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Something nags at me though, something odd and uncanny.

I scoot my chair around the side of the desk until Séverin is in my line of vision. I watch his chest, his shoulders, his head. He’s eerily still. So still, it doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Bellamy

Sunday was completely exhausted when we got home from work last night. I even suggested that I make something nice and watch that zombie show he likes, but he just collapsed with his head on my lap and went to sleep without anything in his stomach. He woke up several times during the night, and we’re both suffering for it today.

The first tour I did this morning was atrocious; I could barely get my words out, and kept tripping over the ones that I did. It was embarrassing, to say the least, and the rest of the day has dragged on at a snail’s pace. I’m blessed now with an hour alone in the office to write up some reports. Not that I can concentrate on them.

There’s a low feeling of dread settling into my stomach and wrapping around my spine. I can’t shake it, and there’s someone I really need right now.

I quickly walk over to the office door and check the hallway, but it’s quiet. I slide the bolt lock over a little, so if someone tries to come in, it’ll catch, giving me a few seconds’ warning before they enter the room.

Satisfied with that, I settle on the floor, rolling my neck. A long, slow breath slips between my pursed lips as I lay one hand palm down on my knee, the other palm facing up on the other.

I’ve been keeping my connection with the other side much looser recently, trying to gain more understanding about the demon in Sunday’s body, and hoping Delphine will come back.

She hasn’t, though, and I’m starting to feel incredibly anxious about it.

I mentally open that connection up more, probing with my magic to find her. I can feel her, but it’s almost like she’s turned away, not receptive to me. Which I don’t understand. She’s my spirit guide, she’s meant to be with me. I need her now more than ever and she…she’s abandoned me.

I frantically push my magic, harder, farther, holding my breath until my head spins.

It’s no use.

I suck in a lungful of air, ignoring the sting in my eyes. I don’t understand at all. Why would she do this? Just because of Sunday? It doesn’t make sense. She can be fickle and childish about certain things, but for her to ignore every pleading thread of magic I push in her direction is crippling.

My ribs tighten into a vise around my heart, crushing me as I try to stave off the panic. My planchette necklace ends up in my mouth, the repetitive motion of sliding the chain over my lip giving a small amount of comfort.

I need movement.

Climbing to my feet, I shake the excess magic and energy out of my fingertips as I stalk into the hall, my anxious thoughts bouncing off the walls of my mind.

The third stage of possession is obsession, and I’m afraid we’re nearing it. I can feel the demon churning beneath Sunday’s skin, can almost see the stagnant aura that follows him now. His jaw has a permanent set of tension, the sound of his teeth grinding audible even in the meager minutes he manages to stay asleep.

I walk aimlessly, not really watching where I’m going, my eyes glued to my lavender chucks as I put one foot in front of the other.

The low ringing pitch in my left ear gives me pause. It’s something I’ve become attuned to over the years. It always precedes danger—the day that bully tripped me the first day at my new school; the split second before I witnessed a car crash, and had to stand in the freezing cold to give a statement to the police while my bones shook apart.

My steps slow as I move into a corridor leading to one of the quieter wings of the museum, the hairs on my arms rising. There’s no one down here, which isn’t unusual for this time of day. It’s well past the last school tour, only a few elderly stragglers still milling around the more popular areas. It’s so quiet I can hear the rubber of my chucks squeaking quietly against the floor.

The ringing in my ears intensifies, my stomach clenching as I pass a dark alcove. I swallow my fear, telling myself I’m just exhausted from dealing with Sunday’s thrashing.

I scan the area, but feel nothing. Spinning on my heel, I head back the way I came.

There’s a shift in the air, then a sharp pain blooms across the left side of my body as something collides with me, the force of it knocking me off my feet. I stumble into the wall, my hand flying out to break my fall.

“Merde, Bellamy. I’m so sorry.” Séverin’s accent wraps around my name, turning it more flowery. His hands are on my shoulders, steadying me. I didn’t even see him coming.

“It’s alright…but are you okay?” He seems erratic.

He peers down the corridor, checking if anyone is around. His hands slip off my shoulders, head dipping sheepishly. “It’s nothing. I’ll be fine,” he says, far too quickly.

“What is it? Are you hungry?” I don’t know where he’s getting his sustenance from, but he seems to be struggling with it lately—sleeping in the middle of the day, covering his mouth when his fangs protract randomly.

“I shouldn’t be,” he mutters, scratching the back of his head. It’s a very human gesture, leading me to believe he’s not all that old in vampire years. I’ve never actually asked him when he was turned. It seems like a rude question.