I shot to my feet, scraping the barstool across the tile and sending it tumbling to the floor. I stalked to the bathroom and splashed cold water over my face, then lifted my head and stared at my reflection.
I was standing in a crowd. Veda stood on a wooden platform. A noose hung around her neck. Cheers and hollers rang out from neighbors and friends that Veda had once helped.
People feared what they could not understand, and hysteria spread like wildfire.
“Get out of my fucking head!” I shouted. My hands gripped the edge of the ceramic sink.
Veda’s storm filled eyes met mine, and she said something I couldn’t make out. Her lips moved, but they were blurred, making it impossible to read them. A loud thud rattled, and elated yells came from the crowd. Veda’s lifeless body swayed back and forth. Her neck had snapped, and the death was swift and painless. A mercy she didn’t deserve. Three other girls hung beside her, but two of them weren’t as lucky. They slowlydied of strangulation. Prayers muttered from their lips as they took their last breaths.
I smashed my fist into the mirror, embedding shards of glass in my fingers and knuckles. I welcomed the pain and let it ground me.
My phone vibrated, and I caught Lyra’s name out of the corner of my eye.
“Yeah,” I said, answering the call. Itching for a fight.
“I need your help. With a spirit problem,” she whispered the last part.
“Can it wait till morning?” I pinched the bridge of my nose, letting out an audible sigh.
“No, it can’t.” I could hear the hesitation in her words. She was only calling because she had no other option.
“All right,” I said, walking back to the kitchen. A tremor shook my hand as I shut the book. I gave her my address and hung up, then finished the dregs of my lukewarm beer.
The quiet settled around me as I waited, thick and heavy. I chucked the empty bottle against the wall, watching as it exploded all over the kitchen floor.
CHAPTER 18
LYRA
Icouldn’t stop thinking about what happened in the study as I pulled into the driveway of a single-family home. Grey’s house looked nothing like I had imagined.
Not like I’d imagined it countless times or anything.I double-checked the address to make sure I was at the right place. The secluded location was far away from nosy neighbors. No one could hear the screams of his victims…in the bedroom. I squeezed my legs together, remembering how it felt to have his hands on me and his tongue down my throat. Okay, something was seriously wrong with me.
My SUV headlights put a spotlight on Grey. He sat on his porch drinking a beer. He’d changed out of his suit and into a sweatshirt and some pants. Exhaustion lit his face, and seconds ticked by until I realized I was staring.
“You set the house on fire?” I shouted, stumbling out of the car.
“Yeah, and now Devin won’t know the book is missing,” he said flatly.
“People were in the house!” I stomped forward. “I was in the house!” Leaves and mud caked the bottom of my heels. I held the hem of my dress to keep it from dragging through the mud.
“But did you die?” he mocked. The bottle dangled loosely between his fingers, swaying back and forth. “Obviously not if you’re standing on my fucking porch.” Grey flung the door open and walked inside, not waiting to see if I followed.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes and stopped in front of a doormat. Aw, he was a domesticated demon. I wiped the mud from the bottom of my shoes and stepped inside. My mouth fell open. I don’t know what I expected to see—maybe a demon’s lair or a torture chamber. Not a normal living room.
Hardwood floors stretched the entire expanse of the house, accentuating clean lines and minimalistic décor. Actually, there were no decorations or personal effects at all. The living room walls were bare along with the rest of the room, except for the multiple stacks of books on the floor.
I made sure Grey was still preoccupied and continued my snooping into the kitchen. It was the same as the living room—functional but not personal. Okay, I take back the functional part—he didn’t even have a coffee maker. What even was the point of having a kitchen?
A loud crunch forced me to look down. The remnants of a beer bottle covered the floor and the book we’d stolen lay on the counter.
“What do you need help with?” Grey glowered.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I pushed past him and headed for the door.
“Where are we going?” Grey called from behind me.
“We’re going to church.”
