Chosen - Kiersten White Page 0,21

someone who knows where to find what we need. And, hey, maybe we’ll luck out and find another option. Gotta be flexible. It’s how we stay young.” He grins the desperate please acknowledge I am still young grin only a man in his early thirties would.

“I have never been young,” the Sleeping One says. “I have always been here. I will always be here. I cannot stay here under these circumstances. To know infinity and be powerless to touch it is the cruelest fate of all.”

The demon bound in the corner whimpers. Artemis feels a pit of dread in her stomach that they’re going to see a crueler fate in a few minutes.

The Sleeping One slides the knife right into his own ear, as far and deep as it will go. Sean turns a shade of green more often found on demons. Honora pops her gum. Artemis watches. The Sleeping One slowly withdraws the knife. It oozes with a shimmering luminescence that fades to nothing in the air.

“Still so quiet,” he says.

“Time for the quarterly sacrifice.” Sean straightens his tie and tries to brusquely move them back to business as usual as he pulls out a sword and approaches the demon in the corner.

Means to an end, Artemis thinks to herself, not taking her eyes off the hellgod she’s going to defeat all on her own.

Suck it, Slayers.

8

DOUG AND I DRIVE TO the port in Dublin, where we steer onto the cheapest ferry to England. I didn’t want to take a car at all—with this one gone, the castle only has one vehicle left, and apparently sleazebags are our only options for enough money to replace them—but public transportation isn’t really an option with Doug’s obviously not-human face.

As it is, he sits in the passenger seat with a hoodie on, hood up over his horns and his face as shadowed as possible.

I climb back into the car in the bottom of the ferry with two Cokes and some snacks. I hold out one of the Cokes, and Doug looks at me as though I’m daft.

“Right. Sorry.” I forget sometimes just how demon-y Doug really is. He fits in so well at the castle. The differences between us don’t seem to matter. Differences like the fact that I eat food and he eats emotions.

His stomach rumbles in response to my thoughts. “No offense, Nina, love, but you are barely a snack these days. More like an after-dinner mint. One of those unwrapped buttermints that’s been in a tin for years, and when you try to pull it out, it’s stuck to three others, and you know you don’t want it, but you’ve already committed, so you pop it in your mouth and regret every decision you’ve ever made that brought you to that point.”

“I think I should be offended by that.”

Doug shrugs. “I think you and I should talk about why you’re so unhappy.”

“Or we could enjoy this ferry ride with an incredible view of the backside of a Mini for the next several hours. What do they call the bigger Mini Coopers? Maxi Coopers? Mega Coopers?”

Doug doesn’t take my desperate topic change bait. “I never officially met Leo,” he says. “But judging by the pain, he was pretty special.”

I groan, slumping in my seat. I can’t talk about it because then I’ll have to think about it, and I can’t think about it. “Am I prying into your personal life? Asking questions about Jade?”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind talking about it. At first it was flattering, yeah? She’s cute. Her happiness had a nice sort of lemon twist to it. Tart and surprising.”

“That’s weird. But also intriguing. What does everyone else taste like?”

“Rhys tastes like freshly cut grass smells. But when Cillian is around, he tastes like bubble gum. And Cillian tastes like—mmm, let’s see. Have you ever been starving and walked into a bakery and the first deep breath in almost hurts, it’s so good? That’s him. Imogen …” He pauses. “You know, it’s weird. I don’t like smelling her.”

“Bad?”

“Not bad. Just … off. She makes the back of my throat itch.”

“Maybe you’re allergic to her! Is that possible?”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

“What does my mom taste like?”

“I rarely get anything from your mom at all. Good or bad. That woman has worked very, very hard to be emotionless. She’s been through a lot.”

I scowl. I don’t like feeling bad for my mom, because it means I have to feel less bad for myself and everything Artemis and I went through being