Page 115 of What Happens at Nightfall

“Then why doesn’t she tell you? Look at me, my daughter. Feel my power. Know that it can be yours, your birthright. Magic, riches, kingdoms . . . All the coffee you can drink. Computers that never break. Revenge on your enemies. Those cretins at Rent the Gallery. You can cover them with boils; you can make them writhe with pain; you can ruin their credit scores. Yours, all yours, my child.”

“Jess.” Her mother tugged at her hand. “Listen to me. He’s not your father.”

“It was at a musical event. I was in the guise of a man. Your mother couldn’t keep her hands off me.”

“I never hooked up with anyone at a concert,” said Jess’s mother in exasperation. “And your father looked nothing like that.”

It took a physical effort for Jess to tear her gaze away from the demon and face her mother. “Then who is he?” she demanded. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

Her mother met her eyes calmly. “Your father’s name is Christopher Shippen. He was my graduate adviser. He’s a jerk, but he’s not a demon.”

Thirty years she’d been asking. Thirty years she’d been wondering. Jess had snooped through her mother’s old photos, trying to figure out which of the many guys with their arms around her mother’s shoulders in the group photos from grad school might be her dad.

“This isn’t how I wanted to tell you, but . . . He never knew about you, Jess. He still doesn’t know about you. I never told him because—I didn’t want to marry him. He married the grad student after me. And then five years later, he divorced her and married the grad student after that. You’ve got a couple of half siblings.”

“I have siblings?”

“She’s lying!” howled Belfagor. “Lying! She doesn’t want to admit she couldn’t resist me.”

“I should have told you a long time ago. I’m sorry. I just—he really is kind of a jerk. He likes taking smart young women and subordinating them to his own ego. I didn’t want that to happen to you. I wanted you to grow up in the confidence that you could do anything, be anything, light up the sky.” Jess’s mom blinked hard, trying to stop the tears that were creeping down the lines around her eyes, carving tracks down her cheeks. “If you don’t believe me, we can ask for a DNA test.”

“I don’t need a DNA test,” said Jess huskily. “I believe you.”

“It was stupid—I was stupid—he was the kind of jerk who’s madly appealing when you’re in your twenties and you think you’re so special because he’s paying attention to you.”

From the other side of Jess’s mother, Ingrid said, “That is totally against university policy. Also, gross.”

“It was the eighties! Things were different then. But I got you out of it, Jess, and that was worth anything.”

Jess felt like the Grinch, the day his heart grew three sizes, as if the love were bursting out of her, too big for her body to hold.

“I love you,” Jess choked, and flung her arms around her mother.

A giant explosion rocked the room, like the exploding port-a-potty, but bigger, stronger. The invisible wall dividing them from Ben disintegrated into tiny flecks of light that floated in the air like rainbow glitter.

The knife clattered to the ground, dropping from Ben’s hand. “What was—”

“They’re just women! Don’t listen to them! Don’t believe them! They all lie!” Belfagor reared back, the eighties guise gone, the harem pants gone, his true self again, all hairy hocks and horns. “Boy! The knife! Take the knife!”

“Over my dead body.” Adam stood between his son and Belfagor, arms outstretched.

“That can be arranged,” purred the demon.

Belfagor muttered something and Adam began to choke, his face turning purple.

“Dad!” cried Ben. “Stop that! Leave him alone!”

He couldn’t be destroyed. But he could be contained. In a statue. In a globe. In a garland.

“Your necklace,” hissed Jess to her mother. “Give me your necklace!”

Without asking questions, her mother yanked the pendant over her head, thrusting it into Jess’s hand.

Jess held it out, praying this would work, praying whatever powers were helping her would stay with her.

And haven’t I always? said a voice like chimes behind her. Jess could feel the gentle flutter of wings at her back.

You have something Belfagor can never withstand, the voice promised. Love. Creation is love. Beauty is love. Here, in this room, is love.