Chapter Twenty-Four
Hedonism was a demon’s favorite pastime, but Skye spent the few weeks since she’d quit managing Tilted Haze frittering away her ten years of Earth-walking privileges by not enjoying a second of it.
Laurie and Zara reappeared in her life the day after she turned Remi’s soul into the Devil. She partied with them, but their time together felt hollow. Nothing overwrote the ache in her chest cavity, like someone had carved into her with a rusty spoon.
It was a horrible, visceral pain, but at least the pain was real—it was physical. She didn’t need to worry about developing human emotions like her mother when her heart hurt so much that it stole her breath.
Her turbulent behavior with Remi was unexplainable, but she reasoned the pain was just withdrawal of some sort.
Her demon instincts drew her to powerful souls, but she’d never worn one around her neck, never spent weeks with its intoxicating pulse on her skin.
Remi’s soul provoked an obsession that energized her; it was the lightning spark that made her heart beat, the electricity that zapped between her synapses and refused to let her think of anything but him.
She was sure it would fade as time passed, and until then she snuck into the throne room every day to visit the sparkling blue jar on the wall.
Those were the only moments the pain eased its grip on her.
The soul seemed happy to see her too. It swirled faster inside the glass container, and its energy percolated through her body as if recognizing a familiar friend.
Skye had been staring up at the glittering blue of Remi’s soul when the call came in. She thumbed the clear diamond gem at her throat as she answered her phone.
“Hello?” Her mind was elsewhere. The only person who called her nowadays was Roger, asking her to bring new bands to sign.
“Skye?”
Her heart stopped beating at the sound of his voice. The magic in her veins paused, held in suspension.
“Remi?” she asked in breathless wonder. Her fingers tightened around her phone. Remi’s soul seemed to buzz as she stared up at it, spinning faster.
“Skye,” Remi said with something in his voice that Skye knew couldn’t be longing, but she wasn’t sure what else to name it. “I really fucked up this time. Can you come bail me out of jail?”
Skye said nothing, shock overcoming her faculties for speech.
“Please,” Remi said, his voice breaking. “Please, Skye. I know I don’t deserve it, but I need your help.”
“Here’s his stuff. He’ll be out in a minute,” the woman said from behind the bulletproof glass. She slid a plastic bag with Remi’s wallet, sunglasses, baseball cap, and hoodie under the opening.
The Birmingham police had charged him with aggravated assault, public drunkenness, and disturbing the peace. He was being held in the drunk tank, but they were releasing him due to lack of evidence.
The far door buzzed, and Remi walked out.
“You must have a guardian angel,” the police officer said to him. “The district attorney is dropping the charges.”
Remi scoffed. “Definitely don’t have one of those.” He froze when his gaze landed on Skye. “She’s no angel,” he said and crossed the room toward her.
His face was a mess. There was a huge gash in his forehead, and his left eye had swelled up, turning a sickening purple color. A streak of blood striped his shirt, and more of it had dried and crusted on his face.
He put his hands in his jean pockets as he stood in front of Skye. “Guardian demons aren’t a thing, are they?”
“No,” Skye said. “I’m probably as close as they get though.”
He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, you are. Who’d you compel to get me out of there?”
“No one actually,” Skye said. Together, they walked out of the police station and down the sidewalk. “The bartender claims he didn’t see anything, and the two idiots you were fighting are just as badly beaten, so it’d be your word against theirs. The police are letting you go.”
“No security footage?”
“The police mangled the security footage, so they can’t use the evidence.”
Remi snorted. “God bless America.”
“I haven’t met her, but I’m pretty sure the Goddess doesn’t take those requests,” Skye said. A tiny smile played out on her lips as her eyes slid to him.
The lack of hostility between them was startling, but nice. Fragile. Skye wished she could hold on to it, but she was afraid if she held on too tight it would shatter.
Remi smiled at her and then winced, holding his jaw.
She handed over the plastic bag with his stuff in it.
He stopped on the sidewalk, put his wallet in his pocket, pulled on his hoodie and the baseball cap.
Before he could slip on the dark sunglasses, Skye grabbed his chin and turned his head to check for other wounds.
“They didn’t give you medical attention? ”
Remi let his face be turned right and left as she inspected him. “I refused. Didn’t want to go to the hospital in case the paps got wind of it.”
Skye nodded and dropped her hand. “Why didn’t you call Ollie or Liam or West to bail you out?”
Why did you call me?
Remi’s throat worked. He averted his eyes. “Things haven’t been good between the four of us. I didn’t want them to know I fucked up again.” He shrugged, staring at his shoes. “Plus I figured you’d have to use some demon tricks to get me out.”
Skye nodded. The explanation made sense, but something about it left her unsatisfied.
His blue eyes swung up to meet her gaze, and he said, “Thank you, Skye, for coming.”
She shifted from foot to foot, not knowing what to do with his genuine gratitude or sincerity. This entire interaction was so foreign and weird that she had no idea how to traverse it.
He must not have known either because they both continued walking down the sidewalk in a stilted silence. They passed by a dark spot between two taller buildings, and Skye pulled him in. She sifted them to the bedroom on the tour bus. Remi stepped back, catching himself from the sudden movement.
“Shit,” Remi said. “How do you do that all the time? Makes me want to hurl.”
“That’s probably the hangover,” Skye said and turned to the cabinet, reaching up to pull out a first-aid kit.
Remi sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, might be. At least I wasn’t burned this time.”
“What?”
Remi shook his head. “Nothing.”
She flipped open the first aid kit, pulled out an ice pack, and cracked it to make it cold.
She gave it to Remi, and he held it against his jaw while she sorted through the items, pulling out bandages and cotton swabs.
She found the peroxide and soaked one of the swabs.
Sitting on the bed, she started dabbing the gash above his eye.
“Is this part of band manager duties? Playing nurse?” he joked, wincing a little as she moved along the wound. “Jim definitely wouldn’t have bothered.”
“Well, Jim is an idiot,” she said. “Records won’t sell if this face is bloodied and battered. Think people are going to swoon over your swollen eye?”
Remi chuckled, then grimaced as it jostled his face. “You don’t think I have a warrior-just-back-from-battle look? People go for that, don’t they? I look tough.”
Skye smiled and shook her head. “I think we might have found a look that you can’t pull off.”
“Damn,” he said with faux disappointment. “I knew this day would come. I just figured I’d be more emotionally prepared. How will I ever recover?”
“Hold still, and I’ll try to limit the damage to your face.”
“And my ego?”
“Could probably use a little beating anyway. Keeps you humble.”
He laughed, and Skye grabbed his shoulder, leaning in closer. “I said to hold still.” Her admonishment was gentle.
“Yes, ma’am,” Remi said. He put the ice pack down and turned his face as she worked on the smaller cuts on the other side.
They were both quiet for a time. She felt Remi’s eyes roaming around her face.
She resolved herself to be completely focused on her task, but her body heated and stomach flipped at his attention, at his proximity, at the way everything about him still called to her just as loud as his soul called to her every day in the throne room.
Remi adjusted his position on the bed, but when he put his hand out, he brushed her leg. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“It’s fine.” She modulated her voice and pretended that the little touch hadn’t sent goosebumps through her body. She cleared her throat. “So I’m guessing you didn’t get into a fight with those guys for the publicity…”
Remi’s face darkened. “They were saying homophobic shit, and I just snapped. Today of all days—” He shook his head and wrapped one arm around his torso like he was protecting himself, though he didn’t seem conscious that he was doing it. “It’s the anniversary of Emerson’s death.”
Without knowing why, she grabbed his hand and soothed her thumb over his knuckles.
Unshed tears glistened in his eyes as he spoke.
“It just made me so angry. There were so many things Emerson never told me, and I always wondered if I’d been a better person, a better brother, if he’d have opened up to me.
” He scrunched up his face and pressed his fingers into his eyes.
“He never told me anything. We were twins, and we were supposed to be each other’s other half, but…
he hated me. I was constantly fucking up, and I haven’t even learned my lesson. He’s dead, but it should have been—”
“No,” Skye interrupted. “No, Remi.”
His jaw trembled.
She squeezed his hands between hers. “No one should have died, but you don’t get to wish you took his place. All you can do is live your life. Live it for him.”
“He’d be so disappointed in me,” Remi said.
Skye wasn’t equipped to comfort someone.
She had no idea what grief felt like. “When my mom died,” she said.
“I didn’t cry because demons don’t have feelings like humans do, but there was this…
pressure. A heaviness in my chest that hasn’t ever really gone away.
” She shook her head. “What I’m trying to say is that I know how it feels to be uncomfortably changed by something you can’t control. And it sucks.”