slowly, staying connected with her gaze. Trying to keep her rooted.
“And a different one wouldn’t have come here unless it was looking for me,” she said.
“Correct. But only an older one would be looking for you. An older one hasn’t come through here.”
Her face fell. She lowered her chin.
He turned back to the door and glanced at the threshold. He was about to find out if he was wrong.
He stepped through the door.
All that awaited him was silence and the stale air of a closed-up house. He reached back for Charity and felt her palm connect with his. It was extremely unlikely that a demon would creep up behind them and rip Charity away, but weirder things had happened. He wanted to make sure she stayed with him.
Pop.
A thrill ran through his body. He looked to the right, waiting. Four smaller pops followed before silence regained its dominance.
“The house makes sounds all the time,” Charity whispered, pushing her side up against his backside. She must’ve been watching their six. She might’ve been a novice to magic, but thank God she wasn’t a novice to danger. “It’s old. Solid, but it shifts, I guess. Settles.”
Devon took another step into the stuffy space. Charity stepped with him, their movements perfectly in sync.
“Done some burglary?” he asked despite himself, his lips lifting in a grin. Only those up to mischief could move like this. He should know.
“Where I grew up, there was nothing to steal except drugs, and that would get someone dead real quick.” She paused as they stepped again. “The bedrooms are at the back.”
They walked with unneeded stealth through an entryway that opened up into a modest living room with brand-new furniture. A side hallway led back to a kitchen.
“This place seems small for someone like Samantha,” Devon said quietly, not wanting to disturb the static of the house. “You still watching our six?”
“Yeah. We’re clear. Her parents were trying to teach her humility.”
Devon snorted as they reached the kitchen and kept edging down the hallway. Two rooms branched off, one large, a master suite, and a smallish bedroom. As expected, Charity walked past him into the smaller room. Once inside, she snatched a duffel bag from the back of her closet and dropped it in front of a particle-board dresser.
Devon stepped into Samantha’s room. A whirlwind of clothes and jewelry littered the various surfaces, representing thousands of dollars’ worth of fashion. A whiff of vamp lingered in the stagnant air. In contrast, the moment he stepped into Charity’s sparse, orderly room, he received a punch of vamp smell.
It had definitely come back for Charity. When it couldn’t find its easy prey, it had left for other attractions.
Not good.
“Why not leave her in the dorm?” Devon asked, picking up their conversation.
“Apparently some things cannot be tolerated.”
Devon thought he heard a little snark in that statement. Was she judging Samantha?
He leaned forward to get a glimpse of Charity’s face. Passive as always.
Why the hell was she giving him such a hard time when she’d let Samantha off so easily? He nearly asked, but a part of him feared the answer. For some reason, he didn’t want this woman to stand in judgment of him.
Any more than she already had, that was.
But he couldn’t let it go. “Why’d you move with her? Why didn’t you stay in the dorms?”
Charity looked up at him with a furrowed brow. “Are you kidding? Why did I leave the dorms…for a house?” She laughed softly and opened her top dresser drawer. “Samantha’s okay. When she isn’t trying to live up to other people’s expectations for snobbery, she’s mostly down-to-earth. I pay the same rent for a lot more space. I’d be a freaking dummy not to tag along.”
Devon had to agree. He’d hated the dorms.
He crossed the room and peeked through the curtain. “Your luck, you’d probably get another yup-yup anyway.”
“Exactly. One without any redeeming qualities. Like you.” Charity laughed, a carefree sound that bespoke of green fields and blooming flowers.
Devon shook his head, but he felt himself thawing. He wiped the pad of his finger across the desk and then rubbed it against his thumb. No dust. He shook the desk, and then stopped when it wobbled fiercely. She’d probably found it on the street. No frame held her full-sized bed, and besides a random marble and a few crystals, her one decorative item was a porcelain statue of a ballerina. The pink paint on the tutu was worn and faded. Cracks lined the legs