Bedeviled

An Extract

Earth again. It’s never changed – not that I would expect any of the mortals surrounding me to imagine what this place could become. Petty evils scented the air; a stolen pen; ten minutes skiving on the internet; a cruel note jotted on a shred of paper. I licked my lips, tasting the potential. It was there.

The balding fool on the other side of the desk blithered on. ‘Callerton High is amongst the finest schools in the country and you are privileged to be…’

I yawned.

‘…part of the community with many first rate facilities, such as our fine flood-lit astroturf pitches…’

This place, first rate? I smirked at the very idea. Thompson could play at being a pathetic despot in his little empire if he wanted, but I had every intention of completing this mission in record time. Record? Her records. What did these humans know about my prey? My eyes fell on the trio of neatly labelled filing cabinets languishing in the corner. The perfect place to start.
Snapping my fingers, a fog cloaked Thompson’s eyes. Even Anaris couldn’t control humans the way I could; I astounded myself with my sheer talent, sometimes. Thompson railroaded on through his welcome message - blah, blah, blah - but I knew that he would only see what he wanted to see: the young boy in his office chair, eager to learn and become a valued part of the school.

Her file was easy enough to locate. Too easy: three drawers down in the middle cabinet that wasn’t even locked. There she was, neatly filed in alphabetical order and labelled in precise block capitals on the uniform buff folder. The irony of it struck me; she was anything but uniform. Untouchables always were.
Thompson’s chair was far more comfortable than mine. I lounged back in the soft leather, my boots sullying his perfectly polished mahogany desk as I skimmed through her file, eager to know more.

Grace Elizabeth Taylor. Named after the movie star, I supposed. Seventeen years old. Father, stepmother, brother and step-sister all living with her in a house three point two miles away from the school. Her mother was dead. I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, blowing clouds of pleasure out again. That had potential. A small suburban home, full of arguments and tension? It didn’t even need a demon’s touch for explosive results.

I flicked my ash into the potted fern on Thompson’s desk. He was waxing lyrical about the drama studio, gesturing towards the empty chair in a futile attempt to persuade it to audition for the school production of King Lear. Halfwit.

Rifling through her school reports, I learnt that her mediocre mind was hardly much competition for my brilliance. A spattering of awards for this and that and a few incident reports for minor misdemeanours that made me smile. A girl who had skipped swimming lessons with a period that allegedly lasted for three months was hardly going to be a dangerous opponent. There must have been a mistake; this child couldn’t be an Untouchable. Seven days? I’d be warm in Hell with her before supper.