Misfit

by Jon Skovron

  “Really,” says Jael. “I don’t think Alaska—”

  “At least I have a plan,” her father says. “You haven’t even thought this through. You want to make it up as you go along, just like you always do. And look where it’s gotten you.”

  “I’ve made my choices and I stick by them!” growls Dagon.

  “You don’t know anything about mortals!” shouts her father.

  “You don’t know anything about taking care of a child—”

  “Hey,” says Jael, “I’m not a—”

  “Oh, yeah, Father Paul,” says Dagon, putting his hands on his hips and leering at him. “Because you’ve been a model parent. So supportive and loving.”

  “Damn you!” says her father. “I’ve done everything—”

  “Everything but accept her for who she really is. Everything but believe in what Astarte was trying to do,” says Dagon.

  “What I am still trying to do.”

  “Get it through those thick scales of yours!” says her father.

  “There isn’t going to be a Reclamation! You will never be gods again! I won’t stand by and watch you throw her life away on your delusions!”

  “STOP IT!” shouts Jael.

  Her father and her uncle look down at her in surprise, almost as if they had forgotten she was there.

  “You’re not even trying to figure this out anymore. You’re just fighting,” she says as she stands up and walks away from them. Then she turns back, her arms folded on her chest. She gives them both a level stare. “Well, since neither of you seems to have a good plan, what about my idea?”

  They look at each other, then back at her.

  “And?” says her father. “What is your idea?”

  “I’m just going to stay right here.”

  “Jael,” says her father. He takes a step toward her. “You don’t really have the full picture yet of the kind of danger you’re in—”

  “No, I think I get it, Dad. Scary monsters are after me, my life span is probably going to be short, and there’s nothing either of you can do to stop that. So if I’ve only probably got a few years at best, I want to at least try to enjoy it.”

  “That’s fine, kid,” says Dagon, “I get that. But don’t you want to do something more interesting? Go places?”

  “I have been places. I have done interesting things. And I am so lonely,” she says and she has to fight to keep the tears away.

  “My mom said I have a right to my mortal life and my demon life. I want both. I want to learn about being a demon. I want to know everything I can about my mother and my family. But I also want friends my own age! Real friends, for once. We’ve been here two years and I’m so close, Dad. If I leave now, you take it all away again.”

  “You’re saying you want to keep going to Our Lady of Mercy?” asks her father, not bothering to hide his shock.

  “Hey, come on,” says Dagon, nudging him. “A demon in Catholic school? Could be good for some laughs.”

  Her father glares at him.

  “Okay, okay,” says Dagon. “In all seriousness, I think this could work. Maybe not for a long time, but for a little while. It might even be the best option. Think about it. We know who everyone is. We know who might become a problem.”

  “But how is she going to fit in?”

  “She’s half mortal. Holy objects don’t affect her.”

  “We don’t know that for sure,” says her father. “In fact, as far as her traits and abilities, we don’t know anything for sure. We’re flying completely blind here. Unleashing her on an unsuspecting population of mortal high school students could be catastrophic.”

  “Unleash me?” says Jael. “Jesus, Dad, you make it sound like I’m some kind of menace.”

  “Of course you aren’t,” he says, maybe a little too quickly.

  “But . . .”

  “But what, Dad?”

  “Yeah, Father Paul,” says Dagon, a touch of hardness in his voice. “But what?”

  He looks at them with a helpless expression.

  “Please, Dad,” says Jael. “Give me a chance to show you this can work.”

  He is silent for a little while and just stares off into a corner of the room, his face tense. Then at last he takes a breath and says, “If we did this, you would have to promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “You cannot talk to anyone about this. Believe me, people will not understand. There will be times when you’ll be tempted, for whatever reason. But no matter how nice they seem, once you turn their world upside down like that, they will not thank you for that. The truth will terrify them, and they will project that fear on you. Is that clear?”

  “Yeah, I get it. Dad, I’ve had to keep this to myself since I was eight. I’m pretty good at it by now.”

  “It’s different now,” says her father. “We don’t know what you might be capable of. People could get hurt.”

  “There you go talking about me like some kind of walking disaster again!”

  “Just . . . promise me,” says her father. “The moment someone even gets suspicious, or if you accidentally do something that makes you stand out in any way, you will tell me.”

  “Us,” says Dagon.

  “Us,” says her father reluctantly.

  “I promise,” says Jael.

  He stares at her for a moment longer, then nods. “Fine. We’ll try it. For now.”

  Jael lets out a slow breath and her stomach knots start to unkink.

  “Thanks, Dad,” she says.

  Her father says nothing. Instead he goes back to staring into the corner. Jael follows his line of sight and realizes he’s staring at the broken silver pendant clasp from the necklace.

  Jael wonders what it means to him to see it there, empty and useless.

  “I think,” he says at last, “that if Jael is going to insist on going to school tomorrow, we should get to bed.”

  * * *

  LIFE AS A SUCCUBUS 10

  The next morning, it takes Jael a while to get out of bed. Not because she’s tired. In fact, she feels more awake, more energized, than she ever thought possible. No, what keeps her from getting out of bed is the fact that everything looks, sounds, and smells amazing. Last night she had been too distracted by the argument to really take it all in. But now, the way the sunlight glances through the window, the way dust motes drift through the air, and even the weaving cracks of the hardwood floor seem so fascinating that she can hardly tear herself way from them. It’s as if these inanimate objects call to her in some strange way.

  Eventually she makes it through her morning routine and down to the kitchen. She finds her father sitting at the table, flipping through student assignments.

  “Jael,” he says quietly.

  “Morning, Dad. Running late?”

  “No,” he says.

  If he never needed to leave so early, Jael wonders, why did he? She almost wants to ask, but doesn’t. She’s in too good a mood to spoil it.

  She reaches into the cupboard for a cereal bowl, but the thought of eating cereal suddenly nauseates her. Instead she scans the fridge, looking for something more appealing. The figs are all gone, but there’s a bunch of asparagus and for some bizarre reason, they look really tasty. She grabs the whole bunch, sits down at the table, and begins to chew them raw.

  “Your mother was the same way,” her father says quietly.

  “She only ate live food.”

  Jael freezes, a stalk of asparagus halfway to her mouth.

  “Live?”

  “No meat,” her father says quickly. “She never ate meat.

  And nothing cooked or cured or frozen. Just raw fresh fruit and vegetables.”

  Jael continues eating. She’s never really cared for asparagus much, but now it tastes incredible. Rich and sharp, with plenty of satisfying crunch.

  “Does this mean I’m an herbivore?” she asks.

  “I believe so,” he said.

  “Are all . . . um . . . demons herbivores?
”

  “Ah, no,” says her father. “Definitely not.”

  The way he says it, Jael is afraid to ask for more details.

  Instead, she just eats her vegetables in silence. After a little while, she says, “Where’s, uh . . . Uncle Dagon?” She’s still getting used to having an uncle, human or demon.

  “Hell,” he says. “He had to work.”

  She eats another stalk of asparagus. Then she says, “Is he coming back?”

  “When he can.”

  “Okay.” She’s not sure why the idea of having a giant, hulking fish monster shambling around the house makes her feel better, but it does. She finishes the last of her asparagus, then stands up and grabs her bag.

  “Bring extra snacks,” says her father. “You’ll probably get hungry more often now.”

  “Sure. Fine.” She carries her bag over to the fridge and dumps a bunch of grapes into it.

  “Just . . . be careful today,” her father says. “Don’t draw too much attention to yourself.”

  “Dad, if there’s one thing I’ve learned with you dragging me from school to school my whole life, it’s how to blend in.”

  “Right, like the way you blended in yesterday at Mass.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she says, and heads out the door, relieved to get away from him and all his negativity. She feels amazing. Better than she ever has in her entire life. She can handle anything.

  School is going to be a breeze.

  But a problem surfaces as she walks to school. She thought the objects in her room were interesting. Outside, it’s much more intense. The green of the trees; the yellows, reds, and blues of the small houses; and the rainbow cascades of flowers all sparkle in the faint sunlight. Every smell hits her nose like a surprise.

  Pine, bam! Rose, bam! Grass, bam! The sounds of insects and cars, birds and planes, all work together harmonically and rhythmically, as if improvised by jazz musicians. It’s all so fascinating that she has to force herself to keep walking; she knows that once she stops, she’ll never make it to school.

  She’s so impressed with the simple gardens in her neighborhood that she expects to be blown away by her new view of the sleek sports cars and SUVs that pack the school parking lot. But as she weaves through the clusters of vehicles—some empty, some containing students applying last-minute makeup or sucking down one last cigarette—the hulking clumps of metal all seem somehow frail. Like they could collapse on their occupants at any moment.

  Jael watches Rob’s friend Chas climb out of his shiny black SUV. The massive vehicle seems like it’s barely holding together. And come to think of it, Chas himself, who seemed so cool yesterday, looks like he’s barely holding together as well.

  There’s something precarious and desperate about both him and the vehicle. A panic just below the skin. It’s such a distinct feeling, almost like she can smell it on him.

  It occurs to her that she is now just standing on the walkway in front of the school and openly staring at Chas and that Chas is staring back at her. She quickly turns and hurries up the front steps. She has to prove to her father that she can blend in As she passes through the front door, she realizes that her socks aren’t pulled up. She braces herself for the inevitable reprimand from Father Aaron. But it doesn’t come, so Jael just keeps going. She resists the urge to look and see if Father Aaron is paying attention.

  On her walk to homeroom, Jael notices that Chas isn’t the only one. Other people she passes in the hallway are staring at her. Full on, blatantly staring. Is she unconsciously doing some weird demon thing? Are horns at this very moment sprouting from her head? She detours into the bathroom.

  She looks into the mirror. Nothing has changed since the morning except her hair, which seems even more unruly than ever. But there are no glowing demon eyes, no horns or scales or bat wings sprouting from her head. She wets her hands and takes a few pathetic swipes at her hair. It’s hopeless, though, and anyway, she has about three minutes to get to homeroom.

  She’s just going to have to deal with the occasional stares from her classmates.

  But “occasional” isn’t the word for it. As she continues down the hall, everyone she passes gives her a look almost like amazement. No, more like hunger. Like she’s a candy bar. Or a supermodel. Is she doing this to them? Her mother was a succubus. So has Jael inherited some kind of succubus vibe?

  Well, if that’s the worst part of being a demon, she’s in pretty good shape. So she’s magically gotten hotter overnight. How bad can that be, really? People will probably get over it pretty quickly.

  She heads for her chair, trying to pretend like most of the room isn’t staring at her.

  She hears Rob’s voice. “Hey, Betty. How’s—”

  The moment she looks at him, he freezes. His mouth is open and his eyes are so wide she can see the whites all the way around.

  “What?” she says.

  He blinks a few times and closes his mouth.

  “Wow,” he says. “Uh . . .” Then he freezes again.

  “Hello?” she says.

  “Uh-h-h-huh . . .” He sputters like a broken-down car and then just looks away.

  Throughout class, other students keep turning and glancing at her, trying to look like they aren’t staring and failing miserably.

  Rob, on the other hand, stares fixedly at his desk.

  “Rob,” says Ms. Spielman. “Can you tell me what that angle is?”

  “Uh . . . Sorry, Ms. Spielman. Can you repeat the question?”

  “What is going on with everyone today?” says Ms. Spielman.

  “Are you all asleep?”

  No, thinks Jael. They’re trying not to stare at the demon freak.

  When the bell rings, Jael lets everyone else leave first. Even then, people look over their shoulder at her so much that they bump into one another. When the rest of the students have all filed out, she gets up to go.

  Ms. Spielman says, “Jael, can you stay for a minute?”

  “Sure,” she says.

  Ms. Spielman squints at her for a moment but thankfully she doesn’t have the same hungry look on her face that everyone else does.

  “How did your talk with Father Ralph go?”

  “Oh,” says Jael. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Jael,” says Ms. Spielman, and then she hesitates, like she’s trying to decide if she’s going to say something or not. “I like your father enormously. He’s a wonderful teacher and a very bright man. But I could see how it would be . . . difficult to live with him. I imagine there’s a lot of pressure on you right now.

  So you need to have someone—and I’m not saying it’s me or one of the priests—but you need to have someone to talk to. To be completely open and honest with.”

  “Yeah,” says Jael. “I think things are going to be better now.

  My uncle came into town and he’s straightened up some stuff for me.”

  “Well, that’s great,” says Ms. Spielman. “You know, your father never mentioned that he had a brother.”

  “Oh, he doesn’t. It’s my mom’s brother.”

  “Your . . . ,” she starts to say, then stops. Then she just smiles and nods. “Wonderful.” Jael has noticed that most people react that way when she brings up her mother. Like they have to be extra gentle with her. Then Ms. Spielman’s smile drops away again. “But you still need to talk to Father Ralph again.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you demolished his textbook.”

  “Oh,” says Jael. “Right.”

  As she makes her way to her social ethics class, weaving in and out of boys who are so spellbound by her that they seem unable to even move out of the way, she decides that she’s already over this hotness vibe or whatever it is. Maybe for other girls, this is a dream come true. But for Jael it’s just creepy.

  She bursts into the classroom like it’s some kind of refuge.

  But as she makes her way to her seat, she hears chairs shift and conversations trail off. She pulls out her Bible, flips it open,
and pretends that she’s totally engrossed in it.

  The Mons comes drifting into the classroom, looking as peaceful and serene as usual. He turns to face the class, a gentle smile on his lips.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he says. “Today, we will be talking about—”

  Then he sees Jael. He doesn’t do the hotness stare. Instead, his kind old face twists into a look of utter horror. Jael buries her face back in her Bible. The room is completely silent for what seems like an eternity. Then at last she hears the Mons clear his throat.

  “Yes, as I was saying,” he says. His peaceful smile returns, but there’s something forced and unconvincing about it. “Today we are discussing the parable of the Good Samaritan.” He keeps the smile up, but throughout class, while he talks on and on as usual about the kindness of Jesus Christ, his eyes keep darting back to Jael. And there is no kindness in his gaze.

  When the bell rings at the end of class, Jael thinks he’s going to ask her to stay behind. She can’t imagine what he knows or thinks he knows, and she braces herself for something crazy.

  But instead of approaching her, he’s the first one out the door.

  In a way, that worries her more. Could someone like the Mons really spot the demon in her that easily? She promised her father that she would tell him the moment someone seemed suspicious.

  It hasn’t even been a whole day yet, and already things feel like they’re getting out of control. Maybe her plan really is stupid.

  Maybe she really should just give up and resign herself to life as a telemarketer in Alaska.

  No. She’s not going to give up that easily. And maybe this can all be fixed. If she’s doing some invisible demon thing unconsciously, her uncle can probably tell her how to stop doing it. Just get through the end of the day, she thinks. After all, it’s just people looking at her funny. No one’s actually doing anything.

  “Hi, Jael.”

  “Hey, Jael.”

  “Yo, Jael.”

  The boys are over the shy stage. They wave to her or call out to her in the hallway as she walks to lunch. How do they even know her name? It isn’t like she’s ever talked to any of them before. She’s never even had a class with most of them.