I SAT AT the kitchen counter on a cold morning in late October reading the paper and waiting for everyone else to stir. The weeks passed in a mundane shuffle of school, homework and school again. After spirit week was finally over, I somehow got cajoled into going to the homecoming dance. When my Mom realized, she began to fuss and carry on. Before I knew it, I wore a fancy purple dress, my hair piled on top of my head, and enough makeup I wouldn’t need identification to prove I was in high school. I sat on the bleachers most the night, though Xander drug me out for a couple of dances. I caught Nathanial watching me several times, a secretive smile on his face, but he never came near me. I finally escaped after an hour and a half, hitching a ride home with some people I barely knew just to get out of there.
The remainder of the month was bland with no real place markers in my memories. With Halloween at the end of the week, I was being drug to costume shops where I pretended to look at costumes until Evelyn picked one out for me. As with everything, I wasn’t really into the whole Halloween thing. But I always wound up having fun with Evelyn, so I was ok with it.
Taking a bite of my oatmeal, I turned the page. As I scanned the local stories, the lingering oatmeal in my mouth tasted sour, and I had a hard time swallowing. My mouth was suddenly dry as I read the short article.
It was more than Mariah had gotten, but I wished the story told me more. I wondered if the same symbol had been used, if it was the same killer. Maybe it was just a freaky coincidence, but I doubted it.
Xander came shuffling in the kitchen, his eyes barely open. My brother had a penchant for childish pajamas. Today he wore bright blue ones with different sport balls on them and an open blue robe. He went to the coffee pot and picked it up, attempting to pour a cup before he realized it was empty and frowned. “Why is the rum always gone?” he muttered in his best Captain Jack Sparrow imitation as he riffled through cabinets. I stood and started the Columbian I knew he liked, and he gave me a sleepy grin. As it began to drip, he removed the pot and held his cup under the basket until it filed. A little coffee hissed on the burner as he replaced the pot and came to read over my shoulder, sipping the strong black brew. I’m not a coffee drinker myself. I’ve never understood how something could smell so good and taste so horrible. Unless you drowned it in syrups and sugars, like a caramel Frappuccino from Starbucks, I wasn’t going near the stuff. I sipped at my milk and waited to see if he would say anything about the article, but after a quick scan he moved off, leaning on the counter and yawning.
“So how was the ‘studying’ last night?” I asked with a smirk. He gave me a cocky grin, and I suddenly didn’t want to know. Why was I the only member of this family with better morals than an alley cat? Deciding to change the subject, I folded the paper with the little blurb about Jessica’s death on top and tossed it in front of him. “I think it’s happened again.”
He skimmed the article, stifling another yawn behind his hand. “I think I’ve been there. The owner was some sort of water sprite or something.”
My curiosity peaked. “Is there a way to tell when I’m meeting an Otherworlder, or do they have to tell me?” I had gotten no new information on the subject and was dying to know more. What I found in books and on the internet wasn’t helping, though I had gained a new interest in paranormal fiction.
“There’s usually a sense of connection between all Otherworlders, and in time, you'll be able to feel them. What class they are first, then eventually exactly what they are. You probably could figure it out now if you focus when you feel a connection to someone else.” I thought about the sense I’d had with Mariah—like I found a kindred spirit. “Once you feel the connection and learn to figure the class, it just takes practice.”
“Class?” I asked, praying he wouldn’t clam up. He grimaced at me and sighed, but kept going. I allowed myself a silent celebration. “The Otherworld is divided into classes. One class is demon, that’s where Sariah and I fall. We tend to be the physically strongest, but are generally parasitic in nature, feeding off energy.”
“Wait, you’re a psychic parasite? Like Sariah?” I asked, cocking my head.
“Yes, mine is less obvious. I can feed on any human emotion. When I’m around them, it’s really hard to resist. It’s like putting you in a room full of chocolate and asking you not to eat any. It’s why I have so few friends. Humans get a creeped out feeling when I feed. I get most of my sustenance from the girls I go out with. They, eventually, can’t handle being around me and we break up, but it gives me plenty. Intense emotions taste better to me, like pizza compared to mashed turnips. And with teenage girls, everything they feel is intense…”
I was a little repulsed by his confession, but deliberately froze my features so it wouldn’t show. When you think about it, eating the charred carcass of a dead animal was pretty creepy too, but I had no problem with a nice steak. “Can you feed off of me or Sariah?”
“No, Otherworlders are different. Some classes can be used in a pinch, but it’s like eating bark or shoe leather—unpleasant and not as nourishing as real food.”
I nodded, a little relieved to know my brother wasn’t snacking off my turmoil. “What are the other classes?” I asked, changing the subject before I began to feel physically ill.
“You got the undead,” he said, ticking them off on his fingers. “They're humans who died and became reanimated somehow. They generally have to drain the life from humans to stay alive, whether it’s a vampire drinking blood or a ghost draining a human’s life energy to stay on this plane.”
Another finger joined the other two. “Next you got your harbingers. Mostly that’s angels who are able to channel the spiritual energy of the universe, which they often refer to as ‘holy energy’ or something like that. Get any idea of what you know about angels from television and mythology out of your head because they're probably the most misunderstood of all Otherworlders. They tend to insert themselves into human events to influence the outcome and are generally forces of good. But they’re just like you and me, a little more than human. They have no better clue about some grand design or destiny than the rest of us.
He added his pinky, so only his thumb lay folded against his palm. “Then you got your fringe elements. These Otherworlders live on the fringes of human society. Their abilities directly affect human affairs—like banshee and cupids. There’s the nature spirits, who can harness the energy of the earth like you will be able to one day. You got the beasts: wendigos, harpies, and minotaurs. They don’t usually appear human, so they live in isolation and are getting rare, with the exception of shifters who are fully human all but three nights a month. And then the seventh class is the human based Otherworlders, witches mostly. The chances of you running into another Otherworlder are pretty high, since so many of us are blending into the human world these days.
“If you never take another word of advice from me, Amelia, take this. Never trust a demon outside this family. They're truly evil and wish for nothing more than to cause pain and suffering. I’ve felt the blood lust myself, and I’m only half demon. Sariah and I are the exception, not the rule. If you ever see one, run. Promise me? ”
I promised him I would even as I wondered if I would recognize one if I saw it. He seemed satisfied and let it go. I hurried to finish my oatmeal and put the dishes in the sink before dashing to my room to get ready. I changed into jeans and a green peasant blouse Mom insisted would look great on me. I clipped the sides of my hair back, put on socks and my green Chuck Taylors, and was good to go.
By the time Evelyn had forced me to the third Halloween store, I was regretting agreeing to this. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was just prolonging the torment by parading me around in the skimpiest costumes because she was enjoying herself, or if she was simply a sadist. But finally she selected a tight Robin Hood outfit with a corseted halter, a lacy white scrap of fabric covering her cleavage, skintight pants, and knee high leather boots. For me, she selected a dress with a short ruffled skirt, a corset-like vest t
hingy over a scrap of a peasant blouse. It was a Little Red Riding Hood costume, but the obligatory cape only came to my lower back. With black petty coats under it, the dress just showed the red and black tops of the white stockings she made me get as well. I looked ridiculous, but there was no point arguing with Evie when her mind was made up. I thought I was going to kill myself wearing the six inch, black open toe shoes with cute red bows she picked for me. I wasn’t certain my folks would let me out of the house in the outfit. Bonus?
We stopped at my favorite steakhouse for dinner. I made it about halfway through my medium rare ribeye before remembering my earlier conversation with Xander and feeling my stomach turn.
“Evelyn, do you believe in magic?”
“Like fairies and unicorns and yellow brick roads?”
“No, more like… some of the stuff from stories might be true. Like werewolves—or maybe demons.”
“Why? Did you get bit by a dog during the full moon?” Erica asked with a grin.
I exhaled loudly through my nose, impatience tightening my features. “What if I told you I wasn’t human?”
“I’d ask what planet you’re from.” She shrugged, shaking her head a little. “Come on. Lia! Are you really serious with this?” Her eyes lingered in a hard study of my face. “Look, I don’t know if I believe in all that stuff or not. I know it’s weird how so many different cultures have the same legends, even though they never had any contact. Like vampires. Everybody has one. But that doesn’t mean it’s true! You need to do all your research before you go charging off to slay the beasts, Lia.”
“Slay the beast?” What the hell was she talking about? I was trying my hardest to figure out if I could tell her what my parents said, but now I wasn’t sure. If I told her what I was, would she feel the need to "slay" me? Her mouth twisted like she’d said something she hadn’t meant to, and she clammed up. The rest of our dinner was quiet with a few stilted attempts at conversation which were eventually abandoned as something hung between us for the first time in our lives. We’d never kept secrets, and I wondered if this time our secrets might tear us apart.
We still hadn’t said anything when her dad picked us up after dinner. I didn’t think the ride home would ever end. I stared out the window into the darkness and wondered if anything would ever be the same again.