Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

“So I have a date tonight,” I told Seth over the phone. He was eating at his desk as usual. Noisily. In my ear. Brothers never change.

“You? A date? With who?” He slurped loudly from his drink. Obviously, his body was crying out desperately for hydration.

“Well, his name is Reed Taylor and has awful, blah-colored hair. And he was a user way back, so he says. And he has this invisible thing that hangs around with him all of the time. It kind of gets in my way, but it has its uses. Like today when the demon attacked me in the middle of the hamburger section—”

“What’s wrong with his hair?” Seth asked. “I mean, what is it exactly that you don’t like?”

And that’s Seth for you. He has this amazing mind, right? Quick, eager. His brain has tentacles and is always waving them around, ready to grab something interesting and suck it all in to its brain-mouth, or whatever. But the things Seth finds interesting, well. They just baffle me. I mean, I am boggled.

“His hair, it’s like . . . I don’t know. Nondescript. Nothing stands up and shouts. If his hair was a man, he’d always dress in beige. And eat mayo on white with the crusts cut off. All of the time. And say things like, ‘That is very interesting,’ even when it’s not. You know that type of person?”

“Does Reed Taylor’s beige-man hair wear a tie?”

“Yes, he does. It’s a washed out gray and very wide.”

“Are you done?”

“And I think his beige-man hair guy’s name is Nathanial.”

“Not Nate?”

“Nope. Nathanial. And he’ll politely but firmly correct you if you call him anything else. ‘Hey, man,’ ‘No, my name is Nathanial,’ type of thing. Cripes, I don’t know if I can go out with him.”

“Because of his beige-man hair guy named Nathanial?”

“Maybe. And because I think I might like him.”

“Nathanial?”

“No, Reed Taylor, you dork. Keep up with the conversation. Sheesh. I can’t believe you sometimes.”

Seth swallowed more mouthfuls of something crunchy. “Sorry. Guess I’d better stick to what I do, eh?”

I shook my head, although of course he couldn’t see me. Unless he was mysteriously psychic, and perhaps that wouldn’t surprise me at all. Not with my family.

“Stop that, Seth. There’s nothing wrong with being a legal assistant.”

“Yeah, not if that’s what you’d like to do. But if your goal was to be a lawyer . . . ”

This was an old argument. “So go back to law school. Sparkles is gone, Seth. She doesn’t need you to wait on her hand and foot anymore. I’m running the place now, and I say to get thy degree.”

He almost laughed, which was good. I shifted gears.

“Anyway, you’re good to have Lydia tonight, right? So I can go out with the hair man?”

“I am always available to facilitate your dating endeavors, my horribly, tragically single girl. May you have better luck than I did.”

“Here’s to that,” I said and clinked an imaginary glass.

I hung up. Lydia was napping, exhausted by entertaining so many callers at the grocery store. I went to the front door and peered out of the window. A demon peered morosely back.

I stepped outside, and the demon reached out for the doorknob. It slipped right through his wispy hands.

“Were you here yesterday too?” I asked it. It looked at me blankly.

“Yesterday?”

Ah, one of those. Totally disoriented, almost totally benign. I felt sorry for them, actually. I sat down on the step.

“Come sit with me, demon.”

He did. He wrapped vaguely transparent arms around black robes like fog.

“So why are you so interested in the window there? What are you looking for?”

The demon peered at me like he had never seen a human before. “Window?”

This might not be worth the effort. I tightened my muscles to stand up but watched the demon turn his head, this way and that. He seemed so lost. It made me feel bad for abandoning him. I tried again.

“What are you looking for, demon?”

He was silent for a while, and I watched the light breeze disturb his flowing blackness. Like watching ink in water. It was strangely beautiful in a disquieting way.

Then he spoke. His voice was breathy and weak. “I’m hungry,” he said.

Well. That had me shooting to my feet. I had my hand on the door and was ready to dart inside when he spoke again.

“For . . . ” he fluttered his hands, unable to find the words. “For . . . ”

“Food?” I offered, still poised to run.

He shook his head, distressed. “No. For . . . not this.” He looked down at his body, his misty arms hanging loosely. He grabbed his robes and swayed slowly from side to side. “For not this,” he said again, and then it was almost sing songy. “For not this, for not this. I’m hungry for not this.”

It was eerie. And heartbreaking. I stood there, horrified and saddened. There was nothing I could do for this guy. What is the use, I thought bitterly, of seeing these things everywhere if there’s nothing I can do? It was too much to take.

“There’s nothing in there that can help you,” I told the demon. He acted like he didn’t hear me, still swaying back and forth, speaking mostly to himself. I opened the door and stepped inside when suddenly, the demon spoke again.

“That,” he said, pointing. “I want that.”

“What?” I asked him, craning my neck to see.

“That,” he said again firmly.

I looked at where his translucent finger pointed. I stared hard. The demon made a moaning, almost happy sound.

There was absolutely nothing there.

“I don’t see anything,” I told the demon. He looked at me, his gaze suddenly sharp and intense. My hand froze on the door handle.

“Ah, Luna,” he said knowingly, and I swallowed hard. His eyes were penetrating. “Then you really can’t see anything at all, can you?” And he smiled.