Chapter 18

The moment I was through the apartment's front door, I kicked my shoes off and rushed past the kitchen.

"Robin?" Amalia appeared from her bedroom. "Holy shit!"

I had no idea what I looked like. Every bit of me hurt, especially my back, but I wasn't worried about my health. I dashed into the bathroom, pulling the infernus out of my sweater with my other hand.

"Zylas," I said breathlessly. "Come out."

The silver pendant glowed. Red light spilled down, then expanded into Zylas's shape. As his body solidified in front of me, his dark eyes gazed into mine—then he crumpled.

I grabbed him, gasping at his weight, and he clutched the towel rack for balance. It tore off the wall. As he staggered, Amalia dove into the bathroom and braced him from behind. Supporting him between us, Amalia and I pulled him over to the tub and tried to ease him down, but he was too heavy. He slipped backward and fell into the tub, his legs hooked over the edge and elbows smacking into the opposite side with hollow thuds.

"Sorry, Zylas," I panted. "Amalia, get the hot water on."

She spun the tap and water blasted from the showerhead, spraying across him. His dark eyes went wide.

"Cold!" he gasped, seizing the tub's edge. With sudden strength, he hauled himself up.

"It'll get warm in a minute!" I exclaimed. Amalia and I caught his shoulders and held him back. The last thing we needed was for him to collapse on the floor. "Just wait—"

He grabbed the front of my shirt and tried to pull himself out of the water—almost yanking me down on top of him.

"Idiot demon!" Amalia shoved him under the spray. He landed hard, water drenching him. "Would you toughen up for a damn sec—"

Zylas's head lolled back, half-lidded eyes emptying as though a light had been flicked off. He went limp.

My heart gave one panicked lurch and stopped. "Turn off the water!"

Amalia wrenched on the tap. The water cut off.

"Zylas?" Putting a knee on the tub's edge, I pressed a hand to his cheek, then patted it gently. No reaction. I held my fingers over his nose and mouth, lightheaded with relief when I felt his breath. "Zylas?"

Amalia leaned over his other side. "I think he's unconscious." Her stunned stare turned to me. "We just knocked out a demon with cold water."

Should we have realized that cold water would have the opposite effect to hot water? "Let's get him out again."

Together, we hauled the demon out of the tub, then ran the shower until the rickety pipes produced a steady stream of steaming water. We heaved him back under the flow, straining several muscles each.

I checked his head was safely away from the water, then reluctantly faced the bathroom mirror. No wonder the Good Samaritan who'd driven me home had suggested we go to the hospital. My clothes were singed black, smeared with blood, coated in dirt, and torn in several places.

Wincing with each movement, I tugged two of my three sweaters off, removed the infernus from around my neck, and pulled the notebook page and photo out of my last layer. I handed everything to Amalia.

"Can you please put those in my room, then run a spare blanket and some towels through the dryer on high?"

She nodded, took the objects, and left. With a peek to ensure Zylas was still out cold, I stripped down to my underwear, located a box of bandages and rubbing alcohol wipes, and cleaned the scrapes and scratches all over my body. Between my fall through a ceiling and the demon magic explosion, I was looking decidedly worse for wear.

I checked on Zylas again, then hurried into my bedroom. As I pulled on sweatpants and a soft sweater, Amalia stuck her head in. "You decent? Good. Tell me what happened."

Grimacing, I outlined our vampire nest infiltration and its depressing results.

"Another demon stole all the documents?" she repeated incredulously, following me back to the bathroom.

"Not just any demon." Sitting on the tub's edge, I checked that Zylas was still breathing. "Claude's demon."

"Guess he wanted his stuff back. Did you see the supreme asshole himself?"

"No, just the demon. I'm not sure what kind of contract Claude has with it, but that demon has way more autonomy than it should." Fighting my despair, I wet my hand in the steamy spray and rubbed the blood off Zylas's neck. "Chances are, Claude and the vampires now have enough information to find Uncle Jack."

"And we've got nothing." She tugged on her ponytail. "I still don't understand what vampires have to do with all this."

"Demon blood." I splashed water on the punctures in Zylas's arm. "Those vampires have been drinking demon blood, and it makes them as strong and fast as a demon. They said their ‘lord' has promised them even more demon blood to feast on."

"Where are they getting demon blood from? Aside from Zylas." She gazed at him, nose wrinkled, then sighed. "Gotta say, I actually feel bad for him."

I felt worse than bad. Guilt dragged at my lungs.

She left me to babysit my demon, and I fretted over his unresponsive state. After my one vampire bite experience, the tranquilizing effect had worn off quickly, but who knew how much worse it affected demons? Either way, his blood loss was my bigger concern; until he recovered enough to heal himself with magic, he would be weak.

My guilt growing, I pushed his wet hair off his face, then combed my fingers through the tangles. I was considering grabbing my hairbrush when he stirred. His eyes cracked open, the faintest hint of scarlet glowing in their depths.

"Hey," I said softly.

"Sahvē," he replied, equally quiet, his husky tones rougher than usual.

"I'm sorry about the cold water. I didn't realize…"

Inhaling sharply, he pushed himself into a sitting position, the water pouring across his legs and lower torso. He angled his head away from the spray—away from me. "I did not tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"If I am very weakened, too much cold will kill me."

My stomach swooped in dread. How close had we come to accidentally snuffing out his life? "You should have warned me about that."

"Why would I tell you easy ways to kill me?"

Another swoop in my middle—a different kind. Jaw tightening, I reached down, heedless of the water misting my sleeve, and gripped his chin. I pulled his head toward me and growled, "Zylas Vh'alyir, you are zh'ūltis."

He bared his teeth and jerked away from my hand.

"I'm not your enemy," I told him angrily. "We're partners. We help each other. I can't fight like you, but I'll do everything I can to protect you like you protect me."

His anger faltered, his brow creasing.

"So don't be a stubborn idiot. Tell me important things like how not to kill you by accident!"

He snarled in answer.

I turned my back on him and folded my arms, fuming. If I was fuming, I didn't have to admit I was hurt that he still didn't trust me. Did he really think I would murder him the next time he was vulnerable?

"Drādah," he muttered.

I ignored him, nursing my righteous anger.

"Drādah." More insistent. Annoyed. Well, he could be annoyed. Served him right for so much as thinking I would—

His wet arm snaked around my waist and he pulled me backward into the tub. I yelped but his hand caught my head before it could hit the tiled wall, and I landed on his lap, the hot water drenching my clothes.

"Zylas!" I exclaimed furiously, hoping I wasn't blushing but knowing I was. "What are you doing? You—"

When my glare snapped to his face, I forgot what I was saying. He gazed at me with a deepening crease between his brows, as though I were a math equation he couldn't quite solve.

"What will you do, drādah, when you have the grimoire?"

"What do you mean?" I asked weakly, unable to look away from his probing stare. Our faces were much, much too close. "I'll translate it and see if it has answers about how to send you home."

"What if it doesn't?"

"I'll keep searching until I find a way."

He studied me, his dark eyes prying deep. "If I die, you will not have to do that."

My mouth fell open in disbelief. "If—"

"You said that, before me, you did not need protection. If I die, you will not be in danger. You will not need me. If I die, you will be free of these burdens."

"I don't—"

"You want me to die." His wet hand closed over my mouth, silencing my immediate protest. "I thought this, but then I was bitten and could not move. You could have run away. You could have left me."

I tugged on his wrist, forcing his hand off my mouth. "I would never have left you. You didn't leave me when I was bitten."

"I promised to protect you. You made no promise. You—"

"Then I'll promise right now. I'm not strong like you and I know it isn't worth much, but…" I stared hard into his eyes. "Zylas, I promise to protect you however I can, no matter what, until you return to your world."

He lowered his hand. "No, drādah, you cannot make that promise."

"Why not?" I asked fiercely.

"I cannot protect you if you are protecting me." He leaned in, bringing our faces closer. "Be smarter, drādah. Say this instead: ‘Zylas, I promise to be your ally.'"

"Your ally?" I repeated, bemused.

"An ally helps and does not harm, but an ally is not…" He paused, searching for the right word. "An ally does not do stupid things and die."

A laugh bubbled in my throat. "So an ally isn't self-sacrificing, is what you mean. Okay, fine. Zylas, I promise to be your ally."

He blinked slowly. "Hnn."

"What?"

"I have never had an ally." He shrugged one shoulder. "No demon will ally with my House."

"What about the demons in your House?"

"Guh. They have sworn to me, but they are useless. More useless than you."

"Thanks," I said dryly. "But even a demon with half your strength and skill would be better than me."

"No," he said confidently. "They are zh'ūltis and nailēris."

"Nah-ill-leer-iss?"

"Easy to scare," he translated. "Coward is your word, na?"

"Haven't you called me that before?"

"I called you nailis. Weak. You are not nailēris."

He didn't think I was a coward? Well, that made one of us.

"But I am zh'ūltis," I reminded him. "You've told me about a hundred times."

"Hnn." He tilted his head. "Only sometimes, drādah."

My eyebrows rose and I smiled slowly. "Are you feeling okay, Zylas? You just told me I'm not stupid all the time and I'm less useless than some demons. I don't think you've ever said so many nice things."

His tail slapped the tub with a splash. "I have more insults if you want."

"I have just as many," I retorted. "We can start with how you thought I might try to kill you."

"Everyone tries to kill me, drādah."

My humor fizzled, an odd ache gripping my chest. I shoved the feeling away and slapped his shoulder lightly. "I'm not everyone, stubborn demon. I'm your contractor."

He snorted.

The dryer buzzed loudly, breaking the odd moment. My cheeks flushed and I hastily dragged myself out of the tub—and off his lap. Water dripped all over the bathmat and I sighed at having drenched the clothes I'd only put on ten minutes ago. Leaving Zylas to soak, I returned to my bedroom to change.

The water shut off, and a moment later, a soaking-wet demon walked into my room. His steps lacked his usual grace, but he was steady on his feet.

"Wait here," I ordered. "I'll be right back."

I returned with an armful of hot towels from the dryer. He stood at the foot of the bed, water running down his face, exhaustion clinging to him. I flipped a towel over his head, swung a second over his shoulders, then reached up and scrubbed his hair, careful not to catch the towel on his small horns.

"If you want to lie down on my bed," I said before he could complain, "you need to be dry first."

He grumbled something under his breath, then plucked at the straps over his shoulder. The buckles came undone and he pulled his chest armor off. It hit the floor with a thunk, just missing my toes.

I pulled the towel off his head, his hair mussed in every direction. Shedding the towel on his shoulders, he resumed stripping off his armor. Blushing all over again, I retreated to the laundry closet and pulled my spare blanket, reserved for the coldest winter nights, out of the dryer. A faint burnt smell clung to the overheated fabric. By the time I returned, Zylas was stretched across my mattress on his stomach, head pillowed on his arms and reasonably dry. Also, again, naked from the waist up.

Could he keep his clothes on for more than a few hours? Geez.

I flipped the warm blanket over him. "Are you going to heal yourself?"

"Later," he mumbled. "It is difficult vīsh and I am… what is the word for when the ground is moving but not moving?"

My eyebrows scrunched together. "Do you mean dizzy?"

"Var. I am too much dizzy."

I twisted my hands together helplessly. "Those vampires really had a thing for your blood, didn't they?"

"Na, of course." He peered at me with one eye. "Hh'ainun blood tastes terrible."

I giggled despite the fatigue weighing down my limbs. My back ached so badly I couldn't fully straighten my spine. I gazed at the demon in my bed, then sighed and climbed onto the mattress beside him, on top of the blanket while he was under it. He watched me, head resting on his folded arms.

Plumping a pillow, I propped it against the wall—I didn't have a headboard—and leaned into it, legs stretched out. The ache in my spine lessened slightly.

My gaze turned, seeking the object I'd been pointedly ignoring. The infernus lay on my bedside table, the chain curled neatly around the disc-like pendant. And beside it, crumpled and stained, were my graduation photo and the notebook page I'd found amidst the "garbage" the vampires had discarded.

Something akin to panic boiled through my chest. I sucked in a deep, shaky breath and steeled my heart. Ignoring the tremble in my fingers, I carefully lifted the lined paper off the table.

Dear Robin,

Hey there, little bird. If you're reading this, it means I can't say those words to you anymore. And it means, whatever happened, I didn't get to tell you some important things I needed to share. But I already told you the most important thing. I told you every day:

I love you, baby girl. Your father and I love you so much, and we're so proud of you.

The other things, they aren't as easy to say. They aren't pleasant to hear. There's so much I should have told you, and even as I write this letter, I know I should be saying all this right now, face to face. But how can a mother tell her daughter that her life and her dreams have to change? If I can spare you this burden for even one more day, how can I not?

It's because of our desire to protect you, Robin, that we've hidden so much.

I guess I should start at the beginning. The Athanas Grimoire. I've shown you this grimoire, but I never told you what it really is. To most of the mythic world, it's an ancient myth nearly forgotten. But for our family, it's our past, present, and future. It's our legacy and our burden—a burden that, if you're reading this letter, is now yours. And because of my shortsightedness, you're completely unprepared to shoulder it.

That's my fault, and my greatest regret. I should have prepared you. I should have nurtured your love of magic and Arcana, not pushed you away from all power. I thought if you could leave magic behind entirely, the grimoire would be even safer in your care than mine.

I was so wrong. Instead of keeping you safe, I've left you unarmed.

But Robin, I know how strong you are. How smart and capable. You're ready for this, little bird. Your inquisitive heart will lead you where you need to go. You'll find the answers I never could.

I've written so much and I still haven't explained the grimoire—what it is and what it means. It's among the most dangerous books to ever exist. That's why we've kept it hidden. Those who covet power nearly wiped our family out of existence trying to get it, and only by fleeing to America and changing her name did your great-grandmother end the bloodbath.

You see, Robin, our family aren't merely Arcana mythics. We're demon summoners—generation upon unbroken generation of summoners. We weren't just the best. We were the first

I stared at the last word. Her handwriting filled both sides of the paper, loopy and so familiar, but the last sentence cut off, incomplete and unfinished. There must've been a second page, maybe several pages. Lost in the destruction, the fire, the collapsed ceiling.

My vision blurred, causing the final line to waver. We were the first … the first to do what?

A sob shuddered through me and I fought for composure. Zylas was watching me and I didn't want to break down in front of him. He'd already called me stupid for crying from grief, and I didn't want to hear it again. I rubbed my sleeve across my eyes and sniffed.

His gaze weighed on me, heavy and assessing. "What does it read?"

The quiet question caught me off guard. I glanced at his scarlet-tinged eyes and refocused on the page. Swallowing, I read the letter aloud. My voice trembled but I made it to the end without breaking.

"There's no more," I concluded. "The rest of the letter probably burned with everything else."

"What happened to the other papers?"

"The other demon… Claude's demon took them." I slumped miserably. "You knew he was there, didn't you? That's why you tried to call me back."

"I sensed his vīsh. I could have sensed it before he got so close but I was not paying attention."

"It isn't your fault. We weren't in a position to escape anyway." I glanced at my desk where the grimoire page and half-completed translation sat. "What kind of demon is he?"

"Dh'irath. Second House. He is very powerful."

"Do you know him?"

"No, but Dh'irath is always powerful. He will be the same to fight as Tahēsh."

Despair clung to me, filling my mind with doubts. Could we find Uncle Jack before either Claude or the vampires? Would I ever get the grimoire back? Maybe I could send Zylas home without it, but what other dangerous secrets did it contain?

"Well," I said heavily, "Claude and his demon have all the important documents the vampires collected, and everything else was destroyed. We have nothing."

"We have no less than we had before, drādah."

I absorbed that. He was right. We hadn't gained any ground, but neither had we lost any. It could've been worse.

My gaze drifted to the bite mark on Zylas's neck. It could've been much worse.