My voice echoed slightly against my pale pink bedroom walls.
“Those are probably the most unexpected words anyone ever put together,” I whispered, flopping down on my bed and burying my head under the pillow.
But I was wrong: the most unexpected words were uttered by my father the next morning over breakfast. When I announced that I was going to hang out with Logan that day, my father simply—and a tad begrudgingly—told me, “Have a good time.”
I nearly dropped my forkful of spinach omelet in shock, and I darted a quizzical look at my mom, who just winked at me and patted my father’s shoulder.
“Your father and I are going to dinner, and then to that play—” my mom stifled a groan as she mentioned the theatrical torture in store “—so we’ll see you later on tonight.”
“Okay, Mom.” I smiled, mouthing “thanks,” since my dad’s drastic change in demeanor was clearly all her doing.
“So, what exactly do you have planned for your day?” my father asked, trying his best to sound unconcerned as he repeatedly smacked the bottom of a hot sauce bottle. He was so busy studying my face, awaiting my answer, that he ended up drowning his eggs in the spicy goop.
I was glad I had an answer prepared. “The Museum of Natural History. Our school IDs get us in for cheap, and Logan’s never been there.” I assumed. Unless some of those relics in Rego’s room were stolen artifacts.
“Well, have fun,” Mom said cheerfully, handing my father a spoon to scoop up the extra hot sauce. “Bundle up, it’s cold out!”
But until the fire demon powers wore off, being cold wasn’t going to be a problem. I slipped on what I thought was a good uniform for demon-killing class: jeans, a tank top and my light blue hoodie—my favorite, because it was one of the few I owned that didn’t have some kind of company’s logo on it—thanks, Dad!
I barely made it to the third floor before I became so overheated I ripped my coat off like it was a parasite attached to my skin. By the fifth floor, a slight but refreshing cold breeze wafted down the stairway. I kept climbing and found the roof access door being held open by a crumpled-up soda can.
“Hello? Logan?” I called. The rusty hinges squealed as I pushed the door open and stepped onto the tar roof, which was covered in a faint dusting of frost. Snowdrifts piled up on the west side of the roof, and a weather-beaten picnic table, left up here year-round by a charitable tenant, sat in the corner. Logan, clad in jeans, a zipped-up hoodie and his ever-present baseball cap, was sitting on its bench, his forearms resting on his knees and a blue paper cup filled with some kind of steaming beverage in his hands.
“Hey, you made it.” Logan grabbed a second cup from the table and got up. He held the cup out as I walked over to where he now stood.
“Watered-down hot chocolate, since I had to hang up so rudely?” he offered, swirling the liquid in the cup with a smile on his face.
“Well, when you make it sound that enticing...” I replied, smiling back as I took the lukewarm cup of cocoa and sipped it. Yep, it was watered down, but still sweet.
“Thanks, I love chocolate.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?” I asked, one eyebrow raised. “Is this one of those ‘All Girls Love Chocolate’ things?”
“No, it’s a ‘You’re Always Eating Hershey’s Kisses’ thing,” Logan replied.
“Oh. Yeah. I guess I am,” I agreed, surprised that he noticed.
“So, why did you want to meet here?” I looked around the isolated roof, confused, as I dumped my coat and bag on the picnic bench.
“It’s a whole floor taller than the other buildings nearby,” Logan explained. Seeing my puzzled look, he continued, “No one can see what happens on this roof. And we don’t want someone calling the cops if they notice us battling with giant swords.”
Yes! I get a sword. I internally high-fived myself.
“Makes sense.” I nodded my head, taking another sip of the sugary cocoa as we walked to the center of the roof. “It is pretty private up here on Tar Beach.”
“Tar Beach?” Logan repeated, frowning in confusion.
“Yep, Tar Beach.” I tapped the blacktop with my toe. “My parents grew up in the city, and when they were kids, they hung out on the rooftops during the summer—you know, instead of the beach. They called it ‘Tar Beach’ and I just picked it up from them. I like lying out here in the summer. Just me, a bikini and my headphones. As long as I don’t go too close to the edge, it’s really relaxing.”
“Um, yeah. Yeah, I bet.” Logan averted his eyes, looking around the rooftop as he took another swig from his cup.
“Everyone does it,” I explained, seeing the uncomfortable expression on his face. “It’s not that weird.”
I took another sip of my cocoa, frowning at his reaction.
“So, how are you doing? You know, with everything that happened...” His tone was casual, but his brown eyes were serious as he regarded me underneath the shady blue brim of his baseball cap.
“You mean, how, in less than twenty-four hours, I learned about the existence of an alternate universe full of demons?”
“Yeah. That.”
“I’m dealing with it.” I looked down at the pattern the soles of my Converse shoes left in the snow. I didn’t want to dwell on yesterday; I wanted to move on. “It’s not going to do me any good to sit around freaking out about it. But it will do me a butt-load of good to learn how to kick some demon ass.”
Logan looked impressed, then drained the rest of his cup, crumpling it up and tossing it by the door to the roof.
“Well, that’s what we’re here for. One order of demon ass-kicking, coming up.”
He then reached behind his shoulder to unsheathe his invisible sword. With one deft move, he twisted the sword so the silver handle was facing me.
“You’ll be using mine for today,” he explained, holding the sword closer to me.
“Do you always wear that thing?” I asked, stepping to the side to peer behind him. I still couldn’t see anything but the beat-up fabric on the back of his black hoodie.
“Yes. Always.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “And so will you.”
Oh. Suddenly, the reasons for constantly having a sword around outweighed the cool factor of the sword itself. I must have been broadcasting my emotions all over my face, because when Logan spoke again, his tone was more soothing.
“Don’t worry about it. You won’t even notice it’s there.” He held out the sword and twisted his wrist quickly. My eyes followed the blade as he sliced it through the air in short bursts. “The sword doesn’t have a form—no weight, no mass. It materializes when you need it. It’s there to protect you.”
He shifted his grip on the handle, so it was facing me again.
“Well, in that case...I’ve worn worse accessories,” I weakly joked, reaching out for the weapon. As soon as I took the sword in my hands, Logan reached behind his other shoulder and revealed a second sword. It was a slightly smaller version of his, and Logan twirled it expertly, the blade whooshing as it quickly cut through the air in a figure eight.
“This one,” he said, tossing the sword up high, where it spun twice before he caught it, his palm slapping against the handle, “is yours. But I’ll be using it today.” He whipped it into the air again, catching the handle behind his lower back with a smirk on his face.
I held my hands up and golf clapped around the sword handle for Logan, who bowed dramatically.
“Thank you, but I’m not that great.” Logan affected an air of false modesty as he tossed the sword in the air again, this time catching it and balancing the silver handle on the tips of his fingers. His eyes glinted mischievously, and he loudly whispered, “Okay, maybe I am that great.”