ingredient?”
“You need a tear from a demon.”
Donna stared into the mirror, wondering if she’d heard the spirit-girl correctly. A demon tear? “That can’t be right. Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” Miya’s expression was indignant. “That’s the fifth ingredient. It needs to go into the cup.”
Oh, I am so screwed. Really and truly.
Miya’s voice broke into her panicked thoughts. “Shall I tell you a secret?”
“Okay.”
“Demons don’t cry.”
Yep, Donna thought. Totally screwed.
Twelve
Navin screeched to a halt on his bike, nodding with satisfaction as he admired the path he’d gouged in his father’s newly laid gravel driveway. That’s me, he thought. Navin Sharma: rebel without a flaw.
He glanced over at Donna’s house next door. Her aunt’s house, actually. He couldn’t help checking for signs of a miraculous return, even though he had already promised himself to stop looking and hoping. It was instinctive where Underwood was concerned. She was his best friend. What was a dude to do?
Nisha came out of their own house looking severely pissed off. But his little sister was always moaning at him about something. She was fifteen. Wasn’t that her job? It wasn’t like she had much else to do with her time …
“Why do you always have to destroy everything with your stupid bike?”
“Hey, sis! Great to see you too. I’m very well, thanks.” Navin tried to hug her. “And you?”
Nisha ducked out of his arms. “Ew, gross! Stop it or I’ll tell Dad.”
“Dad’s not home,” Navin said, grinning. “And how can you say a hug from your stunningly handsome big brother is gross? Do you have any idea how many of your friends would die to have these arms wrapped around them?”
“I have a pretty good idea,” she replied. “Zero.”
“Face it, I’m a love machine. You just can’t handle how much of a stud I am.”
“No, I just can’t handle how much of a loser you are.” Nisha rolled her eyes and handed him something that looked remarkably like his cell phone. “You left this at home today, loser.”
“Thanks, dork,” he said. “What are you doing here, anyway? Skipping?”
Nisha looked genuinely offended. “I never skip. Study day.”
“Right.” But he wasn’t listening to his sister anymore, because he saw he had a missed call and voicemail from Donna.
He shoved Nisha back inside the house and closed the door on her, ignoring her squawks of outrage while he listened to Donna’s message. Then called his best friend, heart racing.
“Don! You’re home!”
“Hey, Nav. Thanks for calling back.”
“Sure, dude. It’s awesome to hear your voice,” he said. Because it was.
“You too. I’ve missed you, and to show you just how much I’ve missed you, I’m going to request a crazy favor. It’s pretty crazy, okay? Sort of insane. So if you want to say ‘no’ I’d totally understand. In fact, you probably should say no because this could get you in trouble. It could, at the very least, cause you a major headache when you hear what I want you to … um … collect for me.”
She paused, and Navin was about to start asking questions, but Donna was on a roll. “You’ll need help with it. I’ve been trying to get hold of Xan, too, but I have no idea where he is. I mean, it’s not like I’m asking you to do something that’ll get you hurt, or killed, but you could most definitely—”
“Wait,” Navin said. “Just stop talking for a minute. Please?”
Donna immediately went quiet.
The silence stretched out for several seconds. Navin grinned.
“Um,” Donna said. “What’s going on? Why did I have to stop talking?”
“No reason. I just wanted to see if you’d actually do it without asking questions.” He cracked up.
Normally, Donna would be laughing right along with him, and the fact that she wasn’t made him stop.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “I thought you liked it when I made a funny.”
“I love it when you make a funny,” Donna replied. “It’s just that … I don’t have much time. We don’t have much time.”
“Whoa, hold on there, cowgirl. What do you mean, ‘we don’t have much time’? What’s going on?”
Donna rushed into an explanation and he listened. He listened for what felt like a long time, and when he disconnected, he knew what he had to do.
Xan sat at Maker’s work counter and watched as the alchemist scribbled notes and made amendments to the complex geometrical plans spread out before him. Maker had assured him that he would have the prototype finished within a matter of hours. Xan wasn’t exactly sure what a “prototype” involved,