It’s none of my business. But this curiosity is like an itch I can’t scratch.
Griffin serves heaping portions of chicken parm and then sits next to me, launching into a story about a ghost hunt gone wrong. DJ, who was there with him, does a great impression of Griffin calling for help after accidentally falling through a rotten floor inside an abandoned hospital. I watch them talking over each other, adding details, and I feel like I’m watching someone else’s home movie. Bob sits beside Donny’s chair, begging, and does a small wag of his tail every time Donny drops him a piece of bread. Everyone is smiling. Well, everyone except for Nico, who’s cutting his chicken into pieces so small you’d think he’s preparing it for a toddler. He’s not eating any of it. Just cutting. And cutting. And cutting some more. Benji slides Nico the garlic bread without being asked. DJ reaches across the table and steals a piece of pasta off Nico’s plate, and he shifts his plate closer to her.
I’m listening to DJ when I feel a crawling sensation on the back of my neck like a Daddy Long Legs walking across my skin. I glance up and catch Nico already looking at me.
He goes back to his chicken. I train my attention back on DJ as she tells me about a cannibal they once caught who was obsessed with feeding human meat to as many unwitting people as he could, including his poor host. Gave him a real power rush, apparently.
“An entity displaying cannibalistic interest is more common than you’d think,” Benji says excitedly. “The conditions needed for a Possessor to exist in the first place make them more willingto commit such a depraved act against other humans, even if they weren’t a cannibal when they were alive.”
Nobody at the table appears to have a problem eating through this conversation, myself included, surprisingly enough.
DJ is detailing the plastic container of suspicious chop suey they found in the man’s fridge when I feel Nico’s eyes on me again.
He’s probably not staring at me. Maybe he’s looking through me while thinking about something else. I’ve done that to people so many times. But when I glance up again, his eyes lock onto mine.
I clear my throat and aim for friendly. “Nico, do you need me to pass you anything?”
His eyes narrow, and there’s something so angry in them that my stomach tightens. “No.”
It’s a super intense amount of anger to have just because I accepted the job. He’s looking at me like he wants to murder me through his eyes.
I could drop this. Go back to my food, so there’s a chance parking lot Nico will reappear. But my mouth opens before I can stop myself.
“I just thought,” I say, “that since you’ve been staring at me for the past five minutes, maybe you needed something passed.”
Griffin makes a choking sound. DJ’s fork freezes halfway to her mouth, her eyes going wide.
Nico leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Presumptuous to assume I was staring at you.”
“It would be, if you were being even alittlebit subtle about it.” I keep my voice sweet even though my pulse is hammering. “So, what is it? Do you need something, or do I have something in my teeth?”
His eyes go cold in a way that makes the hair on my arms stand up. I’ve seen it before. That calculated emptiness.
In the courtroom. In Stanley Daniels’s eyes.
My fingers go numb around my fork, and I have to concentrate on gripping it to prevent it from falling out of my hand.
“Eden,” Donny says. “Will you pass the extra sauce, please?”
I hold Nico’s stare for one more second before reaching for the bowl. That was weird. More than weird. I don’t understandwhatthat was, but my skin feels tight and wrong, like I need to shake off the residue of his attention.
Bob scratches at my leg under the table, his little nails catching on my jeans. I suck the tomato sauce off a piece of chicken and slip it to him, keeping the piece small because too much will upset his stomach. He takes it gently between his teeth and swallows it whole, then hobbles away from me.
Toward Nico.
I’m about to call him back when Benji pipes up.
“Nico, you should give Bob a piece of chicken,” Benji urges. “Don’t try to hand it to him—that puts pressure on him. Toss it behind him. It’s counterconditioning. He’s scared now, but over time, he’ll see you as a treat dispenser and form a positive emotional association with you.”
Nico looks about as enthusiastic about doing this as I would be standing in line at an amusement park behind a tongue-kissing couple for three hours. “A treat dispenser, huh?”
Griffin snort-laughs. “Yeah. Like one of those machines where you press a button, and a tennis ball shoots out.”
Nico glowers at him. But Benji looks so hopeful, so Nico sighs and cuts off a sliver of his chicken breast. Nico’s hand slowly drops under the table. At least Bob is welcome even if I’m not.
I hear a low growl and bend down to find Bob with his ears pinned flat, radiating suspicion as he glares at the offered food.
Nico draws his hand back to toss the chicken.
