Yeah, I'm the 'Big Bad Demon Slayer'

Chapter Three

I awoke with the mother of all headaches. Cursing, I sat up in bed and shivered. I was soaking wet and freezing cold. Cursing again, I wrapped myself into my blanket and shuffled over to the mirror. I groaned when I saw what stared back.

I looked like complete and utter crap. My hair was a tangled mess, I had huge bags under my eyes from lack of sleep, and I was so pale that one could legitimately call me translucent. Remembering last night, I silently unwrapped my arm from the blanket and gasped.

A faint burn marred my porcelain skin in one faint, seashell pink twisting line. When I lightly placed my palm over the burn, I winced from the sudden pain. School was going to suck today. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was only 1:15 a.m. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, I took a nice hot shower, got dressed, and wrapped my arm. I didn’t want to explain what happened to my peers at school. I’d have to think of a lie later.

When I cracked open my bedroom door to head downstairs, I heard hushed whispers between Amma and a stranger. Curiosity kicked in, and I dusked and peeked through the bars of the landing to get a better view.

They were at a strange angle, and not speaking English. I could only see half of Amma’s face and a part of the stranger’s shoulder and back. From the shape of his silhouette, I could infer that the stranger was male and around my age. He spoke animatedly in my ancestor’s native tongue: Icelandic. I scowled and tried to remember what Amma taught me in Icelandic many years ago.

“ÉG vilja a félag,” The stranger told Amma, and I scoured my brain for any familiar translations.

Amma then proceeded to saying a large jumble of foreign words that I never had a chance of translating, but she did say two things familiar to me: A) my name, and B) meðeigandi.

That was the word for partner. Amma often used it to describe Afi (my grandfather) before he died alongside my parents. My hair was still dripping wet from the shower. After a few irritating moments of feeling like the biggest foreigner ever, the boy bade farewell to Amma and went to the door. While he was in the light, I studied him: broad shoulders, lean figure, a tousled head of light brown curls, a slight tan, brilliant brown eyes and a stunning grin. As he was turning to shut the door behind him, he suddenly looked up to the landing right where I was crouched and grinned. I froze, my heart in my throat.

“Kveðja , lítill njósnari.” He called to me, then translated, “Say farewell, little spy.” Still grinning, he shut the door behind him. I stiffened as my cheeks heated up. Ugh, I’d been caught, and he knew the entire time! And he spoke English! Humiliated, I buried my face in my hands. The blush on my cheeks was an inferno.

“Koma til mig , lítill Njósnari,” Amma called from downstairs. “Come to me, little spy.” I groaned and descended the stairs, grinning impishly at me grandmother. She tapped her foot impatiently and pointed to the chair, and I sluggishly obeyed her silent command.

“Bryn, what were you thinking?” she sighed as she sat down in the chair across from mine. “It is rude to ignore guests and then spy on them. Especially if you are terrible at it.”

The memory of last night replayed in my head, and I absentmindedly covered my bandaged arm with the sweater I was wearing. “I’m sorry, Amma. I was so tired when I came home, I could barely make it up the stairs and into bed. And I heard my name when you were talking and became curious.”

Amma sighed, but smiled, too. “Bryn, you have much to learn. Let us have breakfast, as long as you are up. It is too early to go to school and too late to go back to bed. I will brew some coffee.” She patted my hand before disappearing into the kitchen. Even with the warm coffee in my system, I could not focus for the rest of the day.