Pure Blood_ A Nocturne City Novel - Caitlin Kittredge [41]
“Don’t be, don’t be,” Mort muttered, probably more worried about potential litigation than about damage to his gym. “Goddamn shoddy bolts,” he said, looking at the hook that I’d torn clean out of the crossbeam it was attached to.
“Yeah,” I agreed, relieved he wasn’t holding up a cross and screaming “Begone, daemon!” after my display. “Yeah, you should get those looked at.”
My hand stung and I looked down to see blood trickling between my fingers. I’d punched clean through the tape and skinned all four knuckles on my left hand. “I’ll be going,” I told Mort, cradling my hand to my chest. I didn’t want to hurt Dmitri or Trevor anymore. I just wanted to curl in a ball and sob.
“Sure,” he said distractedly, still shaking his head at the broken bag. “Have a good night.”
I pulled on a sweatshirt over my bra and didn’t bother with the rest, practically running out of the gym.
In the Fairlane I took three deep breaths and forced myself to stop focusing on the deep ache that had started in my abdomen. Whether it was overexertion or Dmitri’s hurt, I didn’t know and didn’t care.
I had to put him behind me, accept that he was gone. Otherwise, all the thin threads that kept my humanity together would snap.
If that happened, I knew exactly what I was capable of, and it was enough to keep me shivering a long time after the Fairlane’s heater had started to work.
CHAPTER 13
“Why are you crying, Insoli?”
Standing at my bathroom mirror brushing my teeth, I was reasonably sure I wasn’t dreaming, but the dulcet voice inside my head begged to differ.
I spun, and my toothbrush clattered to the floor as I beheld Asmodeus, daemon, abandoned, a fugitive from the realm where the evil and powerful citizens of the netherworld resided. He was tinged in gold, as always, and his lion’s feet scraped at my bathroom tiles.
“Not crying,” I muttered, spitting into the sink.
“Who wounds you?”
“Why do you care? Are you going to go beat them up?” If I was flippant, then I wouldn’t have to process that the number-one star of my recent nightmares had just manifested in my bathroom.
Asmodeus breathed out a cloud of gold and dark magick, and every hair I possessed stood on end. He shook his head, his crocodile eyes flicking over and around me, like he could perceive my spirit. Hells, like nothing. Asmodeus saw everything and he wasn’t slow on the uptake.
“You do not see, Insoli, but threads are gathering around you like a spider spins down to an insect. You are pulling yourself hand over hand into a pit from which there is no egress. Do not follow your impulses.”
“Here’s an idea,” I said loudly. “I’ll go to bed and try to forget how much things suck, and you can go Hex yourself.”
Asmodeus laughed. “You suddenly hate me, after I saved your life?”
Saved at the price of Dmitri. Saved just so everyone could find out my deep dark secret. Thanks, jackass. “What do you want from me?” I muttered. “You were all … released, and crap. Can’t you be free somewhere else?”
“I am drawn here, now. Later I will be elsewhere. I am a free agent, as you said. Warnings you may ignore, Insoli, but do not ignore what is in front of your eyes.”
I started to tell him that if I wanted prophecy, I’d go take in Stigmata, but there was the stench of char and Asmodeus was gone. I may have blinked and missed his leaving, but I didn’t think so.
Was Asmodeus just bored, and playing with the humans and near-humans? Or had the gods determined that I needed a faithful daemon to spring up when things got rough?
“Thanks a lot,” I muttered before I fell asleep. It was the closest I’d gotten to a prayer in a long time.
How long my alarm clock had been screeching, I didn’t know, but when I was finally able to move my arm and slap it to off, the little blue display read 10:30. As in A.M., not P.M.
“Crap!” I shouted, jumping out of bed and catching my foot on a pile of dirty jeans. “Crap crap crap!”
I had less than thirty minutes to make it downtown for our meeting with Patrick O’Halloran.