Page 6 of Death is My BFF

“Towhom,” he clarified. “The girl you spared ten years ago.” My face fell faster than a mortal at my touch. “It’s time to carry out the plan.”

“Is her soul as powerful as the prophecy claims?”

“Unknown,” Lucifer said cryptically. “Not according to the tabs we’ve kept on her, at least. If she is the one, she remains dormant.

But I wouldn’t take any chances, she could be of great use to us.”

He paused as the wail of police sirens undulated in the distance.

“No funny business. Under no circumstances is she to be consumed, eaten, or otherwise harmed.”

“You’re making me hungry. Is she meaty?”

“Death,” Lucifer snarled.

“Kidding.”Partially. Biting back another vile smirk, I bowed my head. “Your wish is my eternal command, Your Majesty.”

Lucifer made his flaming exit. The fire trucks rolled up and it was time for me to leave as well. I faded into the night with a single thought:this is going to be fun.

II

FAITH

Present Day . . . Pleasant Valley, New York

“ . . . Happy birthday to . . .YOUUU!”

Marcy Delgado, my best friend since kindergarten, hit an unrestrained, opera-style final note that cost half my hearing.

We stood in the middle of my dim bedroom. In one hand, Marcy balanced a plate of eighteen strawberry-frosted cupcakes with eighteen black candles. In the other, she held my phone, where a video chat with my parents illuminated the screen. We’d had a big celebration last weekend as a family before they left for their vacation.

I kept assuring them it didn’t matter when or if we even celebrated.

In fact, I would have preferred that we hadn’t at all.

Because tonight, October 20, on my actual birthday, those eighteen candles kindled with the promise that everything would change. Soon it would be time to grow up and grow out of Pleasant Valley. I was not ready. Not when I didn’t feel confident in my own skin. Not when I didn’t know where I fit in, or even who I was, no matter how hard I tried to figure it out. My mood wilted a little at these melancholy thoughts.

“Make a wish already, you old fart!” Dad shouted through the phone.

My smile sprang up and we all laughed. I shut my eyes, inhaled, and plunged the room into darkness with one wish:I want to knowwho I am.

The lights came back up and I spent the next few minutes catching up with my parents. They were away on a once-in-a-lifetime trip that I’d had to push them into taking. My mother had been determined to stay home for my birthday, but I’d really wanted them to go. I loved that they were able to get away, just the two of them, for the first time since their honeymoon twenty-two years ago. I’d have many more birthdays.

After the call, Marcy continued to get ready for the Halloween party while I did some finishing touches on a painting. Even though my parents were cool about most things, they had a strict rule of no drinking or going to parties where alcohol would be served.

Normally, I was the goody-two-shoes child that they never had to worry about. Tonighthadto be different. Hey, I would only turn eighteen once.

Marcy turned in the mirror to look at her backside in her go-go dancer costume. “Be honest, how does my butt look?”

I set down my paintbrush and reached for a cupcake on the nightstand beside me. “Pancake,” I replied jokingly and licked the strawberry frosting.

“Pancake? Now, that’s just rude.” Marcy came rushing out of the bathroom to rant further about her butt, but I couldn’t rip my attention away from the painting in front of me. “Earth to Faith? My ass is flat, this is an emergency! Fix my pancake!”

A pair of almond-shaped mismatched green eyes glared scathingly from the canvas. Their pupils shimmered with catlike vertical slits. Smoke draped upward like the candles I blew out moments ago.

Marcy scrutinized the painting. “Hot,” she quipped. “I wish I could paint like you, I’ve always been jealous. I’m also jealous of your butt . . . okay, now back to me. Do you think I’d add mass to my glutes if I ate another cupcake?” She padded across the floor and started unwrapping one of my birthday cupcakes with her pink gel nails. “I mean, you eat these all the time, and you’re skinnyandhave a big booty. It’s totally unfair . . . ”

In my head, a lightbulb came on. I swapped my paintbrush for a pencil and began to trace a cupcake on the canvas I’d been working on. My hand moved in another direction on its own, transforming the cupcake into an eye. I battled my right hand with my left, trying to regain control. I couldn’t. I could never stop my hand from completing these paintings.

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