stutter. She looks at me with those gigantic brown eyes of hers and says, “I’ll tell you if you’ll tell me.”
Her eyes are a little too knowing, her lips a little too tight. And I understand that this is that moment. The one Canaan said would come. The mind can’t be forced.
But now she’s asking.
“Are you sure you want to know, Kay? ’Cause once you do, you can’t unknow. It’s just . . . infuriating like that.”
“Infuriating like a halo that gives mysterious boys visions of you dying?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Just like that.”
“Then yeah. I think I can handle it.”
“This is my lunch?” Dad stands in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at the contents of his lunch littering the floor, but I’m still staring at Kaylee. Still considering her words. She did handle the halo far better than I expected.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay?” Dad says. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dad kneel to the floor and start scooping his lunch back into the ice chest. “It’s not okay.”
“Okay,” Kaylee says with a nod.
“I just, I’ve got to do something first.” But even as I say it, I have no idea what I’m going to do.
Damien’s out there.
And the Palatine.
Whatever the heck that is.
Maybe it’s good. Maybe I want the Palatine here.
Jake would know.
But he’s gone and I have no idea where I left my phone.
I stare through the entryway into the living room. I stare at the landline phone sitting next to Dad’s recliner and I try to conjure up Jake’s number, but all I come up with is speed dial 5.
Speed dial 5.
So not helpful.
All of this flies through my head in a matter of seconds, and then I see Damien.
Yes, Damien.
His talons appear first. They wrap around the entryway between the living room and the kitchen. He’s taken some damage during his fight with Helene and bears a series of festering sear marks across his arms and chest.
Still, he’s lethal. And I have no idea how long I’ll be able to see him.
My hands shake. And my legs.
My stomach roils, and I know I’m going to be sick.
God, are You there?
Please, please help me.
A bead of subzero sweat rolls down my spine, and it’s not God who answers. It’s Damien.
His voice snakes into my head, and it’s not melodic like Helene’s or soothing like Canaan’s. It’s gritty and toxic and cold.
“The Palatine are coming? Now?”
He’s asking me?
I don’t nod. I don’t answer.
Why is he asking me?
I try to look away, but his presence in my house is jarring. His chest is slick with fear. It blackens his talons further and pours liberally down my walls.
Is he frightened? Or does he just produce the stuff in vast quantities?
If the idea of the Palatine in Stratus frightens him, maybe they’re on my side. Maybe their presence will send him to the skies.
“Brielle, baby, are you okay?” It’s Dad, and I don’t know what to say. He stands and closes the ice chest. “Brielle?”
Kaylee takes my hand and tugs. Her breath flutters the hair at my ear as she hisses, “You’re doing it again.”
I break eye contact with the monster and look at my dad.
“I’m okay,” I tell him, trying to smile. “Just a little out of sorts, I guess.”
“Maybe you should head back to bed? It’s still early, kid.”
Damien slides down the wall and crouches in the entryway now. Massive shoulders, frayed wings, bulky arms with razor-sharp talons pressing into the linoleum flooring that Dad laid himself.
My father’s huge, but this beast dwarfs him.
It seems he’s willing to wait for a response, though, which baffles me. Will he hurt my father to get one? The thought makes my knees weak. Damien’s just feet from Dad now, and I try to warn him, try to say anything, but my throat just gurgles.
Dad’s brow knots.
Kaylee laughs, but it’s forced, and still I can’t take my eyes from the demon in my house.
“Your dad’s totally right, Elle. You’re a space cadet, and we have tons to do today. I’ll get her to bed, Mr. Matthews. You go. We’ll be fine.”
But leaving me in Kaylee’s “capable” hands does not calm Dad, and he walks toward me. He hefts the ice chest in one hand and takes my chin in the other.
“Tell me you’re all right, baby.”
I can’t avoid his gaze now. He’s there. Blocking everything else with his ruddy beard and his dripping hair. He looks cleaner, younger—the dad of my childhood almost—and for a moment I consider crawling into