Personal Demons (6 page)

Bringing the picture with me, I pull Matt’s journal out from under my mattress and open it on my desk. I ease into my chair and read the first lines of my last entry, from Wednesday—the day I met Luc.

So, Matt, you’d have laughed your ass off at me today—drooling over some guy. But there’s something about him. I know. Stupid. And not like me. Please strike me with lightning if I turn into some pathetic, weak teenage girl. I so don’t believe in all that “love at first sight” crap. I don’t believe in love at all, really. But lust . . . is alive and well
.

I pull a deep breath, pick up my pen, and flip to the next page.

I struggle with what else to write, ’cause my tangle of emotions is a little confusing and nearly impossible to articulate. But if there’s anyone I can tell about how I feel, it’s Matt. He was more
than just my brother; he was my best friend—the only one who ever really
got
me. I know Matt will keep my secrets. So I tell him everything, no matter how embarrassing. I owe it to him. A little part of mine is the closest thing to a life I can give him.

I start again.

So, Matt. Remember that guy I told you about . . . Luc. I pause, still struggling to frame my thoughts into something coherent that I can put on paper. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Except him. He’s wrong. Everything about him is wrong. I can’t think or even breathe very well when he’s around. But I want him around. I know—I’m losing it. But there’s something about him. This weird, dark, magnetic energy, and even though he scares me a little—okay, a lot—it’s like I can’t stay away.

I really meant what I said before about the love thing. When Reefer said it he ruined everything. Because love doesn’t exist—not really. Grandpa and Grandma are the only ones I’ve ever seen who were even close. It’s dangerous to believe in something that can only hurt you. So I don’t
.

But Luc . . .

I shudder, looking over the shaky handwriting. I write one more line and close the book.

Just shoot me now.

I haul myself up and get ready for bed. But when I climb in and close my eyes I see platinum curls and shining blue eyes. Suddenly I wish I’d found out more about Gabe. Maybe Riley and Taylor know something. I grab my phone and text Riley. “Did Tay hook up w/Gabe?”

Her reply takes less than a minute. “He left right after u. What happened w/Luc?”

“Nothing. Did u find out where Gabe goes 2 skool?”

“No. Why? U want him 2?” I can almost hear her laughing.

“Shut up. Just curious.”

I slam down the phone, frustrated, and climb into bed, glad it’s the weekend. A few days away from guys will be good, ’cause they’re really messing with my mind.

But when Sunday comes, they’re still rattling around in there, despite all the judo and meditation to clear my head.

“Hand me the torque wrench, Frannie.”

I rifle through Grandpa’s tool chest and come out with it. Then I lie on the cement floor of his garage and slide in next to him under his restored ’65 Mustang convertible.

The smell of oil and exhaust means Sunday afternoon to me. From the time I could hold a screwdriver without putting my eye out, I’ve been under a car with my grandpa every Sunday after church. My sisters think I’m weird, but I can’t imagine anything better than the feeling of accomplishment when you take something apart and then put it back together with no pieces left over—and it works. Some of my warmest memories are of being on the cold cement floor in this garage.

“It’s coming along,” I say, looking up at where he’s tightening the last clamp on the engine we spent all winter rebuilding.

“Not more than a week or two out. Can ya grab that wrench and hold this bolt while I tighten the clamp?” he says, and his deep sandpaper tone resonates to my bones.

“Sure. You’ll let me drive it?”

“You’ll be first—after me, course. Reward for all your hard work.” He turns and grins. His smiling blue eyes are warm and soft even in the harsh glow of the shop light hanging from the belly of the Mustang.

“Excellent!” I picture myself cruising down the street, top down, music blaring.

He runs his grease-covered hand over his balding head, leaving a large black smudge in the middle of the short gray fringe. “We’re almost ready for oil. There’s a case in the corner. Can ya pull four quarts?”

“Sure,” I say, sliding out from under the car.

“There’s a funnel over there too. I’ll tell ya when I’m ready.”

I grab the oil, bring it back, and twist the oil cap off the engine block. “Grandpa?”

“Yep.”

“How did you meet Grandma?”

He laughs—a rich sound that fills the garage and my heart. “At a street race when we were in high school. She was a good girl. Barely been kissed.” He chuckles. “But I came along and fixed that.”

“When did you know you loved her?”

“The second I saw her.”

“How did you know she loved you?”

I can hear the smile in his voice. “She told me . . . and then she showed me, if ya catch my drift.”

I try to picture them young, like in some of the pictures I’ve seen: Grandpa, all strutting around in his jeans with a pack of cigarettes rolled into the sleeve of his T-shirt, and Grandma, the good girl with the mischievous gleam in her eye. And then
I picture my grandma—how I loved to curl up with her on the couch while she read me the classics—and my heart aches. “Do you miss her?”

“Every day.”

“Do you believe in Heaven?”

“Yep.”

“Do you think Grandma’s there?”

“If anyone is, it would be her. I don’t think God would hold lovin’ me against her.”

“Do you think Matt is there too?” I ask past the tight lump in the back of my throat.

“For sure. Sittin’ on his grandma’s knee.”

Even though I know it’s all a lie, it still feels good to hear him say it. Like a comfortable old fairy tale. “Thanks, Grandpa.”

“I’m ready for that oil. Slow and easy.”

“You got it.”

Monday morning and the hall is crowded with hot, sticky bodies. Mmm . . . just like home. And then I feel it. That itch in my sixth sense. Gabriel.

I swing my locker shut, turn, and there he is, leaning against the wall next to room 616, talking to Frannie. And she’s smiling up at him and laughing—and flirting—and blushing.

That bastard’s cheating!

Suddenly, I’m flooded with some unrecognizable emotion mixed with rage, and all I want is Gabriel’s bloody head in my hands. Except angels don’t bleed even when you rip their heads off.

In three long strides I’m across the hall. I realize I’m grimacing and tone it down to my best smirk. “Gabriel.”

Frannie looks a little out of it when she turns to me. “Oh . . . Hey Luc.”

Gabriel smiles. “Lucifer.”

“So nice to see you. What brings you to the humble halls of Hades High?”

“Same as you, dude. A quality education,” he smirks.

Frannie’s eyes clear a little and shift warily between us. “Play nice.” She turns back to Gabriel and touches his arm. “If you need any help writing up that physics lab . . .”

My rage bubbles dangerously close to the surface. I feel my power surge. “You’re
in physics
together?” I say, glaring laser beams at Gabriel.

Frannie’s beaming at him in a whole different way. “Gabe is my new lab partner.”

“Really . . .” I growl through gritted teeth.

He shrugs away from the wall and shifts closer to Frannie. “Just lucky, I guess.”

Luck’s got nothing to do with it. More like divine intervention.

My appraising eyes shift to Frannie. No real damage done. None that I can’t fix anyway. “So, history?” I say.

“Oh, yeah. Let me grab my book.” As she moves across the hall, her brow creases. She shakes her head once, pushing off the fog. I turn back to Gabriel as she twists her lock.

“So why did they send you anyway? Seems like overkill. Any run-of-the-mill angel could fail as spectacularly as you’re going to.”

“We’ll see,” he says. I don’t like the confident smirk on his face. He knows something I don’t.

I put on my poker face as I fish for information. “You and I both know you would have tagged her already if you could. What’s the hold up? A little too much devil in her?”

He’s still smug, but the frustration in his undertone gives him away. I hit a nerve. “You’re still the same stupid chump you’ve always been. All that pride and arrogance that got you here in the first place. I’d think after all these millennia . . . you have no clue why you’re here, do you? What the deal is with her?” he asks.

Now
he
hit a nerve. I struggle to keep my composure. He doesn’t need to know he’s right. “All that matters is Frannie’s soul
will be
tagged for Hell—soon.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” he jabs. And if I could kill him, I would, but I’ve tried before and it didn’t work out so hot. Turns out the cherub is tougher than he looks.

Then Frannie’s back. She brushes against my elbow and a tingle courses through me. “Ready?” she says.

“Yep. Let’s go.” I place my fingertips in the small of her back and guide her down the hall. He may need to cheat, but I don’t. No power, just charm.

I breathe deep and try to get my head straight. Gabe is kinda dazzling, I guess. I crane my neck and, through the mass of humanity, catch a glimpse of him leaning against the lockers watching me.
God, how anyone can look that good
. . . . I breathe against the flutter in my chest and turn back to Luc, who looks pretty damn good too.

“So, how was calculus?” I ask, ignoring the free-flowing pheromones from all the girls staring at Luc as we weave through the crowded halls. I have to work hard not to turn and gawk at Gabe again. Instead I concentrate on Luc’s fingers, burning into my back and making me hot in places I probably shouldn’t be.

He quirks an eyebrow. “I think I’m Felch’s pet. She likes me.”

“Really . . . ? I knew there was something terribly wrong with you.” I try to scowl, but the smile I feel creeping across my face ruins the effect. The next thing I feel is Taylor nearly knocking me over as she blows into me from behind.

“Did you see? Gabe’s here! Holy God!” she screeches.

I glance at Luc in time to see his eyes flash hot through his genuine scowl.

“Yeah. He’s my lab partner in physics.” I’m surprised by the possessive edge to my voice. Unfortunately, it doesn’t get by either of them. Luc’s jaw clenches as Taylor glares.

“He’s your
lab partner?”
She shoots a glance at Luc and her voice sours. “The universe is so totally unfair.”

I just shrug.

“I’ll talk to you at lunch,” she says, turning and bounding down the hall.

“Okay . . . so . . . wow,” I say.

A spiteful smile flits across Luc’s face. “I think you should hook them up.”

“Whatever.” I step through the door into history, where Mr. Sanghetti looks up and glares his usual dagger at Luc.

Luc looks at me with a wry smile as we take our seats. He
pulls a crumpled wad of paper from his back pocket and tosses it on his desk.

I look at him in disbelief. “That’s your report?”

He shoots me a roguish smile and leans back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. “Yep.”

Feeling all superior, I stick my hand into my book bag to retrieve my report in its shiny plastic cover. But the blood drains from my face when I realize it’s not there. In my Luc-and-Gabe-induced haze this morning, I left it sitting on the desk in my room.
Shit!
Mr. Sanghetti never accepts late assignments.

Please give us another day . . . please, please, please . . .

“I know reports are due today,” Mr. Sanghetti starts, looking right at me, “but I have a commitment after school and don’t want to lug them with me. Hold on to them until tomorrow,” he says, and I almost fall out of my chair.

I spend the rest of history trying not to laugh as Luc and Mr. Sanghetti go at it.

“You’ll want to study through chapter eighteen for your test Wednesday,” Mr. Sanghetti says as the bell rings, glaring right at Luc with a satisfied smirk.

I lean in. “I think Mr. Sanghetti is looking for payback. Good luck on that test,” I whisper.