fix whatever genetic quirk
made me a demon. Oh gods, how could I be a demon ? Shouldn’t
I have figured that out by myself? Why did someone have to point
out such obvious things for me to finally add it all together to
equal demon? As my thoughts touched on Breandan, my body went
haywire. My heart sounded to pound and my hands became slick with
sweat. Where was he? Would I see him again? In the space of one
morning my whole life had been turned upside down, yet the thought
of never seeing or touching him again was… unbearable.
I got irritated with myself. I’d come to the
Library for a quiet place to think and figure out what I was going
to do, not moan about what had already happened. I needed a plan of
action. I needed to remain calm, and collected, and work this thing
out. I tried to get comfortable on the hard wooden seat, but the
feeling of discomfort that had appeared when Breandan left had
lingered, and in the last few minutes had changed slightly. The
splinter wasn’t burrowing under my skin anymore, but had almost,
insistent. Like, ‘look here I am’.
The door opened. Sounds and smells of the
world rushed in, breaking my reflective bubble. I jerked up. In a
lifetime of habit, I shied inward and prepared myself to become
part of the furniture.
A boy, blazer collar turned up sauntered into
the room. White hair flopped down to conceal one of his sparkling
eyes. The gods be damned, it was Devlin. Rather than launching into
a tirade of accusations like I expected, he said nothing. He simply
stared at me like I was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.
It made me feel like a butterfly, entangled in a web of lies, and
waiting for the spider to pounce.
The solid silence was driving me mad. “Hai,
Devlin.” My voice was strained.
“You don’t like me very much,” he said.
A few responses played on my lips before I
chose, “Direct.”
“That boy we saw outside Demon Theory, how
long have you known him?” I looked away, stayed silent. “It was a
simple question.” He paused. “Boys from the slums can be
dangerous.” His voice held an undercurrent of humor that I didn’t
like. It was like he knew Breandan was not from the slums. Like he
knew he was…
I looked down at my shoes. “I’m not talking
about this.”
“May I ask why?”
There was that odd speech pattern again.
There were so many different dialects mixed in with the broken slum
speak, that it was difficult to determine someone’s roots just by
how they spoke unless they told you. I knew next to nothing about
Devlin, but his manner of speaking was familiar to me. Where had I
heard it before?
“Not your business,” I replied
succinctly.
His face darkened, as if he had guessed the
direction of my thoughts.
“What do you want, Devlin? Making good on a
bet to embarrass the misfit?” My cheeks got hot. “Why do you keep
trying to be friends with me and how did you know about–” I shut
up. I was meant to be pretending I didn’t know what he was talking
about when he said I had a vampire in my wardrobe. Scrunching my
brows, I shook my head. “I don’t know you, and you’re questioning
me? Being a fellow Disciple does not give you a hold over me.
Despite what you think I can talk to whoever I like. It’s my
business and I’m dealing, so stay out of it.”
His eyes lit with a shocking fierceness and I
jerked back. His constant intensity was disconcerting, but he
seemed to know nothing else to be a threat to me. Clearly, he’d
managed to catch a glimpse of Tomas, put the pale skin, fast
movement together and figured, vampire. But to prove it he
would first have to get someone to listen and believe him so that
he could be allowed into the Bayou, the girl’s dorms, to show them.
Would he risk his reputation on a whim like that? I was panicking
for no reason. He had nothing. I managed a polite smile. I stood up
and marched past him.
“Well, I’ll see you around.” He grabbed my
arm and I lashed out with a hard shove.
made me a demon. Oh gods, how could I be a demon ? Shouldn’t
I have figured that out by myself? Why did someone have to point
out such obvious things for me to finally add it all together to
equal demon? As my thoughts touched on Breandan, my body went
haywire. My heart sounded to pound and my hands became slick with
sweat. Where was he? Would I see him again? In the space of one
morning my whole life had been turned upside down, yet the thought
of never seeing or touching him again was… unbearable.
I got irritated with myself. I’d come to the
Library for a quiet place to think and figure out what I was going
to do, not moan about what had already happened. I needed a plan of
action. I needed to remain calm, and collected, and work this thing
out. I tried to get comfortable on the hard wooden seat, but the
feeling of discomfort that had appeared when Breandan left had
lingered, and in the last few minutes had changed slightly. The
splinter wasn’t burrowing under my skin anymore, but had almost,
insistent. Like, ‘look here I am’.
The door opened. Sounds and smells of the
world rushed in, breaking my reflective bubble. I jerked up. In a
lifetime of habit, I shied inward and prepared myself to become
part of the furniture.
A boy, blazer collar turned up sauntered into
the room. White hair flopped down to conceal one of his sparkling
eyes. The gods be damned, it was Devlin. Rather than launching into
a tirade of accusations like I expected, he said nothing. He simply
stared at me like I was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.
It made me feel like a butterfly, entangled in a web of lies, and
waiting for the spider to pounce.
The solid silence was driving me mad. “Hai,
Devlin.” My voice was strained.
“You don’t like me very much,” he said.
A few responses played on my lips before I
chose, “Direct.”
“That boy we saw outside Demon Theory, how
long have you known him?” I looked away, stayed silent. “It was a
simple question.” He paused. “Boys from the slums can be
dangerous.” His voice held an undercurrent of humor that I didn’t
like. It was like he knew Breandan was not from the slums. Like he
knew he was…
I looked down at my shoes. “I’m not talking
about this.”
“May I ask why?”
There was that odd speech pattern again.
There were so many different dialects mixed in with the broken slum
speak, that it was difficult to determine someone’s roots just by
how they spoke unless they told you. I knew next to nothing about
Devlin, but his manner of speaking was familiar to me. Where had I
heard it before?
“Not your business,” I replied
succinctly.
His face darkened, as if he had guessed the
direction of my thoughts.
“What do you want, Devlin? Making good on a
bet to embarrass the misfit?” My cheeks got hot. “Why do you keep
trying to be friends with me and how did you know about–” I shut
up. I was meant to be pretending I didn’t know what he was talking
about when he said I had a vampire in my wardrobe. Scrunching my
brows, I shook my head. “I don’t know you, and you’re questioning
me? Being a fellow Disciple does not give you a hold over me.
Despite what you think I can talk to whoever I like. It’s my
business and I’m dealing, so stay out of it.”
His eyes lit with a shocking fierceness and I
jerked back. His constant intensity was disconcerting, but he
seemed to know nothing else to be a threat to me. Clearly, he’d
managed to catch a glimpse of Tomas, put the pale skin, fast
movement together and figured, vampire. But to prove it he
would first have to get someone to listen and believe him so that
he could be allowed into the Bayou, the girl’s dorms, to show them.
Would he risk his reputation on a whim like that? I was panicking
for no reason. He had nothing. I managed a polite smile. I stood up
and marched past him.
“Well, I’ll see you around.” He grabbed my
arm and I lashed out with a hard shove.
Similar Books
