Slaying Monsters for the Feeble - Annette Marie Page 0,77
change. The lunch rush had dispersed, leaving the streets much quieter.
“Hmm, well.” Amalia cast me a sharp smile. “We might not know what’s going on with Claude and the vampires, but we do have this.”
She held up the snapshot of Uncle Jack and the bearded stranger standing over a dead moose.
“What’s special about that?”
“This,” she declared, waving the photo, “is where we’re going to find my dad.”
Not even a hot shower could calm the nerves churning through my gut. I rubbed a towel over my hair, watching my reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror. A thin white scar stood out against the smooth skin of my neck; the sight of it always chilled me. My blue eyes were tired and a seemingly permanent wrinkle of worry had formed between my eyebrows.
In less than twelve hours, I might finally reclaim my mother’s grimoire.
According to Amalia, that photo was the clue she’d needed to figure out her dad’s location. She’d booked a rental car so we could drive out to the property in the photo, owned by the bearded man whose identity Claude hadn’t been able to uncover.
If she was right, my uncle would be there, and almost eight months after my parents’ deaths, I would have in my hands their most treasured possession—a possession they might have died protecting. The two letters my mother had written, one to her brother and one to her daughter, sat on my bedside table. I would bring them with me tomorrow, and when I saw Uncle Jack, I would demand not only the grimoire, but answers. And, unlike our past confrontations, I wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.
The girl he’d bullied and dismissed seemed like a stranger to me now. The new and improved Robin was a contractor. She regularly pitted her will against an ornery demon. She had faced an escaped demon from the powerful First House, a rogue guild, and unnaturally powerful vampires. She wouldn’t be intimidated by her portly, middle-aged, cowardly uncle.
Or so I hoped.
I scrunched the water from my hair, considered blow-drying it, then decided I was too tired. Throwing my towel over the edge of the tub—the towel rack lay on the floor, ripped off the wall by Zylas—I pulled on a tank top and cotton PJ shorts.
Cool air rushed into the steamy bathroom when I opened the door. Across the living room, a pair of green eyes reflected the dim light. Socks was curled up on the sofa, watching me, and I crossed the room to scratch her furry ears. The whir of Amalia’s sewing machine accompanied the pattering of the rain against the window. I wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping tonight.
MPD agents hadn’t knocked down our apartment door, so I assumed Zora hadn’t reported my illegal contract yet. I’d tried calling her—six times—but my calls had all gone straight to voicemail. I didn’t dare go to the guild to see if she was there.
All I could do was wait and see what happened. Would Zora pretend she hadn’t seen anything illegal, or would the MPD be waiting for us when we returned from our outing tomorrow?
With a final pat for Socks, I wandered into my room. Only after I’d shut the door did I notice the dark shadow by my window.
Zylas sat on the floor, one shoulder leaning against the wall, his arm resting on the sill. His chin was propped on his forearm, crimson eyes gazing through the rain-streaked glass. Still and silent, he was a statue draped in shadow, the faint light from beyond the window tracing one edge of his jaw. His breath fogged on the glass, a white mist.
A memory slipped into my mind: Rose’s crystal ball. The pale fog, the shadow of Zylas within it. Sitting still and silent, staring into nothing.
Uncertainty rooted my bare feet to the carpet, but I pushed myself forward. His gaze swept up to my face as I approached, his expression indecipherable.
“Are you going out tonight?” I asked softly.
“No.” He returned his attention to the window. “Tonight I will stay.”
He, too, was worried about what the morning might bring.
Another hesitation locked my muscles. Pushing away my inexplicable unease, I sank to the carpet beside him, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. I was dressed for bed and the air was cool on my exposed skin.
“Tomorrow, we might get the grimoire back,” I murmured. “I don’t know how long it will take me to translate it, but … it could