Damonic

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

“Another mural, Cass?”  Bobby mumbled from around a mouthful of Popsicle. “I thought we weren’t allowed to mess on the walls?”

I shrugged and gave him a ‘so what’ look from over my shoulder. 

“Why not?  We need something to brighten up this crappy, gray atmosphere.”

Though, brighten was a bit of a stretch to describe the scene I was currently etching out in bright red paint. 

“Is that a…battle?” Bobby asked, his blue eyes saucer wide.  With those chubby cheeks still full of baby fat and a bit of his cherry Popsicle juice dribbling down his chin, he looked cute enough to eat. 

He hadn’t been here long, but with most couples looking for little boys around his age, I knew that Bobby wouldn’t be here for much longer.  Not if he kept looking so damn sweet as he gleefully eyed the carnage I was brushing carefully onto the wall.

“Is that blood?”  He exclaimed as I dipped by brush in a lovely shade of scarlet.  I half expected him to clap his hands as I scooped up a hefty glob of the stuff.

“Yes.”  I bit my lip and carefully painted in the details where I wanted them; some over here, and a little dash over there, and just a drop there. 

“Done,” I announced, taking a step back to observe my handiwork. 

“Awesome!”  Bobby exclaimed, his little eyes bug-wide.  “It’s so cool—like a video game!”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” I said seriously. 

Most video games didn’t happen to feature an epic, bloody battle between a shining angel and a bloodthirsty demon—that’s for sure.  I wasn’t even sure if I’d even want to play something that showcased carnage like that.

Even though the painting was mine, I could admit that it looked a little too real. 

A little too graphic. 

The beautiful blond angel fighting a dark-haired demon to the death seemed so vivid that for a moment my breath caught.  It wasn’t a very large painting—just wide enough to cover the middle of the wall. 

But every detail was painstakingly etched out in cheap, vibrant paint that for a moment I half expectedly my freshly added bloodstains to come dripping down onto the linoleum floor.

I could almost hear the clash of swords meeting over a grisly battlefield…

“Cassabelle!” 

“Shit.”  I flinched and nearly dropped my brush as I turned to face the stern glare of Marjorie, the head caretaker.

Usually I just referred to her as Marjorie the head goon, because the term ‘caretaker’ made me feel like a puppy in a shelter. 

To be fair, she wasn’t really glaring, either.  Marjorie had spent too many years forcing fake smiles to look remotely displeased.

So instead she just looked constipated. 

Her thin lips were pursed together as she took in my grisly scene ‘decorating’ the wall right across from the third floor bathroom.  She placed one bony hand on her hip and sighed, shaking her head. 

“You know the rules, Cass,” she said gently in that dry voice. 

“Well duh,” I countered.  “Seeing as how I’ve been here since I was in diapers, you’d think that I’d remember a thing or two about not damaging private property.”