Angels of Darkness

“Yeah. I mean—Whatever. But, yeah. It should count for something.”

Maybe Marc agreed with him, maybe not. Radha couldn’t tell. But since he hadn’t taken a drink of his coffee yet, she floated an eyeball in it.

It was always the little things that gave them away. Not eating or drinking was one of them.

Marc glanced down at his cup. His lips curved a little—why did that have to be sexy instead of making him look like a smarmy asshole?—but he took the hint, and took a sip. He didn’t choke when she added the sensation of the floating eyeball bumping into his lip, just smiled a bit more, this time directing it at her.

Next time she’d just tell him to take a drink. That wouldn’t be any fun, but maybe that was the problem. She remembered all too well how fun he’d been—so unflappable, so solid, no matter what she threw at him. It made her want to forget how a few of his words had stabbed through her heart.

She never liked dwelling on anything that had once hurt her. She liked to forget it. With Marc, she had to remember, or she’d probably find herself in the same situation again.

When Marc set the cup back down, no eyeball looked up at him. Whether that disappointed him or not, she didn’t know. He simply asked Sam, “But you were still close friends when her brother died?”

“Yeah. Well, mostly.”

Marc’s brows lifted. He hadn’t expected that. “Mostly?”

“Not so much. She’d already started hanging out with them.”

“But I thought the change came because he’d died.”

“Well, yeah. That was after. I mean, it was really obvious after that.” A flush started up the boy’s neck. “Homecoming, right? That’s the night he was killed. I remember, because I asked Miklia to go with me. Just as friends, okay? But I thought, maybe if she saw how I treated her well, how I was a great date, something more might finally happen. Four years, man. But she said homecoming was silly—and then showed up at the dance with the Brainless Bitches.”

“That had to sting,” Marc said.

“Yeah. But her brother was killed that night sometime.”

“Did she seem upset at the dance?”

Radha shoved another fry into her mouth, reminding herself to keep silent. No doubt this kid had been keeping an eye on Miklia that night. Resenting every second.

“No, she wasn’t upset. She just sat at a table with the other three. They left early. I don’t know where they went.” He shrugged and swiped through a pool of ketchup with his last fry. “Maybe to Perk’s Palace. That’s where they always seem to be now.”

“The coffee shop?”

“Yeah. Because that’s where Gregory works.”

A little sneer accompanied the name. Marc didn’t let it pass by. “Gregory?”

“Yeah. Gregory Jackson. Not Greg, of course. Gregory.” Sam shook his head, disgust clear. “New kid this year. He’s supposed to be some big shot quarterback from a school in Chicago, right? Except he tore his knee up or something, and they moved here, his mom opened that shop. But he thinks he’s better than all of us.”

Radha’s interest piqued. Marc leaned forward, expression intent.

“Better? How so?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s just an attitude I get from him. Last fall he partnered with Miklia a few times in chemistry, and someone caught them sucking face in the weight room, and that’s when she started backing off from me. Like she’s comparing us. And I came out on the bad side, even though he’s not there half the time now.”

“Not there . . . ? Class, or Perk’s Palace?”

“Class. And even when he is, he’s just half asleep through most of it.”

“But does he do well anyway? His grades are all right?”

“I guess so, yeah. He doesn’t seem to try hard at anything, but he still gets everything. Even Miklia. And now she’s doing the same thing. Her parents never notice anything, so they wouldn’t notice that she’s skipping half her classes or that she’s coming in late to first period—like this morning. She was probably with him all night.”

Oh, now that was bitter. Radha hoped he was wrong about Miklia being with him—though not for Sam’s sake. A lot of what he’d just described sounded like a scaled-back version of a demon. They didn’t usually take a kid’s form long term, but a high school quarterback might have just enough influence within the school to be appealing, and it wouldn’t be the typical place for a Guardian to look for one.

But in the wake of the kid’s rising frustration, Marc returned to their supposed investigation. Good call. They had the info to seek out this Gregory. No need to alienate Sam in the process by forcing him to talk about someone he obviously considered a rival.

“After Jason died, was Miklia the one who told you?”

“No. No, my mom did. I tried to call Miklia right away, to see if she was okay, but I couldn’t really get through. And when I finally just went over to her house about a few days later—I thought she might need me, you know?—the Brainless Bitches were in her room with her. It was weird, so I left without really saying anything.”

“You didn’t see her at school?”

“No, she missed the whole week. And after that, she was just . . . cold.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, I’m done with her.”

Radha couldn’t stop herself. “Because you already wasted too much time.”

“Yeah. I know, right?” He let out a heavy breath, checked his watch. “Anyway. Anything else? I gotta get home.”

“No, thank you.” Marc slipped a card across the table. “Call me if you remember something else, any little detail that you think might be relevant. Someone hanging around her house, something that seems out of place.”

“Okay. Right. I will.” He slid out of the bench, hefted his backpack over his shoulder. “Thanks for the grub.”

Marc inclined his head, waited until Sam had walked out of earshot before opening his mouth. Radha beat him to it.

“The quarterback? Really?”

His grin eradicated the weariness that seemed to hang over him. Okay, that was proof enough. No matter how resigned and lonely he seemed, he was all right—and she really needed to go soon.

“We’ll talk to him next.” His gaze lifted to the window. Outside, Sam was walking past, head down and earbuds in. “Do you think he’ll grow out of it?”

“Out of being a stalker, pretending to be a girl’s best friend for years, just so he can get into her pants?” At least with the more aggressive creeps, a girl knew exactly what they were after. They didn’t pretend to care about anything else. Sam was the insidious kind of creep. Could that change? “I don’t know. For now, she’s well rid of him. He’s the one who wasted their friendship. Maybe she caught on.”

Marc nodded, but she sensed a slight hesitation in him. Now that was unexpected. She’d never known him to hesitate over anything.

“What?”

“Is this what you thought I did back then?”

Back then. She knew very well he hadn’t. “No. You made it clear that you weren’t after sex.”

She hadn’t been after it, either, not at first. She’d been older, maybe too old for him—living a lifetime as a human, and then the span of another human life as a Guardian by the time she’d met him. But she’d liked him so well, and he’d been so fun. Serious and driven, yet smiling that sexy smile every time she’d gone to visit him, abandoning whatever he was doing to spend time with her.

And before too long, age hadn’t seemed to matter. It rarely did with Guardians, not when they could appear however old they wanted to. They were all adults, after all. But maybe, with Marc, their age differences should have mattered. She’d known he was still finding his way, adjusting to his new life. But they all had done that. She’d known he’d settle in, eventually, discover who he was, who he wanted to be.