1
“I hate to say it, Addy, but if you keep drawing demons instead of buildings, you’re going to fail your architecture class.”
I jerk my head up to glare at my best friend, Cassandra, who is currently sitting across from me, her chin propped up in one hand. Her thick, dirty-blonde hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail that bobs when she moves her head. She’s wearing a vintage circle dress with a red polka dot pattern, and she’s holding a paperback copy of The Fellowship of the Ring in her free hand. Nobody seems to notice she’s perched on the top of the wooden chair’s back, or that she’s balancing on it perfectly even though her feet are dangling freely in the air.
“I am not drawing demons—” I begin, then glance down at my sketchbook. Shit. A horrific creature stares back at me—long ram horns curl back from a skull with two stripes running down each side of its face, attached to a thick neck and a huge, muscular body that’s completely naked from the waist up. Thick, matted fur covers both its crotch and its muscular legs that bend backward at the knee, ending in cloven hooves.
“Told you.” Cassandra toes my sketchbook with her penny-loafer-clad foot. “Wonder when we’re gonna run into it,” she says curiously. “I’ve never seen a demon before.”
“How do you even know it’s a demon?” I argue.
Before Cassandra could answer, a shadow falls over me. “Well, well,” a nasty female voice says. “If it isn’t creepy little Addy Blake. How are you? Still talking to your imaginary friends?”
I lift my head and meet the eyes of the one and only Becca Stevens. Tall, blonde, and blue-eyed, with her busty figure and her almost-too-short skirts, she’d been the most popular student at Lake Forest Academy, the private school we’d both gone to. Since I was the only scholarship kid there, Becca had looked down on me from the start, and when my…abilities…had begun to manifest, it wasn’t long before she’d managed to alienate the entire school against me.
“Hi, Becca,” I say, leaning back in my chair and looking up at her with a cavalier smirk. There’s no need for her to know that my stomach has turned into a ball of lead. “You’re looking good these days. Daddy still paying for those Botox injections, or have you finally gotten yourself a real job?”
The two barbie dolls flanking Becca gasp. “How dare you,” Becca fumes, her hot-pink manicured nails flying to cover her too-plump lips. “These are all natural.”
“Right. Just like your tits.” I drop my gaze to the double D’s straining the buttons of her ivory blouse. “That must have been an odd strain of the flu you caught—you know, the one that kept you out of school for two weeks. Maybe I should skip my flu shot this year and see if my boobs swell to twice their size, too.”
Becca tosses her head, her hair shimmering behind her like a L’Oréal commercial. I have nothing against plastic surgery. It’s your body, and if you have the money for it, go for it. I just can’t fucking stand Becca Stevens.
“At least my daddy can afford to buy me new boobs,” she says, raking her ice-blue eyes over me. From the way her upper lip curls as she takes in my combat boots, ripped jeans, and oversized Disney villains T-shirt, I can tell she’s not impressed with my wardrobe. “What can yours afford? Oh right, I forgot—he’s dead, isn’t he?”
The girls standing next to Becca give her shocked looks—they must be somewhat decent, as even they seem to recognize she’s gone too far.
“Leave me alone,” I say, my icy tone belying the white-hot fury flashing through me. We’re not in grade school anymore—I refuse to take this shit from her.
“That bitch,” Cassandra growls, hopping off the back of the chair to land soundlessly on the floor. “Just give me the word, Addy, and I’ll mess her up for you.”
“Don’t,” I mutter out of the corner of my mouth, hoping Becca doesn’t notice. “It’s not worth it—”
But Becca does notice, and she flashes a triumphant smirk at her friends. “See?” she crows. “She’s totally off her rocker. What are you doodling there, anyway?” she asks, reaching for my open sketchbook. “Another one of your ghost friends, I bet—”
“Oh no you don’t.” Cassandra darts behind Becca, grabs her by the collar, and yanks her back before she can touch my sketchbook. Becca stumbles back, tripping into the empty table behind her, and she screams as the hot coffee in her hand spills all over the front of her blouse.
“Becca!” The two girls rush to her side, one helping her to her feet while the other dabs at the growing stain on her blouse with a fistful of napkins. “Are you okay?”
“Get off,” Becca says in a trembling voice as she backs away from me, heading for the door. “Stay away from me, you freak!” she cries, her eyes blazing with hatred and fear. Her friends rush out behind her as she dashes out onto the sidewalk, leaving her half-full cup of coffee behind on the table she’d run into.
“Good riddance.” Huffing, Cassandra sits back down in her chair, properly this time.
I take a sip of my butterbeer Frappuccino, trying to ignore the fact that the coffee shop has gone deathly silent, every eye in the room trained on me. “I wish you hadn’t done that,” I mutter from behind the cup.
“Why not?” Cassandra says indignantly, her cheeks flushing. “She deserved it!”
“Because we’re about to get kicked out.”
“Excuse me, Miss.” As if on cue, the manager appears, a thin man with a hipster beard and square glasses. He gives me a nervous smile, showing off clear braces. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Standing up, I sweep my sketchbook and my textbooks into my messenger bag, then sling it over my shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
I grab my frappuccino and walk out with my head held high, ignoring the tears of humiliation stinging at my eyes. This isn’t the first time I’ve been kicked out of an establishment for “causing a scene,” and I refuse to let Becca Stevens make me cry, even if she isn’t around to see the tears fall.
“This is ridiculous,” Cassandra fumes as she follows me outside, slamming the door behind her hard enough to rattle the windows. “You didn’t do anything wrong—why are they making you leave?”
“Because as far as they’re concerned, Becca Stevens was having a friendly conversation with me when the next thing she knows, she’s been thrown back into a table and assaulted with hot coffee.” I shake my head in exasperation. “They’re probably terrified that she’ll come back and try to sue them, and them letting me stay in the shop would only give her more ammunition.”
“Ugh.” Cassandra rolls her eyes. “Sometimes I really hate this new generation. Back in my day, people didn’t file lawsuits every time they stubbed their toe on the sidewalk. Whatever happened to good old-fashioned responsibility?”
“Beats me.” I shrug as we head home. My apartment is two miles away from campus—prissy Becca Stevens would never walk all that way, but since I don’t have a car, I don’t have much choice. Not that I mind—I enjoy the exercise, and on days like today, it helps me burn off any lingering frustration.