Chapter 13
“Ishouldn't be doing this,” I whisper as I dig around in the canning cellar.
It's not technically a cellar. This house doesn't have a large basement, only three small rooms tucked behind thick wooden doors.
I doubt I'll find what I'm looking for in here.
Most of the shelves are empty now, marking the end of my mother's influence over my food choices.
Pain stabs at my heart at the thought, yet I shove the grief deep down.
I huff, then shove the door shut and move on to the next closet.
Old paint cans and random tile samples fill the room.
I don't know what exactly I'm looking for, but I keep grabbing various containers.
One after another, they all fail me. I push aside a paint roller and it clatters to the concrete floor.
A chill snakes up my spine, leading to a full-body shudder.
I should have put on slippers and maybe a sweatshirt.
Anything would be better than this thin robe.
I miss Omen's radiating heat. I wonder if controlling fire is something all demons can do or if it's just Omen.
There's so much about him I don't know, yet it's like he's been part of my life forever.
“Ridiculous,” I mutter.
“What's ridiculous?” A deep voice asks from behind me and I spin around, a scream escaping me.
Demon. Not Omen, obviously. His dark skin lacks a reddish tint and he doesn't have tattoos.
No horns. No wings. No shadows. He grins, revealing a sharp row of teeth.
I wince and they disappear. Not behind his lips, but into regular teeth one would find in a human.
He must be masking his true form, but why?
I hold my hands up as if that will stop him from attacking me. I swallow hard and the cans rattle as my back hits the shelves. Alarm flashes in his eyes. Or maybe hunger. I'm not exactly in the right mind to gauge someone's feelings.
Omen. My mouth forms his name, yet no sound comes out. Maybe I can summon him through sheer willpower or speaking to him through my mind.
“Oh, that's a witch's scared face. My bad.” He backs away, and I suck in a sharp gasp. I didn't even realize I was holding my breath. “I'm Dimitri. Did Omen tell you about me? Or does that mean absolutely nothing to you? Shit.”
“You're Dimitri?” I croak.
“Yup, that's me.” He grins again as I drop my hands onto my knees and attempt to calm my racing heart. “You good? Where's Omen? Should I get him?”
“You ask too many questions,” I wheeze.
He steps closer and I tense, forcing him to retreat once more. “Can't get answers without asking the right questions. What are you looking for?”
“Lacquer. Or maybe some clear glue.”
“You going to erect”—he snorts and I roll my eyes—”a statue in Omen's honor?”
“How the hell would I make a statue out of lacquer? No, I'm going to pour it over the summoning circle so I don't lose it.”
His eyebrows disappear beneath a flop of dark hair. “Well, that is certainly interesting.”
“Can you, like, pop out to the store and get me something?”
Should I be asking a random demon I just met to do me a favor?
No. Probably not. My chest tightens and I straighten.
I've only asked Omen for favors, though he made it seem like he had to.
Other than the desk, I basically forced him to do chores for me.
He might still hate it and doesn't want me to preserve the summoning circle.
Dimitri opens his mouth, and I shake my head. “Actually, no. I'm fine. Why are you here? Omen said you left.”
“Oh no, no. You don't get to change the subject like that.”
“I most certainly do. This is my house and you came through my summoning circle.”
He holds up a finger. “Nope. I popped right into your bedroom.” His eyes widen.
“Not like that. I didn't…it wasn't on purpose.
I don't know who summoned me, but you were sleeping.
Then I just disappeared and was in a closet for however long.
Now I'm back for whatever reason. I also can't leave without permission, I'm pretty sure.”
“Okay, well, I give you permission to get the hell out of my house.”
He smirks. “I can see why you get under Omen's skin.”
My mouth drops open. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you're feisty. Probably keep him on his toes. Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm not complaining. He needs someone who will push back when he needs it—call him out on his bullshit. I try, but I'm not you.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame.
“I…that's not what's…I'm sorry. I don't know what Omen told you, but we're not…I just summoned him. Then basically trapped him here to do my chores.” Whatever fight I had in me vanishes and my shoulders sag. “And I'm not your sweetheart.”
“Duly noted,” he murmurs.
I step away from the shelf. The room is so small I could reach out my hand and touch him. I won't, because that'd be weird, but still. The pull I've felt toward Omen isn't there with Dimitri. He doesn't give me creepy vibes. Not like Brandon. Yet it's nothing like what I feel for Omen.
“Is there something you need, because I don't think giving me advice will do anything,” I snap, frustration lining my voice.
“Whoa there. A little advice never hurt anyone.” He smiles, though it's nothing like the grin before. He reaches out, then pulls back when his hand brushes my arm. “I really think you should—”
“Dimitri,” Omen growls from behind his friend.
I can't see Omen's face, but he doesn't sound happy.
Dimitri winces and the skin on his shoulders cracks open.
I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut.
When I open them again, the illusion is gone, thankfully.
I don't know how much more I can handle today.
Omen yanks Dimitri away and shoves him deeper into the basement against the third closet.
There isn't much room for him to stuff himself into, and I almost feel bad for him.
Then I catch sight of Omen's face and change my mind about saying something.
Not only are his wings brushing the ceiling and his shadows curling around his body, but his tail lashes against the wall.
He's glaring at me as if I did something.
“Upstairs. Now,” he growls, his deep voice rumbling through me.
“Omen.” Dimitri's tone holds a warning and Omen snarls, his eyes never leaving mine.
I cross my arms and glare at him. “No.”
“I'm not in the mood for your attitude, little witch. Get upstairs before I throw you over my shoulder.”
“Maybe I'm not in the mood for your attitude, little demon,” I snap and Dimitri snorts. It's not the best comeback, but it's the only one I got. “Besides, you wouldn't dare treat me like a sack of potatoes.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Wouldn't dare?”
“I am a witch, if you'll remember. I doubt you'd appreciate ephelides all over your body.”
His eyes narrow and Dimitri lets out a wheezing cough. Omen doesn't even spare him a glance, though he should. His friend sounds like he's going to keel over any minute.
I lean forward, trying to get Dimitri in my eyeline. Omen slides forward and fills the doorway to block my view. I don't know why he's acting like a jealous asshole. Or maybe it has nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with the overlap of his two worlds colliding.
“Oh shit,” Dimitri breathes, then poofs out of existence, leaving the tang of sulfur behind.
“Well, that solves that,” I mutter.
I want to ask him why he's acting like he caught his friend and me making out.
I won't because I'm a fucking coward. If I'm being honest, I'm afraid of his answer.
He didn't even want to say Dimitri's name before, much less have me know they're friends.
My mind runs over my conversation with the other demon.
Random words stick out: feisty, Omen's skin, push back. None of it matters anyway.
“Go, Clara,” Omen says, stepping aside. Weariness lines his voice and he pinches the bridge of his nose.
I open my mouth to snap at him or maybe to apologize.
Slowly, I press my lips together and slink past him.
Tonight hasn't gone the way I thought it would.
Actually, I imagined wallowing in my pain, then forcing myself to get up tomorrow and shower.
It's hard to think when your insides feel like they've grown spikes and are shredding your organs.
I turn at the bottom of the stairs and find him in the same position. “Thank you for bringing me all that stuff. And I'm sorry about Dimitri.”
He doesn't move, doesn't even look at me. I swallow down all the things I want to say and all the questions I want to ask. If he's not going to say anything, then so be it.
I turn and walk up the stairs. He doesn't follow, because of course he doesn't. I wander back to my bedroom, wondering if I could actually fall asleep again. My gaze catches on the crumpled sheets and I sigh.
My knees crack as I drop in front of the plastic bags. I don't know how much time passes while I separate everything, but eventually I get to the ice cream. Tears fill my eyes as I take in the massacre. When I lift the sack, a sticky mess spreads across the hardwoods.
“What the fuck,” I breathe.
I can't be mad at Omen for not knowing ice cream melts if it’s left out.
The demon didn't know what fries were. Except now I don't have any and the last thing I want to do is go into town to get more.
My cramps may be gone, but I just feel gross now.
I'll clean myself up after I deal with this. I drop the bag, then push to my feet.
Every time I swipe my hand across my cheeks, they come away wet.
I shouldn't be crying, but I can't seem to stop.
If I keep moving, eventually it'll end and I'll forget why I'm blubbering.
I end up using an entire roll of paper towels in my quest to clean everything.
I'm still scrubbing the dark floor when a meow echoes from behind me.
A heavy sigh leaves me. “Hey, Handsome. I'll feed you in a little bit. Just give me a minute.”
A teardrop hits the floor and I wipe it away.
Another one drips off my nose and I wipe that one away, too.
The more I try to push Omen from my mind, the more he fills it.
I thought things between us were changing last night.
I didn't think I was an obligation to fulfill.
Looking back, that's exactly what I am to him.
I shouldn't be surprised he told me to get rid of the summoning circle.
Handsome butts his head against my hip, and I drop the sopping wet towel.
It's not doing any good anyway. I gather the cat in my arms and bury my face in his fluffiness.
My muscles relax while my chin quivers. His purrs reverberate through my chest. A choked sob leaves me.
Not for Omen. Not only for Omen. Despair fills me at the direction my life has taken.
I thought I was content before Omen showed up, and I blamed him for my turmoil. It's not his fault, though. It's mine.
I forgot what it's like to be alone. Once I moved away from my hometown, I didn't know anyone.
Sure, I could still call home, but eventually that stopped.
Dad passed, then Mom. Friends got me through since I didn't have anyone else.
Then I lost my job and ended up isolated in my house, trying to figure out what I wanted out of life.
My friends started dropping off, one by one.
I keep coming back to them moving on when I feel like I'm stuck.
Then I feel guilty for thinking they should put their lives on hold merely to include me.
“It'll be okay, Kitty Cat,” I wheeze. “Everything will be—”
The cat disappears in a puff of smoke, leaving my arms empty.
Shock spreads through me and dries up my tears.
I'm not even surprised. Of course the cat would leave when Omen does.
It's his fucking pet. Except now I have a shit ton of cat food, toys, and a bed without anything to show for it.
I'll have to donate everything to the shelter, which means I'll have to drive an hour to the nearest one.
I swear I spent hundreds of dollars on random things and now I have to purge my house.
I swallow hard and concentrate on my breathing.
Anything to keep me from spiraling. I need to get my shit together and figure out my future.
Wallowing isn't my style and I don't know why I've been stuck in this hole for so long.
I could blame my hormones, or my friends, or Omen, but really it's me and I'm tired.
I'm exhausted with myself, honestly. Being a whiny bitch isn't fun.
Whatever happens, I'll be fine. My days will settle into a routine and everything will go back to normal—a different normal, but that's fine. My family is gone. My friends are gone. My cat is gone. Omen is…he's gone.
And I'll be perfectly fine.