The Demon's Deadline (Demon's Assistant Book 1)

by Tori Centanni

  “Do what?”

  “Anything.”

  My throat is dry. “You don’t need to do anything. This isn’t about you.”

  “That is possibly the most idiotic thing you’ve ever said.”

  “Are you sure? Because I’m such an idiot, I bet it’s hard to narrow it down that quickly.”

  “You’re not an idiot. You just act like one sometimes.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  He growls in frustration, running his fingers through his hair and tugging, like he might tear it out. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just that you were free of this demon crap, right? He let you go. So I don’t understand why you have to try to go out for the team again. There are better ways to spend your time.”

  “No, Cam, there aren’t. Besides, I don’t have a choice.”

  He sighs. “You always have a choice. You chose to lie to me.”

  “I was going to tell you.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No.” My breath puffs out in front of me. I tug my coat tighter and look back at the house, but Xanan is nowhere in sight. This is a different kind of cold.

  “I hate to play this card, but I’ve been pretty cool about the whole demon thing. I’ve only ever asked that you be completely honest with me.” He meets my eyes, his gaze pleading.

  “Okay,” I finally say. “But it might take longer than the drive back to Seattle.” He raises an eyebrow. “A lot’s happened since Saturday morning.”

  “Apparently,” he says. He puts the car in drive and pulls away from the curb. “Should have known you’d get in over your head without me around.” He flashes me a quick smile. It’s fleeting and terse, but it’s there.

  I reach over and lightly punch his shoulder. I know we’re not back where we were, but it’s a start. So as we drive, I tell him everything. When I get to the part about his name, he shoots me a panicked look. I quickly tell him what Xanan said—until the point where he made it clear that my life is what’s up for grabs. Having spent hours wondering if Cam was in danger, I can’t put him in the same situation. When I finish the entire story, we’re parked outside a closed smoothie shop in a strip mall a few blocks from my apartment.

  “So,” I say. “Here we are. That girl who salted me apparently has enough magical mojo to keep Azmos trapped and she hates my guts, but it’s my job to find her and rescue the demon.”

  Cam is silent for a long time. I resist the urge to check my cellphone. It has to be late and I’m suddenly exhausted. Finally, he says, “Don’t get involved.”

  “What do you mean? I’m already involved.”

  “You say it’s your job, Nic, but it’s not. If I understand correctly, it’s Azmos’ job to dole out the bonus years and Xanan’s to keep things in check. Your job was only to deliver the letters, which I still don’t really get, but you got fired. You’re not part of this anymore.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  Cam sighs, defeated. “That’s what I thought.”

  My stomach constricts. The distance between us is like a brick wall that keeps replacing any bricks I manage to remove.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

  “Because I didn’t want it to be true.” Cam looks surprised, like it’s the only answer he wasn’t prepared for. “I’m not like you or Melissa. I’m not good at anything except video games and guessing who the killer is in cheesy horror movies. I don’t have a dream job or a dream college. At least when I was busy running errands for Az, I felt like—“ Tears prick at my eyes and I let out a breath. “I don’t know. I felt like I was special. Like I had my own thing. Now I’m back to being nothing.”

  “You’re not nothing,” Cam says. “You’re funny, creative, beautiful, and brilliant.”

  “I’m not brilliant. I have a C average.”

  “Academics are more application than intelligence.” Cam smiles and reaches over, putting his arm around my shoulder. “Do you really think I’d date an airhead? I mean, I have some standards.”

  I smile a little, too, even though I’m not entirely convinced I meet his standards, however low they are. The thought sinks in my stomach like a rock. I never doubted us before, but now I’m consumed by doubt.

  “I should have told you,” I say, leaning into his arm and choking down the guilt from the other things I’m leaving unsaid. There’s always something.

  “Yeah. But I probably shouldn’t have stormed out on you.”

  “I deserved it.”

  Cam shakes his head and tightens his arm around me. “When did you get so down on yourself?” he asks, his lips curving into a mischievous smile. “We both made mistakes.”

  “So what now?”

  He drops his arm and starts the car. “I drive you home and we both get some sleep. It’s still a school night.”

  I don’t sleep. I try, but I can’t. I feel like every beat of my heart is the tick of a clock that’s counting down to my doom. By two in the morning, I end up on the sofa watching infomercials for blenders that flake ice like snow and food dehydrators that can suck the moisture from anything you can fit inside.

  By six, I’m actually glad for the excuse to get off of the couch. I chug an energy drink, shower, and put on jeans and a t-shirt. The jeans are black. I tug on my black hoodie over it.

  Cam shows up to give me a ride, apparently ditching his Zero Period to do so. It’s a pleasant surprise. He’s wearing a blue concert tee for some band called The Midnight Toils, whose music I vaguely recall not completely hating, and he brought me a cold can of cola and a donut from the 7-Eleven.

  The car still reeks of fake peaches, but at least I’m the one in the front seat. “How did she manage to spill so much body spray, anyhow?” I ask. “Doesn’t it come in a spray bottle?”

  Cam snorts. “I was driving her home from Amy’s party Sunday morning and she was worried her dad would notice she was sweating whiskey, so she twisted the top off to get more on her or something. And then she dropped it.”

  “So you both slept at Amy’s?” I ask.

  Cam shoots me a glance. “Not together,” he says, his tone exasperated. “She slept in Amy’s room and I crashed on the couch. You know me better than that.”

  “Yeah, I do. But she likes you.”

  “She knows I have a girlfriend.”

  “For a while there, I didn’t know if I was still your girlfriend.”

  “I was angry, Nic. I had a right to be. But if we break up, I promise I’ll make sure you know.”

  “That’s reassuring.”

  When Cam pulls into the parking lot, he leans over and kisses me. I kiss him back and wrap my arms around his shoulders, but we can’t keep it up for long. People are walking past in every direction, and three months ago, Amy and Justin got detention for PDA when they made out in her car during lunch. Cam smiles at me when he pulls away, and then he tugs his backpack free from behind his seat.

  “By the way, whatever your master plan is, I want in.”

  “What plan?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever dangerous and unhinged thing you’re planning,” he says. “If you’re going to insist on doing something risky, I’m going to come along and mitigate that risk.”

  “You sound like a lawyer.” But I grin at him. It’s nice to know I have someone to help me if I need it, even though I don’t think I can drag him in any deeper.

  I don’t pay any attention in class. I doodle and ruminate and swallow back panic, because wasting time in class when I need to be doing something, even if I don’t know what, is slowly eating me alive. By Spanish, I give up. I’ll have to call Dad and get him to excuse me, and he will. Everyone deserves a grief day.

  I find Cam in the hallway and tell him I’m leaving. He frowns and looks at his cellphone to check the time. “Now?”

  “Now. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  He puts his Spanish book back in his locker and shuts it. “No way. We talked about this.”

  “I’m just going home.”
>
  “And I’m not that stupid.”

  “Cam.” He sets his jaw, which is lined with blond stubble. I play my trump card. “You’ll get in trouble.”

  Cam’s greatest fear besides not getting straight A’s is detention, which he’s never had. I have had it five times, mostly for stupid reasons like being late to class too many times. Once, Freshman year, I was given detention for swearing in English class when I realized I’d mixed up the due dates for essay outlines. I thought it was overkill. It wasn’t like I swore at anyone.

  Cam shrugs, but the concern doesn’t leave his face. “I’ll tell my mom I had food poisoning. She’s always telling me those fast food places will make me sick. She loves being right.”

  I wish I could point out that, with a lie like that, if he doesn’t go straight home, it might poke a hole in his story. But his mom’s a teacher at an elementary school, and Cam’s sister, Cathy, who’s in fourth grade, stays late with her to get a ride home, so no one will be at his house until after six.

  “If you’re sure,” I tell him.

  “I’m sure.” He takes my hand and we walk through the hall, although we make sure to stagger our time with the attendance office by at least five minutes. I go first, because even if they suspect we’re up to something, Mrs. Almeroth is way more likely to let Cam slide than me.

  “Where to?” he asks when we get in the car.

  “Somewhere I can think,” I say, although my brain has been running at break-neck speed since last night and I can’t seem to stop thinking. He drives up to Volunteer Park. We get out and walk across the grass.

  I pull out my cellphone, look up Heather’s apartment complex, and call the number. A building receptionist answers, but when I ask for Mrs. Bancroft in 8D, claiming to be a delivery person, he informs me she moved out and left no forwarding address. Not surprising, but disappointing.

  “Finding people is so easy in the movies,” I say.

  “What about her sister?” Cam suggests.

  “You’re a genius.”

  “I know,” he says, smiling crookedly.

  I look up Haley Bancroft in the Seattle area in an online phone directory and only one pops up. I smirk and dial the number.

  “Hello?” Haley asks.

  “Hi. I’m looking for Heather Bancroft,” I say, hoping that asking for her sister right off the bat will throw her off enough to get a real answer, or maybe it will convince her I already know Heather is there, which I don’t.

  “Wrong number,” she says tightly and hangs up.

  I use the number to look up an address, but the one listed is Heather’s old apartment. Of course it is. I shove the phone in my pocket. “This is useless. I’m not a detective.”

  To his credit, Cam doesn’t say, “I told you so.”

  His stomach growls and I realize I’m starving, too, so we drive down the hill to Dick’s Drive-In and get burgers and fries that we eat in the car. Having something in my system makes me feel better, but I’m still exhausted and a small headache pounds behind my eyes. “Maybe you should go back to school,” I say, crumpling up my foil wrapper and tossing into the empty fast food bag.

  “For one period? I think if I’m going to ditch, I should commit to it. We could run by that magic shop up on Fifteenth.”

  “And what, ask if they know how to track down a demon?” I say, although, actually, it’s not the worst idea I’ve heard. But then I remember the strand of auburn hair stuck in the tape that sealed the letter. I remember Xanan’s words about how it was meant to scare me. But what if it was meant to lure me. What if Heather Bancroft actually wants me to find her?

  It’s possible. Likely, even. Why bother antagonizing me otherwise? I know she’s jealous of my contract that didn’t hang a sword over my head—that I know of, I remind myself—but it seems pretty petty to send an invoice just for the pleasure of making me squirm. Especially if she wouldn’t even get to see it.

  “What?” Cam asks.

  “Just trying to make sense of everything. I’m really tired. I didn’t sleep at all. I should probably just go home and nap.”

  Cam’s phone buzzes. He reads the message and types a response. I watch him, curious who it is and not sure I want to know. I’m about to ask when he puts the phone down. “My mom wants me to come grab Cathy after school. Her allergies are acting up and she’s miserable.”

  High school gets out in about an hour, but the elementary school goes until nearly four. “That sucks.”

  “It happens when you’re allergic to every kind of dust and pollen. Where to?”

  “I just want to go home.”

  He drives me to my building and walks me to my door. I know he wants to come in and sit on the sofa while I nap or maybe even lie down with me, so I’m relieved he has to go. I have no intention of napping.

  I touch his cheek and pull him into a kiss. His lips are greasy from the French fries and his arms snake around my coat, holding me fast against him.

  It would be so easy to be honest with him right now, tell him that I’m planning to track Heather down and try to release the demon. But he’ll insist on coming with me. As much as I’d love to have him by my side, I’m not selfish enough to put him in the path of magic that can trap a demon, even if it means one more lie. Even if I have to risk losing him for good.

  The thought curdles my stomach and I hesitate.

  But if I’m really honest with myself, I need to do this alone. I need to prove to myself that I’m capable of handling this mess.

  “Thanks,” I tell him.

  He squeezes my hand and then looks over at his car, sighing. “Promise,” he says, his green eyes shining, “that you won’t do anything without calling me.”

  “So, what, I have to get approval before I order pizza?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m just going to get some sleep,” I tell him. I peck his cheek and feel the stubble beneath my lips. I trace fingers over his cheek and smile at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, unless you’re online tonight.”

  I pull away and unlock the door. He hesitates, running his hand through his hair and holding it there like he’s trying to pull something directly out of his brain. “You can count on me, you know.”

  It makes me want to cry, how much conviction he has. “I know that,” I tell him. “I’ll call if anything comes up.”

  He nods and lets his hand drop to his side. “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

  He heads to the elevator.

  “Cam.” He turns to look at me. “I love you,” I tell him, because if this is going to be the last thing I say to him, I can’t let it be a lie.

  He looks at me uncertainly. “Love you, too,” he says.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I find the strand of hair on the tape in my bedroom’s wastebasket among discarded school flyers, notes, and other assorted junk. I pull out the envelope from my backpack and carry everything to the brightly lit kitchen table.

  I run my fingers over Azmos’ careful calligraphy. I pull the envelope apart and lay it flat. There’s no hidden writing or secret messages. I examine the card with Cam’s name on it in the same way.

  Nothing. I flop down on a chair, disappointed, and stare at the strand of hair. If I’m supposed to use it in some way, I don’t know have the faintest idea how.

  I look up magic shops on the Internet, and while there’re a good chunk of them in the city, most of them seem to be the sort that sell crystals and do tarot readings, not the kind with actual information about spell work, if such a thing even exists.

  My phone vibrates and I dig it out of my pocket. It’s a number I don’t have in my contacts, so I answer dubiously.

  “Nicolette, right?” The smoky, feminine voice has to be Heather’s.

  “Who wants to know?” I ask.

  “You called my sister. That was a bitch move.”

  Definitely Heather. “Who is this?” I ask.

  “Don’t play games with me.” There’s a deep inhale, like she’s s
moking. “I trust you got your little invoice.”

  “I got it.”

  “Trying to involve my sister won’t help you. If you so much as touch her, I’ll—”

  “I’m not,” I interrupt. She’s truly unhinged if she thinks I’d hurt anyone, especially an innocent person. Besides, her sister is older than me, and judging by Heather’s muscle mass, probably stronger. “I was trying to find you.”

  I can almost hear the smile in her voice. “Well, took you long enough. All you have to do is say please.”

  The fake sugar in her tone is scarier than her anger. I grit my teeth. “Please,” I say.

  She rattles off an address and then, cliche of cliches, tells me to come alone. “You have got to be kidding,” I say to the empty apartment.

  Also, I have got to talk Dad into getting me a pet.

  I make one phone call, but it’s not the one I should make. At this point, I’m fairly sure my body is made up of more guilt than water.

  Xanan sounds bored when I tell him the address and says I’ll have to do the heavy lifting, but promises to be there. Demon back-up has to be better than nothing.

  It’s only when I’m standing in front of the abandoned church in Ballard that I remember the other call I should have made. But what would I have said? Hi, Dad. I know you just lost your own mom, but now I’m walking into something I’m not sure I’ll walk out of, and I’m sorry you’ve had to lose so much. Yeah. That would go over well.

  The wooden church is small, the size of a single-family house, and it sits across the street from a larger, brick church. It has a single steeple made of wood that’s rotted through in places. It’s wedged between an apartment building and a house, on the corner of a residential street and across from Sparkle Sugar, which is closed for the day. A white board posted in the overgrown lawn reads “Notice of Proposed Land Use,” with legal codes and some indecipherable illustration indicating what will eventually sit in this lot. There are no signs of construction happening any time soon.

  The front door is bolted shut. I walk around the building and find the wooden door at the back. It’s not even locked. If this were a horror movie, it would probably be booby-trapped, so I push the door open with a stick and duck around the building. There’s no explosion or gunshot. No axe comes swinging down. Not even a bucket of holy water.