overlook,” he says. “Humans don’t stay where they’re not wanted. And your father’s made it clear Jake’s not wanted here. He’ll leave you. One day, he will.”
A hot, round tear spills over my lashes and races down my cheek. The crystals dissolve. The room is bright and alive again. Still I say nothing.
“Oh, she knows where to find him,” Damien says. “I’m certain of it.”
“She doesn’t, though,” Kaylee says. I want to clamp a hand over her mouth, keep her quiet. Keep her invisible to Damien, but his crocodile eyes settle on her. “Check the phone,” she says. “The one you took from me.”
His eyes are slits now, disbelief narrowing them.
“Dude, just check the phone!” Her voice is shrill, agitated. “We’ve been trying to get ahold of him. He hasn’t . . . hasn’t been answering.”
He pulls Kaylee’s phone from his pocket and throws it at her. “Show me.”
Her deft fingers scroll and click. “Here,” she says, shoving it at him. “I told you.”
Damien takes the phone and reads. His face is unreadable. Is he angry? Is he scared?
And then it vibrates. The phone in his hand. Kaylee’s phone.
We gasp as one.
“One new message,” Damien says.
He presses the face with his gigantic index finger.
And then he smiles. Those white teeth glare back at us. “It seems your boyfriend’s on his way, Brielle. These things are good to know.”
“You can’t . . . don’t . . .” The words are jumbled on my tongue.
“Oh, I can,” Damien says. “And I’ll enjoy it.”
Dad’s off the couch and on top of Damien before I can move—before the demon realizes what’s happening. Kaylee and I scream. We grab for Dad, his shoulders, his shirt, but Damien’s faster than both of us. And he’s stronger. He leans back, his hands buried in Dad’s chest, and throws all two hundred and fifty pounds of him over his head and into the television. I’m sure there’s a crash, some kind of loud collision, but the world goes silent and all I hear is that singing again.
My eyes are on Dad, on the mass of electronics and denim, but I don’t move. I can’t. Kaylee’s there now, at his side, and I’m grateful because I can’t move. I’m paralyzed by the Sabres’ song. So much louder. So much closer than I’ve ever heard it.
And it seems I’m not the only one. Damien stands to his feet, blocking my view of Dad. His head is cocked, his dead eyes boring into mine.
We stare at one another and we listen.
Eight . . . nine . . . ten seconds of heart-stirring melody. And then Damien’s eyes open wide—wider than I’ve ever seen them—and he vanishes.
“Brielle!” Kaylee’s voice breaks through the music and brings me back to the living room. “Brielle!”
She’s trying to heft the television off Dad, but she’s nowhere near strong enough. I slide to my knees at her side, and we lift the television off his chest and onto the floor. Dad lies faceup, unconscious, his forehead bleeding onto the blue carpet. I press my ear to his mouth—he’s breathing—and to his chest—heart’s beating. Other than the gash on his head, he seems okay.
I grab my favorite quilt off the ottoman and press the corner of it to his wound.
“Here,” I tell Kaylee. “Hold this.”
She does, her hands remarkably still after what we’ve just seen.
I stand and turn my eyes to the ceiling.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
“No,” she says. “But if we get out of this, I’m so going to church with you on Sunday.”
I laugh, a bizarre vibration that seems to erupt from my throat, but in my frustration it dies quickly.
“Where did he go?” Kaylee asks, her head whipping around.
“I don’t know.”
Try as I may, I can’t see through the ceiling.
Why can’t I control this angel eyes thing?
I scan the house, looking high and low, but there’s no sign of the Celestial in here. Even the sludge of fear on Kaylee’s face has disappeared from sight.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, diving over Dad and out the front door.
I stumble into the clearing between Jake’s house and mine. The sun kisses my neck and face, thawing my skin. The smells of hot pine and mowed grass tickle my nostrils as I turn my eyes here and there praying for celestial sight, for something to indicate where Damien went and what he’s up to.
And that’s when a thousand daggers come tumbling toward me.