“That’s not a Rabid, it’s my mother,” I hissed, breathless from struggling in his iron grip.
“Both can be true,” he said in that same silky-soft voice. “How long ago did she contract the fever?”
“A week or so,” I lied.
“Kitten,” he softly admonished me. It was pointless to lie to him. He knew the truth already.
“Two months.”
“She’s not going to get better,” he said with a note of sympathy, almost as if he cared. My sinuses burned and my eyes welled with tears. What did he even know? He wasn’t a doctor.
“My brother is bringing home medicine. He’ll be back any minute. He’s big and nasty, and he won’t hesitate to slit your throat.” I imagined Santiago finding us like this. He’d go berserk. He’d shut this guy up before he could utter another poisonous word.
“There is no medicine that will save her. And the longer you leave her like that, the more likely she’ll turn on you. She’s suffering, Kitten, but I’m going to take care of it for you.”
I gulped down the knot in my throat, blinking through the tears at the sunshine streaming in through the kitchen window. It reminded me of a kaleidoscope I’d once found at a flea market, all the different shapes and colors blending and reforming before my very eyes, quicker than I could keep up with. This was all happening too fast.
“What are you going to do?” I asked shakily. I couldn’t lose her too.
“I’m going to give you a few minutes to say your goodbyes, and then I’m going to end her life.”
“The hell you are,” I growled. He finally let me go, and I spun around and snatched the pot off the counter, chucking it at him impulsively. He easily sidestepped it, so I grabbed the carrots and potatoes and did the same. They hit his lean torso, and I briefly recalled some comedy show from Before where they used to chuck vegetables at each other. The asshole didn’t even bother to dodge my attack, just casually swatted the vegetables away and smirked like this was some sort of game.
He nodded at someone behind me, and then two big, brawny arms grabbed me from behind and lifted me off my feet. I kicked with both legs like a donkey and tried to head butt him.
“A scrappy one,” the big guy said. “I like it.”
“Take him outside to cool off. Make sure he doesn’t grab anything that can be used as a weapon. You have one hour,” the asshole said to me. “Make it count.”
“Screw you,” I snarled while his friend dragged me, kicking and screaming, outside. “Screw you, you monster, you devil, screw you for living, for ever being born. I hope you catch the fever and die, you sick piece of–”
The arms holding me suddenly shifted and a hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my cries. The black-eyed demon gave me a cold, blank stare and said nothing.
THREE
CIPHER
“What the hellis he doing now?” I griped, irritated at what appeared to be a delay tactic. After taking a few minutes to compose himself, Kitten was now back in the garden.
“He’s picking flowers,” Artemis said, sounding pissy as well—not at him but at me.
“Why are you looking atmelike that?” I asked because she was acting as if I did something wrong.
“What did you say to him?”
“I introduced myself, pointed out that he had a Rabid on his hands, and offered to take care of it for him.”
“And you weren’t nasty about it?” she asked, dropping her chin in a way that said she didn’t believe me.
“I mean… there’s really no good way to tell someone you’re going to execute their mother.”
“I suppose.” Her attention shifted back to the young man in question. With a fistful of flowers, he turned and headed toward us, but only because we were standing in his way.
“You have a half hour remaining,” I reminded him curtly as he shot daggers at me with his eyes. If looks could kill.
“Screw you, demon,” he spat before stomping indoors.
“Charming,” I said to his back.
