Chapter 24

24

MINA

And suddenly I was alone in the alley behind the library sciences building on campus, with a flaming chair cushion.

I checked my phone for the time. I'd been responsible for three deaths in roughly forty-eight hours. I couldn't remember if that made me a serial killer or a mass murderer, but whichever it was, I was owning it.

Then Sylas reappeared, looming nearby again, his hands full of claws and mouth full of teeth, looking pleased with himself.

"You may not feel it, but I was gone for quite some time—and I came up with a gift for you. Close your eyes."

I gawked at him, and then did what I was told.

"Now, open them," he commanded, a millisecond later—and my hand flew over my mouth.

"What—is—that?" I whispered at a high pitch. He'd sliced up Brad's liver like a strawberry at a fancy restaurant, splaying it out like a magician offering someone cards, over a sigil of intestines in the shape of a? —

"It is an eggplant!" he exclaimed, floating slightly above the fragrant mess.

"Yeah, it is," I squeaked. It was one percent sweet, and ninety-nine percent disgusting.

"At first I thought he merely liked Italian food," Sylas went on, as I started stomping out the burning cushion with my boot. "But if I had known what was in his mind before the end, my queen, I would've made his death take even longer."

I looked up at him. "What?"

"I told you I would read the thoughts of the next man I killed. And you did not tell me not to, so," he said, with a casual shrug, like we both currently wouldn't look like Satanic emoji enthusiasts to an untrained eye.

And then his attention lingered on me, just like I knew it would, if he knew any part of what had happened.

Oh God—he'd read Nolan's mind next.

"Stop that," I told him.

"What?" he asked.

"You know what." I stomped the smoking cushion with renewed purpose. "I wouldn't have even known about you if I hadn't given blow jobs to him, so get off your high horse, Mister."

"Seeing as I can fly, I do not need to ride a horse," he said solemnly, and I glanced over, unable to tell whether he was being truthful or trying to be funny again, till he continued. "And I gathered that many of your classmates think dark things about you, my queen."

"You could say that," I agreed, as the fire finally went out, leaving goopy remnants of plastic stuck to the bottom of my shoe.

"So you might as well give them a reason to. "

I straightened and looked at him. He was far more interested in looking me in the eyes than at my chest. I appreciated that, then realized how sad that was.

What was that joke about the bar for men being so low it's in hell?

Maybe that's why it was easier for a demon—or whatever the fuck Sylas was—to surmount it, because it was there all the time.

"Look, I appreciate this," I said, gesturing to what remained of Brad, "but, you've gotta get rid of it. It's artistic as fuck, but it'll just pull attention from what I'm trying to do, elsewhere."

"Understood," Sylas said, and it all disappeared.

"Did you, uh, get enough to eat?" I put my hands into the pockets of my jeans and rocked back and forth.

"I did, for now," he said, lowering himself in size, until he wasn't too much taller than I was and I didn't have to look up so hard to see him. "Have you?" he asked, cordially.

I realized I hadn't eaten a single thing today—other than that lick of Logan earlier in the evening. "Not really."

"Is there someplace we can go to, then, that you might?"

I inhaled, suddenly unable to speak or move from the spot I was on.

It could've been the fact that someone who'd just shown me the slices of a man's liver was asking if I was hungry, and the moment was too Hannibal Lecter to bear—or it was the fact that I couldn't imagine someone being kind to me, without having an ulterior motive.

Like hurting me, or my best friend, or taking advantage of my situation.

But Sylas was merely hovering there, calmly waiting for me to make up my mind .

Being nice to me?

No.

It was pity—an emotion I was quite familiar with receiving, from how everyone treated me after my parents had died.

And I didn't want that from him—or from anyone.

It was one of the reasons I wanted to be in control and have power now, so I didn't have to tolerate anyone feeling sorry for me, ever again.

So I held up a finger before I spoke next. "Just so we're clear though," I said, "I would've sucked a thousand dicks if it would stand Ella up from her hospital bed."

Sylas momentarily diffused. "Heal her? What do you mean? I thought she was dead."

I stared through him into the mess of my life that was my past. "She—she might as well be." She would never get better. Her parents had told me that at least, before they'd served me papers.

"Then I want to meet her," he said, coming near.

"Good luck," I muttered with a frown, scraping my boots on the asphalt to get the burnt cushion off their soles. "The nursing facility where she's at won't let me in."

"My queen, since when have doors mattered to me? Or for that matter, locks?"

I looked up at him, feeling a faint flicker of hope for the first time in months.

I really did want to see Ella before I died.

Even knowing, if she were awake, she'd tell me to get my head out of my ass and stay alive. "I know a 24/7 place we can order takeout. "

"Then I will meet you in your car," Sylas said—and flew the ten feet over to do just that, grinning at me from my passenger seat because he'd just made the whole situation faintly ridiculous.

And against my will and better judgment, I found myself smiling back.