“I still haven’t figured out how to get it to work. It still just looks like a fancy stick,” I remind him, and he nods.
“I know, and unfortunately, I haven’t found anything in my research that will help. Not until we can speak with Delta. But I figured if you train even with the staff of the weapon itself, you’ll still get used to holding it and the movements to build some necessary muscle memory,” he explains.
“Yep. At least then you’d be closer to being ready to defend the gate after you’re inducted as a Guardian,” Flint adds, and a flicker of worry settles in my throat.
“Any word from the ever elusive Delta and her Demons?” I ask, irritation heavy in my tone.
Alder huffs out an irritated breath of his own. “No, I’m thinking maybe we should just stop in and check that everything is okay. It’s not like them to be this heedless.”
“They probably haven’t gotten out of bed since what happened in the Vestibule,” Flint defends, not for the first time. “She thought they were dead. That’s gonna leave a mark.”
“Well, they can take a break from fucking for five minutes and do their duty,” Alder grumbles as he finishes his gumbo. “No pussy is that good,” he adds, and for some reason I’m offended by that comment.
“Maybe hers is. Maybe it’s so good that they’ve all completely forgotten about their gate, and all they can do is fuck and writhe and moan and play with each other, because nothin’ else will ever feel as good or matter as much,” I say, my tone climbin’ as I defend Delta’s sweet Virginia. But really, I’m inwardly offended that they’re basically implyin’ that no pussy—mine included—could be so good that they’d forget the rest of the world for weeks on end. Ridiculous, I know, but there it is.
Flint and Alder stare at me, stunned for a moment as I try to breathe through what the hell I just said. To think, I was jealous of Delta before, but this just takes it to a whole new level. She’s gettin’ fucked mornin’, noon, and night by her demons, and I’m just fucked in general. Lucky bitch.
“We should check on them first thing, just in case,” Flint tells Alder, like there’s a part of him that’s worried that what I said about amnesia-causin’ pussy power could be true.
“Medley, would you like—”
A doorbell sounds, interruptin’ whatever Alder was about to say, and both of the guys’ brows dip in confusion.
“Who’s at the door at this hour?” Alder says as he gets up and makes his way out of the dinin’ room.
Flint and I both watch the empty doorway for a minute, waitin’ for clues of who it could be to make their way back to us. I hear low voices, and then suddenly, an alarmed shout fills the house. Flint is out of his chair in no time and rushin’ toward the doorway before I can even push out of my seat.
Worry works its way through my body in time with my suddenly racin’ heart as I jump to my feet. Just as Flint approaches the doorway that leads into the dinin’ room, Mickey, the long lost bartender, appears, makin’ Flint skid to a stop.
Shock registers on Flint’s face, but before he can open his mouth to ask what’s goin’ on, a tree-like limb extends from Mickey’s body, wraps around Flint’s waist and throws him out of the room with a whip-like crack, a shout and crash soundin’ down the hall.
I don’t even have time to gasp or make a sound of objection before Mickey is wallin’ up the entryway to the dinin’ room with vines and branches and trunks that sprout directly from his body. In less time than it takes to say I’m a tree hugger, I’m trapped in a room with a demon who looks frantic as all get out and who’s been MIA for weeks now.
I’m completely stunned by the sudden turn of events, and I’m frozen in place as Mickey’s black eyes settle on me. “Morax says that either you come quietly or he’s going to kill everyone in this house.”
Terror rockets through me like a wayward firework, explodin’ and shatterin’ things inside of me that will be difficult to repair. Morax? The demon from the bar is here? How the hell did he find me? And why?
I hear roars and bellows from the other side of the foliage blockin’ the doorway, and I can tell by the vibrations of the leaves that either Flint or Alder is tryin’ to break through. All I can hope is that one of them is also gettin’ Mama and Daddy safely away.
I barely have time to think before Mickey is closin’ the distance between us. He reaches down and flips the table out of his way, makin’ me flinch as it slams against the wall. Glass rains down as my scream fills the air, my arms up protectively.
“Medley!” I hear someone shout, and booms explode through the room as they renew their efforts to get to me, but I realize that Mickey hasn’t just blocked the doorway—his strange foliage is spreadin’ all over the walls too, probably on both sides to fortify it so that Flint can’t bust through.
Mickey reaches for me, his mouth twisted in a snarl. “The Ophidian will have you. The question is, will everything you love still be alive by the time he does?” he asks me.
The Ophidian? I thought he said Morax wanted me? My thoughts whirl in double-time, tryin’ to piece together what’s goin’ on. Are they the same person?
Realization dawns on me, and an image flashes through my mind of my daddy holdin’ an ice pack to his head as he was helped up the stairs by two police officers after an attack at the corner store.
The asshole from the club had someone attack my daddy?
Mickey’s bark-covered hand wraps around my forearm painfully, but black is already borderin’ my vision, and I
