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“I’m sorry, Malcolm. This is my fault. My dad is kind of strict. There’s been trouble with the family business and stuff. I’ll let Jude take me back home.”
When did I become such a huge liar? Trouble with the family business? Was I embroiled in the mafia now? Malcolm didn’t know my dad, except from a distance. For all he knew, he could’ve been in the mafia. And Jude more than looked the part of the enforcer. I insinuated in my tone there were things I couldn’t say, because, of course, there were.
“I’ll explain to you later, I promise. I’ll call you tomorrow?” I added lower, squeezing his hand.
Malcolm put his hands on my shoulders. I swear I felt two points of heat boring into the back of my skull. I wondered then about my “sixth sense.”
“Are you sure, Drake?”
I nodded. He pulled me into a brisk hug, then let go, giving the man over my shoulder a hard stare. I watched as he marched back toward Jackson Square, descending the stairs with one last scowling glance over his shoulder.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, I turned to face the executioner. I didn’t speak. Just waited. He was doing that thing where he appeared to be dissecting my thoughts, observing every line on my face, trying to solve a riddle that perplexed him. Flinty shards of gold sparked in his eyes. A shot of relief washed over me. Any fraction of light in those obsidian depths was a good sign. Or so I thought.
“Why are you here?”
His voice had lost its edge. Well, let me clarify, the razor-sharp edge that could slice an oak into splinters. There was still the blunt steel swinging in slow, even strokes, threatening to cut me if I made a wrong move. I glanced toward the sculpture. She was gone.
“Who’s Goth Barbie?”
His head tilted slightly to the left. His eyes narrowed, still glinting with golden stars.
“She’s a friend,” he finally responded. “Who’s Schoolboy Ken?”
He evaded; a special talent he possessed by the butt load. Two can play that little game.
“He’s a friend.”
Jude smiled. A genuine smile with teeth and everything. My heart stuttered with the sudden shift in mood. His gaze traced the contours of my face, hair, shoulders, lower.
“At least you had the presence of mind to cast illusion. When did you discover you could use your ability?”
“Huh?”
Oh. I was pretty sure that was what the “warm blanket” was, but now I knew for certain. I felt it skimming along my skin, draping me from the inside out.
“Just now. It happened automatically, actually.”
“Not automatically. Subconsciously. Your Vessel instincts are kicking in to protect you since your brain has apparently taken a leave of absence.”
“Excuse me? Did you just call me stupid?”
“Stupid would imply you have no intelligence whatsoever. I am well aware that you are quite clever, so I would define this as either rebellious or apathetic behavior. Which is it?”
I made a disgusted sound while smiling inside at his backhanded compliment.
“What is it exactly I’ve done to warrant the label of rebellious or apathetic?”
“You’re standing in the middle of demon hunting ground. This den of debauchery lures demons for hundreds and hundreds of miles. You are a Vessel, a prize above all prizes for a high demon. The illusion you cast would certainly fool a lower creature, but not one in the upper hierarchy. So either you are being rebellious in disobeying me, or you are simply indifferent to keeping your soul intact. Which is it?”
I felt the blood drain from my face. Maybe I was stupid. No. But I wasn’t being rebellious or apathetic about my well-being. My green-eyed monster lifted her head with wide eyes to remind me why I came, but I glared at her to keep her hissy mouth shut.
“Okay, you said not to go out alone. I wasn’t alone. Malcolm was with me.”
Did he really just roll his eyes at me?
“You might as well have been stripped naked, hanging from a balcony on Bourbon Street and screaming ‘Come and get it.’ That boy could have done nothing if you were spotted by any form of Flamma.”
Now that was an image I didn’t want in my head. I was slightly disturbed it was in Jude’s. Switching gears quickly, thank you very much.
