Demon and the Fox - 15. No Rest for the Wicked

Hazel was a good cook, Malachy thought as he took one last generous bite of his taco. And a good girlfriend. She had made Mexican because she knew it was his favorite. The guacamole, corn, beans, chili pepper and salsa were like a celebration in his mouth. Hazel had added just the right amount of cheese and spices—though Malachy had sprinkled even more cumin on his tacos. He loved that stuff.

They ate in silence, though, which bothered Malachy. He didn’t like silence much.

The thick velvet curtain was draped over the large rectangular window, hiding the view on the Harlem River. The wide-screen television was off. Kyle’s tropical fish swam in their big aquarium.

Jackson sat in the sofa chair. He wasn’t wearing a suit today. Just black jeans and a white v-neck t-shirt. His blonde hair was perfectly combed to the side. Jackson uncrossed his legs and set down his empty plate on the coffee table they were using as a makeshift dinner table. Then Jackson poured himself a second glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Very quietly, like he didn’t want to disturb the silence.

Unlike Jackson, Malachy’s urge to break the silence was like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Kyle had pulled himself a bar stool from under his kitchen island and he sat next to Jackson. He was finished with his food, too. But he wasn’t too keen on wine, so he drank beer instead.

Malachy looked down at his own glass of white wine. He tempted a sideways glance at Hazel.

“Do you want some?”

Malachy’s voice startled the others a bit. Hazel put down her plate—unfinished, Malachy noted—and nodded at him. So he gave her his glass.

Jackson was staring at his sister with cold gray eyes. “You’re only seventeen. You shouldn’t drink so often.”

Hazel stared back. With composed movements, she gulped down a long sip of wine, and then put the glass down on the white square coffee table, just in between Malachy and herself. She shifted closer to Malachy on the couch, and her hand slipped in his. He squeezed it at once, enjoying the familiar touch of her soft pale skin.

The only light in Kyle’s living room was a paper shade floor lamp in the corner, closest to where Hazel sat. Her silvery-blonde strands shone under the lamp’s glow as she pushed her bangs away from her eyes.

“Our father died three nights ago,” she said to Jackson. “And the Blackburns. We still don’t know what’s going on with the police investigation. Our mother won’t answer my phone calls. And my boyfriend,” Hazel squeezed Malachy’s hand, but kept her steely gaze on Jackson, “got bit by your best friend on the Full Moon. A bite that could either kill him, or transform him into a wolf less than a month from now. I think,” Hazel said, “I’m allowed a drink, Jack.”

Jackson risked a sideways glance toward Kyle. Kyle just shifted uneasily in his stool while nursing his almost empty beer with both hands.

“That wasn’t Kyle’s fault,” Jackson said. “Nick said so himself. He just lost control as a side effect of the whole…” He waved a hand.

“The whole coming back from the dead thing,” Kyle finished for him in a low voice. He glanced down and hooked his feet around the stool’s metallic legs.

“Right,” Jackson said, “that. And next Full Moon, he’ll be back to normal.”

“I promise,” Malachy added. “Kyle will be fine. Those side effects don’t last.”

Hazel said nothing. She looked down at Malachy’s arm. He wore a long sleeve shirt right now, so the bite wound was hidden. It was healing already, though. He didn’t need a bandage anymore.

“It won’t kill him,” Jackson said bluntly, and they all looked at him. Jackson cleared his throat. He made to bring his wine glass to his lips, but then seemed to think better of it, and just held it atop the sofa’s armrest. “I mean, to be completely honest, I would have offered to bite Nick myself on the next Full Moon if Kyle hadn’t already. He killed the pack leader, Hazel. And he’s your…” Jackson’s words drifted off. Then: “He’s family. It’s only fitting. The bite won’t kill him,” he said again, as though to convince himself.

Malachy’s heart reached out to Jackson. He felt something warm and comforting deep inside. The feeling of belonging. Malachy genuinely liked these people. Even after existing for so long, he lived for moments like this one, because feeling connected and like he was part of a group of people chased away all loneliness and negativity. He needed this; everybody did, whether they admitted it or not.

Now Jackson drank his wine. Then he set his glass down on the coffee table a little too loudly, and bounced to his feet.

“It’s late,” he said, “I have studying to do.” He turned and slapped Kyle’s shoulder—he slapped it hard, the way straight male friends did, almost hurting the other person to make really sure there were no sexual undertones. “Your turn to wash the dishes, bro.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kyle slid from his seat and started piling up the plates. He glanced at Hazel’s unfinished taco. “Are you done with that?”

Malachy reached out and grabbed the plate. “She is, but I’m not!” He held it close to his chest.

Kyle looked disappointed. He probably wanted the taco for himself, Malachy thought. Well he wasn’t getting it.

“Night guys,” Jackson called, disappearing in his bedroom across the hallway. It was Kyle’s apartment, but it had two bedrooms; Jackson had been sleeping over pretty often. And they all knew now that Kevin Snow had been paying for this apartment the whole time.

“Good night,” Hazel said back.

“Night!” Malachy said with his mouthful. He finished the taco in two bites.

Kyle made his way to the kitchen with his empty plates, his gelled hair almost reaching the top of the doorway.

“Hey, Kyle,” Hazel smiled, “there’s actually more tacos in the fridge if you’re still hungry.”

Kyle stopped short and grinned at Hazel over his shoulder. “You’re awesome!”

Then he rushed in the kitchen and they heard him open the fridge.

Malachy sank deeper in the couch, his hand stroking Hazel’s arm. She wore a loose boat neck t-shirt. He liked this style; he liked that he could see the arch of Hazel’s shoulders. They were slightly more squared than normal, for a girl, but still soft, and Malachy found that attractive. He liked the little details that made people unique the best.

“He’s right, you know?” Malachy told her as their eyes met. “You are awesome.”

She leaned closer, feline-like, and said, “I know.”

But behind the glint in her eyes, he detected lingering worries.

“I’ll be just fine,” Malachy said softly. “Like your brother said.”

Hazel pulled him into a tight hug. She buried her face in his shoulder. Her hair products smelled like coconut and vanilla.

“Your hair smells like cake.” He whispered in her ear. “I just want to eat it for dessert.”

She laughed and he felt the vibrations of her chest against his. He could feel her heartbeat. He held her tight.

“I’ll be fine,” he said again. “We can be together on the next full moon.”

She pulled back, and looked at him with glistening eyes, still holding his arms. “I’ll be there for you. I’ll guide you through it.”

Her eyes reminded him of iridescent pale gray pearls.

“I know you will,” he said.

She smiled, and let out a shaky breath. She relaxed in his touch.

“Do you want to watch some South Park?” she asked.

Malachy did. So they rose from the couch. It was actually a futon that turned into a low bed, somewhat comfortable. Malachy opened it up and pushed it flush against the wall. While Hazel fired up her laptop and dragged it from the desk, Malachy placed cozy yellow and blue pillows against the wall. He quite liked Kyle’s colorful apartment, it was a nice change from the fortified cement cell Lance had kept him in for eighteen years.

They watched a South Park episode on Hazel’s laptop. The twenty first century was strange. There was a wide-screen television on the wall, but these people barely ever used it. They just always watched stuff on their laptops.

Hazel laughed as South Park writers made fun of both the series Game of Thrones and Americans’ fanatic consumerism in one finely crafted episode, and Malachy smiled as he threw his arm around her to pull her closer. It was warm in the apartment, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t cuddle.

They stayed like this for a bit.

At some point Kyle flicked off the hallway’s light and closed his bedroom door.

After a few episodes, Hazel fell asleep on Malachy’s shoulder.

Malachy reached forward to pause the video and close the laptop. He pushed the laptop away and sank deeper into the pillows with Hazel, careful not to wake her up. He tucked a pale blonde strand behind her ear.

He was just about to kiss her forehead when he saw a flash of white in the corner, next to Kyle’s weird paper shade lamp.

Malachy felt really annoyed as he looked up and saw a feminine silhouette in a short, sleeveless ivory dress.

“Rebecca,” he whispered. “What are you doing here?”

Her smooth caramel hair was parted neatly on the side and fell on her bare shoulders. A large violet bow was tightly wrapped around her waist, and her legs were clad in thigh high suede boots.

“I came to see you,” she said.

Malachy sat up quietly, making sure not to wake Hazel.

“Just leave me alone, Rebecca. I got what I wanted from you. So kindly scratch my name off your godly list, if I was even on there in the first place, and get out of my life.”

He noticed a pale blush across her cheekbones. Was that makeup, or was she embarrassed?

“I just wish to be with Hazel,” Malachy added, keeping his voice very low. But Rebecca heard him all right.

She arched a finely shaped eyebrow. “I see. Are you absolutely sure of what you’re doing right now?”

Malachy sighed, and pulled away from Hazel completely. He swung his legs off the futon and climbed to his feet. Then he went to grab Rebecca’s arm, and he brought her to the other side of the room, wincing every time her heels stabbed the hardwood floor. They stood next to the window, and Rebecca pulled her arm away from his grasp. She stepped back and crossed her arms, the edge of the velvet curtain caressing her shoulder.

“No,” Malachy said, “I’m not sure of what I’m doing right now. Happy? I’m never sure of anything. I’m crazy, haven’t you heard?”

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. She kept doing that. “And what happened with Sasha Reed?”

“I had Kyle drive him to a hospital outside of town.”

“What if he remembers? You’ll need me again.”

Malachy scoffed. “He won’t. You’re bluffing. I don’t need you.”

“Very well.” Her blue stare pierced through him, merciless. But he didn’t falter. “You’re right,” she said, “about one thing. You are crazy. You know what someone told me once? Crazy people are very good in bed. But they’re not worth the headache. Maybe I should’ve listened.”

“Maybe you should’ve.” Malachy shrugged.

She tilted her head. “It’s strange seeing you in this body that isn’t yours. Do you want me to give you some advice, Malachy?” The way she said his name was like the low hiss of a snake.

“Not particularly,” he said.

“You better take a big, sweet bite out of this dreamy little life you’ve got right now, with your werewolf princess and her loyal subjects.” Rebecca’s voice was very quiet. “Before the plate slips right out of your grasp and shatters on the floor. And that dreamy life is in dirty bits and pieces, for people to stomp all over it right in front of your eyes.”

A shiver ran down Malachy’s spine, but he said: “I’ve always found metaphors rather boring and unoriginal, if you want to know the truth.”

“Maybe so, but you can’t deny it. What happened the last time you possessed a human?”

Malachy wished she would stop talking and leave him alone. But she wasn’t done.

“You may have had four beautiful years with Jade and Gabriel Russell. But the downfall was all the more painful, wasn’t it?”

“Please,” Malachy said, “arrive at the point.”

She smiled. Cold and wry. “My point is that when it happens again—when you get destroyed again—I’ll be there to watch.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Rebecca.”

She turned away from him, and for a moment he thought his vision was blurring. But then he realized she was slowly fading away. The outlines of her feminine silhouette were getting unclear. Like she was lost in a cloud of mist.

“I know.” She looked over her shoulder, her hair veiling part of her face. “You’re not afraid of anything, are you?”

And then she was gone.

Malachy shook his head. Queen of the Angels. Yeah, right; more like queen of the overdramatic. Getting all whiny just because he didn’t want to sleep with her again. Malachy had thought the leader of the spirit guides would be a tad more mature than that. Wrong.

He stalked across the room to turn off the lamp, and then he crawled onto the futon next to Hazel. Malachy wrapped his arm around her, pressing himself closer to her warm body.

The sound of her even breathing soothed him. He closed his eyes, smelling the sweet scent of her hair.

Malachy wasn’t afraid of Rebecca. Come on. What was the worst that could happen?