bad ventilation. Who knew otherworld wickedness felt like frostbite on the skin? So far, nothing had come onto her radar.
Fifteen teens, dark of brow and curly of lip, gaped at her from their individual seats when she looked up. Something was off. And wouldn’t you know it: Damien Johannes sat squarely in the midst, back for another round of “Pin the Fail on the Donkey.” Her spidey senses were ignited from unvetted suspicion.
Damien, it seemed, was just as thrilled to see her as she, him. “I was certain CPS would have shown up by now and installed a real teacher in your place.”
This time, instead of a stunned silence from his cohorts, a low rumble of chuckles followed his jibe. A girl who was clearly lacking both Vitamin D and a hairbrush even fist-bumped him, or tried. They failed to connect in the middle, sending both their arms dashing past each other’s, which only seemed to entertain them more.
Riona shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Man, white men can’t bump.”
Damien rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Is that the best you can do? Fine, let me hit you up with this one.”
Damien stood, making a great show of snorting as loudly as possible, as though it were a mating call given in the marshy backland by a creature that hoped Nat Geo was filming his every move. In a heroic fashion, he whipped his head forward and released, covering his desk and his books in grimy, green goo.
“Look!” he bellowed to his captive audience of losers, “I’m snot for teacher!”
As their cackles doubled, they all turned on Riona with jesting sneers. Your turn, Teach.
Riona prepped a variation on the theme of snot-nosed children, but something stopped her dead. The whole class’s eyes flickered. Flickered, then deadened, like a good idea in the eyes of a bad politician. Like someone had put red LED’s behind their irises and were attempting to signal the Coast Guard.
“Holy… Okay, kids, bell’s rung. Everyone, listen up!” In a sturdy voice she hoped belied her sudden insight, Riona made her proclamation and slapped her hand down on the corner of the desk. “I think you had homework due today, so get it out and ready. I just… I just need to run across the hall for a second.”
As she skidded into Marc’s classroom, she wasn’t sure if she were looking for help, or an excuse to get out of the homeroom of the children of the corn.
“Ms. Dade?” the priest asked when Riona failed to talk. “Something I or the history class can help you with?”
The weight of two-dozen sets of eyes bore down on her. She tried to form words, but came across instead as a person pulling off a pretty decent goldfish impression.
Finally, she coughed out “in my classroom,” and turned about. A clip-clop rhythm of sensible shoes on the linoleum floor trailed her.
In the hall, she stopped. “Is there a type of demon that, instead of trying to get you to kill or maim or murder, only tries to make you feel bad about yourself?”
Marc’s eyes searched the air above them. “Um, yeah, rare, but there’s something called a Downer Demon. It uses insults to capitalize on a person’s self-doubt and drive them into depression to drive them towards greater evil.”
Riona’s jaw fell. “It’s a sin to be depressed?”
The priest crossed his arms over his chest. “Not just feeling a little down, or otherwise I don’t think a single poet or blues guitarist would ever get into Heaven. But it is a sin to feel powerless despite your own abilities. God hates it when he gives you all the tools to accomplish a job, but all you do is focus on how hard the work is so you never get started.”
Riona’s head dipped in contemplation, and only when Marc’s hand reached out and nudged her chin up so her eyes met his did she really hear his words. “Depression is a gateway sin, Riona, kinda like a parking ticket. Not serious, but dangerous if you start racking them up and ignoring them. If you feel like you can’t find your own worth inside yourself, you’ll go off looking for it from other people. That gives them power over you and takes you away from God’s purpose for your life. In the wrong hands, that type of power can be used to propagate all kinds of evil.”
His thumb pressed into her bottom lip, and though she was certain the feeling was one-sided, she couldn’t help