Evil - Chapter 6
I woke with a jolt as the bus lurched to a stop. “Last stop!” the bus driver shouted.
This is a portal fantasy series with mythological roots and action-adventure tendencies. You can search through all my work on my website.
It's not easy being the Antichrist.
Anjelica’s mother never told her that she was a demon. Now, all she wants is her old life back, but that’s not possible for her. Not after what she’s seen.
Anjelica used to be a popular cheerleader with an awesome life, but that was before an evil cult of demons tried to use her blood to open a portal to Hell and start the Apocalypse.
She was rescued from that fate, barely, and because of the imminent threat to her life, her saviors ripped her from Los Angeles and brought her to a safe house in the middle of nowhere.
They said it was for her own good, but she would rather be dead than stuck in boring, old Bronard, Missouri. She was from the big city, so a sleepy, rural life wasn’t for her.
She longed for excitement.
So, when she met a young witch with a mysterious past who promised to show her everything she knew about opening portals and traveling between distant lands, they bonded immediately
I mean, what’s the worst that could happen, right?
It’s not like they would open an intergalactic gateway to another planet and get thrown into a brand, new world with no way to get back to Earth, right?
Join Anjelica in her own solo adventure and find out what happened to her immediately after the events in Magic.
I woke with a jolt as the bus lurched to a stop. “Last stop!” the bus driver shouted. I rubbed my eyes and looked around. There was nobody on the bus, not even Lizzie. When I gazed outside, I didn’t recognize anything familiar.
“Excuse me?” I said, walking to the front. “I think I missed my stop. Can you take me back?”
She shook her head. “Can’t do it, kid. Got a route, and I run it.”
I looked outside. “Okay, I guess. The water tower. How do you get to it?”
She pointed. “You’re looking at it.”
The sun was setting across the street. I stepped out of the bus and looked up at the red tower that said “Maynard Water.” What is a Maynard?
I turned around to ask the driver, but she had already closed the door and started to drive off. I chased after her, pounding on the side of the bus as it pulled away, but she did not stop. Watching the bus turn the corner, I realized just how cold it was. I pulled my jacket tight, but the setting sun meant that it would only get colder. I needed to find shelter soon and get to a phone.
I started down the desolate road. The corn and wheat fields, so beautiful in the light of day, felt ominous at dusk. The stalks cast long shadows and waved in the breeze like demon fingers trying to drag me down to Hell and—no, that’s stupid, Anjelica. It’s just your mind playing tricks on you.
Wind kicked the cold in my face as the last of the light left the horizon. A light clicked on in the distance, and I saw a small farmhouse, blue with red shutters, offset from the road, surrounded by fields of wheat.
I ran to it and pounded on the door, my hands nearly numb from the chill. “Please,” I whispered, my teeth chattering. “Please, somebody be home.”
“Who is it?” I finally heard from the other side of the door. The girl sounded young, maybe around my age. “What do you want?”
“I’m Anjelica,” I said. “I just got off the bus and…well…I’m lost…I’m new to town, and I think I’m in the wrong place.”
The door swung open, and a brown-haired girl with thick glasses stared at me from a wheelchair. “You go to Mark Twain?”
“Honestly, I have no idea. I think so. The name sounds familiar, but maybe that’s because he was a famous writer.”
“Well, you don’t look like you’re going to kill me. Do you wanna come in?”
I nodded, and she opened the door for me. I hopped inside, grateful to be in a heated house again. I couldn’t even put it into words. “Thank you. I’m saying that so much recently, I think it’s losing its value, but seriously, thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t home.”
She shrugged before turning her chair around. “There’s a farm about a mile up the road. The Mulveys are kind of dicks, though, and the man is a perv.” She wheeled down the cramped hallway, and I followed her. “I was making myself some tea. Do you want any?”
“That would be lovely,” I said. “It’s not Lipton, is it beca—never mind, whatever you have is great.”
She smiled and opened a cabinet underneath the sink. “Nah, I got the good stuff. If you want caffeine, I have some black tea, but I was going with some raspberry chamomile.”
“That sounds great,” I replied and watched her pull out a carton of loose-leaf tea and pour it into two different filters. Then, she poured hot water into two mugs and left them to steep.
“Are you new here?” she asked. “Pardon for sounding like a bad movie sheriff, but you don’t sound like you’re from around these parts.”
I laughed. I hadn’t really laughed since I came to Missouri. “Los Angeles.”
“The big city.”
“Second biggest.”
“I guess that depends on by what metric you’re using. Second biggest in the US, but there are plenty bigger in the world.”
“Yeah, I guess I’m an American prick like that, always thinking the good ole USA is the center of the universe.”
She pulled the strainer from one of the cups and handed it to me. “Careful, it’s hot.”
I grabbed the tea from her and took a sip. It was heavenly. I liked coffee just fine, but I lived for tea. Back home, I had about thirty different types I’d found in little shops all over Los Angeles. It was one of my great joys in life.
“Mmm…” escaped my lips.
“Is there anything like good tea?” the girl asked.
“There is not…umm…what is your name?”
“Margaret,” she replied, tapping her tea mug with mine. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Anjelica.” I nodded to her. “Do you go to Mark Twain, too? I didn’t see you on the bus, and I think I would have noticed you, no offense.”
“Why? Because I’m such a magnetic personality?” She flipped her hair playfully. “Just kidding. I know I’m in a wheelchair. I take no offense. My mom does, though, which is why she home schools me…I mean, she doesn’t flat out say she’s ashamed, but like, I haven’t left this house in years at this point.”
“I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“It totally sucks.” She sipped her tea. “Absolutely and totally.”
I could see a sadness fall over her, so I decided to change the subject. “Oh, another topic. I assume this is Maynard, right?”
“What gave it away? The huge water tower?”
“Yeah, and I’m from Bronard, which has a different one. Blue, if I remember correctly.”
“Well, crud. You really are far from home. Three towns from home, to be exact. You must’ve gotten on the wrong bus.”
“I missed my stop.”
“Yeah, Mark Twain services most of the county, and the county is pretty enormous. Do you have anyone you can call?”
“Um…yes…my…parents, I guess…but I don’t have their number.”
“How…do you not know your own parent’s number?” Margaret asked, confused.
“I…kinda just met them.” I didn’t even remember Carl and Junebug’s last name. Carmen? Carter? Chamomile? I thought for a moment, and then I realized that, while I didn’t know the number…or the name…I’d been to her bakery. “Do you have a phone book?”
“Yeah, next to the fridge.” Margaret pointed to it, and I rushed over.
What was it called? It was a pun. Desaster? No. Cake—Nope. Dessertation! That was it! I flipped through the book until I found the number for Dessertation.
“Can I use your phone?” I asked.
“Is it a local call?” Her voice was deadpan. After a second, she smiled. “Just kidding. Go ahead.”
I walked over to the phone and began to punch in the numbers. There was a crash behind me, and when I looked back, Margaret was writhing on the floor, foam coming out of her mouth, shaking uncontrollably. Junebug would have to wait. I hung up the phone to cancel the call I’d been making and then picked it up again to call an ambulance.
“Hello, 911?” I asked when the operator picked up. “We have an emergency.”
This is a portal fantasy series with mythological roots and action-adventure tendencies. You can search through all my work on my website.