Devil's Pathway

by Vicki V Lucas

  I catch a few of Claude’s words.

  “You have to do it. Think of it as saving more people. You know what will happen if you don’t.”

  Pastor Tom finally nods, although he looks like he’s disturbed. Claude pats him on the shoulder and continues to talk without any warmth.

  “Get it done soon. Now game face on.”

  Claude catches me watching them. He doesn’t smile or even acknowledge me as he turns to shake more people’s hands.

  Mr. Harris, sitting in the pews by himself, has seen the exchange between Pastor Tom and Claude as well. His drab face becomes more serious while he watches Claude.

  Megan bounces past me, bumping my injured arm with a brief apology, and trots up to flop down beside Cody, Tyler’s best friend. I endure it all, only to be glad to rush home again and dread tomorrow.

  The next morning I sit in the car with Aunt Kate, staring at the Grangeville High School.

  My senior year of high school is about to begin.

  I never imagined it would be like this, but that’s a dumb thing to think because I never imagined any of my life the way it is.

  “It’s just one year,” Aunt Kate says like she knows what I’m thinking and understands. “It will be over before you know it, and then you will be off doing whatever you want.”

  I nod. Megan pulls up in her car and leaps out of the car, carrying two backpacks. She’s dressed in jeans and a plain blue t-shirt with her hair in a braid. She doesn’t notice us as she darts into the school building.

  I wish I didn’t feel so horrible. My arm still aches, especially when I move it. But I’m missing Mom more, too. The question that always lingers in my mind pops up before I can stop it.

  What would this day be like if you were here, Mom?

  It’s a dumb question. She’s not here. She can’t be here. I need to stop thinking about how life would have been different and deal with what’s in front of me. But I can’t stop thinking about her and what she would think about me.

  I should be getting out of the car, but I feel frozen. I stare at the building, a tenth of the size of one wing of my old high school.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Aunt Kate repeats. “Look. I’m sorry for all that happened last week. I guess I didn’t handle it very well. We need to celebrate! It’s your senior year! It seems like yesterday I was dropping you off for your freshman year!”

  I laugh and force a smile.

  That was another day Mom wasn’t there. I missed her so much that day.

  I shift in my seat, unable to open the door or take one step into the school.

  What would Mom say today?

  “I miss her, too,” Aunt Kate confides. She flexes her hands on the steering wheel. “I think of her all the time. Especially when you smile.”

  “Me? What about you? A little taller, and you would be her,” I burst out, surprised by her comparison.

  “Really? I don’t look anything like her!” Aunt Kate laughs. “It’s your eyes and smile, and your dumb humor. Takes my breath away sometimes when you say things just like her.”

  It’s good to know I remind her of Mom and not Dad. Her next words make me almost lose it.

  “She’d be proud of you, you know.” Aunt Kate is staring at the school, but I hear tears in her voice. “She’d be nuts about who you are. She was always head over heels in love with you. I used to tease her about it. It was like you had walked on the moon when you took your first step. I don’t think she loved anything, anyone, as much as she loved you.”

  I can’t trust my voice, and I struggle to keep the tears from falling.

  Why is she saying all this now? It won’t help me at all to go in there blubbering like a baby.

  I want to tell Aunt Kate how much her words mean to me. We don’t talk about Mom often, but I treasure each and every memory she can give me of Mom.

  But if I say anything or ask for more, I’ll lose all control I have and have to go into school with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

  I will not start my year that way.

  “Yeah.” I open the door. “Thanks.”

  I hate it as I slam the door. Aunt Kate doesn’t deserve it. But I can’t open wounds that have barely started to heal, especially not right before school.

  I make my way past other kids standing around outside and go to the main office. An elderly lady behind the desk gives me a smile when I come up.

  “Nic Fitzgerald, I presume.” She reaches for some paperwork.

  Will I ever get used to hearing Mom’s maiden name as my own?

  I refuse to have anything to do with Dad, even his name. After she died, Aunt Kate helped me change my name to Mom’s. All I have of Dad is his blood in my veins.

  Blood. His blood.

  The very thing I hate and cannot change. I think of its red color pounding through me.

  Will it taint me like him?

  The secretary behind the desk thinks I’m confused about what she said.

  “Nic Fitzgerald. Right?” She now looks hesitant. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only new senior this year.”

  “Yes, that’s me,” I stammer.

  “Here’s your schedule.” She turns to a guy about my age. “Jake, could you show him where his first class is?”

  “Yep,” Jake agrees and takes my schedule. “Idaho history. Fun, fun.” He rolls his eyes. “What a way to start the year. Come on.”

  He leads me through the hallways, taking his role as guide seriously by calling out people’s names and pointing out relevant places, even the bathrooms.

  The hallways are dark without much natural light. Typical high school signs line the walls. The one that catches my eyes is the large anti-meth poster with the words in large black font - Not once! I scan the other posters until one stops me in my tracks.

  "If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.”

  Desmond Tutu’s name is written below it. I read the words again. Being neutral is to align with the side of the oppressor. If I see someone being bullied and walk away, I’m helping the bully. I am siding with the oppressor.

  I don’t want to be on any side of any battle. I don’t want any part of whatever battle or schemes they have going on. I want to stop seeing demons.

  “Are you coming?” Jake questions.

  I jump. I had forgotten where I was. I nod and follow behind him, not listening to anything he says.

  Could there be sides? Do angels fight the demons?

  Jake deposits me in front of a door and hands me my schedule. “Idaho History. And I hope I’m not late for my class.” He trots off without a backward glance.

  I should thank him, but I can’t think about what to say right now.

  Is there no chance to be neutral? I don’t want to be wrapped up in this.

  Pushing open the door, a glance reveals a small room with posters on the wall that look like they’ve been there for years. The desks are old and beaten up.

  “Nic! Glad you could join us,” Mr. Harris says with a touch of sarcasm. “Try to be on time tomorrow, but I will go easy on you this time. Take a seat.”

  I scan the room in hopes to sit down quickly, but every desk is taken. Megan is in the room. Her hair, clothes, and makeup has completely changed from when I saw her jog through the parking lot just a few minutes ago. Her long, dark hair hangs over her shoulders while makeup cakes her face.

  Mr. Harris stops handing out papers. “That one! Take that one!” He gestures at the one remaining seat, which happens to be next to Megan.

  I trip as I try to sit down as quickly as possible. But I almost fall when I realize that Megan is wearing a red and white shirt.

  “I can’t sit by her,” I stammer.

  “Why not?” Mr. Harris snaps.

  I inhale, not able to think of an excuse, other than she’s wearing red and white. Megan looks up at me with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

  Ah, wonderful. She thinks it’s about her. Now she’s mad at
me, and I can’t tell her why her shirt makes me cringe.

  Could this day get any worse?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Bulldogs

  Mr. Harris notices my tension. “Go ahead. Sit down. Don’t get too cozy.”

  The other students laugh. Megan flushes before she turns away from me.

  Great. Another reason for her to hate me.

  I flop down at the desk. We avoid eye contact, and neither of us says a word. It takes all I have to hold back my frustration. Megan doesn’t seem too bad. Maybe someone I could even hang out with. But I can’t tell her why I have made decisions to stay quiet. It’s the only way to protect her.

  Mr. Harris begins. “Welcome to Idaho history.”

  A chorus of groans fills the room.

  “I don’t expect you to like it, but I do expect you to complete the work.” He finishes handing out paper and leans against his desk.

  “Mr. Harris, you could try to make it fun.” A girl with braided red hair flips through the papers.

  “Even if I did magic tricks, I don’t think I’ll ever get you to like it,” Mr. Harris shoots back. “My job is not to convince you that Idaho history is fascinating. My job is to teach.”

  He holds up the last of the papers he passed out. I take a second to scan the room. In the back corner of the room is a girl hunched over her desk. Her long blonde hair covers her face, but I know it’s Ashley from church. I haven’t met her yet, but it was her grandparents who were killed near Florence. It doesn’t look like she’s handling the grief too well. I swallow as her pain reminds me of mine.

  I jerk back to the papers when Mr. Harris continues to talk.

  “This syllabus has a bunch of dates of when stuff happened. And I agree it’s boring.” He flips through the papers.

  I skim them as he talks about the importance of history. Megan throws her schedule on the desk with distaste. I flip through it, suddenly eager when I realize this class will probably cover the history of Florence. I scan for one word.

  It’s not listed.

  I do something I never did in Chicago. I raise my hand to ask a question.

  Mr. Harris nods at me.

  “What about gold?” I ask, hoping this will take him to Florence.

  “Ah, gold. Quite useless until we put a value on it.” Mr. Harris throws the extra papers on his desk. “The gold rush of Idaho brought the meanest, greediest devils. They came to get rich, and nothing would stop them. Of course, the preferred method was not to dig, but to take what was already out of the ground by stealing and murdering.”

  Mr. Harris walks behind his desk. I squint. He’s distancing himself from us because he doesn’t want to talk about Florence.

  What happened up there, and what does he know?

  “But there was good. The gold rush created towns. After some time, it brought women and families. In fact, the people who made the most money were the business owners. The bartenders, the bath houses, the restaurants and hotels.”

  “What about Florence?” the guy who is sitting on the other side of Megan speaks up. “No rich bartenders or hotel owners up there! The town is gone!”

  I peer over at him. From the way his legs are sticking under the chair in front of him, he’s tall. He has dark blond hair and bright blue eyes.

  Great. Thor goes to school here.

  I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my thoughts.

  Mr. Harris turns to answer the question. “Well, Tyler, consider that the winter of the first year was one of the coldest ever in Idaho. At least one hundred men died, but more almost starved to death, suffered frostbite, and experienced snow-blindness. If I were a rich bartender, I think I’d choose to move to sunny and mild Grangeville and open shop there instead. Much better than losing a toe every winter.”

  A few people snicker. Mr. Harris shuffles some papers on his desk and then stares at me for a minute. I shift in my seat.

  Mr. Harris looks at me. “As fascinating as Florence is to read about, all of its mysteries have been solved, and all of its gold has been taken.”

  Are you talking just to me?

  “What about the recent murder?” Tyler persists. “Sounds like that’s a mystery.”

  There’s a choking sound like someone is trying to hold back tears. I turn to see Ashley shove her chair against the wall. She dashes from the room, leaving her bag behind. Although her hair still hides her face, her shoulders shake with sobs.

  The red-haired girl jumps to her feet. “Nice job, Tyler,” she snaps as she follows Ashley out of the room.

  The door slams behind them. Mr. Harris waits until the room is quiet again before talking.

  “The bear attack?” Mr. Harris exclaims. “I heard they left food out all over their campsite. And please remember who is in the classroom when you bring up that subject.”

  Mr. Harris changes the subject, but I don’t hear what he’s saying. I mull over what he said about Florence until the bell rings. Megan turns to Tyler.

  “Tyler, what are you doing Saturday?” she asks. “I’m not doing anything.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Tyler replies.

  The guys around him burst out laughing at his slam. Megan looks hurts for a brief minute and then giggles with them.

  “Good one, Tyler.” She laughs.

  It takes no expert to decipher that she’s faking it. I grab my stuff and leave, disgusted with her attitude. If only I had kept my mouth shut about what I’ve seen. She’s the worst person in the world I could have told.

  I’ll never tell anyone else what I see.

  The rest of the classes pass without too many problems. When classes end, I start down the long dark hallway to the parking lot. Not a bad first day. I haven’t made any friends, but I haven’t made any enemies either, and that’s fine with me.

  I wind my way through the crowd of students to get to the parking lot when someone jumps out of a classroom with a loud roar.

  I push against the lockers, instantly expecting danger. My heart races as the adrenaline floods my body. I barely register that the people around me are laughing and roaring back, and then I know what is happening.

  Someone dressed in the school mascot uniform of a bulldog is coming down the hallway, barking in a deep voice.

  I push myself off the lockers and work up a smile. I need to relax a little. Nothing like that day last year is ever going to happen here.

  But as the mascot gets closer, the school colors of red and white hit me. The laughter around me fades. A chair falls over with a crash in a classroom. The colors in the hallway dim. The darkness controls me...

  The other students are screaming as they begin to realize what’s happening. Beth trips on a backpack and falls to the floor. The other kids trample her, not realizing what they’re stepping on. She stays on the floor and moans. There’s a blast and a ringing. Red flows across the white tile. She stops making any noise...

  I blink. I’m in a strange hallway. It takes me a few seconds to remember where I’m at. High school. Grangeville. Idaho.

  My hands shake as I push them against the lockers. Megan is across the hallway, watching me. Her brow is wrinkled, and she bites her lip. When our eyes meet, she mouths shadows with a question on her face. I want to laugh that the first time she acknowledges me is when I’m flipping out.

  She crosses the hall while everyone is still barking. “What is it, Nic?” she asks. “What do you see?”

  I’ll never tell her what I saw that day in Chicago last year. “Nothing!” I shove away her sympathetic hand and stomp away.

  I storm out of the school, unable to calm down, unable to stop thinking about that day last year. Aunt Kate is sitting in her car. I throw myself in so hard the car rocks.

  “Get out of here!” I order. “I can’t. No, I won’t go back to that school ever again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  New Ruler

  Blaise watched Nic and Kate while they drove home from school. Then the demon shot into the air, away from
any other being. He circled high in the air, far higher than the eagles. Every part of him ached, but he used the pain to spur himself on, allowing the bitterness to grow stronger with every beat of his great wings.

  He burned as he remembered the way Goddard threw him across the cave and pounced on him like an enraged lion to work out his rage, just because the vampires killed again and Blaise’s soldiers failed to snatch the boy while he was at Florence.

  Blaise knew the only way to survive was to endure, so he didn’t defend himself from the furious blows, but the hammering continued far longer than any of the other times Goddard had attacked him. And now Blaise’s whole body throbbed as he forced himself through the sky.

  Those useless vampires were to blame. Those creatures thought so highly of themselves for shedding mortality and joining forces with the demons, but they were a nuisance–still rooted in humanity, still needing sustenance, and always causing trouble.

  Goddard was furious his orders to seize the boy had not been followed yet. Blaise didn’t have the nerve to tell his Master that the boy, Nic, didn’t seem to have the sword the prophesied warrior needed to possess.

  He was sick of serving Goddard. The demon lord never did anything but yell and abuse him. If only Blaise didn’t have that scar on his face, then he could rise up and be counted among the lords. Maybe he’d even overthrow Goddard and take his realm.

  If it weren’t for that infuriating angel who had marred his face, he could hide the scars on his body. But with the scar across his cheek and nose, none of the lords would accept him as equal, even if he managed to depose Goddard. They would force him to Hell and give this realm to some unworthy overlord.

  Blaise dropped through the air until he was close to the mountain peaks, and then he circled again. He was the one who did all the work! He posted guards, fought off the enemy, and handled the defiant vampires! Goddard just sat in his chamber and gave orders.

  He continued his downward flight, gliding on the wind. Houses dotted the mountains overlooking Grangeville, and the prairie stretched to the horizon. He could pick out Nic’s house along the cliff that overlooked the small town.