Demon High Read Online Free PDF

backpack and dug out my own flashlight. A few feet from the edge of the cemetery, there was a flat area that the cattle had worn down to rock and dirt. A knocked-down bit of rusty iron fencing showed where the actual boundary was. I started my circle one arm’s length away from it. And I used paint. It would be harder to hide when we were done, but, assuming we didn’t leave at a run, it would be worth the extra effort.
    When I was done, I called to Brittany. She came crunching forward, her feet smashing through years of dried oak leaves. “Did you see that big monument? He was only seventeen when he died.”
    I waved my hand. I was too nervous to play how-sad-was-that. “Stand over there.” I pointed at the fence, telling her to stand behind it—on sanctified ground.
    She let out a “whatever” sigh, but did as I said.
    I placed both of her hands on the rust-pitted metal that stood between us and kept my hands on hers as I spoke. “Whatever happens, don’t leave the cemetery. Wait until whatever happens, happens. Then wait longer. Until you think you can’t stay anymore. Then…wait some more.”
    She stared back at me, her gaze steady. “And then what?”
    “Run like hell.” I waited to make sure she understood.
    She raised a brow and folded her arms over her chest.
    Not quite the reaction I’d been looking for, but after our discussion on my street, I knew she wasn’t going to believe until I made her, and I couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t sure I believed yet.
    I believed in demons. I just wasn’t sure I could call one.
    I left her standing behind the fence and pulled tools from my mother’s bag.
    When I had everything lined up, I stood outside the circle. According to the book, you could stand in a circle for protection or you could use it as a trap. The latter was my plan. I would call Theodore into the circle and keep him there long enough for Brittany to see him. Then I’d send him on his way. He was a low level demon. From what the book said, I knew calling him was as safe as calling a demon could be.
    Still, I glanced over my shoulder at the cemetery boundary, assuring myself that Brittany was behind the fencing and that it was still a short two-foot leap for me to get there too.
    “Okay, I’m going to start.” I pressed my hands against my thighs to keep them from shaking.
    Brittany nodded, her eyes alive, interested, but also wary.
    She wasn’t as stupid as she portrayed herself at times.
    I picked up the candle first. It was black, but the color wasn’t important; what was important was what had been mixed in with the wax—something related to a moment of great pain or anguish. Demons feasted on human pain. I knew that from my mother. This candle held ash from a house fire. An entire family had died in that fire. While others mourned, my mother had taken a bucket and scraped up the ash. Then she’d gone home and made candles. Just touching them made my stomach clench.
    With the candle lit, I squatted and shoved the end into the dirt. Next I pulled out the picture of Theodore Thornton.
    I tossed the picture into the circle and picked up the last tool I’d need for this, a hand bell. I rang it nine times and began my chant. With my eyes closed I mumbled under my breath. The call was between me and the demon, Brittany didn’t need to hear it.
    For a while nothing happened. Sweat trickled down my spine. My hand holding the bell began to cramp. I started to ring it again, but stopped myself. That wouldn’t be the magic nine.
    I didn’t know what a tenth ring would do. The book hadn’t said. So, I waited and waited some more.
    My hand hurt, and I was covered in sweat. As the moisture evaporated off my skin I started to shiver.
    I wished I’d brought the book, wished my mother was there to ask what to do now, but I had neither. I had no choice but to keep chanting.
    I must have stood in one spot for fifteen minutes, chanting under my breath, clinging to that bell. I heard Brittany move