Sitting at the little nook table in the corner, looking bright and chipper and like it makes absolute sense to be up and out of bed at seven AM on a—Saturday? At least I think it’s Saturday—my mom gives me a wide smile as I freeze in the doorway.
“You’re up early,” she says cheerfully, then tilts her head as she gets a better look at me. “Or… late?”
“Early,” I mutter as I head for the cupboard.
As long as I’m here, and as long as I’m caught, I might as well get some cereal out of it.
Bowl brimming nearly over the edge with sugary marshmallow goodness and almond milk, I take a seat beside her, fully intending to chow down and get out of here. No need for any interrogations or heart-to-hearts. A little breakfast, a little small talk, and I’ll be on my way.
Like I should have expected, though, mom’s otherworldly gaze zeroes in on my face as soon as I sit down.
She rests the back of her hand against my forehead. “Are you feeling alright? There’s something… feverish about you. Unsettled. Did something happen?”
Of course she could see with a single look that something is wrong.
She’s probably reading my goddessdamned aura, too, trying to figure out what’s got it in such chaos.
“I’m fine,” I say, gently batting her hand away. “Just had a late night.”
She hums, clearly not buying it.
“Ahh, a guest for breakfast,” a new voice chimes in from the doorway.
“Hi dad,” I mutter, scooting over to make some room for him.
He drops into the seat beside me—gray-dusted blond hair ruffled, and wire-rimmed glasses sitting slightly askew on his face in his trademark ‘harried scholar’ style—and shuffles through the pile of newspapers until he finds one not already creased from being read front-to-back.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, peanut?”
“Oh, you know. The usual. Making enemies across realms. Lying low so I can’t be found.”
He just chuckles, and I silently thank the Goddess both mom and dad are used to me being tight-lipped about where I go and what I get up to. At least enough for them to think it’s a joke.
And it is.
Mostly.
Another flash of memory. Crimson eyes wide with shock and powerful black wings made immobile by my curse. Thick, sculpted muscles bunching and releasing as the demon tried to shake off his invisible bindings.
I take another bite of my cereal, swallowing hard.
The coffee maker on the counter beeps to signal the pot is ready, and mom immediately gets up from her seat and takes three mugs from the cupboard.
And… oh, well. What’s a few more minutes?
In for the cereal, in for the coffee, I guess.
“You know,” mom says in a tone that puts my defenses up. That oh-so-understandingmomvoice, which always signals she’s about to get on my case about something. “I talked to Soleil just a few days ago, and she wanted to—”
“Mom,” I say, trying to temper the warning in my tone as best I can.
I really, really don’t want to fight with my parents this morning.
I don’t even particularly want totalkto my parents this morning, but as long as we’re here I’d rather keep things civil.
Damn me and my need for sugary carbs and caffeine.
“I know, I know,” she says breezily, returning to the table and handing out the mugs. “But I really wish the two of you would—”
