Bad Luck, Baby

35 - Bad Faith

I stared up at the hulking, semi-corporeal beast and tried to focus. Fear, anger, hate — all that dark side shit — swirled through me like a tornado, threatening to tear me apart. This thing — this monster — killed Jamie, and Al, and poor little Peetie, and who knows who else, all because my dad decided to play dead instead of doing his damned job.

That's where the true focus of my anger lies: my dad. Because somehow or other, this is all his fault. If he'd just left me alone — left me and my mom alone to begin with — maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe my mom would still be alive. Maybe I could have grown up knowing what it felt like to be loved, instead of—

"Why have you summoned Inguka, weeping one?"

The demon's guttural rasp startled me. I hadn't realized it could speak, much less speak English, or that I'd started to cry. Wiping my eyes, I sniffed and glared up at the spectre.

"Where is Evangeline?" I asked.

"There are many with that name. Which do you seek?"

"Where is your master?" I rephrased with a snap.

I was not at my best, admittedly. My head hurt, my back hurt, my heart hurt; I was scared and angry, tired and confused, and not at all in the mood for demonic games.

The hyena-thing tilted its ugly head to the side, its beady eyes lit from within as if by yellow flames.

"Inguka has no master."

I cast a glance at my father and whispered, "I thought demons couldn't lie?"

He frowned. "They can't."

Turning back to the spectre, I tried again. "Inguka, whom do you serve?"

"Inguka serves the summoner."

I took a deep breath. "Okay. Who summoned you?"

"You summoned me, oh weeping one. What is it you desire of Inguka?"

Exasperated, I threw up my hands and turned to my father. "You talk to it. You're the demon tamer."

To my surprise, he caught my left hand and held it up, his gray brows pinching so tight a deep line appeared between them.

"Ellie, what happened?" he asked, his eyes scanning the pattern of fine, lacelike scars covering my skin. For half a second, I thought he was actually concerned; then he opened his mouth again. "Where is my ring?"

A scowl pulled at my lips, and I yanked my hand from his grasp. "I took it off. It's fine."

"You took it off? Why?"

"Can we focus on the hyena-demon?" I snapped. "Who cares about your stupid ring?"

"I do, and if you don't, you should. It's charmed to conceal and contain your magic, should it manifest while I wasn't there to guide you. If you hadn't removed it, you wouldn't have burned or revealed yourself."

"So this is my fault?" I asked, incredulous and mildly outraged.

Ignoring my tone, my father waved his hand. "Well, what did you do with it? Tell me you didn't lose it, at least."

"I'm not a complete idiot," I said, glaring as I pulled the ring from beneath my shirt, where I wore it on a thin chain, Frodo style.

My father gave me a look that clearly said 'could have fooled me,' but very wisely did not say as much aloud. 

Instead, he said, "Put it on."

I'd always wondered why I'd kept the thing and wore it so constantly. It certainly wasn't to remember the good times with dear old dad. It made more sense now that I knew it was enchanted.