Condemned

6 | Jael

This stadium puts me on edge. For human reasons and other reasons...

When it comes to crowds, I'm out of practice. I may look human, but I've never felt like more of an animal. The shift is harder to control. To stay human takes concentration that I don't have.

I've also picked out the scent of every malevolent creature known to haunt this town. An actual demon is lurking beneath the stands. There's no mistaking its scent—like rotten eggs being fried by a blow torch—and its clicking, guttural snarl.

Great. It likes me.

It must know that I know, and it knows me and may even know why I'm here. It also knows that I won't do anything about it, and that's part of the "fun."

They're bored and restless creatures in this earthly realm. They love games they win. They hurt or kill people if they're inclined to, but they prefer fucking with them. Although they can and do eat people in the classic sense sometimes, they can usually sustain themselves on human emotion.

What's their favorite "food"? It depends on the demon. And size matters. The small ones are the most common and are just nuisances. Still, they love fear and know how to provoke it. The dark is their playground. They have perfect night vision and hearty appetites.

For my purposes with Sam, a demon is not even the worst of my problems. The girls around me reek of jealousy. They have nothing good to say about any of the cheerleaders. And like you'd expect, the boys are fueled with booze and lust, and Sam is in their direct line of sight.

And Sam called it. I don't like football. I lied so she'd let me tag along. With the task I've been given, I wouldn't want her to be here without me.

Because a bunch of dickheads are beating each other senseless "for sport," it's giving everyone else a degree of social leniency. Some take that to more of an extreme than others, but no one is immune, not even the nerds in front of me.

They are comically unthreatening. I was fine ignoring them, until Sam's name came up.

She's either tumbling, or at the top of a pyramid, or showing off her insane flexibility right to the bikini bottoms. She's got a petite six-pack and a hint of cleavage that don't usually go together. If you like the small ones, she'd be . . . tempting. And a badass little ninja if anyone ever took the time to train her...

"She's good. Better than I thought," says the skinny kid with the glasses. He's wearing a Winchester U beanie that looks ridiculous. If he's a day over 18, I'd be surprised.

"I have no complaints," the second nerd comments, drool practically dripping from his open mouth. "Wait. Do you know her?" He's overweight with a baby face. It's hard to believe that anyone in college could look younger than the first guy, but he manages to pull it off.

I hope the first kid says yes. Though not for a lack of trying, I still don't know Sam that well and knowing too much is mandatory. I'm not sure what the deadline is, but there's always one looming with an assignment like this.

Sam's social media accounts showcase the cheerleading. They're so cookie-cutter neat and clean. It's like she's a marketing rep for the athletic department. She gets thousands of likes and doesn't even reply to any of the comments. Small talk on the ride over was short and strained, more my fault than hers, I admit. The only thing I got out of it was an ego boost. She called me "brave and selfless" for my actions last night. Neither of which are true, but still, it was nice to hear. I needed that, but I can't say it was great progress in any other regard.

On the sidelines, Sam is thrown and released. About ten feet off the ground, she does this crazy-hard twisty thing.

The do-you-know-her question hangs in the air, unanswered.