At this, Devon makes a tsking sound.
“But I didn’t intend to keep it a secret fromyou,” I continue, ignoring him. “It’s just part of who I am.”
I risk a glance over at Carter. His expression has gone cold and distant.
Fuck.Does he think I’m lying or insane?
He should know, professionally, that I’m not insane. Psychotic episodes rarely come out of nowhere. But then again, the stress of the last couple of days, coupled with my age, could mean I’m experiencing the onset for the first time. Lots of mental illnesses present for the first time in their early twenties.
“Okay, I don’t know what this is,” Chessa says, pushing up to her feet. “I don’t know if you’re cracking up or if you think this is some kind of game, but—”
“It’s not a game, and I’m not crazy,” I insist. “These people are coming after me because my father has named me the new Death.”
She stares at me for a long second, then worry overwrites the irritation and anger in her expression. “Jo. You’re freaking me out here.” She looks to Carter. “Do we need to call someone?” she asks, in a lower voice, as if I can’t hear her. “Get her evaluated?”
Frustration pushes me to stand, forcing Chessa to step back. “Look, Francesca, just watch the plant, okay?”
She stares at me—mouth tight at my use of her full name—until I gesture toward the potted spider plant on the table across from me, its spiky leaves trailing over the polished wood.
It takes me a second to remember, to adjust. Pulling life from anything other than humans is tricky—it’s like trying to consume a smell. And I haven’t done this in years, not since I was first trying to find alternatives to killing people.
At thirteen, I was like a reverse Snow White, birds dropping out of the sky, squirrels falling off branches, grass and trees dying as I passed by. It was awful, super traumatizing, and hella indiscreet. Not to mention completely ineffective. I stopped after a few days and haven’t done it since.
Closing my eyes, I find the thin green flicker within the plant. I extend my hand in that direction andpull.
Chessa sucks in an audible breath, and I open my eyes. The poor spider plant is dead, wilted and shriveled, as if someone left it in the vicinity of a blast furnace.
Rubbing my forehead against the impending headache, I wave a hand at the plant. “There. Proof.”
“It’s a trick. Some kind of sleight of hand or something,” Chessa insists.
“Why?” I ask, incredulous. “Why would I make this up? What motive would I have to trick you?” Never mind that no one was anywhere within three feet of the plant.
But she’s not listening to me. “And you, what’s your role in all of this?” she demands, turning on Devon. “Are you the one filling her head with this bullshit?”
He straightens up from the wall, giving me a reproachful look. “It’s not that difficult to grasp,” he says to Chessa. “She feeds on death. I feed on lust. We both consume your energy, to one degree or another. End of story.”
I nearly choke.Oh my God, okay.Direct is one thing, but this is “arrow to the heart” territory.
He steps toward her, and I feel the brush of his magic against my skin. Chessa’s shoulders go slack, her body language shifting to something more languid. She tosses her braids over her shoulder and tips her head toward him in a flirty manner. “I almost believe you,” she says, with a high-pitched giggle, one that bears no resemblance to her throaty guffaws. “You’re that good.”
“Stop,” I say to Devon sharply. “Enough.”
“She wanted proof,” he says with a shrug. But he closes his open hand at his side and the sensation of magic cuts off.
Chessa sways on her feet—like we’re on a bus that abruptly stopped—before recovering her balance. “You. You were the one in the bar the other night,” she says faintly, rubbing her palms repeatedly against her leggings as if trying to wipe off some terrible sticky substance. “You… you did that?”
“I did. It’s how we feed. How we survive,” he says flatly.
I’m afraid to look over at Carter, to witness his reaction. Buteven from the corner of my eye I can see him, frozen in place in his chair, elbows braced on his knees, shoulders stiff.
“Carter…” I begin. “I know this is not what you were expecting.” A tortured half laugh escapes me. “I mean, how couldanyoneexpect this? But—”
His gaze shoots up to meet mine, and the fury in those cold, cold blue eyes forces me back a step.
I flinch. It’s nothing less than I deserve, but I can feel the gossamer thin ties between us snapping, one by one.
Chessa turns toward me unsteadily. “Youfeedon us?”
