Blood.
Demon blood.
Memories slammed back into my head as though they were a bat bludgeoning my skull. Snarling, distorted creatures leaping out from the shadows. Predatory birds swooping overhead as if wrangling me into the monster’s reach. Impossibly long, sharp talons strong enough to gouge grooves in the pavement. The guttural croak the demon emitted as a dagger plunged into its flesh and the wet squelch as Luther cleaved whatever life force kept the infernal monster alive.
The room tilted, and I might have fallen if not for the stool I sat on. My pulse spiked, and my professor noticed the moment dread flicked across my expression. His ocean eyes dropped to the stain, and his brows jumped as if he had forgotten about it. An almost imperceptible clench feathered his jaw before he met my stare.
“That’s…” Words clogged in my scream-raw throat. “I—is that…?”
“You don’t need to think about that right now, Ophelia.” His voice came out as steady and firm as it did during his lectures. If I weren’t mentally spiraling at the sight of blood, I could have listened to him talk for hours.
Don’t think about it?
How could I not?
Normal universities didn’t have a demon infestation. Normal semesters didn’t start with dead girls being scraped off sidewalks. Normal professors didn’t hunt primordial monsters from Hell.
“That girl didn’t jump off the Belltower, did she?” I asked.
He inhaled slowly, then shook his head.
“You—” I choked on the question before forcing it out. “You hunt and kill those things? The stolas?”
Something akin to fatigue softened the hardness in his eyes.
He nodded.
Neither of us spoke for several moments. I mindlessly stirred penne noodles in tomato broth, thoughts drifting to our previous encounter when he tried to tell me the truth. Instead of listening as I should have, I’d gone running, fleeing like a bird startled from its nest.
And now the raptors were circling overhead.
Hugging myself, I said, “I didn’t… I didn’t believe you before. I didn’t want to believe you.”
“I understand. Believing makes them real.”
“I wish they weren’t.”
He smiled gently. The pronouncement of monsters was a heavy knowledge to share, and a burden he wanted to help with.
“I’m sorry you must come to terms with something so horrible. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, but…” he moved closer, bracing his hands on the island counter that separated us, “you need to know that they’re afteryou, Ophelia.”
Thunder cracked outside, and something in my chest splintered.
I jerked back, frowning. “What—wait—no, that’s not possible… No!”
“Yes,” he gritted out. “And that’s why I tried to tell you everything last time we spoke. The stolas got wind of you the moment you crossed into Kilbride. I’d be willing to bet they’ve been circling you since your first day back to this accursed town.”
“That can’t be…”
“Oh, yes,” he snapped in a way that terrified me. “They can smell the blood of a traitor from miles away. Like sharks in the water.”
I paled, fighting off the shiver settling along my spine. My hands clenched and uncurled on the countertop in a senseless cycle. “Traitor? What… what are you talking about?”
Without preamble, Professor Quinn crossed the counter and snatched up my discarded bag on the floor.
“Wait—” I lurched off the stool, and he easily sidestepped me.
Lacking any semblance of decency, he dug around in my belongings as he returned to the island counter. The bag thumped on the hard granite, and in seconds he pulled out my grandfather’s journal.
