Oops I Ate A Vengeance Demon: Foils and Fury Book One, page 1
OOPS I ATE A VENGEANCE DEMON
FOILS AND FURY BOOK ONE
LAURETTA HIGNETT
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Acknowledgments
Sandy’s Introduction
Immortal Games Chapter One
CHAPTER 1
My phone buzzed as I was finishing off my client; I couldn’t help but glance down at it, sitting on my equipment trolley. We weren’t supposed to have our phones on at work. Not since Kerry’s boyfriend dumped her by text mid-shift and she cried all over her client's foils, ruining her highlights.
I couldn't help but look, though.
My best friend Chloe had messaged me again. Someone’s hacked my phone! Sandy, I’m being blackmailed!
Oh, good grief. That sounded bad. I’d have to call her back. I couldn’t answer her right now, I had enough on my plate. I was juggling three clients in the salon, another one was about to arrive, and unless I ate a cracker within the next five minutes I was going to puke again.
Taking a deep breath, I composed myself. I was going to be fine. Everything was going to be okay.
I raked my fingers through the old lady’s curls, ruffling them up, patting them gently into place, and grinned at her in the mirror. “So, Mrs Poppell,” I said cheerfully, tucking a curl behind her ear and whipping a hand mirror out to show her the back of her head. “What do you think?”
She pursed her lips, looking at herself. “You cut it too short.”
My smile fell. She was going to be difficult. I knew it the second she walked in the door. Sometimes, you can just tell when someone is planning on being an asshole.
To be fair, Mrs Poppell complained every single time I did her hair. She was one of those people who were never happy no matter what I did. I couldn’t really blame her, either. The mirror wasn’t exactly kind to her. She wasn’t an ‘aging gracefully’ type of old lady, or even a ‘sweet, twinkling-eyed gray-haired grandma’ type. She was more like an ‘Aileen Wurnos determined to use an expired coupon’ kind of woman.
It was exhausting, but it was part of my job. I had to do my best with what I had in front of me.
“I just gave it a little trim,” I said perkily, forcing the smile back on my face. “It looks a little shorter because I did a tighter curl this time. You asked me to, remember?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you saying this is my fault?”
“No, no, of course not. It’s just that you asked for a tighter set, so I used smaller rollers. So…” I added lamely. “The curl is tighter. So your hair looks shorter.”
“You cut it shorter.”
“Well…” I tried to keep my voice sounding reasonable. “I did cut it, yes. No more than usual, though. You did ask for a trim. I trimmed it, the same as always.”
She scowled. “It looks shorter.”
I took a deep breath, trying not to sigh it out. “Yes, it looks shorter because…”
There was no point trying to explain. A huge part of hairdressing was managing your client’s expectations, and I’d clearly dropped the ball with this one.
Sometimes, my job was pure performance art. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had a client who asked for a big change – something really different – but she didn’t want to lose any length off her hair or change her color. At all.
The only solution is to do exactly the same thing as usual and spend two hours gassing her up. Every single time, she’ll leave the salon absolutely delighted with her ‘new look.’
I should have known better than to change Mrs Poppell’s routine, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. She caught me on a bad day. Probably the worst day I’d had in three weeks, in fact. I was stressed with a capital S.
I was newly pregnant, sick as a dog with morning sickness, and absolutely exhausted from dealing with Dexter, my overactive toddler. Jenny – the salon owner here at Curl Up and Dye – had overbooked me again, and I was running late.
Jenny insisted I could handle it. I was young and strong, she said, and built like a milk-maid: Big boobs, tight core, sturdy, childbearing hips, strong arms, honey-blonde hair, and a rosy complexion that made me look younger than my twenty-five years.
Except today, I wasn’t handling it at all. The last time I’d had a bad day like this, I’d woken up on the floor of my kitchen in the arms of a strange woman, with Terry, my husband, bleeding and crying in the corner, and my local priest standing over me flicking me with holy water.
I didn't want to think about that day. That day had opened up a whole can of worms that I was desperately trying to seal back shut.
I plastered the smile back on my face. “Well, we can fix this.” It was going to take me another forty-five minutes and put me further behind in my schedule, but if Mrs Poppell left with a smile on her face, it would be worth it. “I’ll give it another wash and reset it like normal, and you’ll be good as new.”
My assistant Kerry sidled up to me, flicking her head back so she could see me through the thick curtain of bangs on her face. “Sandy, the client at the basin is ready for you to check the toner,” she said, in her usual miserable monotone.
I held back another sigh. “Thanks, Kerry. Can you please take Mrs Poppell back through to the basin and give her another wash?”
Kerry looked at me stonily, then stared at Mrs Poppell. “Why?”
“We’re going to redo the set,” I said cheerfully, trying not to grit my teeth. Kerry had the tact of a rhino. I met her eye – through the thick curtain of her black bangs – and gave her a Look.
Anyone in the service industry knows how to speak Look. It was a whole language of its own. Within a split second of meaningful eye contact, you can convey a whole sentence to your coworker, using only a slight raise of eyebrow, a purse of lips, a widening of eyes.
I’ve seen staff at Walmart glance at each other and say That’s not the shirt that customer was wearing when she came in here but we don’t get paid enough, so girl, let’s mind our own business.
I’ve watched the girls at Starbucks shoot each other with Oh my God, extremely hot guy at two o’clock, when you get his name for the coffee, ask for his number to go with it.
I can glance over at the receptionist, and with a tiny movement of my facial muscles, I can say Please bring my client another glass of wine; I forgot I didn’t have a clipper guard on and now his Don Draper trim is a skin-fade. Oops!
My assistant Kerry was young, and only learning to speak Look, so I put a little sauce into it. You’re happy, I’m happy, everything is fine. Everything is going to be fine. Don’t push back, because if you do, this bitch is going to cause some drama and leave a hell of a Yelp review.
Kerry’s eyes widened immediately. “Oh yes,” she said, forcing her overlined lips upwards in a smile. It sat oddly on her face, as if she’d never tried to smile before. She turned the toothy grin on Mrs Poppell. “Let’s get you washed and set.”
I hustled over to the basins, trying not to run. Now I had four clients in the salon at once, and another men’s cut about to walk in the door. Jenny, my boss, looked up at me from the podium as I power-walked past. She narrowed her eyes at me slightly. You’re running very late. What’s going on with you?
I hurried past, keeping my eyes down.
I haven’t told her I’m pregnant again.
She was going to flip out. I’d only just started working here when I was pregnant with Dexter. I didn’t hide it; she knew I was pregnant when she hired me. It didn’t stop her from being furious about it – despite the fact that I worked nine-hour days every day up until the second I went into labor, and was back at work six weeks after I’d given birth.
There were really no other options for work in Emerald Valley – no other salons, and I didn't have the money to open up my own place. Jenny was my only hope.
I wasn’t looking forward to telling her about this new pregnancy. She was already suspicious of me at the moment, considering I’d been behaving a little… weird lately. Out of character, at the very least. I’m the most conscientious and customer-focused person you’ll find, but three weeks ago, I disappeared halfway through putting a root tint on my first client of the day and didn’t come back to work until after lunch.
And I didn’t tell her why.
I couldn’t. There wasn’t really any rational way you could tell your boss – I’m sorry, I got possessed by a demon and tried to kill my husband. Oops!
I wrenched my attention back to the present and checked my client’s hair at the basin. Sophie’s hair had come up nicely, thank goodness.
“Looking good, Soph,” I smiled down at her, surreptitiously checking my watch. I had two other clients with color in their hair. Both would be ready in about ten minutes. I’d have to push one out a bit, not Susan’s, because she had foil highlights that might overprocess and her hair was delicate enough as it is. Holly’s color would be fine for a little bit longer, although she did say she was in a hurry today...
My head whirled for a second; nausea lurched in my stomach. I turned away, breathing deeply, clutching my chest. My heart was pounding.
This was too much. I was supposed to be taking it easy. I promised Father Benson. I promised my doctor. I promised Imogen, the girl who rescued Terry from the demon seconds before it ate his liver.
Before I ate his liver. That thought still gave me a weird frisson, halfway between terror and excitement.
Imogen – who turned out to be Father Benson’s go-to girl on supernatural creatures – trapped the demon in a banana and took custody of it, and threatened to let the demon loose if Terry didn’t treat me better.
The whole thing had been an enormous shock, in more ways than one. Putting aside the whole getting-possessed-by-a-demon thing, the biggest shock was finding out that my relationship was not normal.
Terry was not pulling his weight in this marriage – not by a long shot. While Terry took the trash out occasionally and worked four days at a distribution center, I was doing almost one-hundred percent of the housework at home, working fifty hours a week at the salon, and almost exclusively juggling Dexter and all his needs. Imogen even did the calculations to prove it.
I already knew I was doing too much. I already knew Terry wasn’t doing enough. A lifetime of indoctrination about a woman’s place kept me from saying anything, though. My mother had me convinced that this was normal. Terry had me convinced it was normal.
This new pregnancy was the straw that broke the camel’s back. It was what had drawn the demon to me. A pontianak – a vengeful ghost, the spirit of a pregnant woman – took control of my body. Maybe she’d heard me silently screaming into the void and taken possession of me.
If I was being truthful, I’d admit that I was glad it had happened. Terry always had a way of getting out of helping with chores, a knack of wiggling out of looking after our son. My mom was no help, either. She was a fundamentalist born-again Christian who had drilled into me the importance of looking after your husband and children.
Which is fine, I guess. But we couldn’t pay our rent unless I worked, too. So, I worked, and looked after the housework, and our kid. I did it all.
Until the demon possessed me and tried to eat Terry’s internal organs.
Terry promised he was going to be a better husband and help me more. So far, it has been a complete disaster. He’d cooked dinner twice; both times it was inedible – the mash so runny it fell off my plate and lamb chops so charred they fell to ash in my mouth. He’d acted hurt when I didn’t eat it.
Dexter didn’t eat it either. He threw the mash at the wall, and it stayed there. I left it, hoping Terry would clean it up, but he didn’t. With burning shame, I wiped up the mess after two days. Terry hadn’t cooked since then.
I tried leaving some chores for him, but the house was still a mess. Terry didn’t even seem to see what needed to be done until I pointed it out to him, and explaining what to do was a whole job all on its own.
Dexter woke up four times last night. Terry snored and refused to get up, even when I prodded him in the back.
I was exhausted – again. Sick, overworked, stretched too thin, just like three weeks ago. The difference was, three weeks ago I had no idea that demons were real. The pontianak was still trapped in the banana, as far as I knew, and it wasn’t getting out.
I almost wished it could.
Imogen told me to call her if Terry wasn’t pulling his weight, but I was too scared to do it. Father Benson also told me to call him if Terry was being a terrible husband. Again, I was too scared to admit it to him. My mother had drummed into me how important the sanctity of marriage was. Till death. You break those vows, you go to Hell.
I forced my attention back to Sophie’s wet, blonde hair in the basin, and quickly mixed up her toner. “So anyways,” Sophie said. “As I was saying before. Some strange shit has been going on around here lately, huh? Did you hear what happened to the statue of Sir Humphrey in the town square?”
“No,” I said, trying to sound intrigued. “What’s been going on?” I’d been too busy trying to deal with my own weird shit.
“It got blown up,” Sophie whispered theatrically. “Smashed to bits. People are saying that a strange monster did it. Gabby Green says she saw a giant polarbear-whale-elephant thing when she was coming out of the bar on Main Street.”
“Well, she was coming out of the bar, so there’s your first clue,” I chuckled lightly, avoiding her eyes.
Since I’d been possessed by the vengeful spirit, I’d been seeing strange things every day, and it scared the absolute poop out of me. A tiny pixie with tennis racket-shaped wings, fluttering past the drug store; a bright green dog with floppy ears bounding through the backyard, jumping over fences like a cricket. A beautiful, otherworldly-looking man with pearly skin and eyes too big for his face had whistled at me in the street, and asked me if my flesh tasted as delicious as it looked.
I tried telling myself he was probably just European. I knew, though. I knew.
At first I thought I’d gone crazy, but Father Benson told me that the things were real. We only see what we know, he explained. Because I’d been possessed by the pontianak, I knew. So now, I saw. The veil had been lifted.
Sophie giggled. “Gabby Green is dramatic, but she’s insisting on this one.”
My assistant Kerry waved at me, trying to get my attention. Devin, my men’s cut, was here already. Kerry gave me a Look. Do you want me to wash him and get him ready for you?
I grimaced. No, my Look replied. I don’t want to do him at all. He’s a creep and a perve and will say suggestive things, and act offended and say he was only joking if I call him out on it. Tell him to go away.
My stomach lurched. Oh, God, I was going to puke. “Hang on, Soph,” I said.
I hurried back out to the chairs, power-walking past both of my clients still sitting at the color table, trying to keep my head down so they wouldn’t stop me.
It didn’t work. Holly waved at me. “Sandy, wait. Am I going to be done soon? I’ve got to head to the post office.”
I gritted my teeth, and smiled. “Yes. Kerry will be over to rinse you off soon. I’ll give you a quick trim and you can be on your way.” I put my head down and ran.
I barely made it to the bathroom in time. Only water came up; I’d lost my breakfast an hour ago already. Heart pounding, I rinsed out my mouth, jammed a cracker in there, and quickly checked my phone.
My best friend Chloe had messaged me five more times. Someone’s got my nudes off my phone! They say they’re going to send them to my whole contact list!
Oh, poor Chloe.
My brain whirled. I’d have to call her later. I couldn’t do much about it from here. Chloe, my best friend from hairdressing school, was in D.C, more than two hour’s drive away. She’d opened up a salon in Foggy Bottom with my other best friend, Prue, the best nail tech in town. They were living the big city life, while I had moved back to Emerald Valley to enjoy the simple, small-town life with my little family.
I grimaced, jamming another cracker into my mouth. Simple life. Sure.
The door banged. “Sandy, are you in there? You better hustle, girl. You’re on track to miss your lunch break again.” Jenny sounded more spiteful than usual.
I groaned. It was a rare day I got a lunch break anyway. Jenny’s footsteps echoed away.
Taking a deep breath, I plastered a smile on my face and power-walked back into the salon. I’ve got this. I’ve got this.
First, get the toner on Sophie. “Sit up for me, hon, and I’ll get this root tap on you.” She shuffled forward, sitting up, and I dabbed the color on her head as fast as I could. “How are things going with Tommy?” I asked.
