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Usually, when we had our monthly calls, he was cautious and more than careful with his words. But he’d said my name. It was his very first word. Then he’d called me daughter.
I blinked away the tears and refocused. There was no use in wasting this call getting distracted by my emotions.
“… Manhattan officials have not reached out to us for assistance on this matter quite yet, so we cannot act. Gray? Gray, are you there?”
Swallowing and steeling my voice, I replied, “Yeah. Still here. But wait, what does the school have to do with this dude on my tail?”
He stated, “Even though the barriers between Divine and Demonic Territories are tightly bound, those with demon blood can slip through and vice versa.” Each word had been chosen with slow, painful caution.
Understanding dawned on me. I examined the stranger with renewed interest. He was still holding his newspaper upside down. A clump of pizza sauce smeared across the side of his mouth.
I squinted at him. He didn’t look like a murderous demon, but did murderous demons ever advertise themselves by cackling with bloody hands and raving lunacy?
Not really.
Still, this man was strong and confident. No denying it. You could see it in the way his shoulders bulged beneath his coat and how he moved with a surprising level of elegance. He had the kind of body that effortlessly took up space. Long legs reached beneath the table and stretched over the sidewalk. He slouched to one side, an arm slung over the backrest. Even resting, his unfazed aura made it clear that he didn’t worry about what the public thought of him.
He stuck out like a sword among spoons, sure, but—
This elegant, terrifying man reached his tongue out to swipe up the sauce, missing most of it, all while grinning at a one-footed pigeon and feeding it pizza crust.
I tilted my head in confusion. Is this really his way of blending in?
“Gray? Gray?”
Shaking my head, I tuned into Dad’s question again. “Okay. You think he could be a demon. But why? Why come here to kill students and follow me?”
“Your mother was—”
“Well-connected and from a powerful family, I know. Is something wrong with her? Did she give you a reason to believe someone was after me to try to get to her?” Not that it would matter. I haven’t spoken to her in a decade.
Ember and her friends were sipping their coffee now, and I figured this was a good time to take my conversation to someplace quieter.
Where treasonous secrets couldn’t be overheard.
I shut the storage room door behind me and waited for an answer.
The sound of shuffling papers crinkled in my ear, and then Dad’s clipped reply: “I haven’t spoken to her in a few months.”
Ignoring the envy pretzeling my stomach within me, I asked, “How is she?”
“The same.”
I’d long since stopped inquiring whether she asked about me. It never happened. And yet, I still cared. Still wanted her to be okay.
I pressed on. “You’re thinking this guy might be a murderous demon who’s killing angelic students. Great. Fabulous. I still don’t know why he’d care about killing angels and killing me unless it has some random thing to do with Mom. But, I’m always here for caution. What do I do with him?”
“Keep your low profile. If need be, file a report to the police. They’ll see you’re one of my wards, and that should spur them into taking you seriously. I’d prefer if you chose to do that instead of waiting until it’s too late. You remember what to tell them?”
I recited, “I’m not related to you at all. I am a Divine-blooded orphan that you found when I was ten years old and placed into a foster care home. You’ve been financially providing for me ever since.”
“Good girl. I trust your judgment. If you don’t feel safe, file that report.”
I commented, “I’m honestly surprised you’re suggesting this. You must be scared.”
“Your life is worth the risk, Gray. Keep me in the loop. If I don’t hear from you in a month, I’ll find you.”
The line clicked off.
