“I’m … going to…” Sparkle said, all green and white, and then she slid/fainted down the ladder into the costume room.
“Hells,” I said. “Sparkle?” I stepped onto the rungs of the ladder to see if she was broken or bleeding.
But the instant I did that, the demon laughed and swooped down on the cardboard box.
“You give that here,” I said firmly. “We told you the contract was safe.”
“Just as the old phoenix has to die so the new one can be born,” said the demon. “Just so, we will remake Devon in a new image.” He uncurled his hand and revealed my dark green froggy pixie, dangling by its leg. It blinked rapidly, its wings fluttered. “Crush the old.”
I grabbed for handholds to climb back up, but the demon was suddenly there, and he kicked my shoulder hard. I slammed down onto the ladder, my armpit hitting the roof.
The demon loomed above, his hair rippling wildly. “No,” said Devon, forcing the words out of unmoving lips. His eyes were ringed in stricken white. “No!” His hand closed around the frightened pixie. Closed tighter, tighter. A small leg waved frantically.
“No!” I shouted, and grabbed Devon’s pant leg, tried to haul myself out, tried to stop the inevitable. But the demon kicked me free, and then a horrid pressure feeling settled on my head, as if I were being pushed down by hurricane winds. The pressure shoved me, shouting, down the hole and slammed the trapdoor on my head. My fingers slipped on the scarves and beads draped over the ladder. My feet skidded to the floor—I thought I would land on Sparkle, but there was no one there. A wire clothes hanger gouged my arm as I tumbled backward onto my hip.
I heard a muffled squeak—and then the pixie was silent. Everything was silent. Then came a strange sound of hysteria—like someone caught between tears and savage laughter, switching between the two.
I stormed up the ladder and pushed and shoved on the trapdoor. Pried with a coat hanger around the edges. Banged on it with a cowboy boot.
The trapdoor would not budge.
*
I had to wait twenty minutes for the next bus, and then it was another fifteen to get home. Devon didn’t show up at the bus stop. I sat by myself on a mottled brown seat and brooded, near tears and rage all at once. Whenever I calmed, the memory of Devon’s stricken face as the demon made him kill the pixie would set me off again. I was so furious at the witch I wanted to scream, long and loud without stopping.
I didn’t. I made it off the bus without breaking down in public. I even said thanks to the bus driver.
But the rage and tears coursing through me explained, though not excused, why I was horribly rude to the small form in yellow and black waiting on the doorstep.
“What do you want?” I said.
“Sunshine and butterflies,” said Jenah. She snapped the knees of her fishnets, adjusting them as she got up. “Pretty rose-colored auras shot with streaks of gold. But mostly, to talk.”
“Thanks,” I said, spitting the words out. “I have nothing to talk about.” I just wanted her to go. Everything the witch touched turned to disaster, and it was now spreading rapidly. Anyone that tried to help me would get brought down by my home life. Jenah needed to give up on me and go.
“Your hair looks like flying pigs hit it,” said Jenah.
I ignored this and put my key in the lock.
“Did you hide from me in the auditorium earlier?” said Jenah.
“What? No.”
“I thought I saw the back of your shirt.” She touched it. “I called after you.”
“Not everything’s about you,” I said, the desperate words tearing out. Couldn’t she see that she was going to bring trouble on herself? My secrets needed to stay secret. Jenah eyed me and I calmed my voice. “I have to go,” I said, trying to squish down the storm of feelings. “Really. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I ducked in and shut the door on Jenah. I didn’t expect to be in trouble with the witch for being late, because I’d texted her about staying late for algebra tutoring. No, the latest problem was Moonfire. The witch’s horrible tasks for the demon meant I was late for my chores with the dragon for the second day in a row, and Moonfire couldn’t take care of all her needs stuck in that garage. I let Wulfie out the front door to find his favorite bush, and hurried out the back.
Where I ran smack into the witch. Fury flamed. “You horrible, horrible—” I started.
“Your algebra teacher called,” said the witch. She rose from the stone bench near the pumpkin vines and dusted off her peach pencil skirt.
“Hells,” I said, derailed.
“He wants me to come in and talk about your grades,” Sarmine said. “He says you’re too good a student to let algebra slide.”