"Fuck," he whisper-yells. "Keep quiet!"
I'm going to throttle this asshole, "Why didn't you tell me? Don't you think I deserved some kind of warning?"
"No?" he laughs. "No offense, I. but I'm desperate here. I tortured someone in front of your friend, then also tortured her boyfriend to draw you guys out. I'm not above doing underhanded shit."
"I can't believe this. What the fuck is the matter with you?"
"So much," he admits with a chuckle. "The better question is why haven't you or your boy toy found it yet? I'm assuming wherever you're staying, it's with the Biberé."
"I... I just haven't had a chance to unpack everything. I'm on the run, you know."
He looks at me suspiciously, "Or maybe your boytoydidfind it and decided not to tell you."
"No." The word tastes bitter because as much as I want to believe Eamon would tell me, I have no reason to trust him to do that. "No, he wouldn't hide something like that from me."
"K," Alastor sounds as convinced as I feel. "So why don't you ask him? And while you're at it, have him tell you about his little mind-speaking trick."
All the blood rushes out of my limbs and face, gathering in the pit of my stomach, "What?"
He nods slowly, "Biberé have this nifty little talent. They can speak directly into someone's head. Like a telephone line straight into your auditory cortex. Some are more powerful than others, but even I know yours has abilities outside of what the Sanctum knew was possible."
Every time I wondered if he could hear my thoughts. Every fucking time I thought it was a phantom voice in my head because I was going crazy with cabin fever. He was actually there, taunting me from inside my own fucking mind.
My breaths start coming faster, heavier, nearing the point of hyperventilating. "Why are you telling me this?"
He shrugs, "Because I knew he didn't."
"How could you possibly know that?" My voice wavers, the world around me blurring as I struggle to breathe.
"Isla. I've spent my whole life hunting his kind. I know how they work. I can tell from a headline of a newspaper from the other side of the world when it was a demon attack. And I know that the more powerful a demon is, the more likely they are to fly under the radar. That's how that Fritz guy has survived 1,000 years.If Eamon is even half as powerful as he seems, he couldprobablysneak into your mind and plant thoughts without you knowing he was ever there."
"No," I say, trying to convince myself as much as I am him, "You hurt my friends, you hid shit from me, you fucking tricked me to save your own ass, you're only telling me this now to hurt me. Why should I believe anything you say?"
"Look," he speaks like I'm a frightened animal that might bolt at any second, "I hate the Sanctum. And I'm going to make them pay for everything they've done. But that doesn't mean I suddenly like the demons, or that I'm willing to let them keep lying to the people who fall for them."
Fall for them.Hischoice of words threatens to bring the tequila and champagne back up. I stand suddenly, wobblingon my feet, "I have to go."
"Isla, stop," Alastor reaches for me, and I move out of his reach, "Sit down. Breathe."
I shake my head, wiping the tears away with shaking hands, "No. I can't be here. I have to... I have to get out of here."
Holding the tears and fury at bay, Imanage toscramble a $20 out of my purse and throw it on the table, but Alastor doesn't even look at it, standing to stop me. I shake my head, holding my hands up and making it clear that if he touches me, I will hurt him. "I. Please. Just calm down." Alastor's eyes dart to something behind me, and I know what I'll find before I even think about spinning.
Goosebumps rise onthe back ofmy neck, his presence clear before I even turn around or hear his stupid voice.
"Isla," Eamon breathes a sigh of relief from the entrance to the bar, his voice carrying all the way across to me and Alastor.
When I do face him, the terrified, furious expression he wears drives me further into madness. As he watches me, relief relaxes his face as he walks towards me, every step bringing him closer to the rage I'm about to unleash on him.
"What's wrong?" he finally asks, standing within reach. He doesn't get mad that I left, doesn't scold me for putting myself in danger, just looks at me with those big green eyes and openly terrified expression.
And I fucking hate it.
Before I can stop myself, I pull my fist back, aiming right for his stupid fucking nose.
These Fucking Parkers
Eamon
