“Yeah, alright. The full story,” he cuts a glare at Kaleb, before looking back at me. “Your shit is our shit-- so that means our shit is your shit, I guess.”
“I’ve heard that’s how friendships work,” I reply, dropping my right hand to my lap, so I can trace my fingers along the coarse texture of my jeans.
Donovan looks over at the door that opens to the back patio. There’s a short overhang with sheets of rain pouring off of it. “But not here-- humans around and everything.”
He flashes another look at Kaleb, like it should be him making the suggestion, and we quickly gather our things and sneak outside.
The fresh air is a welcome relief to the stiflingly humid air of the cafeteria, but I shiver against the wet cold. I dressed in a fog this morning and stupidly left my new leather jacket at home, choosing the comfort and familiarity of my well-loved red hoodie.
We gather in a tight circle under the short overhang, Connor to my left and Nolan to my right, both of them doing their best to shield me from the cold and share their warmth. No longer muted by the glass windows, the rain is a powerful roar that will easily drown out anything we say.
When Donovan notices me pull my sleeves over my hands and gather them close to my chest, he comments, “We really need to get you some gloves.”
I give a hard shake of my head. “Discuss gloves later. Demon talk now.”
Nolan offers up a playful groan and mutters, “You’ve officially been hanging out with Connor too much. Full sentences aren’t a crime.”
“I’m not getting distracted,” I emphasize. “What the hell is going on?”
This is the most evasive I’ve ever seen Donovan, his vivid blue-green eyes looking anywhere but me. Anxiety builds in my chest, making it harder to breathe.
“You already know I’m an orphan and that my family was killed by the demons they were hunting,” he starts, his gaze flicking between my face and the middle space above my head. “What you don’t know is that the demons were tracking my family as much as the other way around. They enjoyed taunting my parents by staging sick displays of brutally murdered humans for them to find and know if they were faster-- smarter-- those humans would’ve been alive. As much as the demons wanted my family dead, they equally enjoyed their twisted game of cat and mouse.”
There’s a deep stillness to Connor, the sign that he’s listening intently-- possibly listening for things that aren’t being said. Nolan instead fidgets, playing with the strap of his messenger bag across his chest. This is the story I asked for, but inside I’m trembling, knowing I’m not going to like what comes next.
Donovan pauses and crosses his arms, his bulging frame brushing against Nolan and Kaleb. He taps out a rapid tattoo against his leather clad bicep, then releases a slow breath and confesses, “I remember when I was like six or something, overhearing my parents talk about a family that was staged to look like they were seated for dinner, except dinner was the family’s internal organs. It was like the world’s most fucked up Rockwell painting, with a nice, cozy fire burning in the hearth and everything.”
“You never told me that,” Kaleb says, his gaze searching Donovan’s body language, while his tone is a mix of surprised and hurt.
Donovan shrugs. “Not the best family memory.”
“Well, I’m not hungry anymore,” Nolan comments under his breath.
A twisted half smile pulls at Donovan’s mouth, and he exhales a huff of a laugh.
The noise of the rain seems to fade away, Donovan’s story encapsulating us into a world far from the dreary normalcy of a random Tuesday at school. Any appetite I might’ve had is gone, instead my stomach is suspended in a weird feeling of free fall. Every passing day seems to rip away a new layer of what I thought I knew and leave me bleeding.
“Why?” I croak, then clear my throat. “Why your family specifically? Did your parents just have the shitty luck of finding them first?”
Everyone looks away from me, which I’m starting to learn is the signal that my rabbit hole is about to get a whole lot deeper.I’m never going to reach the bottom, am I?
“Like I told you, I’m the last of my line,” Donovan says to the wall behind my head. “That didn’t happen by freak accident, and these aren’t the first demons to focus on taking us all out.” He swallows heavily. “They’re just the ones that focused on our particular branch of this fucked up tree.”
My hands turn to fists, the fabric of my sleeves clutched tight between my fingers. Connor places a warm, comforting hand on the middle of my back while Nolan starts petting my hair, as if sensing my growing frustration along with my fear. These half answers never end with something that makes everything better.
“And your fucked up tree is special because...?” I ask, the question trailing off in a tone that reminds him I was promised the full story.
“Callie, first I think we need to explain...” Kaleb starts, but once again is interrupted by Donovan.
“I’m the last of the Morning Star line,” he says bluntly, his gaze shifting to my face with challenge in his eyes and a hard tic to his jaw.
As in Lucifer, the Morning Star? Aka The Light Bringer. Aka The Devil. That Morning Star? And here I thought I was the only one descended from Satan,is the first thing that pops in my head. As per usual, I have no idea what the fuck this means besides the obvious.
“Deodamnatus,”Kaleb grunts, pinching his nose and sounding at the end of his patience. “You say it like it makes you evil to be descended from Lucifer, when you and I both know it doesn’t.”
“Not evil. Just cursed,” he replies flippantly.
When Kaleb sees the exasperated look taking over my face, he turns to Donovan and asks, “Are you done, or do you want to explain the intricacies of Hell so Callie can understand the actual significance of your ancestry?”
