The Demon's Half

Chapter 4

Morning came and I hadn't slept. Mia latched to me like a life line and when it was time for work she stood by the door, waiting for me already with her shoes on.
David's warning from weeks ago echoed in my head: If I see that kid here again, you're done.
He hated finding her in the electronics aisle, watching the TVs. Pendejo. We'd never had one of our own—that was the only place she could feel normal. I never understood why he got so angry, when there were always homeless people watching them, too. Until the day Elena bought her a slushy, and she dropped it right there on the floor. That was the day I almost lost my job.

I didn't care.
We made it to the department store together as she ran off to the burger joint next door. She swore she'd keep quiet. And that was good enough for me.
I was on autopilot at work. So, when Elena showed up beside me with a takeout bag, I nearly jumped off my skin.

"I got Mia a burger," she set the bag on the counter. "This one's for you."

La neta, if I could have chosen my family, I would've chosen Elena as my mother and father. No one cared about us like she did.

"Thank you," I opened the bag to the delicious scent of garlic buns. "For everything. The food, the money... you didn't have to. And yet—Gods, you helped us so much."

Her smile faded.
She angled slightly her head as if she was listening to something far away from here.
"Morgan, is there something—"

A wave of nausea hit me so hard, I bolted. Barely made it to the restroom before I collapsed over the toilet, retching. I looked down at it and my body completely paralyzed.
It was moving. Thick, writhing darkness oozed from my mouth, pulsing, alive.
I heaved again.
It felt like a nest of snakes coiling in my throat. The taste was rancid but metallic, like blood and rot. And this thing was trying to reach me...
Verga, verga, verga.
I choked on a scream and scrambled back fast, slamming my hand on the flush handle.
The darkness swirled, then vanished down the drain.
My pulse was frantic.
What the actual fu—
I lurched to the sink, hands braced against the counter, trying to catch my breath. When I looked up, my reflection was wrong. My skin was almost transparent. Stretched tight over my cheekbones. My eyes were black. Not my normal hazel. Not even with a little bit of white on them.
And in my reflection, my mouth was smiling.
But I wasn't smiling.
I blinked but the reflection didn't change.
A shiver crawled down my spine. Slowly, I lifted a trembling hand to my face.
My reflection didn't move—

"Morgan."

Elena stood watching as I jerked away from the mirror. I turned, and my reflection was back to normal.

"Come." Her tone was hushed. "It's not safe to talk in front of mirrors."

She led me through the store, until we stopped in the air freshener section? Elena grabbed a can and started spraying. Three bursts of artificial lavender. I always loved that smell—
Then citrus.
...Then something sharp and chemical.
Ugh. Pinche olor culero.

I coughed. "What—" my eyes stung, "the hell are we doing?"

She didn't look at me. "Spirits hate strong, competing smells," she said, still spraying. "It disorients them. That's why we bring flowers to funerals. Not for the dead, but to drive away whatever's lurking nearby."

"I don't understand."

Her gaze took me back to those childhood moments when my mother would reprimand me for stealing her makeup to play.

"I can tell, child. You've been cursed," she said.

My own fear started closing my windpipe.
I knew there was something wrong but cursed?

"How do you know?"