Boyfriend from hell fall.., p.16
Boyfriend From Hell (Falling Angels Saga), page 16
I smiled. “No, of course not. However, I could use a little witchcraft about now.”
“Fire!” she called, pointing.
“Maudrina, stop playing. I—”
Smoke was pouring out of my computer. I ran inside the hexagram, yanked out the cord, and threw a glass of water on the CPU. The monitor was flashing an odd warning. A cartoon devil, pitchfork and all, was on the screen, smiling and waving to us.
CONGRATULATIONS
YOU NOW HAVE THE SATAN VIRUS
SAY GOODBYE TO ALL YOUR
FILES
“He trashed my computer,” I said weakly, as I checked to make sure there was no real danger to the rest of my room.
“Who trashed your computer?”
“He’s very clever, isn’t he? He said he was going to pay me back. Who’d’ve thought he’d attack through cyberspace? Heh-heh.” A shrill, high-pitched laugh leapt from my throat.
“Megan, are you okay? You’re not making any sense.”
I faced her. I could no longer keep up the lie. I was in danger, and if Maudrina was with me, so was she. “Look, Maudrina, there are some things you need to know."
Concern flooded her face. “I knew it! You don’t want to be my friend.”
“Of course I want to be your friend. That is if you’re still interested after what I am about to tell you.” I walked her inside the safety of the hexagram, sat her down at my desk, and told her my story.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The way it was explained to me, Aunt Jaz was an outcast, one of those crazy aunts who was an embarrassment to the family.
When Maudrina heard my story, she didn’t look at me as if I’d lost my mind. She hugged me, rocking me in her arms. “Poor, baby. You’ve been through a lot.”
“So, you believe me?”
“I have to admit, it’s hard to believe. But I don’t think you’re crazy.”
She suggested I talk to her Aunt Jaz, who was known to be an expert on the occult. While Maudrina’s father didn’t approve of Aunt Jaz, Maudrina kept in touch. Aunt Jaz was her mother’s oldest sister, and being around her made Maudrina feel like a piece of her mother was still alive.
She lived in a small apartment building about three miles from school. When we arrived, I was expecting to be greeted by a long-haired freak in exotic robes, with rooms smelling of incense. Instead, Aunt Jaz was a throwback to the sixties or maybe even the fifties. Her silver gray hair was in one of those styles made famous by TV moms of that era, like June Cleaver on Leave It To Beaver. She came to the door in full makeup, wearing an A-line dress over which she wore a colorful apron.
“Hey, Maudy.” She greeted Maudrina with a big hug.
Maudrina turned to me mid-hug. “Forget you ever heard that nick name,” she cautioned. “I wish she and my father could.” This prompted a big, boisterous laugh from Aunt Jaz.
“So, I hear you’re having a little trouble,” she said, releasing her niece and turning to me. Surprisingly, she hugged me as well. “Come on in and let’s talk about it.”
Upon entering, I noted how wonderful the house smelled. She was in the midst of cooking. “You’re busy. Maybe we should come another time.” Now that I was here, I was losing my nerve. Her cooking was the perfect excuse to get away.
“I’m just making a pot of chicken soup. You like chicken soup, don’t you?”
Before I could answer, Maudrina said: “Say yes. Even if you hate chicken soup, I promise you will love my Aunt Jaz’s.” The woman again let out a big, boisterous laugh.
She led us to the kitchen. Another surprise. The walls were covered with lime green flowery wallpaper that again brought to mind images of the sixties. The counter tops were Kelly green Formica; the fridge was mint green. Muadrina and I sat at a small, old-fashioned dinette that was several odd shades of green, none of which seemed to complement the other hideous furnishings in the room. The woman sure liked green.
Aunt Jaz moved to the turn-of-the-century cast iron stove and began stirring her soup.
“I know you’re looking at this old stove and thinking,who is this crazy woman cooking on that ancient thing.” She laughed again. “The newer stoves never seem to get the heat right. I’ve tried em all, even an electric one. But food just comes out better on this.” She dipped her ladle into the giant soup pot and pulled up a steamy taste. She sipped it, making loud slurpy sounds. “Mmm-mm. Maudy, I may have outdone myself with this batch.”
“She always says that,” Maudrina chimed.
“It’s true. My cooking just gets better n’ better.” Her bold laughter once again filled the air.
I was beginning to have my doubts about Aunt Jaz. “You know, I’m thinking this is a bad time—”
“Nonsense,” she called, not letting me finish. She put the lid back on the pot, wiped her hands on a yellow dish towel with green accents, and joined us at the table, plopping down with a soft thud. “Now then, deary, I’m all yours.”
“Umm. Well…” I couldn’t tell her. This was a crazy old color-challenged woman who was stuck in the sixties. How could she help?
“I know, I’m not what you expected, deary. But I’m going to tell you something about problems. The more you talk ‘em, the smaller they become. So maybe I can’t help, but telling me is going to take out a little bit of the sting. And afterwards, we’ll all have a nice bowl of chicken soup.”
It was then I saw something in her eyes—a deep wisdom I hadn’t noticed before.
“Go on,” urged Maudrina. “Tell her what you told me.” And I did.
It took almost fifteen minutes to get the entire story out. During the telling she seemed engrossed in my every word, nodding occasionally and umm-hmming from time to time.
“Interesting,” she said when I was finally done. Then she got up and went back to the stove.
I shot Maudrina a quick—she’s no help. Let’s get out of here—glance, but she pretended not to notice.
“What do you think, Aunt Jaz?” she asked instead.
The old woman stirred her soup in silence for a few moments. “This woman, Señora Marisol, does she have a dog?”
What an odd question.
“No. But Armando does. I didn’t see him, but I heard him when I was at the house.”
“Mmm hmm. You happen to know the dog’s name?”
“I think it was Robin. Why?”
“Mmm hmm. And when did this Armando fella first show up?”
“I don’t know, maybe five weeks ago. The night of the surprise party he told me he was the answer to my prayers”
“Mmm hmm.” She moved to a large embroidered sampler on the wall. It was the kind that contained a calendar. She peered at it for a moment. “Could it have been February second?”
My eyes widened. “Why, yes. I think it was.”
She came back over and took my hand in hers. “Bad news. It’s him,” she said with a sigh. “No doubt about it. He has returned.”
“The devil?” I asked. It seemed odd me saying the words to this stranger.
She sat. “There are four days out of the year when Satan can be summoned. The most potent is February first. That day in Satanism is known as Candlemas. Armando made his first appearance the very next day, so I’m guessing Señora Marisol and the other Satanists summoned him during Candlemas. Only a disciple can summon Satan. And that dog, he’s hers. In Satanism, disciples have what they call a familiar, a pet whom legend says can double for them. The most widely used name for this familiar is Robin, as in Robin Goodfellow. The way a disciple honors the devil is by naming his familiar after him. Robin Goodfellow is another name for Satan.”
I stared at her, wide-eyed, my thoughts pin-balling around inside my head. All this new Satan information was coming at me too quickly. But on the bright side, she believed me, and she seemed to know what she was talking about.
“And, sweetheart, my guess is she summoned him to take a bride.”
“I know,” I said sadly. “That’s exactly what he told me. But my mother is good. She doesn’t even cheat when we take those Cosmo quizzes, and everybody cheats on those. He can’t possibly be interested in her.”
“It would be a feather in his cap to marry a virtuous woman.”
It was as if I were in quicksand, my sanity slowly sinking, sinking, sinking.
“But Señora Marisol doesn’t even know my mother,” I squawked.
“Perhaps she does and you’re not aware. Maybe they worked together, or maybe your mother crossed her in some way.”
“No,” I said shaking my head. “My mother wouldn’t cross a fly.”
“Maybe she knows you. Are you sure you’ve never seen her?”
“Positive.”
“Well, they chose your mother for a reason. And now we’re going to have to get him to unchoose her.”
Unchoose her?
“How?” I couldn’t believe my dumb luck. Maudrina’s crazy aunt was about to tell me how I could save my mother from the devil. I was beginning to see light at the end of the tunnel.
“You have to retrieve the gris-gris.”
“The what?”
“The gris girs. It’s a trinket the disciple has made out of a piece of your mother’s clothing, along with some chicken bone. It would be woven together by strands of your mother’s hair. The more of her personal possessions that go into making the thing, the more powerful. You must locate and destroy this gris-gris. It will take some of his power away.”
I was stunned to think someone had made something to give the devil power over my mother. The thought of someone going through her personal possessions gave me an icky feeling all over.
“You said destroying it would take some of his power away. Justsome of his power?” I asked, still feeling icky. “What about the rest of his power?”
“He’s Satan, deary. It isn’t that easy.” She again picked up my hand and stroked it gently. “But now you’ve got us on your side.”
“That’s right,” said Maudrina. She got up and began massaging my shoulders.
I looked at the two of them, my team against Satan—an old woman stuck in the sixties, and a fifteen-year-old stuck on her dogs. My heart began sinking like a stone in the ocean.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Aunt Jaz told us both to wear blessed crucifixes around our necks and to carry holy water whenever we went out. She applauded my precautions at home and added a few more. I had to keep my mind free of evil thoughts: jealousy, envy, greed, fear, even doubt. This is what Satan feeds upon. If I could keep my mind free of these thoughts, I could at least stand up to him.
I remembered how jealous I’d been of Matt and Erin’s relationship, how envious I was when he came to see her at the mathlete challenge. These were the kinds of feelings that gave Armando his power. If I was going to get my mother back, I could no longer feed into them. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. For my mother’s sake, I had to find a way to keep the selfish thoughts at bay.
At home that evening, we had a relaxed dinner. Relaxed. That was something neither of us had been in quite a while. It felt like an old sweater, the one you should have thrown away years ago but you can’t because it feels so right. That was how the evening felt—right. We cooked dinner together. Grilled chicken with a citrus marinade and Southwestern potato salad. We chatted and laughed like the old days as we prepared the meal.
Later, as we watched TV, I pointed to the outrageous outfits the girls were wearing on Top Designer. The designers had been told to design a casual outfit made of food. “You’d look great in that,” I said, pointing to a dress made of cauliflower. The sound of my mother’s sweet laughter filled me with its warmth.
Things were back to normal. Well, almost. I now knew the devil planned to take my mother as his bride. That sure wasn’t normal.
The gris-gris, I thought. I need to figure out where Armando might be keeping it. This would be the first step in defeating him and getting my mother back.
“Hear from Armando today?” I asked as we watched TV. I said it casually, no concern in my voice. I needed to sound like Armando and I were pals. In truth, I was trying to keep tabs on him.
“Yes. He’s miserable.”
“Maybe we should go visit him, bring him some chicken soup.”
“I offered to stop by. He’s so macho. I think he doesn’t want me to see him in pain. Men are such boys,” she said and laughed. There was joy in her laughter. She really liked him.
“You guys ever think about marriage?” I know I was being direct, but it’s not the kind of subject you can ease into.
“Marriage? What makes you ask that?”
“You two are so good together. I just thought…” I let the idea hang in the air.
“Megan, is this about him coming between us again?”
“Heck no! Me and Armando are pals.” I couldn’t believe how convincing I sounded.
She smiled. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. If he ever asks me to marry him, you’ll be the first to know—but I’m happy with the way things are for now.”
For now? Again I got the sinking feeling. She has been thinking of marriage. She’s falling into his trap.
“You know, hon, I’m a little out of it tonight. Think I’ll turn in early. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. You need your rest.”
I gave her a hug and a kiss, and she went up to bed. Good. There was work to be done. My mind was abuzz like a beehive in spring. If I could locate and destroy the gris-gris, I could loosen Armando’s grip on her.
I believed it had to be here in the house, either here or at the gallery where she worked. But the gris-gris’ magic would be even stronger if it were here all the time.
I moved to the couch to look under the cushions. That’s when I noticed a magazine my mother had been thumbing through. It wasn’t Vogue, or Cosmo, or People. It was a baby magazine.
A baby!
Satan wanted a baby. Satan wanted my mother to have his baby. I thought of the old movie, Rosemary’s Baby, where poor Rosemary was tricked into having the devil’s baby. That had been his plan all along. And now all of a sudden she’s tired. She’s pregnant! My mother’s already carrying the devil’s child. Oh my God!
These are the thoughts that stampeded through my mind as I frantically dialed Maudrina’s number.
“HE WANTS A BABY!” I screamed when she answered.
“Megan?”
“Yes, it’s me,” I said, regaining my composure. “I just found a baby magazine. My mother’s looking through a baby magazine. Quick, call your aunt!” Okay, so maybe I hadn’t totally regained my composure.
“Megan, calm down. I can’t call my aunt just because your mother is looking through a baby magazine.”
“Think about it. She’s not his type. I couldn’t imagine what he saw in her. But it’s not her he’s interested in. It’s her eggs!” I said, my voice shrill and panicky. “We can’t allow what happened to Rosemary to happen to my mother.”
There was a long silence at the other end.
“Maudrina, are you there?”
“Uh-huh. I’m waiting for the body snatcher that’s taken over Megan’s body to hand her back the phone.”
“Ha ha. Very funny.”
“Just because your mother is looking through a baby magazine doesn’t mean Armando wants a baby. It doesn’t even mean she wants a baby. It’s just a magazine. I’m not saying you’re wrong. But if you’re right, it’s another reason to find the gris-gris as soon as possible. Have you thought about where it might be?”
I told her I thought it might be in the house, and that when I started looking I found the magazine. “And then I called you.”
“Okay,” she said calmly. “Forget about the magazine for now, and finish looking. I’ll call my aunt and see what she thinks. If she says anything important, I’ll call you back. All right?”
I breathed a long sigh of relief. “Thanks, Maudrina. You’re a good friend.” I could tell she was smiling on the other end.
I went back searching for the gris-gris. I had no idea of what I was looking for. Something made of hair, clothing, and bone. I didn’t even know how big or small it might be. I went through the house like a maniac, turning out cushions, pulling out drawers, turning over chairs. The place was slowly beginning to look like a tornado had stormed through.
The doorbell rang. My shoulders tensed, the fine hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention. Armando.
He knows I’m looking for the gris-gris. But of course he does. He’s the devil. He’s coming to stop me.
The doorbell rang again.
I fingered the crucifix around my neck, said a short prayer. I had been meaning to get more holy water. I’d used mine up at the party. It was one of my most powerful weapons against him, and I didn’t have any.
A third insistent ring.
“Megan, are you going to get that?” my mother called from the top of the stairs.
“Yes, Mom. I was on my way. Sorry to wake you. Go back to bed.” I moved to the door, braced myself, and opened it. Matt was standing on the other side.
“Thank God!” I sighed, relief washing over me like a tidal wave. “What are you doing here?” I couldn’t hide how happy I was to see him and not Armando.
“You okay?” He didn’t seem sure how to take my attitude.
“Yes. It’s good to see you.” …and not the devil.
“Oh. Okay. I was just wondering if… you know… you’d looked into what we talked about?”
Instant anger shot through me. “You mean you want to know if I found the perfect loony bin yet?” Suddenly, I wasn’t so happy to see him.
“Can I help it if I’m worried about you?” He stepped inside and looked around at the living room and dining room turned upside down. “What happened in here?”
“Nothing,” I snapped. “Mom lost an earring. I’m helping her look for it. And in answer to your first question, no, I haven’t found a loony bin yet.”
“Don’t put it like that.”
“How else can I put it? My two best friends won’t talk to me until I get help. I haven’t gotten any, okay? End of conversation.” I began pushing him out the door.
