“Go for it, all knowing one,” Donovan answers with an insolent sneer.
“You sure?” Kaleb challenges, folding his arms and mirroring Donovan’s body language. “Wouldn’t want me to leave anything out or sugar coat it.”
Connor sighs, shifting his weight to his right foot, which is closer to me.
“Oh my god,” I groan, releasing my sleeves so that I can drop my face into my hands. “I can’t tell if you sound more like brothers or an old married couple.”
Nolan snickers and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Sometimes we can’t tell either,” he stage whispers in my ear.
“Wait,” I say, when another wave ofthe fuckcrashes over me, and peeking through my fingers, I ask, “God’s real, isn’t he?”
Kaleb glances over to me, his expression shifting for a moment to scholarly warmth, as he answers, “Yes, though not quite as humans’ religious texts imagine him. He’s the consciousness of the afterlife and creator of all that exists there, similar to what Mildred referred to as Mother Earth for the mortal realm.”
“Right.” I suck on my front teeth and try to swallow the hysteria that’s bubbling up inside. “So, uh, later we’re going to have to discuss the whole entire realms having a form of consciousness, and let’s get back to the intricacies of Hell and what I need to understand about the devil.”
I’ve gone from living through figurative Hell to discussing the workings of literal Hell. I don’t think there’s a strong enough word to describe the sheer weirdness that my life has become.
I lean into Nolan, my head resting on his shoulder, waiting for when all this shit will make sense.
Kaleb and Donovan go back to staring each other down, now both with their arms crossed over their chests. Kaleb has one brow raised, as if to say, ‘You’re sure, you’re sure?’While Donovan squints back, expressing something to the lines of, ‘Go ahead, since you seem to think you know it all.’
“For fuck’s sake, one of you tell me,” I snap, desperate to have at least one thing make sense. “Hell, turn it into a song and fucking sing it as a duet. I don’t care, just someone explain it to me.”
And that’s it. What little gravitas the situation had is lost, and they all bust up laughing.
“I’m glad I amuse you,” I grumble, my head rolling up to look at the overhang above us. “You know what? Don’t tell me. Just point me in the direction ofThe Dummies Guide for the Supernatural,and I’ll learn it myself.”
This earns another round of uproarious laughter. Even Connor is audibly snickering.
I lean my head to the side, so I can look over at him. “Et tu, Brute?”
He smirks down at me and pats my shoulder, wisely choosing not to pat the side of my face.
While they’re all still wheezing and giggling, there’s a sharp tap on the glass window that startles me, and a male teacher pokes his head outside.
“What are you guys doing out here?” He grunts, his eyes clearly looking for some type of contraband.
“It was stuffy inside,” I answer, my annoyance over being interrupted hard to hide from my voice. “We needed some fresh air.”
Damn it! Now I’ll have to corner one of them to explain Hell to me-- or maybe Mildred knows. Oh, maybe witches have books explaining other supernaturals! I mean, we’re supposed to be the supernatural police or something.
The teacher gives each of us a hard glare before demanding, “Get back inside. No students are allowed out here without a supervisor present.”
Only Kaleb can seem to manage an expression that comes close to contrite, the rest of us an array of blank indifference to annoyed-- mostly I fall under the annoyed department. The teacher holds the door open for us, and we all file back inside. The air is once again warm and stifling, like getting smacked in the face with a wet towel. Once we’re all inside, he closes the door and is quickly off across the cafeteria to go yell at some other students that are sitting on the table instead of the bench seats.
Fortunately, our table is still empty-- maybe this is the table the guys always sit at when it rains, and no one would dare risk a confrontation with Donovan or Connor. We all flop back down in our original seats.
I rest my head in my hands and try to figure out how to ask about Hell in a way that the general populous won’t understand, when a moron with a death wish intentionally bumps into the back of Donovan, making a “tsh” sound while pantomiming the crack of a whip. A group of his neanderthal friends howl like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever seen.
I spoke too soon.
“The fuck,” Donovan growls, his expression morphing into a promise of pain, as he slowly turns around with his back now facing the lunch table.
At first, I’m simply stunned. I mean,I’mnot scared of Donovan, but for all intents and purposes, I can’t be killed-- or even maimed for too long, really. Neither can be said for this random idiot.
The guy gets a calculating look in his eyes, his gaze shifting from his friends and the menacing expression carved across Donovan’s face. Taking a few steps back, he taunts, “Does she keep your balls in individual bags, or do they just roll around at the bottom of her purse?”
“The fuck did you just say?” Nolan purrs, his eyes narrowing to slits and his hands bracing on the table ready to stand.
