A Demon Made Me Do It (Demonblood #1)

By: Penelope King

Chapter 1. Liora



Whoever says Hell is the worst place imaginable obviously never spent a day at Dove Creek High School. There needs to be an inscription on its front gates reading, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind is the soft hum of my teacher’s voice, but I pay no attention to his words. The clock on the wall ticks by so slowly I swear it actually stops a few times. I close my eyes and try to imagine a happier place—anywhere but here, doing anything but wasting my life pretending to belong in a world that hates me.

“According to Dante, the eighth circle is reserved for those who have committed treacherous acts of fraud and deceit…” Mr. Sodenberg drones. I love how he has the ability to make a journey through Hell seem less interesting than a trip to the dentist.

To be fair, I’d already read Inferno when I was eight years old as part of my early demonhood education. Although that was nearly nine years ago, I still have perfect recall of each and every word, as with anything else I’ve ever read. Listening to it being discussed in class is as exciting as re-learning the alphabet without all the fun of singing the catchy tune that goes along with it.

I half-open one eye to peek outside the window. Bare bones of tree branches tremble in the wind. Soon it will be winter. Soon the snow will come. Then, not only will I be stuck inside a classroom for most of the day, my lazy afternoons in the woods will be limited even more. I’ll be trapped in the small cabin I share with Tatiana, my guardian.

Trapped. Story of my life.

Trapped in this classroom, trapped in my body, trapped in the daylight, trapped in this false world. Trapped in limbo with no escape in sight.

It’s cold outside, so when my skin starts suddenly warming up, I know something’s wrong. As the sun-burning sensation slowly spreads up my neck, I begin to panic.

Oh, no. No, no, please no.

“Liora Greyson!” Mr. Sodenberg’s angry voice and a book cracking against his podium snaps me to attention. I raise my head from the cradle of my arms and shoot him an icy glare.

“What?” My voice doesn’t belong to me anymore. It sounds like me, but it’s not.

He scowls at me from behind his reading glasses. “I’m sorry if our discussion on Dante’s Inferno is interfering with your naptime.” The rest of the class titters, except for my friend Corrine Wilson, who looks at me with concern.

“Yeah, mind keeping it down? Whah Whah Whah. That’s what you sound like.” I can’t stop the words coming out. My heart sinks and I close my eyes. Realizing I still have some control over my own body, I place a hand over my mouth. But it’s too late; the damage has already been done.

Again.

Shocked gasps mix with nervous laughs and disapproving sneers. Mr. Sodenberg’s face puffs up and turns red, and his normally squinty eyes look like they’re about to pop out of their sockets.

“Principal’s office. Now.”

Great. What else is new?

“…and you tell him that you are no longer welcome in my classroom. I will not tolerate this type of behavior.”

“Yes, sir.” My hand rises to my head and gives a snappy salute before I’m able to force it back down. I grab my book bag, ignoring the superior looks from my classmates. They enjoy seeing me get in trouble, as if watching the weird-freak-girl getting punished for being a weird-freak-girl makes them feel better about their simple, ordinary lives. But no matter how strange they think I might be, they’d be terrified if they knew the real truth.

As they should be.

A cool blast of air stings my face as I trudge down the school’s breezeway. I zip up my jacket and debate walking right past the principal’s office and right off campus.

I lean against a rusted locker and weigh my options. Either deal with a smart-mouthed demon hijacking my body and getting me in trouble, or, face an angry witch waiting for me at home if I ditch again.

Awesome.

Dante never covered this part in his guidebook through the nine circles of Hell. He only wrote of going to a place where demons punished sinners after their deaths. Nowhere does he mention the personal hell of having to share a body with a living demon who can torment at will, but I’m sure he would have appreciated the cruel irony. Perhaps this could have been his ‘tenth circle’.

After a few moments I decide to take my chances with the principal. My body temperature feels back to normal, so I think I’m safe for now. I can only pray. The secretary, Ms. Fleming, doesn’t even ask why I’m in here, she just gives me her usual hateful glare. I take a seat on an ugly orange chair, stare at the old Civil War photographs on the wall, and ignore her dirty looks.

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