Monday passed in a fog of my own making, falling back into the detached reality that kept me functioning for the past three and half years. The bFMoys noticed but didn’t push. I think they assumed I was still recovering from Saturday night, but that night already feels like a lifetime ago.
I just keep hearing Mildred say, ‘You are the closest being to a goddess that the mortal realm will ever see.’
Some goddess I am. All my magic has done is keep me alive so the Bastard could get more creative with his torture. Oh, and let’s not forget, turn me into a fucking magic bomb.
I didn’t get far into the journal on Sunday before sleep claimed me. It was the first time the nightmares detoured from the normal torture highlight reel to instead include all the destruction I’m now capable of. Instead of simply burning on the metal table in the basement of my old Arizona home, I destroyed the entire town.
I was awash with the familiar agony of my body ablaze, forever healing before the fire would burn out. However, the physical pain paled in comparison to the consuming devastation that was my friends’ ashes crumbling through my fingers. All that was left in the rubble was Felix-- his ghostly form protecting him from what I’d done.
Hate burned in his eyes, as he wished he’d never met me. Cursing my very existence, he spat that the council was right to rid the world of spirit witches. I wasn’t a goddess. I was Armageddon.
“Could you please put that away?” Kaleb whispers harshly, jarring me from my memories.
I blink up from my daze to find Kaleb staring down Donovan, his lips pursed in an expression that clearly states, ‘You should know better.’
Donovan scowls up from a thick book that looks like the lost prop from the originalDraculamovie. “I’m studying. Gotta be a good little dark nephilim and memorize all the demons out there, so I can kill them before they kill me.”
Kaleb groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes, but not in the middle of the school cafeteria.”
He rolls his eyes. “Why? It’s in Latin. None of these assholes can read it.”
It’s pouring rain outside, and the whole student body is crammed into our way too small cafeteria for lunch. The air has the oppressive wet heat of a tropical forest and is filled with the shrieking noise of hundreds of students talking at the same time.
I’m wedged between Connor and Nolan with Kaleb and Donovan sitting across from us. Felix decided that it was too crowded to hang out and poofed back to the house. I made sure to give my aunt a heads up that he was there-- seemed like the polite thing to do.
Listlessly, I scoop up a bite of my strawberry yogurt, while Kaleb and Donovan continue to bicker on the merits of having a book on demons out amongst the tightly packed general populous. Nolan and Connor watch like it’s some type of comedy skit.
“Latin or not,” Kaleb chastises, leaning in so as to not be overheard. “Those detailed illustrations are more than enough for some overzealous human to turn you into the principal, and I’m sure the coven would love to hear how you were suspended for researching satanic rituals.”
“Is researching satanic rituals a suspendable offence?” Nolan stage whispers over my head. Connor shrugs, and Kaleb and Donovan unsurprisingly ignore him.
Donovan scoffs with a heavily raised brow, “This has nothing to do with rituals, and honestly, I don’t know any ritual that has anything to do with Lucifer. Dumbasses are summoning demons, not the devil.”
“Stercorem pro cerebro habent,”Kaleb mutters with an eye roll of his own.
Donovan snorts, flipping to the next page. “You’re not wrong.”
“All I got was something about brains in that one,” Nolan comments again to Connor, like the rest of us can’t hear him. “All these years, and I still can’t seem to manage Latin. Now, French or Spanish, those I know.”
Connor chuckles, then with a half grin, mutters, “Pendejo.”
“Now that I understood, and hey-- rude much?” Nolan replies, but there’s laughter in his eyes.
Connor’s grin widens, and he takes a bite of his roast beef sandwich.
Their merriment feels like it’s happening on the other side of thick plexiglass. I can see it and hear it, but it feels muffled and distant. Everything inside me feels heavy, and a weariness so deep in my bones, I can practically see myself slide to the floor and never get up.
The book in question is tilted toward Donovan, so the only thing I can see clearly is the black leather cover with some type of symbol embossed on the front and peeks of the pages. I have no idea what the symbol is, only that it has a lot of swirls mixed with geometric shapes. The edges of the pages are browned with age, and there’s a thick strap to latch the book closed.
Kaleb sighs. “My point is everyone here won’t know the difference, so what the book is actually about is irrelevant.”
“Not everyone,” he replies, still looking down at the book, though a smirk crawls across his face.
Kaleb closes his eyes and releases a slow breath-- his expression the picture ofpraying for patience.
“You know what I mean,” he grinds out, opening his eyes. “You’re being intentionally obtuse.”
“Damn! Fine, I’ll put it away,” Donovan grumbles, picking up his backpack from the floor and slipping the book inside. “You know, you should really try going one day of not giving a shit what other people think or do. It’d do wonders for the stick up your ass.”
