“Speaking of…why were you asking about demons? Do you think she was kidnapped by them?”
It takes me a minute to process what she’s saying. “Kidnapped? She drew the circle, Percy. She had instructions to do that. Unless they somehow learned how to bust out of…I gotta go.”
I hang up before she can protest. Could Lark have been taken? I didn’t think demons did that, but as we’ve established, I don’t know shit about them. I need to ask Dimitri, accept his help. If I didn’t make an absolute fool of myself last night. Once I downed Percy’s drink, the rest of the night was a blur. I remember dancing, feeling weightless, then his warm body against mine. A memory scratches at my brain—maybe yelling at him to take off the creepy mask? I don’t particularly recall.
When I woke up, he looked like his usual self, though a bit rundown, I suppose. Black smudges circled his eyes, and his skinwas cracking at his fingertips. I didn’t stick around long enough to examine him more. Every time I see him, he seems to be collapsing under his own weight. He needed to rest and waking him up wouldn’t help.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. It has nothing to do with embarrassment or avoiding awkwardness. I’d just be delaying the inevitable. Eventually, he’ll get up. He’ll come in here with that lazy grin of his and I’ll melt a little inside. Then I’ll deflect my feelings with some snappish comeback. It is the way. I’ve been doing this for years every time I get a tiny hint of a crush. I never let anyone get close enough to woo me.
Not that a demon is wooing me.
If I push him away enough—keep him at arm’s length—I’ll be able to pick his brain without losing my heart. Not that my heart is in danger. A crush doesn’t equate to love. Those fairy-tale endings don’t happen to prickly women like me.
The thought has me wrinkling my nose. My aunt called me that often—prickly, waspish, cruel. She had a litany of descriptions for me while praising my sister for her levity and lightheartedness. Lark was always the lifeblood of the house, keeping our aunt in line and off my back.
I shake my head and sigh heavily. As soon as Dimitri’s up, I’m going to need to ask for help. No more pussyfooting around the issue. I don’t particularly like the idea of him knowing about Lark, but I don’t have a choice. Telling him to keep the information to himself will be my first order of business.
Another heavy sigh leaves me when I spot the pile of books I left on the small dining table. I need to go through them again. I thought they were merely references for her. Maybe she was trying to be a better witch or something. Yet I keep coming back to them. I swear the necromancy book is following me around. It showed up on my nightstand the other morning when I was sure I’d left it in here.
“Morning,” Dimitri grunts as he steps into the kitchen.
I croak out some semblance of a greeting, but he doesn’t even look at me when he makes a beeline for the coffeepot. I flip open the standard spellbook from when I was a kid, pretending to read it instead of tracking his movements. He doesn’t even ask, just opens the fridge and starts rummaging around.
The way he moves through the space is familiar. As if he’s spent many a morning in my house.
Lark’s house. Not mine, I remind myself. I may have been living here for the past four months, yet it doesn’t make it mine. As soon as I start thinking like that, I’ll have to accept Lark isn’t coming back. And I refuse to do that.
“What are you doing?” I finally ask when he pulls a pan from the bottom cupboard.
“Making breakfast. Why don’t you go take a shower? I’m sure your head doesn’t like your body right now,” he murmurs.
“You don’t?—”
He holds up a hand. “Do we really have to go through all that when we both know we’ll just end up right where we started? Go.”
I grit my teeth, holding back the verbal lashing I want to unleash on him. I mutter incoherently as I stomp from the space.
“Bossing me around like he’s the boss of me.” I cringe at my own grumblings. “I’m only going because I planned on showering before he got up.” Ikick the bathroom door shut and nod to myself in the mirror. “Fuck, I look like shit.”
Suddenly, I’m incredibly grateful he avoided my gaze. He would have poofed right out of here if he got a look at my splotchy face and smeared mascara. At least it looks like I had a fun time.
The light overhead becomes too much, and I slide the dimmer until it’s at a more respectable level. A groan leaves me when I’m under the hot spray, and I forget all about Dimitricommanding me. I doubt I’ll be able to choke down any of the food he’s making. Unless I want to throw up on him.
By the time I’m done, the distinct smell of bacon fills the air. I peek out the door before tiptoeing across the hall to my bedroom. I grab the first shirt I can find. Dimitri must have tossed his own clothes on top of mine since it smells like him. I tug on shorts, then shuffle toward the kitchen.
I peer around the wall and find him facing the stove, his back to me. He’s humming, though I can’t place which song. Maybe it’s one from Hell. Do they have music in Hell? Do they have cities? Houses? Electricity? There’s so much I don’t know. If it’s anything like here, then maybe Lark isn’t suffering. If it’s like the movies depict, she’s fucked. Even if it’s like Aunt Star told us, she’s probably screwed.
You won’t find out until you ask.I roll my eyes at my sister’s voice. She can shut the fuck up. All she had to do was send me a text and she couldn’t even do that. Like hell am I going to listen to her now. Regardless if she’s right.
“You going to hover in the living room or join me?” he calls, and I huff, slinking into the room.
He sets a platter on the table, and I stare at the deliciously greasy mess. When he plops down a milkshake next to my plate, I give him a questioning look.
“Sugar’ll help.”
“How exactly?”
“Maybe it’ll sweeten you up.” He smirks, then turns back to the stove to get more food.
