The Demon's Game (The Guardian Series Book 4)

by Rain Oxford

  I pushed Hail off me before getting out of the car and handing him his schedule. When Drake refused to leave the car, Hail and I turned away to give them privacy and checked our schedules for the first time. We both had advanced core subjects, but I had P.E. first period, family and consumer science right before lunch, and archery last period. Hail had wresting first period, economics right before lunch, and archery last period. At least we had a class together.

  “We only have one class together?! That’s ridiculous. Wait until Dad hears about this! He’ll set them straight!”

  “Leave Dad out of this; he has enough work to do. We can either deal with this ourselves, or just live with it. We have lunch together and archery. I’m sure we can go three hours without---”

  “Absolutely not!” Hail yelled in my head. “You need me in case the darkness tries something!”

  There was no reasoning with him at this point. “Okay, Hail. We’ll figure something out, but we’ll leave Dad out of it. Let’s just head to breakfast.” Food was the best way to get Hail out of one of his moods. Luckily, Drake was finally forced from the car, so he could lead us to the cafeteria. Hail and I immediately flanked him in case anyone wanted to tease him about anything, or in case he suddenly collapsed. Dad said he was in recovery, but we weren’t going to risk anything happening to him.

  I laughed when we found out they were serving eggs and toast for breakfast, then I told the lunch lady that Hail loved eggs and needed extra. The joke was on me; he made me eat all his eggs. After breakfast, Hail walked me to each of my classes so he knew where I would be. I wouldn’t have expected anything less.

  P.E. was frustrating; I had to run in my jeans after being yelled at for not having shorts. I considered it for a few minutes before deciding I didn’t need him for anything. Coach McDaniel would suffer for his insolence. He was a burly man with just as much fat as muscle, short, greasy hair, baggy shorts, and a loud whistle. At first, I was going to let him slide since everyone has a bad day, according to Dad, but then he yelled at me for not running fast enough. I brushed by him and to him, it felt like a static shock. What had actually happened was that I gave him a dose of bad luck. It wasn’t two minutes later that he was stung by a bee. If he was even remotely intelligent, he would realize that the worse he treated someone, the more bad things will happen to him.

  Hail met me after class to walk me to math. “How was wrestling?” I asked.

  He noted my sweaty shirt and shrugged. “Boring. I just filled out paperwork. Why are you all sweaty?”

  “We had to run. I don’t think I’ll like that class. I’m going to have to train my teacher to be a nice person.”

  My brother growled and stopped in the middle of the hallway. “Was he mean to you?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Like I said, I’ll deal with him.” Hail let it go, for now.

  My first actual class was hallmark (advanced) math. My teacher was Mr. Cardigan, a cleanly dressed man about Dad’s size. This was the number-one teacher I needed to impress in order to skip sixth grade. It wasn’t just my brilliant mind I had to show him, but my mature behavior as well; I had to show him that I could act like a seventh grader.

  He told me what I needed for class, introduced me to everyone, and assigned me a seat up front. The desks were small and in neat rows, each with a student. Most of them were busy talking, even though their assignment was on the board in front of them. Perhaps everyone was done with the assignment and had a moment of free time.

  I pulled my notebook and pencil out of my bag and did the assignment, which was to convert improper fractions to mixed numbers and vice versa. That was something Dad showed me to do several years before.

  Apparently, this was new for them, because the teacher spent all class explaining it. Most of the students weren’t listening the first time, so he had to spend the rest of the class explaining it to each individual student. I wondered with disdain if this was how public school normally ran, and if so, why any person in the world would want to be a teacher.

  After finishing my assignment within a few minutes, I helped the students seated around my desk. A couple of students wanted to chat and after realizing they had no intention to learn, I walked away from them. I didn’t want to be friends with the humans, especially since I wouldn’t be in the same grade as them the next year. If Dad thought I was making friends and was happy here, it was possible he would decide we should stay on Earth. As much as I understood this was Dad’s home world, it wasn’t mine. I didn’t want to live on a world where the people would try to kill me just for having magic.

  When the bell rang, the students gathered their stuff and ran out the door, cutting the teacher off mid-sentence. Since my next class was right across the hall, I stayed back to help him pick up the trash. Hail came in to check on me, saw what I was doing, and started helping without saying a word.

  “Thank you, Ron,” Mr. Cardigan said. “Who is this?”

  “This is my brother, Hail. He’s in sixth grade. Hopefully, we’ll both be in seventh grade next year.”

  “You’re trying to skip sixth grade?”

  “Yes, sir.” Obviously. A sarcastic comment came to mind, which was very odd, for I wasn’t a sarcastic person in the least. Luckily, I knew most things that came to mind were better left unsaid, and it was natural for me to think over my words several times before speaking.

  “Sixth grade is a hard year.”

  “I can handle it, sir. I want to be in the same class as my brother.”

  “Well, this is hallmark math, so I teach many sixth grade concepts. Do well and I’ll recommend you skip.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cardigan. Have a good day.” I walked out, taking Hail’s hand.

  “Did anyone bother you?” he asked.

  I smiled. “Nope. The kids were annoying, though. I’ll deal with them later. “How was science?”

  “I don’t like the teacher. She’s weird. Not like, funny weird, like when Dad does that Star Wars thing with the pen, but ‘lady with thirty cats’ weird. She smells odd, too, like dirt. I don’t like it here, and I don’t like it with you being on the other side of the school. What if something happens? We could skip next class.”

  “No way. Dad would kill us. I’ll be fine, Hail. Nobody is going to attack me, the darkness is quiet, and nobody suspects anything. If something happens, I will stop time and come get you. Now don’t be tardy.”

  He nodded, regretfully, and hugged me before watching me walk into my classroom. English was better because the class was small and I knew I would actually learn stuff. The structure of English and Sudo were very different. While Dad was very good at English grammar, he was much better at teaching math and science. In FACS, I made lasagna, which impressed the pants off my teacher, and shared it with Hail for lunch.

  After lunch, I had history. I knew something was wrong right off the bat when I walked into the classroom. For one thing, the energy of the room was weird, but the more noticeable warning was the smell; the teacher smelled like a graveyard. It wasn’t just dirt; there was rot on her, too. She smiled kindly until she saw me and froze.

  “Are you Ronez Yatunus?” she asked me, not friendly, but not rudely either.

  “Ron, yes.”

  “I am Mrs. Sharp. Take a seat over there by the window.”

  As I made my way to the window, Drake entered the room, dragging his bag behind him. He loved his bag so much that his abuse could only mean he was really lethargic. On his way across the room, Mrs. Sharp stopped him, put her hand on his shoulder, and leaned down to speak quietly to him.

  “How are you feeling today, Drake?”

  “I’m okay.”

  Except he obviously wasn’t.

  “That’s good. I’m glad you’re back with us. Let me know if you feel like you need to go lay down. I understand.” She let him go and he took a seat behind me.

  I turned to him and put my hand on his. He smiled weakly at me, taking my gesture as friendship. I ran my magic through him and
shuddered at the sickness in him. Oddly, some of it was warm and some of it was cold. If it made any sense, I would say that someone was taking his healthy energy and the sickness was growing stronger.

  I knew, for my family’s safety, I couldn’t heal him all at once, but I wasn’t going to let him suffer any more than he had to. I filled him with energy once again and let go. My energy would replace his lethargy with health and hold back the sickness until I could do more.

  Turning back to watch the teacher, I waited to feel the weakness myself. Every time I healed someone, I felt their pain as if it were my own… but it didn’t come. There was no weakness. I looked back at Drake, just a quick glance. Although he seemed a little better, my power should have had a much stronger effect on him.

  As I listened to the teacher talk about the holocaust, I learned everything I could about Mrs. Sharp. She knew her history without a doubt and was a great storyteller. The details and descriptions made it interesting enough to pay attention, but I was more concerned about her mind. There were different depths of reading a person’s mind, just as some people had very open minds and some minds were more difficult to read.

  Hers was blocked.

  It was obvious that some form of magic protected her thoughts and while I was powerful enough to break down those defenses, I would have been detected. Whatever she was, this called for stealth.

  Science was uneventful. My teacher was most definitely human and was quite possibly the most boring person in the world. He droned on for what felt like hours and hours without a simple inflection in voice or tone until I knew I could sleep through it. My conclusion was to either shake things up or bring my pillow to school.

  Hail was waiting impatiently for me to make my way out of the classroom before eagerly heading for archery. When we entered the field, the first thing I noticed was a group of students huddled together. The field was right between two school buildings; one containing the fifth and sixth graders, and the other containing the seventh and eighth graders. Apparently archery was for all middle school students, because it was mostly seventh and eighth graders in this particular cluster. Dad had warned me about older kids in large numbers.

  The teacher only had to show us how to do it once. Hail was very athletic and was able to fire the arrow like a pro from the very first time. I had trouble pulling the string back. I was small for a fifth grader and the bow was large, but I was determined to be at the top of the class, right under Hail. If I couldn’t do it their way, I would do it mine. With magic guiding my fingers, I aimed the arrow and released the string.

  The teacher was impressed, but Hail had expected my success. I couldn’t see myself being an archer, but Hail really liked it and I was happy to have a class together. Even better was the fact that Drake was in class with us. When we saw him sitting over on the benches by himself, I went to sit with him. Hail nodded to me in acknowledgment.

  “Hi, Drake, are you feeling better?” I took his hand gently and let my magic heal just a little bit of the bad energy.

  “Yeah. It’s been a good day.”

  “Why aren’t you using the bow? Did nobody give you a turn?”

  “I’m still not better from chemo. I can’t pull the string enough.”

  “Then why did you take archery?”

  “Because I used to love it and it’s better than P.E. But now I can’t do it,” he said. He wasn’t crying, but sadness came off him in waves, so I hugged him.

  “It’ll get better now. Hail and I will help you get better. And if anyone bothers you, Hail will kick their butt. He’s a great big brother.” When class was over, Stacy picked us up and brought us back to her apartment.

  Mom was supposed to be home right after school… but she wasn’t. Dad was supposed to be home by six… but he wasn’t. Drake’s dad didn’t come home either, but he called home and said there had been a major accident and it would be hours before anyone got off. I helped Stacy cook dinner as Hail helped Drake with his homework.

  We had spaghetti in front of the T.V. and saw on the news that there had been a major car pileup involving two semi-trucks and many cars. Stacy switched it over to cartoons and said we shouldn’t worry about it. Hail and I did worry, though. Dad tried to save people using medicine, but sometimes it wasn’t enough and he had to resort to magic. That usually damaged any nearby electrical equipment. Not only that, but Dad felt the pain of those he healed with magic, so he would be exhausted, hurting, and frustrated by the time he made it home.

  When nobody was home by bedtime, we had a sleepover. Drake, Hail, and I built a little fort in the living room and told ghost stories before bed. Hail and I told Drake the story of a demon hunting a little baby and a brave hero who saved him with magic. We didn’t tell him it was a true story.

  * * *

  Mordon woke us early in the morning and took us home, where Dad was asleep and Mom looked exhausted. Our morning was typical and too short. Having a structured day was no fun at all. I loved not knowing what would happen next, who I would meet, or what enemies I would face. Instead, we went to school, where I found myself being forced to run in shorts that were way too big. Since Dad didn’t come home in time to get me some shorts, I was wearing a pair Hail had outgrown, but they were big enough to fit two of me in.

  By the end of class, I was sweaty and angry with the coach. Apparently, he didn’t get the hint with my harmless little jinx, so my mercy was at an all-time low. I always loved the story of Pinocchio. Until I deemed him thoroughly punished, the P.E. teacher would find his nose growing every time he yelled at anyone.

  Hail was waiting to walk me to math. “What has you grinning?” he asked.

  “I just took care of something. Why are you all wet?”

  Hail was wearing a white t-shirt with jeans. He looked down at his drenched shirt. “Wrestling. I spent more time holding back my strength than anything else.”

  “That’s good for you.”

  The highlight of the morning was making chocolate cookies in FACS, which Hail loved. I was barely able to set one aside for Drake before Hail ate them all. Then my brother complained all during lunch that my food was way better than cafeteria food.

  Mrs. Sharp was polite, though she seemed very distracted during class that day. She gave Drake a pat on the back, but didn’t say anything to him. Luckily, he was doing better. It wasn’t until archery that things went bad.

  Once again, the seventh and eighth grade students were gathered together, but this time they were surrounding someone. I pointed them out to Hail. When we saw one student hold up a little red, wool hat, we both ran to them, stopping just outside the circle. The group consisted of boys who were laughing, but we could hear Drake crying. Hail inhaled quickly and with a voice and volume similar to Mordon’s when the dragon was angry, he barked, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  The boys spooked and separated to face the threat until they saw us. One of them laughed. “Get the fuck out of here, kid, unless you want your face smashed in.”

  Hail ignored the stranger, checked Drake over with his eyes, and held out his hand. Drake was kneeling in the mud, his face red with tears. When he didn’t move, I started to help him. The lead boy moved towards me. He may have just been trying to block my way, but Hail never took chances when it came to my safety. Before the tall boy could take two steps towards me, Hail had him on the ground and was pounding into him.

  “Hail! No!” I yelled at my brother, but it was too late.

  The guy was screaming, probably with broken ribs. Other boys tried unsuccessfully to get Hail off him, for my brother was far stronger than any human. I finally got close enough to put my arms around him and he instantly froze. He wouldn’t risk hurting me with his quick and powerful movements. I put my head on his shoulder and sent calming thoughts to him. I didn’t know many calming thoughts, though, so I just thought about the hot springs at home.

  It would help me to calm him down if the boy underneath him would stop screaming.

  Th
en there were teachers pulling us apart. One of them was calling an ambulance for the screaming kid while Hail was being taken to the office. I pulled Drake up and took him, still crying, to the office. I didn’t wait for the secretary to send me in; I just went straight to the principal. When I opened the door to find the big man glaring at Hail, I scoffed. Glaring at my brother would just add fuel to his fire.

  The principal studied Drake with concern. “Drake, what happened, buddy?”

  “The eighth graders took my hat and called me baldy.”

  For the first time I realized that he didn’t have any hair. His hat was cute and when he was on the ground, there were more important matters than his hair… or lack of. Did he shave his head because he was sick? Dad told me about cultures that did funny things with their hair, but Drake seemed really upset about it.

  “The same eighth graders that Samhail got in a fight with?”

  Drake nodded, a fresh load of tears dripping down his cheeks. “He was protecting me and Ron.”

  “Fighting is still wrong,” the principal said.

  “But self-defense isn’t.”

  We all turned to see Dad standing there in the doorway, wearing his light blue pajamas. Dad explained to me that the doctors wore light blue scrubs and the nurses wore dark blue ones. I knew Dad hated leaving work with his work pajamas on, so he must have been very worried.

  “Dr. Yatunus?”

  “That’s me. Want to explain why my nine-year-old needed protection from your eighth graders?”

  “You came quickly.”

  “You said my son was in a fight and an ambulance was called. I figured it was for the other kid, but I thought I should head over anyway. Now, I know very well Hell will protect his brother to the ends of the Earth and I also know he has every right to. If you want to teach your students not to stand up against bullying, that’s your business, but my boys know better and they’ll do what they feel is right.”

  “You call him ‘Hell’?”

  “It’s a loving nickname for my hellion. Don’t get me wrong, this is only the second time he got in trouble for fighting at school.”