FOUR

Elodie

My head spins when I stand to haul the box from the bottom of my closet. It probably isn't helping that I punctuate every other movement with a swig from the bottle of gin I have beside me on the floor.

It sucks drinking it straight, but I have no juice to mix it with, and I need this ache in my chest to go away.

I lift the lid and double over around a sob when I pull out the first item: Dustin's hoodie. I never returned it. Instead, I hoarded it like a freak, in case I needed to smell him again.

Yep. I definitely need more gin.

Another sip does not make the pain disappear. In fact the burn just adds to the bubbling feeling of indigestion that has nothing to do with the rising nausea from the alcohol or from the half a tub of ice-cream I scarfed when I got home. Though, it does make me stop crying.

"Why am I like this?" I toss aside the sweatshirt and pull out the framed photos of us. Hawaii, on vacation. He's smiling in all of them. He looks just as happy as I do.

But somewhere underneath he must have been hiding the truth of what he was really feeling. The reason he left. The reason he cheated.

I scrabble beneath the photos to find the little box. The first thing I packed into the storage tub when it became clear he was serious about me moving out. The lid squeaks a little when I open it. The two pearl earrings stare up at me from their case, the first real jewelry anyone ever bought me.

I sit back on my heels and let the box fall into my lap while I take another drink.

I've never really liked pearls, if I'm honest. I thought Dustin knew that.

For so long, I loved this gift. It might not have been exactly what I wanted, but it was special. Romantic, to be given jewelry.

Now the haze of my feelings for him has sort of worn off, I wonder if he even picked them for me. Maybe he picked them for his mom and forgot to give them to her. A move I can see Dustin making, after all the times I had to buy gifts for Joy at the last minute when he forgot.

Maybe he bought them for her and she didn't like them.

The thought is so vile, I gather everything and stuff it back into the box, slamming on the lid. I catch a whiff of his scent and can't remember why I even kept the sweatshirt in the first place.

The thought of him seeing her, then coming home to me afterward makes me sick. Did he kiss her, then kiss me hours or minutes later? Did he fuck her?

I push away the box and lurch to my feet.

The room spins when I bend to pick up the gin. My lips feel numb as they peel back into a grimace.

I should stop.

I know I should. I'll feel terrible in the morning. But it's Saturday tomorrow and I don't have to emerge from my cave for the whole weekend. Not until Monday, when I somehow have to put on my game face and make a proper presentation for Mr. Azeroth.

Mr. Azeroth, the demon.

What is a demon, really?

I don't even know if he has another name. He's always just Mr. Azeroth. Is he magical?

There's got to be more to demons than having red skin, and being really tall and kind of spiky. Really, really tall. Azeroth towers over me. Over everyone in the office. You kind of get used to it until you walk around a corner and there he is, looking so...

So...

Monsters have been out for years. I've gotten so used to seeing a gargoyle at the supermarket, or a minotaur at the cinema, I've never stopped to think about this before. They can't really be the beings my grann used to talk about, can they? Spirits who could possess those with the right ancestry to host them. Demi-gods who could wield powerful magic.

I'd like to harness some magic to wipe the smile off tall, blonde, and bitchy's face. I'd like to watch her bleached blonde hair fall out strand by strand, until she is as bald as an aging, fat senator.

I'd like to watch Dustin's dick shrivel to the size of a peanut. Not a significant difference to what he's currently packing, but I know how much it used to bother him if I ever said anything that implied he wasn't the biggest guy I've ever seen. I can just imagine the look on his face when he realizes what was happening to him.

Stumbling to the bed, I take a swig of gin and keep imagining.

Grann used to say you could summon a demon if you got into the right headspace.

Pretty sure I'm in that headspace right now. I don't think I've ever felt so angry and helpless and pathetic.

She talked about music and fire, chanting, and some kind of offering.

I hold up the bottle. The last third of the liquid swishes around.

I wonder if demons like gin.

There's a symbol, too. You're supposed to draw it on the ground with chalk apparently. According to hexnfun.com. I can't really make out the shape in the diagram very well because my vision is a bit hazy, but I squint at it, and do the best I can.

I hope demons don't mind salt. I don't have any chalk handy.

I try to straighten, but stagger against the kitchen counter before I get my bearings.

I can't actually remember coming into the kitchen, but I need music.

Where is my speaker?

Eventually, I hunt it down in the bathroom and hit play on whatever playlist is on top. I only last a second with the mournful wails of the singer blasting my ears before I find something else.

The drums are catchy. I can't remember what this list is, but it feels right. I turn up the speaker and shuffle back to the kitchen, already moving in time with the music.

Yes. Drums.

More gin.

I take a long drink.

Then I tip the bottle and pour the rest onto the floor. "Here, demon!" I look around expectantly. "Oh, demon?"

Maybe the music's not loud enough.

Banging on the wall says otherwise. I ignore it.

What time is it, anyway?

Oh, that's right. I need fire. I flick the safety on the stove down and hit the ignite button. The little blue flame on the gas fixture whooshes to life.

There.

Fire, music, offering.

Chanting! I forgot to chant.

I don't know what to chant. I'd look it up, but the words on my screen blur together into a mangled mess, so I do the best I can. The words of the song pound through my head, and get mixed into the words of my chant. "Make me forget. I need to forget—No! I don't want to forget or forgive. I want revenge!"

I keep dancing. I'm spinning in listless circles, wishing it was real. Wishing I could really summon a demon.

It's hot in here. Did I turn on the heater? I forget.

Stripping my sweatshirt off leaves me in only socks, panties, and a tank top, but it's not like this is going to work, is it?

I'm dancing. Chanting. Kicking salt around the kitchen and into sticky patches of gin. It's not doing much except making a huge mess, but at least my heart doesn't hurt so bad.

A strange sound makes me jump. I spin and think I've spun the wrong way for a moment. The stove is behind me. Why is there smoke in the middle of my kitchen? Did I set my apartment on fire?

The smoke wafts away and reveals a tall, red-skinned figure dressed in black silk pajama bottoms. A figure with abs for days and broad, spiked shoulders, and—

And a really, really familiar face.

"Mr. Azeroth!" I gape at my boss standing in my kitchen; he's glaring at me.

My mouth drops open. "What are you—what did I—?"

"You summoned a demon." He folds his arms across his chiseled chest. "Well, here I am."