“If only he knew the truth,” I muttered to myself as I peeled off Logan’s sweater and my uniform, surveying the damage done to my side. A six-inch-wide swatch of skin was already puckered and shiny, as if the burn was already months old. I grabbed the healing balm, wrapped myself in my robe and was almost in the bathroom when I heard my mom’s persuasive tone coming through my parents’ door. I paused outside to eavesdrop. I couldn’t help it—my mom could sell fish to the ocean, so I had to know what she was telling my dad.
“—hasn’t had an episode in months. Maybe we’ve finally found the right combination of pills.” Go, Mom! Even though I was careful to flush the pills every single morning, instead of taking them.
“It doesn’t matter, Anna. I don’t want some hoodlum taking advantage of her.” I clapped my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing at the thought of Logan as a hoodlum—the feared leader of the infamous pen-stealing gang.
“I saw the way he was looking at her. Don’t tell me they’re just friends. And that attitude? Where did that come from? Him?”
“Really, Rich? That’s perfectly normal teenage girl behavior, especially after what you insinuated. We raised our daughter better than to go off and boink the first boy she meets.” I shuddered at my mother’s use of the word boink, especially in relation to me.
“We’re going to support her new friendship—” My mom’s voice got louder—meaning she was coming closer to the door—and I scurried off to the bathroom, slipping inside just as I heard their bedroom door open.
I rested my back against the bathroom door, my head lightly thunking against the wood frame even though a thick yellow towel was hanging on the back to cushion the blow.
“Better get this over with,” I muttered, grabbing the jar out of the pocket of my robe. I popped open the lid and skeptically sniffed the gelatinous goo. It had a faint odor, briny and slightly sour, like stagnant water near a beach.
I dipped a finger in the mix, half expecting it to burst into flames or melt my skin off. Maybe Rego added a dose of som—whatever that hypnosis spell was. Instead, my fingertip met a slightly oily cream, thick like butter only bright blue. I slid out of my terrycloth robe and swabbed my fingertip at the center of the burn, which tingled at my touch.
And then I heard a slight fizzing sound as the cream began to bubble on my skin.
Frantic, I grabbed a washcloth and scrubbed at the spot, making the surrounding skin even more tender. And then I stared at my rib cage in shock.
There, in the center of the burn, was a dime-sized section of perfectly healed skin.
Chapter 5
I SHOULD HAVE been asleep. My day should have left me exhausted, passed out in my bed with my cat at my feet and my pillow covered in drool. But instead, I was eating Hershey’s Kisses and sitting on the hardwood floor of my room, my back resting against the pink and pale yellow comforter on my bed while a mix of my happiest songs played. Usually, the music put me in a better head space. At the very least, it helped mask the grating voices of the slightly drunk people who often walked down our block, headed home from the bars on Ninth Avenue. The slurred conversations wafted into my second-floor bedroom because my street-facing windows were open, letting blasts of wintry air cool my fire-demon-heated skin.
I wanted to talk today over with someone, but I didn’t know who. Dottie was my go-to, but she couldn’t exactly pick up a phone. My dad seemed to think that a boy walking me home was a federal offense—no matter how many times my mom had scolded him over dinner. My mom was rooting for Team Normal Paige—hell, she was the captain of the cheerleading squad—so how could I tell her everything I’d learned today? I had cousins in Long Island and Jersey, but they were all older and had dismissed me as some attention-seeking kid going through a phase. Every year for Christmas they gave me their old goth CDs and bell-sleeved lace tops, calling them “vintage.” I knew they meant well, but it felt like they thought I was depressed. And, apparently, trapped in the nineties.
And I couldn’t exactly talk to Logan—not that I had his number. But part of what I wanted to talk about was Logan. I felt my cheeks get hot as I thought about what my father had said. How did Logan look at me? What was he talking about?
“Ugh, don’t you lose your mind over it. Dad would freak out if a boy so much as breathed in your direction. That’s it,” I whispered, even though I couldn’t stop the indulgent smile that crept across my face as I thought about the sweet way he held my hand to comfort me.
What are you doing, Paige? Swooning? I banged the back of my head against the mattress. I couldn’t find one legitimate reason not to trust Logan, and yet, part of me was skeptical. I had to be. Even though, if it weren’t for him, I’d be doing push-ups in a demon army or whatever it was demons made you do when you were drafted into service. Or, I’d be dead, a floating spirit with Dottie in a grotesque Dark World version of Holy Ass.
Stuck in high school for the rest of my natural life. Talk about hell.
“Maybe you’re just naturally suspicious. Just like your kitty,” I muttered, staring at my cat as he gingerly approached me, cautiously smelling my sock-covered foot before jumping five feet in the air when my phone rang. I grabbed it from my nightstand while Mercer retreated into the closet, hiding behind an old acoustic guitar that I’d never quite mastered, no matter how much I practiced.
I stared at my phone, puzzling over the unfamiliar number. It was a New York area code, but I didn’t recognize it.
“Hello?” I answered, switching off my music.
“Hey, it’s Logan.” I could barely hear him over the sound of clattering plates and canned music in the background.
“Logan?” I called, not sure if he could hear me.
“Logan—um, Logan Bradley,” he replied stiffly, sounding slightly official, as if he were talking to someone’s parents.
“I know who Logan is. I just— Where are you?”
“A diner. I snuck behind the counter because I don’t have a phone.” He said it casually, as if it were inconsequential—something that would have been a dark source of shame to everyone I knew at school. Then again, Logan wasn’t exactly like everyone else. “Hey, what’s your roof like?”
“My roof?” I repeated, standing up from the floor and pacing around my bedroom. I could barely understand him with all the background noise.
“Yeah, the roof of your apartment building. Can you get up there?” His voice was difficult to hear—his words rushed, drowned out by shouting.
“The super locks it during the winter.” I kicked a fuzzy blue sock that Mercer had earlier claimed as his into the closet, trying to bait him into coming out, and was rewarded with an evil kitty death stare.
“Then it’s probably a good spot. Want to meet me up there tomorrow morning?”
“We can’t get up there,” I reminded him. “It’s locked.”
“Locks aren’t a problem for me.” Even with the background noise, I could detect the slightly smug tone in his voice, and I remembered how he had no problem getting access to the roof of Holy Assumption. Jeez, he really was arrogant when it came to all things magical.
“Show-off,” I muttered, and I heard him chuckle before returning to his businesslike tone.
“The manager’s coming, so want to meet up on your roof tomorrow or not?”
“Um...okay,” I said. Crap, I hadn’t cleared this with my parents. “If I can’t, how can I reach you?”
“If you’re not there at eleven, then I’ll know you—” It sounded like he said, “can’t come,” but the cacophony in the diner increased, drowning him out.
“Okay.” I paused. “Um, thanks, Logan.”
“I’m getting kicked out,” he nearly yelled. “See you tomorr—”
The call disconnected, leaving me staring at the slightly warm phone in my hand as I sank onto my bed, puzzled by L
ogan’s abrupt goodbye. Why didn’t he have a phone? Did he seriously just get thrown out of a diner for calling me? And what does someone even wear to learn to fight demons?
I was glad I had a plan—even a plan as basic as Demon Defense 101 with Logan. It made me feel less weak, less powerless, less a victim of what was happening. The memory of Travis’s brutal last moments flashed in front of my face, and I shut my eyes, trying to mentally force the image out as I took a long, deep breath.
“You saw some horrible things today. But you cheated death again, and you’re still alive,” I reminded myself aloud. “If you want to stay that way, suck it up, get some sleep and learn how to kill demons tomorrow.”
My voice echoed slightly against my pale pink bedroom walls.
“Those are probably the most unexpected words anyone ever put together,” I whispered, flopping down on my bed and burying my head under the pillow.
But I was wrong: the most unexpected words were uttered by my father the next morning over breakfast. When I announced that I was going to hang out with Logan that day, my father simply—and a tad begrudgingly—told me, “Have a good time.”
I nearly dropped my forkful of spinach omelet in shock, and I darted a quizzical look at my mom, who just winked at me and patted my father’s shoulder.
“Your father and I are going to dinner, and then to that play—” my mom stifled a groan as she mentioned the theatrical torture in store “—so we’ll see you later on tonight.”
“Okay, Mom.” I smiled, mouthing “thanks,” since my dad’s drastic change in demeanor was clearly all her doing.
“So, what exactly do you have planned for your day?” my father asked, trying his best to sound unconcerned as he repeatedly smacked the bottom of a hot sauce bottle. He was so busy studying my face, awaiting my answer, that he ended up drowning his eggs in the spicy goop.
I was glad I had an answer prepared. “The Museum of Natural History. Our school IDs get us in for cheap, and Logan’s never been there.” I assumed. Unless some of those relics in Rego’s room were stolen artifacts.
“Well, have fun,” Mom said cheerfully, handing my father a spoon to scoop up the extra hot sauce. “Bundle up, it’s cold out!”
But until the fire demon powers wore off, being cold wasn’t going to be a problem. I slipped on what I thought was a good uniform for demon-killing class: jeans, a tank top and my light blue hoodie—my favorite, because it was one of the few I owned that didn’t have some kind of company’s logo on it—thanks, Dad!
I barely made it to the third floor before I became so overheated I ripped my coat off like it was a parasite attached to my skin. By the fifth floor, a slight but refreshing cold breeze wafted down the stairway. I kept climbing and found the roof access door being held open by a crumpled-up soda can.
“Hello? Logan?” I called. The rusty hinges squealed as I pushed the door open and stepped onto the tar roof, which was covered in a faint dusting of frost. Snowdrifts piled up on the west side of the roof, and a weather-beaten picnic table, left up here year-round by a charitable tenant, sat in the corner. Logan, clad in jeans, a zipped-up hoodie and his ever-present baseball cap, was sitting on its bench, his forearms resting on his knees and a blue paper cup filled with some kind of steaming beverage in his hands.
“Hey, you made it.” Logan grabbed a second cup from the table and got up. He held the cup out as I walked over to where he now stood.
“Watered-down hot chocolate, since I had to hang up so rudely?” he offered, swirling the liquid in the cup with a smile on his face.
“Well, when you make it sound that enticing...” I replied, smiling back as I took the lukewarm cup of cocoa and sipped it. Yep, it was watered down, but still sweet.
“Thanks, I love chocolate.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?” I asked, one eyebrow raised. “Is this one of those ‘All Girls Love Chocolate’ things?”
“No, it’s a ‘You’re Always Eating Hershey’s Kisses’ thing,” Logan replied.
“Oh. Yeah. I guess I am,” I agreed, surprised that he noticed.
“So, why did you want to meet here?” I looked around the isolated roof, confused, as I dumped my coat and bag on the picnic bench.
“It’s a whole floor taller than the other buildings nearby,” Logan explained. Seeing my puzzled look, he continued, “No one can see what happens on this roof. And we don’t want someone calling the cops if they notice us battling with giant swords.”
Yes! I get a sword. I internally high-fived myself.
“Makes sense.” I nodded my head, taking another sip of the sugary cocoa as we walked to the center of the roof. “It is pretty private up here on Tar Beach.”
“Tar Beach?” Logan repeated, frowning in confusion.
“Yep, Tar Beach.” I tapped the blacktop with my toe. “My parents grew up in the city, and when they were kids, they hung out on the rooftops during the summer—you know, instead of the beach. They called it ‘Tar Beach’ and I just picked it up from them. I like lying out here in the summer. Just me, a bikini and my headphones. As long as I don’t go too close to the edge, it’s really relaxing.”
“Um, yeah. Yeah, I bet.” Logan averted his eyes, looking around the rooftop as he took another swig from his cup.
“Everyone does it,” I explained, seeing the uncomfortable expression on his face. “It’s not that weird.”
I took another sip of my cocoa, frowning at his reaction.
“So, how are you doing? You know, with everything that happened...” His tone was casual, but his brown eyes were serious as he regarded me underneath the shady blue brim of his baseball cap.
“You mean, how, in less than twenty-four hours, I learned about the existence of an alternate universe full of demons?”
“Yeah. That.”
“I’m dealing with it.” I looked down at the pattern the soles of my Converse shoes left in the snow. I didn’t want to dwell on yesterday; I wanted to move on. “It’s not going to do me any good to sit around freaking out about it. But it will do me a butt-load of good to learn how to kick some demon ass.”
Logan looked impressed, then drained the rest of his cup, crumpling it up and tossing it by the door to the roof.
“Well, that’s what we’re here for. One order of demon ass-kicking, coming up.”
He then reached behind his shoulder to unsheathe his invisible sword. With one deft move, he twisted the sword so the silver handle was facing me.
“You’ll be using mine for today,” he explained, holding the sword closer to me.
“Do you always wear that thing?” I asked, stepping to the side to peer behind him. I still couldn’t see anything but the beat-up fabric on the back of his black hoodie.
“Yes. Always.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “And so will you.”
Oh. Suddenly, the reasons for constantly having a sword around outweighed the cool factor of the sword itself. I must have been broadcasting my emotions all over my face, because when Logan spoke again, his tone was more soothing.
“Don’t worry about it. You won’t even notice it’s there.” He held out the sword and twisted his wrist quickly. My eyes followed the blade as he sliced it through the air in short bursts. “The sword doesn’t have a form—no weight, no mass. It materializes when you need it. It’s there to protect you.”
He shifted his grip on the handle, so it was facing me again.
“Well, in that case...I’ve worn worse accessories,” I weakly joked, reaching out for the weapon. As soon as I took the sword in my hands, Logan reached behind his other shoulder and revealed a second sword. It was a slightly smaller version of his, and Logan twirled it expertly, the blade whooshing as it quickly cut through the air in a figure eight.
“This one,” he said, tossing the sword up high, where it
spun twice before he caught it, his palm slapping against the handle, “is yours. But I’ll be using it today.” He whipped it into the air again, catching the handle behind his lower back with a smirk on his face.
I held my hands up and golf clapped around the sword handle for Logan, who bowed dramatically.
“Thank you, but I’m not that great.” Logan affected an air of false modesty as he tossed the sword in the air again, this time catching it and balancing the silver handle on the tips of his fingers. His eyes glinted mischievously, and he loudly whispered, “Okay, maybe I am that great.”
I scowled in mock annoyance, but I couldn’t help giggling. Logan was entertaining when he was in his element, playfully confident to a point where it was almost conceited. But his little display wasn’t off-putting—especially since I’d known him to be so shy. It was...cute. Really, really cute when he was showing off. And I couldn’t help goading him.
“Pfft. I’ve seen better,” I said.
“Oh, really? All right, tough girl, show me what you’ve got,” Logan challenged, a glint in his eye.
I held his sword close to my face and inspected it. It looked different today—the blade was no longer ice-blue, but a cloudy purple, like a thin sliver of amethyst.
“Why doesn’t this look the same as yesterday?” I turned the blade back and forth as I examined it.
“It reacts to the type of demon nearby. I don’t think I have to tell you that it’s something of a—” he paused, looking around the roof before continuing in an exaggerated whisper “—magic sword.”
“The whole disappearing-behind-your-back-into-the-ether thing clued me in to that part,” I replied, clasping the handle with both hands and holding the sword over my shoulder.
“So, what do you want me to do now?” I asked, expecting to run through drills or basic maneuvers. Instead, Logan oh-so-casually commanded, “Attack me.”
“What?” I stared at him, dumbfounded, as I abandoned my stance, holding the sword at my side.