Wasn’t that even worse? Nadia didn’t mind the idea of a torch-wielding mob chasing Elizabeth out of town. That was what they would do if they knew the whole story—which they didn’t. Instead, people were going to start turning on one another. Suspecting their friends and neighbors . . .
No. People never turned against their friends first. Nadia had learned that from her mother, and seen it for herself by studying how people around the globe were still persecuted for witchcraft (mostly without any real cause). When people went looking for a witch, they didn’t look at the people closest to them. Certainly they didn’t look at the beautiful, beloved Elizabeth Pike, a teenager who seemed to be a friend to all. Accused witches were loners. Outsiders. The people already cast out from society, and looked down upon. Old women, or the disfigured, or those who had already experienced bad luck: An accusation of witchcraft was always made against the most vulnerable first.
The people who can least defend themselves, Nadia thought, the fear within her deepening. The ones who’ve already suffered enough.
How many more victims would Elizabeth claim before the end?
“How come we moved away from Chicago?” Cole whined.
That is a damned good question, Simon Caldani thought but didn’t say. “First of all, it’s not ‘how come.’ It’s why.”
“Then why did we move away from Chicago?”
“Because I got a new job, and I thought we all needed a fresh start.” Some fresh start this was. He sighed as he drove the car toward Cole’s kindergarten, trying to find a route where none of the streets were waterlogged.
Cole kicked at his car seat. He hadn’t been able to burn off energy by playing outside for days now, and Nadia seemed to have a lot on her mind, so she hadn’t had as much time for her brother. Simon’s little boy was restless and uneasy; he knew how that felt.
“I don’t like it here. Only bad things ever happen here,” Cole said.
“Hey, that’s not true,” Simon said. “Remember how you love having a backyard?”
“I can’t play in the yard until it stops raining.”
“Well, that’s true. But it can’t rain forever.”
Cole peered out of the car window. “I think maybe it can.”
Simon turned a corner to see yet another washed-out street . . . and a car that had apparently stalled trying to drive through it. A woman in a waterproof jacket too large for her was peering under the hood, clearly unsure how to get out of this mess.
“Hey, buddy, we’re going to help one of our neighbors for a few minutes. Stay in the car for me?” When Cole nodded, Simon got out of the car and called, “Looks like you could use a hand!”
When the woman turned, he recognized Archana Prasad. She held one hand above her eyes to block the rain as she smiled. “Mr. Caldani! Never have I been so glad to see anyone.”
Simon went to her car and gave her the most reassuring smile he could manage in the cold rain. “Couldn’t get the police out here?”
“The police are too busy, with all the flooding. Every business downtown with a basement has water damage, and some are washed out entirely.” Mrs. Prasad shook her head. “My husband is on the town council, you know. They’re having an emergency meeting, so I couldn’t reach him, and I didn’t want my son to be late for school.”
Cole was going to be late for school, but Simon doubted he’d mind. “Come on. You get in and put the car in neutral, and I’ll push.”
He sloshed into the knee-deep water, thinking that he really ought to buy a pair of hip waders—but the store was probably completely out by now. As Simon began pushing the car forward, another passerby waded out to help. He turned to give the guy a smile, then tensed slightly as he recognized Tony Bender.
The last time they’d met, Mr. Bender had been seriously, nearly criminally losing his temper—taking a swing at Alejandro Perez that had nearly hit Nadia. Simon tried not to hold it against him, because his daughter had been sick at the time and God knew that could mess with a man’s mind. Still, it didn’t seem like the start of a beautiful friendship, either.
Once they got the car to higher ground, Mrs. Prasad put it in park and Simon started emptying the water from her spark plugs, so she might be able to drive again. Instead of helping, Mr. Bender started talking to Mrs. Prasad. “My family and I got to talking this morning about what’s been going on in this town. How things around here aren’t right.”
“It’s just rain,” Simon said, a little too forcefully. People in this town couldn’t leave a bad situation alone; they had to add superstition to the mix.
“Just rain?” Mr. Bender lifted his chin, as though preparing for a punch. In the distance, Simon saw a Weather TV van rumble by—which made Mr. Bender’s point for him. “Was it just rain that made a fire start in the middle of the Halloween carnival, even though nobody’s been able to find a single candle or old cigarette or bad wire that might’ve set it off? Just rain that made my little girl sick last month, and all those people, too? And forgive me for mentioning it, Archana, but it wasn’t just rain that made you lose sight of reality that night at the Town Hall.”
“Don’t remind me. I’m so ashamed.” Mrs. Prasad hung her head, but her dark eyes looked to Mr. Bender’s for reassurance. “They said it must have been my medications affecting my mind, and yet no one else has ever had the same side effects. The drug has been out for many years. So why should I be the only one made crazy by it?”
Mr. Bender leaned closer. “What do you remember? What was it like?”
“At first—at first I thought my son was a demon. My Jeremy, who I love more than anything in this world. I wanted to attack him, even to kill him. It’s almost too horrible to remember.” Her voice broke, and despite his irritation, Simon couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. No wonder she’d look for an explanation, no matter how strange, if something had made her want to hurt her own child. “Then all the people turned into demons. Not just Jeremy, but everyone. It seemed to me that if I didn’t kill them all, they would kill us.”
Mr. Bender looked triumphant. “Does that sound like a medication side effect to you, Caldani? Because it sure doesn’t to me.”
During his former life as a big-firm litigator, Simon had heard more horror stories about pharmaceuticals than he could have retold in an hour. So he cut to the chase. “What else? Seriously. What else do you think could possibly make people see demons?”
“They can see demons if the demons are real,” Mr. Bender said.
Mrs. Prasad gasped—more out of shock than fear, Simon thought. Surely she didn’t believe anything that crazy. “Demons? Come on.” He pointed skyward. “Don’t you think if the devil were after us, he’d come up with something scarier than a rain cloud?”
“Some kids nearly drowned last night. Kids the same age as our daughters. If that doesn’t scare you, I don’t know what will.” Mr. Bender met Simon’s eyes, and he no longer came across as a blowhard. He was just another father, one who needed an enemy he could see, and fight, to keep his children safe. More quietly, Mr. Bender said, “Need some help with that car?”
“Nope. Got it.” Simon managed to smile as Mr. Bender nodded and went on his way.
By now Cole was loudly singing along to the radio, happily kicking up his feet in the backseat, assuming (wrongly) that he was too late for school to have to go at all. Simon finished up for Mrs. Prasad as quickly as he could. “Here. Try it now.”
She laughed out loud when the car’s engine revved. “You’re a miracle worker, Mr. Caldani.”
“Simon, please. And no trouble.”
“If you’re Simon, I’m Archana.” Her smile faded. “What Mr. Bender said—do you think there’s any truth to it? That the demons and witchcraft I saw might have been real?”
“I’m sure it seemed real. But, come on. There are places experiencing floods all around the world every day. It’s just our turn.” He gave her a pat on the shoulder, hoping to reassure her.
She nodded, but her expression remain
ed doubtful. “And yet there was also the fire, and the terrible disease. We were under quarantine two weeks ago! I realize it’s superstitious to think of . . . other explanations. But you can’t help wondering.”
Another voice behind him said, “I know I’m wondering. And I’m scared.”
Simon turned to see Elizabeth Pike standing near them, still in one of her pretty white dresses. It never occurred to him to wonder whether she ought to be outside without a coat on a rainy December day; he just smiled. Now that Elizabeth seemed to have gotten over her little crush on him, Simon was happy to see her again. Such a nice girl. “There’s no need to be scared, Elizabeth.”
“Don’t tell her that,” Mrs. Prasad said. She edged closer to Elizabeth, clearly protective. “You need to watch yourself, young lady. Don’t run any unnecessary risks.”
“I won’t.” Elizabeth turned toward Simon, still heartbreakingly lovely. “Just like I know Nadia takes care. She’s very cautious, makes sure she won’t be seen.”
“What do you mean?” Simon asked.
Elizabeth said only, “I’m sure Nadia is careful. But tell her to be safe? I would never want her to do anything dangerous.” She turned to Mrs. Prasad then. “We should all be more careful these days. Could I ride with you?”
“Of course, dear,” Archana said, giving Elizabeth’s shoulder a motherly pat.
Did Mrs. Prasad even say where she was going? But the question didn’t linger in Simon’s mind. It couldn’t. He was simply glad Elizabeth was being looked after.
As he got back in the car, Simon found himself remembering what Elizabeth had said about his daughter. Her words were cryptic, and unsettling, and they stayed with him far longer than any questions about Elizabeth Pike.
Vintage clothes were awesome and everything, but Verlaine was only prepared to sacrifice one beautiful ’40s dress to the rain gods. From now on her outfits were going to be a bit more action-ready. So: 1970s high-waisted jeans and peasant blouse, complete with floppy hat for rain cover.
“Bring it,” Verlaine muttered as she looked into the mirror and cocked her hat just so.
Technically she could have skipped school. Uncle Dave and Uncle Gary would’ve let her, since they hadn’t stopped freaking out since the firefighters had called them last night. She’d been made to drink hot tea and hotter soup, and she’d awoken to find that Uncle Gary had layered about four blankets on top of her during the night. (“You could have died of hypothermia down there! Freezing cold water can be fatal! Don’t you remember Titanic?”)
But Verlaine had reporting to do.
“Hi! Verlaine Laughton, reporting for the Lightning Rod—”
“I know who you are,” Mrs. Purdhy said patiently. “You’re in my sixth period physics class.”
“Right, yes, but we’re supposed to do the interviews like we would in the real world.” Verlaine angled her phone to show a little more of the rain-spattered windows behind Mrs. Purdhy. “How have you personally been affected by the flooding?”
“Our house is on high ground, thank goodness. So we’re all right.” But she glanced to the side, clearly ill at ease. “Still, everything that’s been going on in this town recently—it makes you wonder whether maybe it’s time to move. I hear the Midwest is nice.”
Verlaine made a quick note to herself—potential teacher departure at end of year, prepare good-bye tribute?—and kept collecting interviews. She spoke to students and teachers alike, rich and poor, from the top of the social ladder to the bottom rung, one of the lunch ladies, two of the janitors . . . but despite the diverse cross section of people, one theme kept coming up over and over again.
“Something spooky is going on here,” said sophomore Carlie Cahill. “The haunted house seemed like just an accident, but everything since then? We’ve made God angry or something.”
School secretary Kari Johnston shook her head. “Dark forces are at work. Spirits. You mark my words.” Kari clutched her books tightly to her chest, and when Verlaine took a step forward, she skittered back.
You’d think I’d pulled a knife or something. Verlaine sighed. Some people.
“Some people say it’s witches. I don’t know if I believe that or not, but something is definitely, for sure, not right,” said track star Sonny Adcock as he zipped his waterproof coat before heading to the gym building. He never once looked her in the eyes.
“It’s totally witches,” Kendall Bender said blithely as she slid her books into her locker. “Because, like, that disease last month was definitely not normal, plus maybe the haunted house was built on an ancient Indian burial mound—excuse me, Native American burial mound, and also, it turns out Mateo Perez? We all thought he was just a total weirdo? It turns out a witch cursed his family hundreds of years ago and that’s why he acts that way. He told me so himself.”
“Mateo—told you this?” Verlaine attempted to conceal her shock. What, were they in full-disclosure mode now? Why didn’t anybody tell her?
“Yeah. Explains a lot, right?” Kendall shut her locker door and shrugged. “After school I’m going by St. Mary’s to get some holy water. Like, we’re not Catholic, but Protestants don’t have any holy water, which is a serious problem and I think we should look into it. That should be a story.”
“I’ll bring it up at the next editorial meeting.”
Once she’d really thought about it, the town’s sudden turn toward the spooky wasn’t so astonishing. Maybe they didn’t understand the real supernatural forces at work, but too many strange things had happened for people not to realize something was up. (Also, apparently Mateo was going around filling people in on the details, which she needed to learn more about, pronto.)
Yet Verlaine remembered the first time the town’s fears had fixated on witchcraft. The crowd at the hospital had turned ugly, which had freaked her out, but it was worse than that.
They had turned on her.
When she got home, she immediately locked the door behind her, and put on the chain, too. Grabbed a snack and the cat, went into her bedroom, and locked that door. Still feeling the need to cocoon, she dug in her closet until she found the leopard-print Slanket her dads had given her as a gag gift a couple of birthdays ago.
Once she was wrapped up in it, Verlaine finally felt a little safer. A little more ridiculous, too, she thought as she caught a glimpse of herself in her mirror. I look like a spotted potato.
Her phone rang; it was Asa.
“I was going to ask how you are,” he said, “but your hello sounded like you were about to start laughing.”
“Because I look like an idiot in this Slanket,” she said.
“What is a Slanket?”
“Something not even hell could come up with. Don’t ask.”
“But you’re all right?”
She bit her lower lip, cradled the phone against her cheek. “Yeah.”
“I couldn’t stay—”
“Because EMTs would’ve figured out something was up. I know that.” I know you wouldn’t leave me after something like that, not unless you had to.
Dangerous and adored. He was both of these things to her, and she couldn’t untangle one from the other.
“Asa,” she ventured, “how did you become a demon?”
“I traded myself for revenge for my sister’s death.”
It amazed her to think of him being like just another normal guy, with a house and a family and a life. “How did she die?”
“Murdered, by a Sorceress. I don’t think she was a witch; I think she just—got in someone’s way. Or maybe her death was merely convenient, like Jeremy’s. I only know how much it hurt to lose her.”
“Tell me about her. You must have loved her a lot.”
“I must have done.” His voice was more ragged now. “But you see, when I made my bargain, I wasn’t clear enough. I asked to avenge her. I didn’t also say that I wanted to remember her. Being in the demonic realm—it does things to your mind. Warps your memory of who and what you were before. All that’s
left of my sister is how much I loved her. I can hardly picture her face. I don’t even remember her name.”
Verlaine’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
They were quiet together on the phone for a few moments. She wanted to think of some way to comfort him, but she couldn’t. Maybe it was enough just to listen. To be there.
When Asa spoke again, his words were brisk. “So. You’re warm and safe. And alive. Good job, us.”
“Thank you for coming with me,” she said. “I don’t think I would’ve made it out of there without you.”
“I’m glad I could be there to help you—this time.”
It was always between them, the threat of what was to come.
Just as she hung up, though, she thought . . . to avenge his sister.
To avenge a sister?
Verlaine climbed out of bed and grabbed Goodwife Hale’s spell book. By now she’d placed bookmarks in most of the demon-heavy sections, so she was able to immediately flip to the part she’d been thinking of. Of His Demons and Their Purposes.
When she’d first found this ledger, she’d been pumped. This was a list of demons! Asa’s name had to be on there, right? But the list went on for page after page, enumerating dozens of demons, and it was clear that the list was far from comprehensive.
What had puzzled Verlaine were the notations beside each demon’s name; they all said things like For Power or To Slake His Lust. She’d wondered if those were the talents the demons had, the kinds of magic the One Beneath would use them for. But now she realized—these were the things the demons had traded their mortal lives for.
And beside one of those names was written To Avenge a Sister.
She whispered, “Asael.”
With his true name, she had the final ingredient—the last thing she needed in order to kill him.