of her, and always would be. She didn’t know who she would be without it – without him. And she didn’t want to find out.
Chapter 14
They parked outside the bookshop that Cyrus’s mother, Margaret, owned.
‘How’s she doing? Do you know?’ Evie asked.
‘No,’ said Ash. ‘We’ve only seen her once. She came to the warehouse a week or so after it happened and collected a few of Cyrus’s things. Told us we were welcome to stay there for a while if we needed a place to live. But we haven’t seen her or heard from her since.’
‘She didn’t look so good though,’ Vero added, almost redundantly.
Margaret had lost her only child. Evie could imagine that Margaret was probably doing worse than she was, given that Cyrus was her only child and she had spent her life trying to protect him from the thing that had eventually killed him.
Evie cast a glance in the direction of the bookshop that Margaret owned. It was bustling this weekend morning with young couples and arty-looking types, all reading their papers while sipping their lattes at the tables inside. Everyone was so oblivious, so unaware of what was going on around them, of the fact that three Hunters were sitting in a car a few metres away and that the city was being overrun with demons.
‘So are we going in, then?’ asked Evie finally, trying to ignore the thrumming headache crashing against her skull and her overwhelming tiredness.
Ash twisted around to look at her over his shoulder, his dark eyes hooded by lack of sleep and maybe something else – something that seemed more like an apology.
‘Maybe it’s better if you wait out here,’ he said, avoiding looking at her directly.
An uncomfortable silence filled the car. Vero started fidgeting with the door handle.
‘I know why you’re saying that,’ Evie said in as even a voice as she could summon, ‘but I want to come in.’
Ash studied her for a moment and then exhaled loudly while mumbling something which sounded to Evie like, It’s your funeral.
They strolled through the café part of the shop, dodging and weaving around outstretched legs, and had almost made it to the door at the back of the store that led up to Margaret’s office when a waitress – a tall girl with dark hair in braids – stepped in front of Evie and let out an ear-splitting squeal. Her name was Darcy. Evie remembered her from before.
‘You! You’re one of Cyrus’s friends!’ the girl screeched. ‘Were, I mean. Weren’t you in his band?’
Evie’s gaze shifted to the muffin and coffee sitting on the tray the girl was carrying. ‘Yeah, something like that,’ she mumbled.
‘It’s terrible, isn’t it?’ Darcy said, her voice cracking and her eyes beginning to shine with tears. ‘So hard to believe. There one minute, gone the next. Just crossing a street. I mean it’s just – it could have happened to anyone.’
Evie felt the scream building inside her. For an instant she entertained the idea of kicking the tray out of the girl’s hands and watching it fly across the store. Her rage was simmering dangerously and she fought to bring it back under control. It couldn’t have just happened to anyone. That was the thing – that was what she was mad about. Cyrus had given his life to save the world and no one even knew about his sacrifice. It was so damn unfair.
Suddenly she felt fingers squeezing her arm and glancing down saw Vero’s hand circling her wrist, gripping it in warning. Evie realised that her hands were fisted and her body tensed to spring. She took a deep breath and forced a smile before walking around Darcy and pushing through the door.
Even from a distance Evie could feel Margaret, that familiar buzzing sensation hitting her right in the solar plexus. The three of them hesitated for a moment in front of the door before Ash knocked tentatively.
‘Mrs Locke?’ he called out. ‘It’s me, Ash. We’ve come to talk to you. Can we come in?’ he asked.
They heard footsteps dragging towards the door, a shuffling sound as the key was turned in the lock. Finally the door fell open and Evie did an immediate double take.
The woman standing in the doorway was a spectre, as hollow-eyed as a skeleton, unrecognisable from the woman she’d been just two months before. Margaret’s clothes hung off jutting bones and her short, honey-coloured hair was greasy and uncombed. She stared glassy-eyed at Ash before her gaze roved over Evie.