Chapter 16
“No, Percy, I didn’t puke. Yes, I have taken pain meds. No, I haven’t made the tonic yet because it smells like feet and tastes like an old man’s jockstrap after sixteen rounds of sports,” I mumble toward the phone sitting on the counter. I dig my thumbs into my temples.
My head’s been pounding since I woke up twenty minutes ago.
Hopefully, the meds kick in soon or I’m going to bash my head into the wall.
Percy’s call didn’t help either. Apparently, I had the bright idea to put my volume all the way up, and the shrill, tinny music blasting from the device sent a shockwave through my body I might never recover from.
“So, did you sleep with him?” she asks quietly. She must be feeling the effects of last night, too.
“With who?” My memories are blurry, but I know who she’s talking about. I was hoping she would have forgotten.
“Mr. Tall-dark-and-handsome who looked like he wanted to devour you.” She snorts, then groans.
“He did not,” I mutter as I make a cup of coffee, my mind wandering to the demon currently sleeping in my bed. “I ran into Dusty at the bar, by the way.”
Something clatters on her end. “What the fuck was he doing there? I thought he moved to…Nantucket? San Antonio? I can’t remember, but I do remember lighting a candle for the residents to protect them.”
“No, he never moved. I think he said he was, but then Lark disappeared and he stuck around. He said some weird shit I can’t really remember. I still think he had something to do with—”
“We’ve been over this, Mare. He didn’t even know she was a witch. How would he have done anything? And you’d know if she was dead. Like, not just visiting a foreign dimension, but actually truly, soul in Hell, dead.”
“I know, but still. He’s hiding something, and I hate that I can’t figure it out. It might not have anything to do with Lark.”
“Speaking of…why were you asking about demons? Do you think she was kidnapped by them?”
It takes me a minute to process what she’s saying. “Kidnapped? She drew the circle, Percy. She had instructions to do that. Unless they somehow learned how to bust out of…I gotta go.”
I hang up before she can protest. Could Lark have been taken?
I didn’t think demons did that, but as we’ve established, I don’t know shit about them.
I need to ask Dimitri, accept his help. If I didn’t make an absolute fool of myself last night.
Once I downed Percy’s drink, the rest of the night was a blur.
I remember dancing, feeling weightless, then his warm body against mine.
A memory scratches at my brain—maybe yelling at him to take off the creepy mask? I don’t particularly recall.
When I woke up, he looked like his usual self, though a bit rundown, I suppose.
Black smudges circled his eyes, and his skin was cracking at his fingertips.
I didn’t stick around long enough to examine him more.
Every time I see him, he seems to be collapsing under his own weight.
He needed to rest and waking him up wouldn’t help.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.
It has nothing to do with embarrassment or avoiding awkwardness.
I’d just be delaying the inevitable. Eventually, he’ll get up.
He’ll come in here with that lazy grin of his and I’ll melt a little inside.
Then I’ll deflect my feelings with some snappish comeback.
It is the way. I’ve been doing this for years every time I get a tiny hint of a crush.
I never let anyone get close enough to woo me.
Not that a demon is wooing me.
If I push him away enough—keep him at arm’s length—I’ll be able to pick his brain without losing my heart. Not that my heart is in danger. A crush doesn’t equate to love. Those fairy-tale endings don’t happen to prickly women like me.
The thought has me wrinkling my nose. My aunt called me that often—prickly, waspish, cruel. She had a litany of descriptions for me while praising my sister for her levity and lightheartedness. Lark was always the lifeblood of the house, keeping our aunt in line and off my back.
I shake my head and sigh heavily. As soon as Dimitri’s up, I’m going to need to ask for help.
No more pussyfooting around the issue. I don’t particularly like the idea of him knowing about Lark, but I don’t have a choice.
Telling him to keep the information to himself will be my first order of business.
Another heavy sigh leaves me when I spot the pile of books I left on the small dining table.
I need to go through them again. I thought they were merely references for her.
Maybe she was trying to be a better witch or something.
Yet I keep coming back to them. I swear the necromancy book is following me around.
It showed up on my nightstand the other morning when I was sure I’d left it in here.
“Morning,” Dimitri grunts as he steps into the kitchen.
I croak out some semblance of a greeting, but he doesn’t even look at me when he makes a beeline for the coffeepot.
I flip open the standard spellbook from when I was a kid, pretending to read it instead of tracking his movements.
He doesn’t even ask, just opens the fridge and starts rummaging around.
The way he moves through the space is familiar. As if he’s spent many a morning in my house.
Lark’s house. Not mine, I remind myself. I may have been living here for the past four months, yet it doesn’t make it mine. As soon as I start thinking like that, I’ll have to accept Lark isn’t coming back. And I refuse to do that.
“What are you doing?” I finally ask when he pulls a pan from the bottom cupboard.
“Making breakfast. Why don’t you go take a shower? I’m sure your head doesn’t like your body right now,” he murmurs.
“You don’t—”
He holds up a hand. “Do we really have to go through all that when we both know we’ll just end up right where we started? Go.”
I grit my teeth, holding back the verbal lashing I want to unleash on him. I mutter incoherently as I stomp from the space.
“Bossing me around like he’s the boss of me.” I cringe at my own grumblings. “I’m only going because I planned on showering before he got up.” I kick the bathroom door shut and nod to myself in the mirror. “Fuck, I look like shit.”
Suddenly, I’m incredibly grateful he avoided my gaze. He would have poofed right out of here if he got a look at my splotchy face and smeared mascara. At least it looks like I had a fun time.
The light overhead becomes too much, and I slide the dimmer until it’s at a more respectable level. A groan leaves me when I’m under the hot spray, and I forget all about Dimitri commanding me. I doubt I’ll be able to choke down any of the food he’s making. Unless I want to throw up on him.
By the time I’m done, the distinct smell of bacon fills the air. I peek out the door before tiptoeing across the hall to my bedroom. I grab the first shirt I can find. Dimitri must have tossed his own clothes on top of mine since it smells like him. I tug on shorts, then shuffle toward the kitchen.
I peer around the wall and find him facing the stove, his back to me.
He’s humming, though I can’t place which song.
Maybe it’s one from Hell. Do they have music in Hell?
Do they have cities? Houses? Electricity?
There’s so much I don’t know. If it’s anything like here, then maybe Lark isn’t suffering.
If it’s like the movies depict, she’s fucked.
Even if it’s like Aunt Star told us, she’s probably screwed.
You won’t find out until you ask. I roll my eyes at my sister’s voice. She can shut the fuck up. All she had to do was send me a text and she couldn’t even do that. Like hell am I going to listen to her now. Regardless if she’s right.
“You going to hover in the living room or join me?” he calls, and I huff, slinking into the room.
He sets a platter on the table, and I stare at the deliciously greasy mess. When he plops down a milkshake next to my plate, I give him a questioning look.
“Sugar’ll help.”
“How exactly?”
“Maybe it’ll sweeten you up.” He smirks, then turns back to the stove to get more food.
When he settles in the chair across from me, I sink into my seat. We dish everything up in silence. Suffocating silence. I open my mouth more than once to break it, always thinking better of it before I make a sound. He doesn’t notice he’s so focused on his plate.
His fork is halfway to his mouth with a heaping pile of hashbrowns when he lets out a growl. I freeze, glancing around. Nothing moves. Maybe it’s a Hell thing.
“Fuck off, Providence,” he snarls, never taking his eyes from his plate.
“Um…”
A woman materializes next to me. I yelp as my chair tips back and I fall in slow motion. And then the world stops. Or rather, I stop my sluggish descent. Dimitri’s foot tugs on the bottom of my seat, righting me. My hands slap the table, and the silverware rattles against my mug.
“What a way to greet me,” the woman, Providence, says with a sniff. “You forgot this.”
She drops an iridescent object on the table, narrowly missing the eggs.
How did he know I like my eggs over easy and not scrambled?
I shake my head, focusing on Providence. She might be a demon, but she seems more like a goddess with her straight silver hair cascading down her back and her eyes flashing from silver to gold before finally settling on solid black. I press my lips together, unable to rip my gaze from her.
“Knock it off, Prov.”
She tilts her head as she stares at me. “Or what?”
“Squids.”
Her nostrils flare and her sharp cheekbones become plumper. I blink several times, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.
“No need for that,” she snaps, then turns her attention to my demon. The demon.
“Then you can leave.”
I clear my throat, and Providence’s gaze flicks to me. I point to the object. “Sorry, what is that?”
She rolls her eyes to Dimitri. “Another little witch? Are you two collecting them or something? Next thing you know, Triton’s going to be hiding one in his attic or something. I swear, you demons get bolder with each passing cycle.”
“Would you shut the fuck up?” Dimitri growls. “I’ve got enough problems without you piling on more?”
She holds up her hands and steps back gracefully.
Actually, I think she’s floating. I glance at her feet, but white clouds obscure her from the knees down.
She bends, forcing me to focus on her face.
I swallow hard. She’s not particularly scary.
For some reason, her presence unsettles me.
Especially when she tilts her head and stares into my eyes.
It’s as if she’s searching for my soul to snatch it up and eat it.
Her lips twitch, and I wonder if she can read my mind. I repeat one word over and over in my head. If she wants to decipher my thoughts, she’s going to have to try harder than…before? What the fuck am I doing?
“Petrichor? The smell after a good rain?” she murmurs, and I gag on my own spit.
“What are you babbling about?” Dimitri interjects, but neither of us pays him any mind.
“No, witch. I can’t read your mind.”
“Then how—”
“You were mouthing the word.” She grins, and it transforms her face into something not as terrifying. “Welp, I better get going. Lives to destroy, couples to devastate. You know how it is.”
Dimitri sighs heavily and grabs the object she dropped on the table. He tucks it away in a pocket I can’t see. From the way he’s acting, I doubt he’ll tell me what it is. Honestly, it looked like an egg. Not one I’ve ever seen before, though.
“Get on with it then,” he growls, still staring at his plate. He hasn’t looked at me once since he stumbled into the kitchen.
“Nice to meet you,” I whisper.
She narrows her eyes, that smile still playing on her lips. “Little piece of advice, dear. Don’t wait. Good things never happen to those who do.”
She gives a pointed look at Dimitri before wiggling her fingers at me, then vanishing as quickly as she appeared. A barrage of questions sits on my tongue, and I open my mouth to unleash them. They die on the tip when he holds up his hand. His shoulders slump and he slowly shakes his head.
Then he disappears.