“The demon.”
Greg stared at him. “You want to negotiate with a demon?”
“It’s my life he’s protecting. He shouldn’t get to do that against my will. It’s rude, actually. He and my mother made decisions about my life without consulting me, and I’d like to give him a piece of my mind.”
“Don’t,” Greg said, eyes widening. “He might actually take one.”
“Don’t be so literal.”
“He will.”
“Fine. I’ll be careful.”
“But how will you find him?”
Dustin shrugged, then immediately regretted it when his shoulder flared. “I was hoping you could help with that.”
Greg went quiet.
Too quiet.
“Greg.”
Greg licked his lips. “Cathy would know. The demon would have given her a way to reach him. It’s standard procedure.”
Of course it was.
Dustin stood. The floor was cold under his bare feet. Through the closed door, he could hear Cathy moving around in the kitchen. Pans clattering. Bacon hissing.
“I can convince her,” he said.
Greg stood too, clipboard against his chest. “Dustin.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry you have to do this.”
His face was open and completelysincere, because Greg didn’t know how to be anything other than exactly what he felt.
“Yeah,” Dustin said. “Me too.”
Cathy had made eggs, bacon, and toast.
“Coffee’s ready,” she said without looking up when they entered the kitchen.
Dustin poured himself a cup and sat in his brother’s chair.
Greg sat across from him with a glass of orange juice that he sipped with cautious interest. His clipboard rested on the table beside his elbow.
Cathy set plates down. Greg’s was loaded like she thought he needed feeding.
“Thank you,” Greg said politely.
They ate.
The kitchen clock ticked. Sunlight hit the counter. Outside, a neighbor’s sprinkler started up.
Normal morning sounds for a morning that was not normal.
