Fairy, Texas

by Margo Bond Collins

  Conscious of Mr. Carlson’s suggestion that I use both the digital and the black and white film camera, I had both of them hanging from straps around my neck. I’d been using the digital for most of the evening because I wanted to see the results immediately. Okay, so sometimes I’m instant gratification girl. So what?

  I got some good shots of the half-time act—I had to admit that the drill team and the band put on a pretty good show—and then I decided to switch cameras. Josh still stood guard over my bag, so I dropped the digital into it.

  “Having fun?” he asked, a smile showing in his eyes.

  “More than I expected to,” I admitted.

  The 35mm felt bulky in my hand, but I worked with it anyway, moving up and down the sideline with my back to the field so I could get shots of the crowd.

  At the fifty-yard line I saw Sarah, leaning down from the bleachers over the concrete barricade and waving at me. I jogged over to her and she smiled.

  “Hey!” she said. “Enjoying your first game?”

  “Actually, I am,” I said, grinning. I felt better than I’d felt since we’d moved to Texas.

  “Andrea!” Sarah called out to one of the cheerleaders who had retired from the sideline to watch the show. “Come take a picture of us?”

  Andrea smiled and came toward us, holding out her hand. I gave her the 35mm and stood on my tiptoes with my back against the barrier while Sarah leaned over precariously. I saw a security guard headed our direction—he was yelling something at Sarah about getting back behind the barrier. We all pretended we didn’t see or hear him.

  “Better hurry!” I said.

  Andrea snapped a few shots, said “There you go” with a smile, handed me the camera, and headed back toward the field. The drill team had just finished their routine and was marching back off the field.

  I started to step away from the barrier, but Sarah reached down toward me.

  “What?” I asked, pausing.

  “Give me your hand!” she yelled over the sound of the band.

  I looked at her quizzically, but reached up to take her hand.

  Just as she seized my arm, all the lights went out in the stadium. Coming as it did after the bright lights all night, the darkness seemed complete.

  Sarah clutched my wrist tightly. The band faltered to silence, one lone trumpet petering out at the end. There was an instant of silence before people started yelling, and in that silence I heard Sarah say, “I'm so sorry, Laney. They made me do it.”

  And then I felt someone else, someone much stronger than Sarah, grab me from behind. A hand covered my mouth, though I’m certain no one could have heard me over the pandemonium that had broken out in the stadium.

  Nor could anyone else hear when he leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Remember me, bitch?” Then he laughed and pulled me through to the ethereal plane.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I recognized the voice. It was Sims—the only one of the three guys who had gotten away when Josh and Mason had rescued me from Hazel Biet’s trio of thugs.

  And now he had me again.

  This was going to suck. Big time.

  We were airborne almost instantly. My stomach wrenched with the sense of déjà vu. I hate getting kidnapped and flown to evil lairs.

  Josh, I thought. Josh was watching me the whole time. He’d been leaning up against the wall. Surely he saw what had happened.

  Of course, Mason was on the football team, so he was probably still in the locker room when the lights went out. Would he recognize what was going on and come help Josh find me?

  I’d brought my iron spike with me to the game—I carried it pretty much everywhere with me these days—but it was still in my camera bag. And my camera bag? On the ground by the fifty yard line.

  We didn’t fly far; in about fifteen minutes, Sims touched down outside a darkened school campus. The building was newer than ours and uglier—a squat, brown brick building sprawling across the flat Texas landscape. There weren’t even any trees to soften the edges.

  We landed on the ground, and moved out of the ethereal plane with an almost audible pop. Sims brought his wings through with him, and I could see a thin spot in one of them, new skin forming over the hole he’d ripped in his wings getting away from Josh and Mason.

  He resituated his grasp on my upper arm, and dragged me into the building through a side door that had been left unlocked. I tried to plant my feet, but my sneakers screeched along the tile as he pulled me until I stumbled after him. Most of the lights were off, but the building had an unmistakable institutional feel.

  At the end of the hall, Sims pulled me through a door that led to a backstage area. We wound our way around prop furniture and painted backdrops. When I grabbed at a sturdy-looking couch and tried to hang on to it, Sims stopped long enough to backhand me across the face. I yelped in pain as I felt my lip split and blood trickle down my chin. He yanked my arm so hard I thought he might wrench my shoulder out of its socket. Although I didn’t entirely quit trying to resist him at that point—I still dragged my feet—I decided I needed to wait for a better moment to try to get away from him.

  Sims pulled me out onto the stage and I stumbled out behind him, blinded by the footlights shining up into my face. When he let go of my arm, I put it up to shade my eyes and looked around me. Roger Bartlef stood on the opposite side of the stage from me, along with Hazel Biet. That didn’t really surprise me.

  What did surprise me, at least a little, was that Oma Raina sat on a chair between them, leaning forward with her hands crossed over her cane.

  On the same side of the stage with me was another small group of adults, this one comprised of two men and one woman, all seated. None of them were as old as either Bartlef or Oma Raina. In fact, all of them looked about Biet’s age—thirties or forties.

  I had about ten seconds to take all this in before Sims was behind me, dragging me out to center stage. At that point, I looked out into the auditorium and realized that we had an audience. The house was by no means packed, but there were probably a couple hundred people there of all ages.

  Make that People. With a capital P. In the haze created by the stage-lights, I could see the echo of wings everywhere, their faint shadows criss-crossing with one another.

  They were all staring at me.

  I had a horrible suspicion that I was going to be the main show that evening.

  That suspicion was confirmed when Bartlef said, “Ah, my dear. There you are.” What is it about creepy old guys that makes them want to call teenage girls “my dear”? It’s really pretty gross. So I didn’t say anything back.

  “Please,” he continued, “come here.” He held out his hand toward me and I cringed away, but Sims was behind me and gave me a push, propelling me toward Bartlef.

  He took my hand. “No need to be afraid,” he said in what I guess he thought was a soothing tone.

  Right. Why on earth would I be scared? I’d just been kidnapped off a football field, and flown to an auditorium full of demons. Nothing scary there.

  “What do you want with me?” I asked. I tried to sound angry and defiant, but I’m afraid it came out as more of a terrified squeak.

  He didn’t even bother to answer me.

  “As you can see,” he said, taking me by the shoulders and turning me to face the other group of demons, “she is unharmed.” His hands were chilly on my shoulders and he gripped me tightly. I wondered if my split lip counted with this crowd.

  “How do we know you’re right?” one of the two men asked. He wore a dark gray suit and tie, and had just a touch of silver at his temples—he looked respectable, kind of like he could work in a bank or something. I might have even been inclined to trust him, except for the fact that I could see enormous shadow-wings stretching out behind him. They were almost exactly the same color as his suit. “Why should we just take your word that she’s the Yatah?” he continued.

  I could hear the smile in Bartlef’s voice. “You’re welcome to check for yo
urself,” he said. “But we have Raina Overhill’s word on it.”

  “Ah.” The gray man nodded, apparently satisfied that Oma Raina knew what she was talking about.

  I looked around desperately, searching for any means of escape.

  I didn’t see any.

  “I’d like to examine her,” the woman in the Gray Man’s group said.

  Bartlef nodded, and she moved to us. Bartlef shifted his grasp to my upper arm and held me out for inspection. She walked in a circle around me, making “hmm” noises and nodding the whole time.

  Then she took a step back and regarded Bartlef solemnly.

  “And even if she is the Yatah,” she said, “why should your enclave have her?”

  “She came to us,” Oma Raina’s croaking voice answered. “She came to us; she belongs to us.”

  The woman stepped up closer to me and put her hand on my stomach in almost the exact same spot that Biet had. Again, I felt cold seeping through my skin and into my bones.

  “She does not yet carry the Dumaya,” she announced. “Therefore, she is still anyone’s for the taking. I believe our young warriors should now have a chance with her.”

  I could feel my eyes get huge. I wasn’t pregnant, so she was going to hand me over to her own boys? I couldn’t help but glance over at Sims. His smile was cold as he dropped one eyelid in a slow, deliberate wink. I shuddered and looked away.

  “When we are done with her here tonight, you may have her.” Bartlef projected his voice loudly enough for the entire audience to hear. “Assuming,” he said in a much quieter voice, “that she is still alive.”

  The audience watched the exchange silently. I could feel the tension building in the room. Again I shielded my eyes from the lights and looked out into the crowd. As my eyes adjusted, I saw some faces I recognized from school, a few others from selling ads with Mason. Apparently much of the demon population of Fairy had made it to the show.

  Except for Josh and Mason.

  My knees went weak as I realized that there was little chance I’d be saved from this. Whatever “this” was. Only Bartlef’s grip on my arm kept me from sinking to the floor. He hauled me back to my feet. I saw his jaw tighten. Behind him, Biet snarled.

  “Absolutely not,” she said to Bartlef, stepping up next to him. “We agreed to allow them to see her, not to have her.”

  The other woman smiled pleasantly, ignoring Biet’s outburst. “So, Roger,” she said to Bartlef, “you agree to release the girl into our custody immediately following the ceremony?”

  Bartlef nodded. “I do.”

  “Regardless of the outcome?”

  Bartlef smiled in a particularly nasty way. “Absolutely.”

  Somehow I didn’t think he planned to leave me alive after whatever ceremony he was planning.

  The woman nodded. “Let’s begin, then.” She bared her teeth in a much less pleasant smile at Bartlef.

  Bartlef snarled and muttered something to Biet. She moved swiftly off stage. I heard something behind me, and turned just in time to see her dragging a young boy onto the stage behind her. He was naked, dirty, thin to the point of emaciation—his ribs and hip bones stuck out in sharp relief against his skin.

  And Sarah was handcuffed to him. She looked like she’d been backhanded, too;. her lip was split and still bleeding. She also had several bruises along her cheek and around her neck.

  I didn’t feel as sorry for her as I would have even two hours earlier.

  Sims followed her, leading a second group of prisoners chained to one another: Ally, Natalie, Scott, Andrew, and Kayla. All my friends, plus my stepsister. They all looked like they were in shock, but Kayla was thrashing and spitting, fighting to get away from Sims. He turned around and punched her in the stomach. She doubled over and stumbled when he pulled the chain linking them all onto center stage.

  I started fighting in earnest then, too. I had been waiting for a chance to escape, for a rescue, but I was beginning to think rescue wasn’t coming.

  Natalie huddled next to Scott and started crying.

  I pulled away harder.

  Bartlef tightened his grip on my upper arm, his fingers digging into my skin so hard I thought he might draw blood with his nails. “Be still,” he hissed.

  I fought harder, pulling away from him until my shoulder popped.

  Bartlef flashed a look at Biet, and she pulled a long, wicked-looking knife out from behind her. I couldn’t tell where she’d been hiding it. She strode over behind Ally and grabbed her by the hair, jerking Ally’s head back so that her neck was exposed. The edge of the knife cut Ally just slightly and she whimpered.

  “Don’t hurt her!” I cried out. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just leave her alone.”

  Bartlef’s nasty breath blew by my face as he told Biet, “The arm, Hazel.”

  Biet sighed, but moved the knife away from Ally’s throat. The other demons on the stage circled around me. Sims jogged backstage again and came out with a bright silver cup of some sort—the kind that I’d seen described as a “chalice.” His eyes shined as he joined Biet next to Ally. Biet pulled Ally’s arm out from her side.

  I forced myself to stand completely still.

  Biet slashed at Ally’s upper arm so quickly that I could barely follow her movements. A dark red line of blood appeared at the same moment Ally yelped in pain. Biet held her still and motioned to Sims, who handed Biet the chalice. She tightened her grip on Ally’s arm to force the blood to flow a bit more freely. Biet caught the droplets as they headed toward the floor. I heard a faint splash as they landed; apparently the cup already contained some kind of liquid. Ally’s face went white and she slumped, but Sims caught her before she could fall to the floor in a faint.

  Natalie, next in line, started screaming. Her voice echoed through the auditorium, then cut off sharply when Biet held a knife to her throat, too.

  “Be quiet,” Biet said, “and I’ll make sure this hurts as little as possible. But,” she continued, flexing her hand slightly so that the knife dug just a little deeper into Natalie’s neck without breaking the skin, “if you insist on screaming, I will silence you.”

  Natalie whimpered; I could see her biting the insides of her lips to keep from opening her mouth. Biet then repeated the process she’d used on Ally, gathering several drops of Natalie’s blood in the chalice. Natalie didn’t faint, though she looked like she wished she could. Tears leaked out of her eyes.

  I heard a swishing, scraping noise from the audience, and squinted past the lights. The audience members were still silent, but many of them had manifested their wings—the noise I heard was the sound of every demon’s wings brushing up against the wings of the demon in the next seat.

  Dear God. They were enjoying this.

  When I looked back at the chained teenagers, Biet had moved to the boys. Everyone else was watching her, but Kayla, at the end of the chained group, glared at me. She never took her eyes off me, even when she flinched as Biet drew her blood and dripped it into the cup.

  “This is your fault,” she said through gritted teeth, as Biet dropped her arm and moved back to the circle of demons surrounding me. “None of this would have ever happened if you hadn’t come here. It was better before you came.”

  I stared at Kayla helplessly. What could I possibly say to that? It was true. She opened her mouth to say more, but Sims let Natalie drop to the floor and moved quickly to Kayla. He backhanded her across the mouth. I was beginning to think it was the only move he had. Her head snapped back, but she didn’t make a sound. And she went right back to glaring at me, this time without a word.

  I dragged my eyes away from my stepsister and back to Biet, who was swirling the liquid in the cup. She gave it to Bartlef, handling it reverently. He took it in both hands and held it out to Oma Raina, who pulled out a paper packet—like a brown paper lunch bag, folded flat. I blinked, trying to remember where I had seen it before.

  Mason.

  It was the package Mason had delivered to Oma Rai
na the first day we went to sell ads together.

  Oma Raina opened it and poured a green powder into the chalice. Bartlef nodded once, then began walking around the circle chanting words I didn’t understand and waving his hand over the cup. The rest of the demons drew closer, hemming me in on all sides. I glared at Oma Raina, who stared back at me impassively.

  The swish and scrape of the audience’s wings grew louder.

  When Bartlef had completed three circuits of the demon circle, the Gray Man and the woman who had touched my stomach parted to let him enter the circle.

  I could tell I wasn’t going to like this.

  Bartlef pushed me to my knees and held the chalice over my head. When I fought to stand again, the Gray Man held me down while his partner tipped my chin back. I clenched my teeth, but the third member of their group pried my mouth open.

  Bartlef tipped the cup so that the thick sludge inside slid past my lips.

  I gagged on the taste, metallic and dark, but the demon holding my mouth open clamped it shut quickly.

  Bartlef covered my nose and hissed, “Swallow it or die. Your choice.” His eyes shone with a horrifying lust. I gagged again and reflexively tried to gasp for air. Bartlef squeezed down tighter on my face.

  My eyes streaming, I finally choked down the viscous mass, but Bartlef and the other demon held on to my face. Darkness clouded the edges of my vision and bright sparkles danced in front of me. I could feel myself starting to lose consciousness. When they finally let go of me, I fell forward, catching myself with my hands, and stayed on all fours heaving air in and out of my lungs.

  The blood sludge had left a foul taste in my mouth, too much like the smell of Bartlef’s breath for comfort, and I gagged again and heaved. Nothing came up, though it should have. I glared at Bartlef through the tears in my eyes and he smiled down at me. Without looking away from my eyes, he gestured at Biet.

  She grabbed my hair and used it to pull me back up to my knees. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the knife flash through the air. The slice through my arm felt like a cold wind brushing my skin. I bit my lip, knowing that pain would quickly follow.