Hexed by Michael Alan Nelson Read Free Book Online Page A

odor of damp mildew and rot hit Lucifer in the face like a punch. The floor was a mish-mash of puke-green and amber tiles that had faded into a cadaverous gray. The original wallpaper hung from the walls like strips of dead skin, the exposed wood and plaster underneath covered with decades of graffiti. What little furniture still remained inside the house had been nailed to the walls and ceiling by some enterprising vandals in an attempt to give the place a surreal atmosphere. Lucifer had to admit to herself that it had the desired effect.
    â€œSo,” David said as Lucifer inspected one of the walls, “you’re named Lucifer. As in the devil.”
    Lucifer took a deep breath. “No, as in my two grandmothers. My full name is Luci Jenifer Inacio Das Neves. ‘Lucifer’ for short.” She rubbed a bit of the hanging wallpaper between her fingers. “Tell me about this prank you mentioned. The one that scared Gina.”
    David stepped up next to her, squinting at the wall. “It was some Bloody Mary kind of thing. You know, stand in front of a mirror and say ‘Bloody Mary’ three times.”
    â€œBloody Mary?” Lucifer gave him an incredulous stare.
    â€œYeah, only it wasn’t that. It was some other name. Gina’s friend Olivia had a book she said was filled with spells or other such nonsense. They got the name out of there.”
    Lucifer should have figured as much. Mirrors were often used as gateways to other places, but it was very difficult to use them unless you knew what you were doing. And the only way to know what you were doing was to have the right book. Fortunately, those kinds of books were few and far between, but occasionally they fell into the wrong hands.
    â€œDo you know what the name of the book was?”
    â€œNo. But Olivia should still have it.”
    â€œGood. So where’s this mirror then?” she asked.
    â€œUpstairs somewhere.”
    Lucifer started up the creaky stairs. The wood of the railing was soft and damp against her fingers. It was obvious that the roof did little to keep out the elements.
    As David followed her up the stairs, he asked, “Aren’t you worried people will think you’re evil with a name like that?”
    â€œMy grandmothers were wonderful, highly respected women, and I’m proud to be named after them. If anyone has a problem with that, that’s their shortcoming. Not mine.”
    â€œHow about I just call you Luci.”
    Lucifer stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to face him. “How about I punch you in the neck.”
    David put his hands on his hips. “You’re rather violent, you know that?”
    â€œYes, because it seems to be the only way I can get people to listen to me.”
    â€œWell, I don’t see what’s wrong with Luci.”
    She wanted to hit him, but what welled up from inside her wasn’t anger. It was sadness. Lucifer was her name, it was who she was, why she was, and yet people always wanted her to be something else.
    â€œDavid,” she said, “I was named after my grandmothers because they both died saving my life when I was born. I’m alive because of them. Both of them. And I’m not going to disrespect their memory just to make other people more comfortable. My name is Lucifer. Not Luci. Not Jenifer. Lucifer. Accept it or go away.”
    David must have seen the hurt on her face because his expression softened. “Of course. I’m sorry . . . Lucifer. I didn’t know.”
    She could tell he wanted to ask more questions, but thankfully he stayed silent. “It’s all right. C’mon,” she said and continued up the stairs.
    The top floor of the house was less cluttered with garbage and debris than downstairs. Shafts of sunlight broke through the deteriorating roof in several places, illuminating an open area in the center of a large room where tattered pillows and an assortment of mismatched