In the Demon's Company (Demon's Assistant Book 2)

by Tori Centanni

  Guilt claws through my guts. My dad loves his job. Lives for his job. I don’t want him to be in trouble at his job because of me.

  “You want to tell me what’s going on?” he asks.

  I shake my head out of habit. Acid burns in my stomach. “I don’t know. Maybe she just wants to talk.” Except I know that’s not true. No one gets called into the Principal’s office to chat, especially not with their parents. “I only missed a few classes. And trust me, with everything that’s happened this week, there wasn’t a lot to miss.”

  “According to the receptionist, you’ve missed a lot more than that.”

  I swallow. My mouth feels dry. “Yeah, because we were out of town, remember?” We were in California for almost two weeks for my Nonna’s funeral.

  “I got the impression during our brief phone conversation that those weren’t the days she was talking about.”

  “She’s probably wrong.” She’s not. “It’s probably a mistake. Not a big deal.”

  “It’s a huge deal, Nicki. Your school called and told me you missed class and I couldn’t get a hold of you.” He gives me a disappointed look I haven’t seen in years, not since before mom died. It sucks the remaining oxygen from my lungs and I feel hollow, empty. “Do you know how terrifying that is? To be told your child isn’t where they’re supposed to be and not be able to reach them to make sure they’re not dead in a ditch?” His voice hitches on the last word. Mom did not die in a ditch, but we were run off the side of the road and into a tree, so it’s close enough.

  “I’m fine.”

  “But I didn’t know that!” His voice is too loud and tinged with agony.

  “I’m sorry.” My voice is small, pathetic. The stricken look on his face makes me feel like the worst person in the world. We’ve both lost people. We both know exactly how it feels. The seconds of panic and denial that twist into a stabbing pain, which tears open a wound in your being. To know I caused him even a moment of fear makes me feel horrible.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  In the administration office, Dad checks us in and we’re told to take a seat. He fumbles through a magazine and avoids looking at me. I stare at the wall of helpful brochures and try to find one applicable to me. Applying to College. Nope. Heading to community college, if at all. Teen Pregnancy. I really, really hope not. I take birth control and use condoms, but I know neither is perfect. Tutoring Program. My worst nightmare, extra school. Well, besides being sent to the principal’s office with my father.

  “Mr. Sorrentino?” the receptionist asks. “Mrs. Chander will see you and your daughter now.”

  My stomach churns. I’m not ready. I’m pretty sure I’ll never be ready. Dad stands and I follow him in. Mrs. Chander is sitting at her desk. Today she wears a red business suit and a terse smile, her black hair tied back into a ponytail. She gestures for us to sit.

  I’ve met Mrs. Chander twice before, once when I was given detention twice in a row and had to come to her office for a talk about classroom conduct—let’s just say colorful language is not really appreciated by Mr. Fink, the history teacher—and another time when she shook hands with the entire debate team after they returned from the State championship (I was there with Cam, who’s on the Debate team). She has a narrow, pointy nose and big brown eyes that can scream ‘disappointed parent.’

  “Mr. Sorrentino, I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.”

  “No,” my Dad says, smiling despite his obvious nerves. “We haven’t.” He’s a sales-slash-IT guy who sells security systems by installing them for corporate clients who’ve purchased the minimum plan. His main job is to talk them into all of the extra features. He’s good at turning on the charm.

  She nods at me. “Good afternoon, Nicolette.”

  “Nicki,” I correct. I let Azmos call me by my full name, because he’s my demon boss, but other than my Dad when he’s angry and some older relatives I rarely see, that’s it.

  “Of course,” she says pleasantly. “I’m sorry to call you in like this.” This is aimed solely at Dad. “Unfortunately, Nicki is facing an academic crisis.” She pauses to let the weight of that sink in. Having lived through a car accident that killed my mother and a stabbing by a crazy woman who hated my guts, I’d hardly call anything school related a crisis.

  Dad furrows his brow, concerned. Words like ‘crisis’ will do that to a person. “I don’t understand,” he says.

  “Well, to put it frankly, Mr. Sorrentino, with these kinds of grades, she’s going to have to repeat most of her classes unless something is done before the end of the semester.” Mrs. Chander types on her computer and hits a button. A laser printer on her bookshelf spits out a page. She grabs it and passes it across the desk. “Those are her grades as they stand going into Winter break.”

  It takes all of my willpower not to say something snarky. Everyone acts like school’s a matter of life and death but it’s really not. I’ve been faced with life and death more times than I care to count, especially this year, and it doesn’t look like a neatly printed sheet of paper.

  My dad reads the print out a few times and sets it gently on the desk. I snatch it. They can act like I’m not in the room, but they’re the ones who made me come in here. The grades are about what I’d expect. An A in Painting and Expression, a B in Spanish (a class I share with Cameron and Melissa), and Ds in all of the others, except Chemistry. I’m surprised at the C in Chemistry but then I remember we’ve done a lot of lab partner quizzes and my lab partner, Laurie, is some kind of science genius. Plus Mrs. Crane was always good at explaining things and putting a few easy questions on her quizzes. A pang of grief worms through me at the thought.

  Mrs. Chander doesn’t speak.

  Finally, Dad says, “It’s not great.”

  “No, it’s not,” she says firmly. She reminds me of a lawyer. “And then there’s the issue of attendance.”

  My stomach does a full rotation and then squeezes the contents. I swallow back bile. “I’ve been attending,” I say.

  “You have too many absences, and at least four are unexcused. I’m sure yesterday you were broken up about the untimely passing of Mrs. Crane, as we all were, but it doesn’t excuse ditching. Attendance isn’t just a rule, Ms. Sorrentino, it’s the law. The authorities take these things very seriously.” The last part is to my Dad, who finally looks sincerely worried. No, not just worried, frightened. “If you miss much more, you will be cited for truancy.”

  “It’s been a hard year. My mother passed away and I had to take Nicki out of town for the funeral,” Dad says, his voice cracking only a little on the word mother.

  “That was not a problem. She did her independent study work and that’s fine. I’m talking about the other classes missed, often in the middle of the day. She has at least a dozen this semester and some are excused with dubious notes.”

  “She has?” He gives me a questioning look and then shakes his head. “That’s my fault too. I’ve had to travel a lot for work, and I guess I haven’t been as strict as I should have been. I’m currently changing positions within the company, so that won’t be a problem anymore. I’ll make sure her grades and attendance,” he gives me pointed, pained look, “improve.”

  “I hope so. As it is, I’m afraid we have to suspend Ms. Sorrentino for the next four school days.”

  “What?” Dad asks.

  My stomach pushes more bile up my throat. I’m used to detention for accidentally swearing in class or missing homework or being tardy to class too many times, but suspension is a whole new level of punishment.

  “She’s suspended through next Wednesday,” Mrs. Chander says.

  “I don’t understand,” Day says, as if any part of this is unclear.

  “She cannot be on campus, Mr. Sorrentino. She can spend the time getting caught up and then return on Thursday to get a fresh start.”

  “No, I understand that. But isn’t that the opposite of what you want?” Leave it to my dad to try and find the logic where there is none.
<
br />   “Ideally, our young academics wouldn’t require this level of discipline.”

  “Ouch.” I don’t realize I spoke out loud until she narrows her eyes at me.

  “This is gravely serious, Ms. Sorrentino. You’re facing expulsion. One more unexcused absence, and you’ll be finding a new school. I assure you, that’s not as fun as it sounds. And if you continue to perform poorly in your classes, you will be stuck in summer school, or possibly repeating the entire year. Is that clear?”

  That is the last thing I want. Next year’s going to be bad enough without Cam at school, whether he’s at Stanford or here, going to the University of Washington. Two years of high school without him, the second without Melissa? I shudder at the thought. Maybe crisis was the right word.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say.

  “Good. Mr. Sorrentino, if you’d give me your e-mail address, I’ll subscribe you to our PTA newsletter. And this is for you.” She pulls out a giant folder, one of those fat ones that fans open. It’s so full that it has to be kept closed with a rubber-band. I take it from her. It’s as heavy as two textbooks. “This is your homework for the rest of the week, as provided by your teachers, including make-up work and extra credit to help you get those grades up. It’s advised you also contact classmates for notes, after school hours of course.”

  With that, we’re dismissed.

  “This is ridiculous,” I say, once we reach the parking lot.

  “How have you missed that much school?” Dad asks.

  “I told you, I get restless. I wasn’t built to sit all day.”

  “You have no problem sitting in front of the television when there’s a horror movie marathon.” Point, Dad.

  I shove the giant homework binder in the backseat with my bag. “That’s different. Those movies are awesome. School is stupid.”

  “Your education is not stupid.” He rubs the back of his neck.

  “It is stupid. I sit in classrooms for fifty minutes while teachers ramble and then they give us two hours of homework we could have at least started during that time.”

  “Nic, those lectures are—”

  “I’m not good at it. I should just quit.”

  “You can’t quit school. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.” We hit a stoplight and he turns and looks at me. He doesn’t look disappointed, just overwhelmed. I want to tell him I know the feeling.

  “I could do the online school thing. Or get my GED.”

  “You only have a year and a half left. And you don’t want to miss out on the fun parts of high school, do you?”

  “Dad, there are no fun parts. That only happens in movies.”

  Dad sighs. After a long pause, he says, “At least now you have plenty of time to catch up.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter, and look out the window. Sometimes I wish music in cars didn’t make me itchy because I could really go for some angry death metal right now.

  “I mean it. I don’t want you leaving the apartment without me, except to check the mail. Got it?”

  “I have a date tonight,” I say. “It’s the first time Cam and I get to hang out alone in forever.”

  “You’re going to have to cancel. You’re on lock down.”

  “You’re joking. You’re grounding me?” My dad has never grounded me, ever. In fact, the last time I was in trouble, my mom sent me to my room. This is unprecedented, but then so is having him dragged to the school to be updated on my ‘academic crisis.’

  “This is about your future. I know you’re going to Seattle Central after graduation, but that doesn’t mean you can just blow off your classes now.” I have already resigned myself to the community college. With my GPA, there’s no point in applying to big colleges. But if Cam does go to Stanford, I might switch to a community college down there. Or possibly give up on school all together and work as a barista in some fashionable and trendy little coffee place. Which might not even be necessary if Azmos keeps me on his payroll.

  “I don’t have a future,” I say, looking at my reflection in the window. At least not one he’d approve of. I’m pretty sure being a demon’s errand girl is not a career a guidance counselor would advise.

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” Dad says, with another sigh. “Of course you have a future.”

  I glance over at him, his eyes focused on the road and his knuckles almost white around the steering wheel. No matter what my future holds, it’s going to involve a lot of deception where he’s concerned.

  Dad drops me off back at the apartment building and walks upstairs to get his suitcase. “I wish I could cancel and stay here,” he says. “But Terri needs more training before she can do this on her own. So I’m trusting you to stay out of trouble. I’ll be back.” He hesitates in the hall. “Do I need to call a babysitter or something?”

  “Oh my god, Dad, no.” I think he’s joking but the thought is horrifying. “I promise I won’t go anywhere.”

  Dad sighs. “I’d take your keys but if there’s an emergency…” He trails off. I’ve never seen him look so lost, not about me. My stomach clenches. “I fly home Monday night. I’m trusting you to behave for a couple of days.”

  I’m a little offended, given that Dad is out of town more often than not. True, I’ve never been suspended before, but I’ve never burned down the apartment building, either. “I’ll be here climbing Homework Mountain, okay?”

  “Fine. But I’m going to call at random intervals. If you don’t answer, you’re going to be in a lot more trouble than you imagine.”

  “What if I’m in the shower?” I ask.

  He looks at me, tired and uncertain. “Shower quickly.” And then he leaves.

  I flop onto the sofa. I already had too much homework. Now I have three days of classwork on top of it, and no desire to do any of it. But I can’t get into more trouble or my life will get infinitely more complicated. Says the girl working for a demon.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Both Cam and Melissa text me to make sure I’m okay when I’m not in Spanish class. I tell Mel I’m fine but it’s complicated, and then ask Cam to come over after school.

  Cam arrives right after school. I let him in—Dad didn’t say I couldn’t have people over and while that was sort of implied, it’s not like I’m going to turn my boyfriend away. I get him a soda. Cam leans against the counter, flicking the tab on the soda can, and listening to me speak. I tell him all about going with Gabriel yesterday, how Az has a sister named Vessa who’s trying to amass an army, and how we stopped one of her would-be cronies. My voice cracks a little as I tell him about Anna, and how callously Xanan handled the situation. Cam puts his arm around me. Then I tell him about the weapons den behind the bar, the missed calls from my dad, and then the meeting with Mrs. Chander.

  “You got suspended?” Cam asks when I finish, his voice going up an octave.

  “You sound more horrified about that than when I got stabbed,” I say.

  He gives me a dark look. “You know that’s not true. I’ve been worried sick about you at every turn, ever since that demon showed up. And now he’s screwing up your whole life. How can you not see how bad this is getting?”

  “It’s not that bad. My grades just need a little work, that’s all,” I say. It’s not like Cam doesn’t know I’m a horrible student. We’re opposites in so many ways, it’s a wonder we get along. “And apparently I hit some limit on number of acceptable missed classes.”

  Cam sets down the soda and flops onto the living room sofa. He rubs his temples above his glasses. I want to say something but no words come to mind that won’t start another fight. So I lean against the counter and watch him as he struggles to form words of his own.

  “I love you. And I understand that you’re not…” He hesitates and I feel something icy worm in my middle.

  “Smart?” I offer.

  He meets my eyes, his expression darkening further. “Meant for mundanity.” I feel my eyebrows lift in surprise. That was not what I expected. “Right after we met, I remember this on
e day in class when you and Mel were talking about your futures, about how she wanted to go to art school and how you didn’t have a plan. I remember being stunned that it was even possible. I’ve had a plan for college since I could read. But I’ve always liked that about you. You don’t do things just because you’re supposed to. You want to figure out who you are and what you want.”

  I sit down next to him and he puts his arm around me, pulling me close. “That appears to be working with demons.”

  He shrugs. “Not gonna lie, I don’t love it but I get it. I just wish you’d step back once in a while and really examine everything before plowing forward. Maybe this suspension is your chance to get some perspective. Really think about what you’re giving up. Make sure it’s worth it.”

  Goosebumps erupt on my arms as a chill runs through the apartment. I half-expect Xanan to appear but this time of year, the apartment can turn into an icebox without demonic help. “I can get through another year and a half of school,” I insist. “Take a year off before thinking about college. Work for Az in the meantime. I’m not giving up much.”

  “If you really think that, then I think you really do need to take some steps back and consider.” His voice is soft, almost sad. He touches the ring on my finger. “I hate that he gave you a ring before I did.”

  The words are mild but they hit me like a slap. “When were you going to give me a ring?”

  He shrugs and pulls me onto his lap. “I don’t know. I didn’t have a specific plan or anything. I just…wish I’d beaten him to the punch, that’s all.” He sighs. “Doesn’t matter.” It does, matter, of course, or he wouldn’t keep staring at the ring like a personal affront. “Just promise me you’ll try to get an objective view of the demons and where you fit. If afterward, you still feel good about working for Azmos, then I’ll stop complaining. Hell, I’ll be your personal driver for all of his errands.”