The Demigod's Legacy

by Holley Trent

  Tarik scanned the quiet beach around him, saying nothing, and smoothing his large hands down his coat plackets.

  “If you have to think that hard, I’m not sure I want to know the answer yet.”

  “You’ll find out in time.” Tarik turned on his heel and trudged off the beach, his black leather boots kicking up sand as he went and the tails of his duster coat floating behind him like an inelegant cape.

  “He’s a scary-looking man,” December mused quietly.

  “Most ladies seem to like that about him.” Tito followed Tarik’s footprints toward the path, and December followed his.

  The men were leading, but she was the one who was supposed to know the way. She’d grown up there and had the route memorized. She could never forget how many times she’d gotten herself home, practically on autopilot, after a long day on the beach. Her feet always knew how to get home, even when she wasn’t paying attention.

  Now, though, she looked.

  She studied every house they walked past, wondering if the paint on them had always looked so faded, and wondering if they’d always been so small. They’d seemed so much larger when she was a child. Before she’d learned that nice things cost a lot of money and that money wasn’t so easy to come by, she’d aspired to live in houses like those.

  “Your mother requested that I should stay out of your way,” Tarik called over his shoulder to Tito.

  “Meaning what? Not to interfere?”

  “Not participate in any altercations, even if instincts impel me to do so.”

  “You mean altercations with … ” December swallowed hard and thumped her sternum a few times. The sudden-onset heartburn thing was getting old fast. She’d been dealing with the malady from the moment Tito had returned from his shift, ready to set out. “Altercations with my uncle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would instinct impel you to fight him?”

  “In spite of the fact I am no longer affiliated with the angelic host, I am what I am.”

  “So, if you see a demon, you will fight a demon. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Imprecise, but the assessment will do.” Tarik slowed a bit and fondled the hilt of his sword. “There wouldn’t be much of a fight.”

  Yikes.

  They crossed the street. One more row of houses, and a turn of the corner, and she’d see that green cottage she’d left so long ago—the place she’d left feeling so unwanted and misunderstood. The place she’d always wanted to go back to, because people always felt the urge to go home, even if they couldn’t stay.

  Can’t stay. Don’t belong anymore.

  She blew the thought away on a long exhalation and rubbed her chest.

  “You all right?” Tito whispered.

  “Yeah, I just need to … think about other stuff. Um.” She called up to Tarik, “Do you and Tamatsu just go around killing things, or, what do you usually do to fill your time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t think you want a more specific explanation, Dee,” Tito said.

  “No, I kinda do. If there are going to be guys like him in Cruz’s entourage, I want to know just how violent they are.”

  “The question is not if she will be surrounded by people like me,” Tarik said, “but when.”

  “Fuck,” Tito said in an undertone. “I should never have said anything untoward about Mikey. At least he’s predictable.”

  “He’s weak. They’re all weak.” Tarik rounded the corner, and December gripped Tito’s hand as if it were the last jutting rock she could grab to save herself from plummeting into a deep crevasse.

  “You’re all right,” Tito whispered. “Not gonna let anything happen to you.”

  “Things will happen to her,” Tarik said blandly.

  “How ’bout you turn down the sunshine a little? I don’t know if I can take any more of that undiluted optimism.”

  “I’m simply speaking truths.”

  “Yeah, you’re speaking truths to people who have particular hormones that ramp up and make them anxious when ancient angels start talking up that bogeyman shit.”

  “You lack your mother’s practicality.”

  “I also lack her fondness for three-dollar slippers and fuzzy bathrobes. Not gonna beat myself up about that. Like you, I am what I am, man.”

  “Pleased to hear you’ve evolved to that place.”

  “Ain’t done evolving. Just trying to swallow the elephant one bite at a time.”

  Tarik stepped off the curb into the street as if that added distance would make all the difference in him controlling his killer impulses. He gestured toward the house and grunted. “I’ll wait here.”

  “Right there in sight, huh?” December asked.

  “You want me to be seen.”

  “I do?”

  He didn’t need to say anything. The long blink of his weird, gold-foil eyes was eloquent enough.

  “Okay, then.” She unlocked her grip on Tito’s hand, wiped the sweat from her palm onto her jeans, and took his hand again. “I just need to remember what they were like before …. Before things happened.”

  “That’s right. Remember the mother who thought ahead to putting you in a bright green shirt in case you got separated.”

  “Okay.” December tugged at her shirt collar, took one step onto the walkway, then another.

  She tried to avert her gaze from the sedan in the driveway with the busted windows and the garbage bags that had been used to replace them.

  Some little man wanted to trample all over Tito’s life and to make him suffer for his own gains. He’d stoop to theft and murder to earn himself wealth and prestige. The fact he’d rummaged through her past to find such personal information about her and so quickly, pulled a nauseating pit in her stomach that gave way to pure anger. How dare he violate her in such a way? And to harm a child who was his cousin?

  December had no plans of giving up her or her daughter’s heart anytime soon to be anyone’s sacrifice, and she wasn’t going to let Necalli strain the relationship he had with her parents any further.

  She put a bit more urgency in her steps and cast a glance over her shoulder at Tarik.

  He nodded as if to spur her on.

  December stepped quietly onto the porch, afraid the steps would creak like they always did and that her father would peek outside the front window to see who was coming.

  “No, he’d be at work,” she whispered. “He always left at eight.”

  “Who, Dee?”

  “My father. He shouldn’t be here, but my mother is always home on Saturdays. She made sure she was home.”

  She lifted her fist, poised it in front of the screen door, and forced out another breath, hoping her nausea would abate and the sour taste in her mouth would recede. For the second time in less than a week, she was scared to knock on someone’s door. She realized, though, that if she hadn’t knocked on the first one, she wouldn’t be in front of the second one.

  Some good has to come of this.

  She gave two practice knocks, pulling her fist back before her knuckles could graze the wood, and then she forced her hand to make contact.

  Footsteps sounded inside, closer and closer.

  She caught the curtains being parted in her periphery, and then turned to see her mother’s face behind the glass.

  Her breath caught.

  She felt like she’d stepped out of a time machine, where one minute her mother had been forty-four, and the next, she’d been over fifty.

  A tired fifty-something, at that.

  Was her face so creased before?

  “Deixe!” she shouted through the window.

  “Mama, no, I won’t leave. Please open the door.”

  “So you can ruin something else?”

  “No, so we can talk. That person you thought you saw wasn’t me. Do you really think I’ve ever been capable of that?”

  “I’d know my own daughter when I see her.”

  She hadn’t seen he
r own daughter since December had been a teenager, but December figured that point didn’t need to be belabored.

  “I swear to you, I’ve been in New Mexico for the past few days. I came here just today. Alicia sent me your texts.”

  “If you didn’t smash the windows, then who did?”

  “Open the door, please, before the neighbors come out. You hate having the neighbors in your business.”

  Mama moved away from the window then. Moments later, she had the front door open, but the chain on. “You didn’t ring the bell.”

  “The bell never worked. Why would I ring the bell?”

  “You rang it last time, and the time before.”

  “I don’t know anything about that, except that that wasn’t me. And when’d you fix the bell? You said you’d never fix it because you liked having the excuse not to answer the door.”

  Mama gave her a startled look out of the sides of her eyes, and scoffed several seconds later. “Yeah? I said that, huh? Fixed it three years ago. Some salesman got a little baby splinter from knocking, and wanted to sue.”

  “Suzana, who’s at the door?”

  December knew that low, grating voice. It had always made her rub prickles on back of her neck. She’d always thought the timbre was simply unpleasing, but now—knowing what she knew—she suspected something else was in play.

  Tito must have thought so, too, because the growling sound coming out of his chest made her toes curl in her boots.

  God.

  Her mother didn’t seem to be paying attention to the unholy sound Tito was making. She was looking at the angel who’d stepped onto the sidewalk, arms crossed, and lips contorted into a vicious smile.

  “Suzana?” December’s uncle called out.

  Mama swallowed and then dragged her tongue across her lips. “Uh … yeah?”

  “Who’s at the door?”

  “My daughter.”

  “Your daughter?”

  “December.”

  “Whichever don’t matter. What the hell does she want? She forget you put ’em out?”

  December ground her teeth. The only thing keeping her from charging into the house and beating the shit out of that man with the first heavy object she could find was Tito gripping the back of her T-shirt.

  Mama furrowed her brow. “What do you want?”

  “I want my mother. That’s all.”

  “You left.”

  “You made Alicia go, and I followed her because you weren’t nice.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The old staircase creaked and groaned under the weight of that man December didn’t want to see, but that she wasn’t going to run from. She was taking back her family from him, even if she had to go full-bore psychopath to do it.

  He stepped into the foyer, a scowl already tugging at his lips, and his dark eyes as unwelcoming as always. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “You’re not going to make me leave again. I know what you are. I know what you’re doing. You’re not going to do it anymore. They’re not yours.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, but that’s nothing new, right, Suzana?”

  The furrow in Mama’s brow deepened. “Neon green. I haven’t seen a shirt like that in years. Why are you wearing that?”

  December fisted the hem, and prayed her mother would remember. All those good memories couldn’t all have vanished from her mind. “We got separated. Remember?”

  “Nut job,” the demon said. “I keep telling you, Sue. Things were easier after they left, right? Less stress?” He reached for the door chain, oblivious to the presence looming behind him because he was so distracted by what December could mean for his meal ticket.

  She looked him dead in the eyes as Tarik silently approached, and then he must have finally sensed him, because he scampered away from the door, viciously uttering some language December wasn’t convinced was any human tongue.

  Then his “daughter” ran down, eyes wide at first, and then angrily narrowed. “You!”

  Whoever she was lunging for, December couldn’t figure out. Tito had moved too quickly for December to see.

  The chain on the door was broken, his arm was around the woman’s neck, and the little demon’s eyes bulged and mouth hung open as she struggled to breathe.

  “Don’t fuckin’ try it or I will end you right here. My patience lately … it ain’t so good.” His voice was a silken purr. Dangerous words spoken in luscious tones.

  Mama kept screaming, “Help! Help!” as if December was the one she needed to be saved from, and not the snarling beast who kept writhing and cursing on the floor in spite of Tarik having passed his sword through his chest. Tarik had him pinned like a bug to a spreading board.

  Mama was going to have a deep rut in her hardwoods.

  December passed her tongue over her lips and put her hands up in what she hoped was a calming gesture. “Mama, please, listen. Look at what you’re seeing.”

  “Her head should start to clear soon. They can’t work their mind tricks with me so near,” Tarik said, epically calm with his booted foot on the male demon’s forehead and one hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

  “What is going on here?” Mama asked. “What’s happening?” She flapped her hands about and continuously shifted her weight, her gaze going from Tarik to Tito to December and back again. She probably didn’t know where to look or who to trust, and December certainly couldn’t blame her.

  “It’s all right,” Tito said. He dropped the limp demon to the floor and stepped over her. “Not gonna let Dee get hurt.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Her mate.”

  “Her what?”

  “You have a lovely home, Mrs. Farmer.”

  Mama’s cheek twitched in the way it always used to when she was trying so hard not to swear or scream or both.

  “I hope you’re not particularly attached to this one,” Tarik said, nodding down at the shouting demon.

  Mama swallowed hard enough for December to hear. “No, but my sister may be.”

  “She’ll get over him. Do you mind?”

  “Mind what?”

  “If I remove them from your property.”

  “And by remove, you mean—”

  “Exterminate.”

  “For goodness’ sake! You don’t think that’s a bit excessive?”

  December cleared her throat and gave the sleeve of Mama’s caftan a tug. “Mama, look. That guy’s not dead. He should be dead. He’s not human.”

  Mama pressed her palms to her eyes and shook her head hard. “Oh God. It was the oysters, weren’t it? I shouldn’t have eaten them. Your father told me they weren’t good. Oh God, I’m gonna wake up any minute from this nightmare.”

  “This isn’t a dream. This is real life for us now.”

  “What do you mean now?”

  “Madam?” Tarik nodded toward the demon under his boot who’d started spewing something in what December was pretty certain was Latin. “You don’t want him to finish that. He’d jump from that body to another. I can prevent that.”

  “By killing him?”

  Tarik shrugged in his frightening, elegant way. “Would you concern yourself with the mortality of a cockroach in your pantry?”

  “No.”

  “Same thing.”

  “What kind of people have you fallen in with, December?”

  “Um.” December raked a hand through her hair and cringed. “I … well, I guess that’s not so easy to explain. I didn’t do it on purpose. I had a baby—his.” She crooked a thumb toward Tito. “Stuff just kind of happened after that.”

  Mama’s cheek twitched again.

  “They’re the good guys, though. Or at least, mostly.” She cringed again. “You’ve got to expect guys their ages to pick up some bad habits over the years, and they certainly have more than a few.”

  Tarik rolled his eyes.

  Uncle Demonico’s voice deepened in his chant, and the floor
boards started rattling.

  Mama pulled December back toward the staircase as if it really mattered where they stood, and shouted, “For God’s sake, if that’s them, get them out of here!”

  “With pleasure.”

  There was a huge gust of wind in the entryway, and December could have sworn she saw a giant set of wings flapping, and then they were gone. Tarik, Tito, and the demons.

  Mama stood, blinking rapidly and flapping her hands some more.

  “Um.” December patted her back. “So, about your car? That really wasn’t me. There’s this guy who wants to … Well, maybe that’s not so important, but … ”

  A high, squealing sound creaked from Mama’s throat, and her gaze flitted with sharp focus to her daughter.

  “Hi, Mama.”

  Mama pointed to the slash in the floor where Tarik’s sword point had once been.

  “Yeah, I don’t know if there’s anything you can do about that, but I have a job with some people who could maybe fix it. I mean, I think I have the job, anyway. There are some details to be ironed out.”

  Mama shook her head again and slapped a palm against her forehead.

  “Don’t try to understand everything at once. Just know that I’m okay and I missed you so much and your granddaughter wants to meet you and … her father’s not exactly human. But I guess that was probably evident.”

  “Oh no, don’t feel so good. I’m sorry.” Hand over her mouth, Mama hurried toward the downstairs powder room. “Make yourself a sandwich or something. Plenty to eat.” She closed the door, but not before December could hear her retch.

  December rocked back and forth on her heels several times, and tittered from the feeling of overwhelm. “Um … ”

  Tarik and Tito popped back in the room, and December told herself that wasn’t blood on their shoes.

  “Where did your mother go?” Tito asked.

  “Uh … ” She took a deep breath and crooked her thumb toward the powder room. “To vomit.”

  Tarik grunted. Nodded. “Typical physical response to a demon plague leaving a space. She’ll recover in two, three days at the most.”

  “Well, good. I mean, not that she’ll stop barfing, but —”

  He put up his hands. “Yes, that you have your mother back. Please spare me the sentiment. I don’t have the constitution for it.”