Xander didn’t sit. I didn’t open my eyes, either, but I was sure he was pacing the room. His dress shoes clacked against the hardwood incessantly. We hadn’t really discussed my new shadow power or the conversation Medea and I had regarding my possible demonic nature. Shadow power was equal to radiant power—one was utilized by celestials, the other by demons. We’d never encountered a Sorcerer, Acolyte, or Cursed who had used shadow magic. So, my ability was not only strange, but impossible—unless, of course, I had demon blood running through my veins. To simplify things, we had avoided discussing those possibilities and what it meant for our playful, loving relationship. We still shared a singular goal—finding my daughter’s soul and killing a Nephil. For the time being, that would keep us busy enough.
“Police also identified me before the Automaton arrived,” I said. “They had me dead to rights.”
“Joey,” Xander muttered, sighing like an annoyed husband tired of doing needless chores, “why did you even leave? To get more beer?”
There it was. Good ole Xander and his jumping to conclusions. Normally, that comment would have angered me, and I would have smarted off to him. But my head throbbed and I didn’t really have the energy or strength to think of a retort. Nor did I have the energy or strength to tell him the truth—to explain the nightmare I had and how the wet footprints had carried over to reality. So, for one of those rare moments in my life, I opted not to say a thing.
I think that worried him, because he changed the subject. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” His footsteps tapped the floor as he continued pacing. “Cops stopped you, but didn’t arrest you. Automaton found you, but didn’t manage to capture you. And you think you escaped through… what? That unexplained shadow magic you used against Medea?”
“Don’t know,” I said, thinking about the void I’d found and how I passed through it and arrived here. I licked my lips, shy of what I was about to say. “Teleportation. But that’s not possible except with the Nephil.” I hesitated for a second, opening my eyes. The room was too bright, too painful to bear, so I closed them again.
Before Xander had the chance to question me further, a knocking sounded at his front door.
I squinted my eyes open and stared at the now-quiet door. “Am I awake?” I asked Xander, hoping I hadn’t slipped into another nightmare.
He furrowed his brow, but kept his attention fixed on the foyer. “What?”
“Who’s at the door?”
After learning that Hephaestus had located me through one of his Automatons, I wasn’t surprised to see Xander pull back his sports coat to ready one of his radiant weapons—a Beretta formed from the legendary Holy sword, Ascalon. It hung just above his waist from a shoulder holster. He crossed the living area and carefully leaned into the door to peek through the peephole.
I hefted up from my seat, ignoring my aching head and pulsing skin. Without a weapon near me or any magic to readily access, I just stood there like a lump on a dick—unseemly and very noticeable. Xander unlatched the chain lock, twisted the deadbolt, and opened the door.
I held my breath as he revealed a woman. She had dark-blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her blue eyes glistened like sun reflected off ice. She wore blue jeans that—in the words of a country song—were painted on her, and athletic shoes. Her black blouse plunged low at her chest—much to my eyeball pleasure.
Dakota Clark, the mysterious woman who had entered my life the night my daughter was murdered, waved a Sacramento Sheriff’s Department badge in front of Xander’s face. According to her unverified story, she’d recently transferred to SSD as their latest and greatest homicide detective. She said that after hearing about me and my talents, she had applied for the job.
That’s right. She had a massive lady boner for old Joey Labrador, and she couldn’t help but move to my stomping grounds to get a fuller whiff of what I was cooking. The first paragraph of her restraining order doesn’t end there—she’d spent months stalking me, learning about every facet of my life just so she could use that information to manipulate me into helping her find her Cursed father. Talk about daddy issues, am I right? I’d found my very own Harley Quinn.
“Can I help you?” Xander asked, barring her entrance with a hand on the door.
“Xander, I presume,” she said, clipping her badge to her waistband, extending her hand to greet him.
Like someone who has never been laid in his life, Xander rejected her gesture and said, “Why is a detective from SSD at my front door?”
Dakota’s lips lifted into a half-grin. “Well, technically, I’m not a detective right now. Off-duty. He hasn’t told you about me?” she asked, glancing past Xander at me. “I thought I left more of an impact.” In a lithe, graceful movement that left even Xander stuck in cement, she ducked under his arm-bar and stepped into the condo. “Wow. MIS must really compensate their employees. Beautiful place you have.” As she scanned the living room and kitchen, her eyes fell on me, and there they stayed. “Do you know you’re harboring a suspect wanted for multiple counts of murder, arson, evading arrest…” she trailed off, as if implying the list could go on forever if she felt like it.
“Joey, you know her?” Xander asked, turning around.
“Well, not in the biblical sense,” I said. “She’s more like someone I know of.”
“Xander,” Dakota said, ambling into the living room and sitting on the sofa beside me. She smelled like sunshine and coffee. “As I mentioned, I’m not here on police business. Go ahead and pull that wedgie loose.”
“How did you find me?” I asked.
Dakota shrugged. “Since your house burned down, I narrowed your location to a few
