Heir Of Argranos

5

“It’s still me, Harleah…”

Frankie sized me up, crossing her arms. One eyebrow shot up. “What do you mean you’re Harleah? The girl I let into my house today was a five foot two, average looks and fried brown hair teenager. Why is there a freaking Amazonian Barbie who looks like she was yanked straight out of the covers of Victoria’s Secret…? Oh…” She trailed off. The eyebrow that was raised quickly retreated back to its original place, and furrowed deep in thought instead.

Realization flashed through her eyes and they widened even more.

“Oh my God… I completely forgot you can do it too…”

“Yeah, uhm… I can do it too.” I replied, glancing uncomfortably at Henri, who was wildly looking from me to Frankie, like a spectator watching an interesting but confusing event unfold.

He caught my eyes. “Do what?” He asked, pushing the rim of his glasses up again, and readjusting the strap of his satchel.

“Give us a moment, Henri.” Frankie said with a sigh, scratching the back of her head. Her bloodshot eyes that still had remnants of slumber from the nap she had awoken from communicated with Henri. They seemed to say ‘don’t argue’.

Henri adjusted his bag again, this time shoving a hand into the pocket of his brown patchwork tweed coat, and leaning back against the wall. “But I want to know who the young mademoiselle is, and why you claimed she looked different…”

“Henri! I said give us a moment.” Frankie snapped, glaring at him and pointing at the door.

He looked to me, as if for help, but quickly turned his attention back on the petite woman ready to burst into flames. He opened his mouth to protest, and a soft “but…” made its way out before Frankie cut him off again.

“Henri Louis Baudelaire!” She warned.

“Fine…” Henri groaned, lifting his weight from the wall and giving me one last glance before turning to the door. Frankie stepped to the side to let him through. “Elle a probablement ses regles…” He grumbled under his breath as he disappeared and trudged down the stairs with heavy feet.

Frankie rolled her eyes and kicked the door shut with her feet. “Back to you, young woman… why aren’t you, you anymore?” She demanded, resting her frame on the closed door, and crossing her arms, at the same time narrowing her eyes at me.

For some reason I felt the need to look intimidating, so I copied her body language and replied; “I didn’t like my appearance so I changed it.” The way I said it sounded silly and childish, but I stood my ground, arms crossed, and tried to push away the thought that told me I sounded too defensive.

She slapped a palm to her forehead and dragged it down her face.

“Well this better be the last time you do that. Ever! Lesson number two; demonic shape shifting is not something humans, like me, are used to. So if you change form again, I’m automatically going to assume there’s an intruder in my house and throw hands, like I did to your dad.”

“Throw hands?” I asked, unfolding my arms and placing them on my hips instead. This was the second human expression I didn’t understand, along with ‘checking me out’.

“Beat the s**t out of you.” Frankie clarified.

I scoffed.

“You beat the s**t out of my father?”

A scene began to imagine itself in my brain. Frankie, with her short and plump physique, physically fighting my father, who was probably in another human form she didn’t recognize. However, it seemed highly unlikely that she would be able to beat the s**t out of him.

“In my defense, I thought he was a creep who broke into my house, so I did what needed to be done.” She explained with a yawn, stretching her arms and releasing a loud exhale.

I pursed my lips, trying not to show the smile growing on my lips. “And so you… threw hands?” I asked again, this time tasting the expression on my tongue. It was fun to say, and to hear.

Frankie clearly knew I didn’t believe her, but she shrugged my slight mockery away. “Yeah, anyways, the point is, don’t shape shift. At all… I have a weak heart, okay? And if anything happens to me you won’t have an earthly guardian anymore.”

“You don’t look like someone with a weak heart. And I’m pretty sure mortals can easily be replaced.” I replied, letting the mocking smile out.

“Oh I’m sorry that ‘dilated cardiomyopathy’ is not etched on my forehead, let me just get it tattooed on my forehead.”

What in hell’s name is a dilated cardiomyopathy? I kept quiet and didn’t ask because I didn’t want to sound like a complete i***t, even though I’m not expected to know all the human medical terms, am I?

“Also, I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say the word ‘mortals’ like an immature version of Ra’s al Ghul.” Frankie added.

This time, I couldn’t help asking.

“Who is Ra’s al-?”

“Gah! Forget it.” She interrupted. “I have to go and make up some lie about my cognitive memory to Henri.”

Swinging the door midway open, she glanced back at me over her shoulder, her eyes trailing down to the broken alarm clock on the floor. “Clean that up, and then come downstairs for slices of pizza.” She ordered, and shut the door with a bang.

I hissed.

Should I just kill her, and take over her physical form? It would probably anger my father, and it might make life here harder for me, but the idea sounded very tempting…

But then again, Frankie seemed like an interesting person.

I glared at the broken pieces of the alarm clock that lay solemnly on the floor. When I get my hands on Mania… Hell, when I get my hands on every member of the Council, they’re going to regret the day they signed over their souls to my father.

Begrudgingly, I crouched down and began to pack up the mess. I concentrated on picking the large ones, and ignored the tiny fragments. Once the place looked decent enough, I disposed the broken pieces into a tiny bin at the far corner of the room.

I need to learn everything about the human world that I don’t already know, and I need to learn it as soon as possible.

But that was going to be easier than tempting a soul because let me fill you in on a little fact about demons. If to say, human beings are able to learn a skill in thirty days, demons would only take a day to master it. This stems from the fact that demons are creatures of power, hungry for power, that have given up on ‘goodness’, to gain power.

And knowledge is power, so we hoard it like we hoard wealth, souls, and loyalties.

I stretched my limbs, and made my way to the bed, where a box containing a smartphone termed ‘iPhone 11 Pro Max’ sat unopened, among the sheets I had ruffled, while testing out the clothes. For a person who has never held a technological device in her hand –until now, of course, I seem to have at least a basic idea on how to use it.

“Turn it on here…” I whispered to myself, as I tossed away the empty box and observed the phone, finding the power button and bringing it to life. “Hmm… looks easy enough, uhm…” I hummed to myself absentmindedly.

Something soft and hairy touched my ankle, and I jumped in surprise, the phone slipping out of my hands and clattering to the floor. A tiny feline creature watched me through large green eyes. The cat, as if sensing my distrust and surprise, meowed softly and moved towards me again, planning to assault my skin with its flawless caramel and white fur.

“Woah, woah woah… hold it there grimalkin.”

The cat paused, and sat on her hind legs, tail swishing from left to right, and whiskers lifted up into the air like a very important person about to give a very important speech. She –I’m referring to it as a ‘she’ because of her tiny size and dignified behavior which male cats don’t really have. She meowed again; this time a bit more annoyed, and kept her eyes on me, but didn’t move from her position.

“Where did you pop out of?” I demanded, as if I was addressing a real human being who could understand my words.

The cat purred.

“I don’t speak grimalkin language.”

She silently glared at me with a judgy stare, as if to say ‘Who’s the i***t that started the conversation in the first place? And I swear if you don’t stop calling me a grimalkin…’

I kept one eye on the cat, and carefully retrieved my phone from the floor. Thankfully, the screen was still in perfect condition, and the body hadn’t even suffered a scratch.

Someone knocked once on my door, and before I could even give them the permission to enter, Frankie poked her disheveled head into the room. “Pizza. Downstairs. Now.” She informed, and then closed the door, before abruptly opening it again.

“Oh, I see you’ve met Napoleon Bonaparte.”