for all.”

  “No,” he says so surely, I almost relax. “But he’s my father.”

  I tremble, a muffled cry escaping me, because I know it’s true.

  I think deep down I should’ve known. Why would anything good happen to me now? After I begged for help from anyone who’d listen with no answer.

  Grandmother is probably rolling around in her grave. A boy literally hotter than Hell itself, the son of the Devil, expressing his affections toward me.

  And I just saw his sister murder someone.

  “Lily?”

  His nod is affirming.

  God help me.

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” I retort around clenched teeth.

  “You know why.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I spit. “Who is she? The girl in the painting.”

  “Her name was Camilla Blanch. She was a French nursemaid during the revolution.”

  My eyes flutter close. Mouth dries.

  “Why does she look like me?”

  “I don’t know,” he answers.

  I can see it in his eyes that he means it. There’s so much hurt there.

  “And you knew her?”

  “Very well,” he whispers.

  His voice cracks. Goes hoarse.

  For a moment, the light I sometimes see when he looks at me appears. But when he blinks and gazes down at me, it’s nowhere to be seen.

  Because it was never meant for me.

  It was meant for a girl he knew two hundred years ago.

  My knuckles are white, cramping around the pole.

  I push it forward.

  Because you can’t kill what’s already dead.

  Luke grunts.

  He looks down as the red tipped spikes sink into his lower stomach. I watch as blood soaks through the t-shirt, almost surprised that he does bleed.

  When he looks up at me, his eyes are crimson.

  The whites in his eyes are completely gone. His black irises barely visible.

  His lips are pulled back, his teeth clenched.

  And the truth is, I’m not even afraid. I’m hurt.

  There’s nothing on this Earth that scares me more than my life with Grandmother. That would have me fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness for whatever sin she falsely placed on me. Demons be damned.

  I lean into him, feel the metal further piercing through the layer of fat and muscle. I get real close to his face, so close I can feel his hiss on my lips.

  “I hate you.”

  I release the handle and turn away. Continue following the path back to the main road, knowing he’s going to follow me.

  There’s a loud huff of air right before the sound of metal landing on metal.

  Luke gives me my space until we reach his car. I should probably run to the church up the road, but what would I tell them? The boy who drove me here is a demon? Actually, he’s the son of Lucifer? They’d drown me in holy water, then send me to a mental hospital. And I can’t run from him anyway. He’ll just catch me.

  So I make it easier on myself. Luke opens the passenger side door for me but I don’t take his hand to help me into the car. I face forward, even when he gets in the car.

  “Lily is cleaning up her mess,” he says when we leave without her.

  I didn’t ask.

  We’re completely silent the entire ride home. Even with soft music playing, I can hear my heart beating in my head. My breathing is jagged and my mind is numb.

  If I disappear into the seat, maybe I can make it out alive. And then pray that they’ll leave town and not return for another hundred years or so. They can go back to Hell for all I care.

  The town, and consequently my friends, will be safer without them around.

  By the time he pulls up to the curb, the sun has started to peek out.

  The gearshift is loud when he puts the car in park.

  I turn to open the door but he locks it. A rational person would be afraid.

  Luke leans back and settles against the head rest, looking drained.

  “I’ve known you for a long time.”

  I repeat what I told him not an hour ago.

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know your defiance only scares you because it was beat out of you, but it was always in you. You’ve had a desire to fight authority your entire life. I know you always felt like you were being punished for actions you never committed, and you were. Everything you’ve been through prior to living here wasn’t your fault. And according to your grandmother’s rules, kissing me”—I shiver—“was probably your first real act of sin and it tasted so good you’re afraid it will never be enough.”

  “Anyone could have guessed that.”

  He smirks.

  “You’re afraid to be yourself because whenever you are, you feel a little more bad. A little more uncontrollable. Afraid you won’t be able to pull yourself back to the version your friends enjoy being around. And you should be afraid.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat.

  “Why?”

  “Because your soul’s tainted. I can feel it. Every time I see you it’s a little bit darker.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say slowly.

  “I don’t either. I’ve never met someone whose soul has been so tainted, so quickly. You’re not a murderer and you’re not a sinner, so, your soul should be one of the purest ones I’ve come across…yet it never was. Even when we first crossed paths.”

  “And how do you know my soul is tainted? What do you mean you can feel it?”

  His look tells me I should know the answer.

  I do know.

  I get out of the car. Climb the stairs. Push open the door. Tiptoe back into my bedroom. Shut the door firmly behind me.

  I’m completely unsurprised to see Luke sitting on the edge of my bed.

  “How did you do that?”

  I blink and then he’s standing in front of me.

  I jump back, bumping into the door.

  I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wood.

  “If you’re going to kill me, do it already.”

  He gives a cocky snicker.

  “What makes you so certain I want you dead?”

  My answer shouldn’t feel so heavy, but it is, like asking someone what they hate most about themselves. “It’s the way you look at me.”

  He’s quiet for some time.

  I sniff and look up to the popcorn ceiling to try to keep the tears at bay. “Like I’m not the person you wish I would be.”

  “It’s because you’re not—”

  I don’t want to hear another word. “If you’re not going to kill me,” I snap, “then I’d like for you to leave.”

&n
bsp; “Calla—”

  “I said leave.” I want to stomp and point to the door but can’t move.

  “Okay.” But before he leaves, Luke turns to the unique mirror sitting on my dresser. “Where did you get this?”

  I cross my arms over my chest and hug myself, responding softly, “It was a gift.”

  “May I?” He motions toward it.

  He doesn’t wait for a response.

  Luke’s footsteps are light yet fall firm as he approaches my dresser. I watch warily as he reaches up to caress the soft wood, his fingers brushing over his family emblem. “It’s held up beautifully after all these years.”

  Minutes pass silently until he pulls away from the mirror. I can see nostalgia in his eyes and don’t want to break it. When he finds his own gaze in the mirror, and it softens, I wonder what he sees. Who is looking back at him.

  “This was Camilla’s. I had this made for her after one of the children she looked after broke hers. She died later that day.”

  My stomach churns. Hearing him speak softly about the ghost of a woman he clearly had strong feelings for. And completely revolted that all he’ll ever see in me is her.

  “Please leave.”

  I move away from the door to give him room to exit. He reaches me in two steps, pressing me against the wall once again. His hand hovers over my cheek and I see it trembling from the corner of my eye. He’s waiting for my permission, but I don’t give it to him.

  “Go,” I whisper hoarsely.

  He does without another word, like I knew he would.

  My eyes are glued to the floor and remain there until I hear his footsteps retreat down the hall. I stand frozen in the same spot until the front door shuts and the stairs begin to squeak.

  Then I fall apart.

  Every emotion I’ve ever felt crashes down onto my shoulders. My knees are the first to give out. I fall forward and brace myself on the dresser. My hand covers my mouth. My shoulders shake as my stomach tries to empty, but its contents are already gone.

  I swallow the acid back down and grimace at its burn, slamming my palm on the dresser and taking in a chest full of air.

  My skin is gray even in the dim light. There’s a thin layer of sweat across my forehead, making the hair closest to my skin stick to it. My lips are chapped, and the harder I breathe, the more I feel like they’re going to crack.

  I try to gulp a large breath but I release a wheeze instead. I refuse to break. I refuse to break because of him.

  I lean forward, looking further into the mirror. My eyes concern me the most. No longer are they even remotely expressive. He’s right. The light within them is fading. I wouldn’t be able to pick them out as mine.