Demon Blessed

by Nikki Sex

  Owen has decided his sister’s sudden transformation was divine intervention on his behalf. Great. Problem solved.

  I’ll never have to explain about my demon to either of them—not that I planned to. People, much like nature, hate a vacuum. They need information to make sense of the events in their lives. If they don’t find “real facts,” they make something up. It’s one reason PR agencies are so successful in creating believable spin.

  If most folks saw their injuries healed and a sister no longer with Down syndrome, they would be asking, “How did this happen?” Lucky for me, Owen already knows why. He prayed for his sister to be “normal,” and God answered his prayer.

  Now there’s no need for me to come up with a believable lie.

  “Hello?” We both hear a low, hesitant voice from the other room and a click of Toby’s toenails. “Hello, puppy,” she coos.

  Toby is welcoming our other visitor. Now that Hope is awake, we both walk down the hall and into her room.

  Hope sits up on the bed, a sheet wrapped around her body. Both of her hands adoringly feather through Toby’s fur. She pets my four-footed friend with childlike, all-consuming love and innocence.

  “Hey, Pipsqueak,” Owen says, lightly cuffing her shoulder.

  Hope looks up, her face brightens as she smiles. “Owen.”

  The way she says her brother’s name communicates exactly how much he means to her. It’s as though all the world is encompassed in the name.

  The woman is beautiful. Almond-eyed, Hope’s features have an exotic appearance, while her body is surrounded by a shimmering aura of power. When Hope turns her head, her gaze shifts up to meet mine.

  I rock back on my heels, stunned by the sharp and unexpected intellect behind her green eyes.

  An appalling thought strikes me, followed by a blast of fear. Does she sense my demon? Does she, or doesn’t she? What will I do if she knows?

  Hope breaks this terrifying train of thought by asking her brother shyly, “Owen, do you know where my clothes are?”

  The relief that sweeps me at her practical comment is as great as how foolish I feel. How could she know? Stupid. Stupid! It had been an odd look she gave me, but I made a mountain out of a molehill.

  “I had to cut them off,” I say, handing her a bathrobe. “Nice to meet you, Hope. My name is Jan. You’re in my apartment. I took you home…after I found you.”

  Her features darken with the memory, but her eyes fly to her brother’s face. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Hope has a low, husky voice. I like her voice. In fact, I love her voice. There is a deep, musical quality about it. I could listen to her speak all day long.

  “I’ll let you two talk. Hope, when you’re ready, come in to the kitchen and have some pancakes. Owen’s already eaten his breakfast.”

  As I stride down the hall, I stop at the laundry and throw in a load of wash. I wonder if I have anything those two can wear? I think Hope will fit into my clothes. I return to the kitchen, load the dishwasher, and wipe the counters.

  Not long after, Hope and her brother come in. Owen holds his sister’s hand as they both sit.

  I look at Hope expectantly. What might it feel like to suddenly discover your IQ has doubled? To think and see in new ways? Her experience of the world and her perceptions will be sharper, richer—different.

  Things that never made sense to her might now be clear.

  Hope’s face colors, she looks away shyly. Apparently, she has nothing to say. Or maybe she’s simply embarrassed to know she’s naked under the borrowed bathrobe.

  “Is there someone at home who is missing you two?” I ask, now they are both here. “Do you want me to call anyone? Friend? Family?” I know they don’t have anyone, but they don’t know I know.

  Owen shakes his head. “No one at all. Hope and I were living on the street.”

  He says nothing more. I doubt either of them want to explain their disagreeable circumstances to a stranger. This is fine by me. I already know what happened.

  I nod and smile my acceptance of his response, glad to go for the practical approach. “OK, well, you guys are both going to need some clothes. I think I have some things Hope can wear. Maybe she and I can go out and find something for you, Owen.” My gaze returns to his sister. “Want to go shopping, Hope?”

  To my surprise, her face brightens into a grin. I feel her huge friendly smile right down to my toes.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  I close my eyes for a moment as her innocence and magic washes over me in a soothing balm. She’s not anxious about going out with a total stranger. Is she brave, comfortable around me, or is it because I’m a woman?

  “How do you feel?” I ask.

  Frowning, she bites her lower lip. “I feel as though I just woke up from a long, long sleep.”

  “Is that right?”

  “But…I remember everything.”

  Uh-oh.

  The way she says “everything” makes me nervous. “Oh, yeah? Do you want to tell me about it?”

  Hope tilts her head as she considers, then begins to speak. Her narration of last night’s events matches her brothers—the vampire, the werewolf, the stinky, crazy man who was in charge.

  “Then, I was here.” Squeezing Owen’s hand, she regards her brother. “I’m glad you’re OK. I love you, Owen.”

  I’m extraordinarily moved when Owen’s eyes well, and a tear rolls down his face. With no shame at all for such personal exposure, Hope’s brother takes a napkin and wipes his cheeks.

  “You’re my big little sister. I love you, too.”

  “Big little sister?” I ask, mainly to distract myself from a roomful of raw emotions.

  Owen nods. “Hope is five years older than me but smaller, so she’s my big little sister, get it? I’m seventeen and she’s twenty-two.”

  Hope laughs, places one small hand on her brother’s forearm. “I’m tiny compared to Owen.” Her green eyes dance. “Sometimes he calls me pipsqueak.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  These two are nice people despite their upbringing—maybe even because of it. They are both strong, yet dependent on one another. Hope, held prisoner in the dark for years, fiercely loving and loyal to her brother. Owen, protective and deeply caring of his older sister.

  Their lives had been crap, but at least they had each other.

  The innate happiness of the two siblings saturates and electrifies the air. I feel buzzed, as though I’m sitting beside two powerful batteries, both throwing off different energies.

  Their magic, not surprisingly, is entirely compatible with my own.

  My dog feels it, too—he can’t sit still. With an exultant doggy grin, Toby rubs his face and torso against my leg. Excited, he moves to Hope, Owen, then back to me again—his tail wagging furiously.

  My demon vibrates with satisfaction.

  I grin as I regard Hope and Owen. It’s nice simply being near them. The way I feel around them is kind of like how I feel about my dog. Technically, I own Toby, yet we’re connected. In many ways, Toby owns me, too. Perhaps this is what it’s like to have kids, because these two definitely feel like my children.

  Our children, really.

  Hope tilts her head, observing me with a steady gaze. Her sea-green eyes glow with piercing awareness. What does she observe with her new perceptions? For one breath-stopping moment, I realize she views the world with different eyes. Like she can see things no one else can.

  I curb a sudden impulse to squirm and look away.

  “Don’t be afraid of the raven, Jan,” she says with the composure of an experienced adult—which she isn’t in the least. “It’s only a bird, and black and red are just colors.”

  What the fuck?

  Every hair on my body stands on end. I feel as though I’ve been doused with cold water. How does she know about the raven in my nightmares?

  Stunned and speechless, I stare open-mouthed.

  Hope stands, her features once
more settling back into the loving innocence of a child. This instant personality change—while not precisely frightening—is spooky as hell.

  Guileless, she pets Toby and asks, “Can we take your puppy with us when we go shopping?”

  Chapter 19. Hope

  Loud and busy, the plaza is packed because it’s Saturday morning.

  Due to ceiling skylights, the place is awash with sunlight. Kids are shouting, laughing, and screaming. Many rove in packs, moving with awkward, underdeveloped bodies, all sharp knees and elbows.

  Adults stroll by, laden with numerous shopping bags. They push strollers, eat ice cream, and move purposefully from one brightly colored store to the next.

  We deposited our initial purchases in the car—mostly clothes for Owen, but we’re loaded up with a number of bags again. I’ve bought Hope dresses, Nike shoes, walking boots, and low, stylish heels. We also get bras, underwear, sunglasses, a thick Canadian anorak, and warm hats for winter—I like to think ahead. If we don’t stop soon, we’ll have to make another trip to the car to dump her hoard of goodies.

  Money is no object, and I’m in no hurry. Shopping with Hope is fun. Besides, it has the merit of being a uniquely different activity. I’m pleased to have an excuse to postpone our meeting with the werewolves. I’ve avoided supernaturals all my life for good reason. No need to rush off to the unknown.

  As we saunter along together in silence, Hope stares at everything with delighted, round-eyed enthusiasm. To my surprise, she has distinctive fashion tastes, and the confidence to say so. She says, “I like this one,” or “I want the red one,” and “No, I don’t like that.”

  With Hope, there’s no dithering, no uncertainty. No evidence of low self-esteem, or desperately needing my approval. There’s no attempt to impress me. No effort to be valued, loved, or needed.

  Her determinism dumbfounds me. For someone who spent most of her life locked in a basement, I can understand her independence. But where does this self-assurance come from?

  Blond with sea-green eyes and a curvy figure, Hope is an attractive woman. Right now, she’s proudly wearing dark red cowboy boots, faded boot cut jeans, a white button-down blouse and a matching red leather jacket. She’s even had her ears pierced, something she’s wanted to do since the moment she first saw Princess Jasmine’s earrings in Aladdin.

  I wore my red cowboy boots last night, but as Hope was unconscious at the time, she never saw them. Coincidence?

  I don’t think so.

  Due to our psychic link, perhaps she’s taking after me. This idea is pleasing yet also disturbing. It could explain her self-reliance, but what else has she picked up?

  I swallow uneasily, imagining Hope in the grip of a powerful demonic urge to kill. Impossible. What a stupid, illogical fear. Living with and controlling an inner demon is my problem. Hope’s challenge will be managing her wolf. I don’t know why my demon didn’t cure their wolf bites so they wouldn’t turn. I suspect it’s because he likes paranormals.

  From time to time, I see a ghost in the shopping center or feel the occasional shifter or otherworldly creatures nearby. Luckily, it’s easy to avoid them in a heavily populated place like this.

  “Hope, are you going to talk to me about the raven?” I ask, for probably the fiftieth time.

  Her face reflects a serious air of deep thought. I hold my breath. This time I’m sure she’s finally going to impart something amazing in answer to my question.

  She peers up at me with a frown. “Do you think I could have a donut?”

  An inelegant snort of laughter bursts from deep in my throat. “Sure, let’s get one.”

  What did I expect? Amused and resigned, I give up. Hope has decided not to tell me, no matter how many times I ask. I wonder why?

  I’ve heard sometimes seers intentionally withhold information. Apparently, telling people too much about the future often causes more harm than good.

  Is that why she won’t answer my questions?

  We turn and walk toward the donut shop where my companion chooses one with pink icing. My demon has been silent throughout our expedition, but he lets me know he prefers plain doughnuts.

  No way. I’m in the mood for chocolate frosting.

  Turning away so Hope doesn’t hear, I mutter to him, “Hey, it’s plain underneath. You can pick the next one. Besides, you made me sit through that stupid documentary about underground volcanoes the night before last. Talk about boring. That’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back.”

  The volcano documentary had been interesting, once I got over having to sit through it. But still, it’s best to let my demon think he owes me one. Fortunately, watching TV isn’t his favorite activity.

  I watch Hope thoroughly savor her donut. Totally absorbed, she devours it as though it’s the only sugary treat she’s ever had.

  With her history, perhaps it is.

  She’s a strange girl, but then why wouldn’t she be? She’s gone from having Down syndrome to being normal—from low intellect to sudden superior reasoning. Then there’s her unknown magical powers. From her infuriatingly cryptic comments, she could be a seer. Has she been given the gift of foresight or something else? Who knows where her and her brother’s talents may lie, not to mention, how powerful they may be?

  Now she’s about to transform from human to lycanthrope—from living on the street to living within a pack hierarchy. With all this going on, it will take time for her to process.

  If the full moon weren’t so soon, I’d keep Hope and her brother around for company. It would be fun to get to know them better. Instead, I must prepare them for a supernatural life, find their new pack, and leave them there.

  It all has to happen today.

  Unless someone discovers my demon, it seems I’m going to live forever. Speaking as an immortal with endless time on my hands—why is my life often so damned rushed?

  The smell of cooked meat, fried noodles, and vegetables assails our senses when we hit the food court for takeout. Poor Owen and Toby have been stuck waiting for us at home.

  “What do you and your brother like to eat? Pizza? Maybe Chinese food? Something else?”

  Hope stops in front of the pizza shop, stares at the sign. I realize by the frustrated, yet focused manner which she stares at it, that she can’t read. I’m sure she’s never learned. I open my mouth to offer to teach her but shut it again. Will I see her after today?

  I want to, but I shouldn’t. I can’t risk supernatural connections.

  Her face brightens. “Owen likes pizza.”

  I meet her gaze, not surprised her first thought is for her brother. “But do you like pizza?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Italian, it is.”

  I buy three: pepperoni, vegetarian, and a meat lover’s pizza. We stroll off to my car, place our bags and boxes in the back, open doors, climb in, and put on seatbelts.

  Hope turns to me, her sea-green eyes blazing with unnatural, otherworldly awareness. I know that look. God, she scares the bejesus out of me sometimes.

  “Jan?”

  “Yeah?” I start the car, back out, and drive toward the exit.

  “Do you ever feel afraid?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “I don’t want you to be scared.”

  “OK.”

  “I know what you and your friend did for me,” she innocently blurts out.

  What the fuck?

  “I know about your monster,” she adds. “Don’t worry, I’ll never tell anyone your secret. Not ever.”

  Oh, my God, Hope knows about my demon!

  Feeling faint, my mind immediately tracks to my greatest fears. Me being named an international terrorist on a trumped-up charge. A million-dollar bounty put on my head. Facial software relentlessly tracking me no matter where I go.

  A rush of brutal images flies through my thoughts—me, pursued by vampire executioners, werewolf enforcers, and paranormals of every kind, not to mention bounty hunters, and even human authorities.

&nbs
p; Images of me being killed—or worse. Visions of my very long life ending as a hunted fugitive terrifies me. Vampire assassins interrogate those under demonic possession.

  Did I say interrogate? I meant torture. I’m pretty sure demon-possession is how the Medieval inquisition began.

  A choice between slaughter or being slaughtered. Violence. Suffering. Losing control of my demon. Confusion, chaos, destruction, murder…all ending in my grisly death.

  A demon can’t be killed. When the demon’s host dies, if they’re unable to transfer to another host, they return to their own realm. As with a ghost, a door to another dimension opens, and they move on—most likely back to where they came from.

  No matter what happens, my demon friend will go on without me.

  I inhale a deep breath, force a wry smile. As annoying as he can be, I’ve grown to care about my inner monster. I’m glad he will live.

  After falling down this abyss of certain torment and death, it’s one bright light in the darkness.

  Chapter 20. Secrets

  My heart pounds, my skin is clammy.

  “Hope, what are you talking about?” I make my voice even and measured, but I’m freaked the hell out. Hope doesn’t want me to be scared, but it’s too late. I’m terrified. No one can know about my demon. No one.

  Hope says nothing.

  I turn out of the mall parking lot, pull into the traffic, and on to the street. I repeat the question, “What secret are you talking about?”

  “I know,” she says when I stop at a light. “I know about your monster.”

  I turn to stare at her. “What monster?”

  She rolls her eyes. “The one who lives inside you. He made me look normal, but he gave me something more.”

  In the quiet of the car, my long pause seems loud. “You’re right,” I finally say, avoiding the subject. “I’ve felt it. You’re a magical being now.”

  “Yes, magic!” Hope is clearly delighted with the word. “Your monster is nothing like the good fairies in Disney movies, but he gave me magic.”

  She knows. She definitely knows.

  My throat is dry when I swallow. My hands shake on the wheel. The light turns green. Due to stop-and-go weekend traffic, I creep my Tesla forward at a slow pace. Being electric, I don’t hear the loud, external roar of a combustion engine. Instead, there’s a soft whine.