Demon (The Faery Chronicles Book 2) by Leslie Claire Walker

Author:Leslie Claire Walker [Walker, Leslie Claire]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Secret Fire Press
Published: 2014-05-23T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

Amy waited for us on the porch. She’d leaned the bike against the side of the dark house and sat cross-legged on the concrete, grease all over her pink T-shirt. The overhead light buzzed and flickered. Moths circled, battered their winged bodies against the glass to find a way in. Instinct could kill.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

She looked up. Furrowed her brow. “An hour? Maybe two.”

A long time. “You didn’t ring the bell?”

“It’s the middle of the night, Rude. I don’t have a key and I didn’t want to wake anybody. Besides, I didn’t see your car yet. I figured you’d be back soon.” She studied her nails. Eight out of ten had been bitten to the quick. She went to work on number nine.

I’d never seen her do that before. Even in the thick of trouble, I’d never seen her that nervous.

Kevin stepped around me and hunkered down beside her. He folded his wings tight against his back until he mostly looked like himself. “Are you all right?”

She peeled off the end of her fingernail with her teeth. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He took her face in his hands. “I need you to tell me.”

“I guess it won’t do any harm now, but can we have the conversation indoors?”

She let him help her up and stood behind him while he unlocked the door.

The squeal of the hinges sounded extra-loud in the silence of the entry. So did the squeak of the floorboards under our feet. A towering shape popped up from the sofa in the living room. A hand reached from it to the table lamp. Flicked on the light.

Scott. He was an inch shorter than my six-three, less Hawaiian-shirt-wearing party dude and more black-and-white-rugby-shirt-wearing jock. His jeans had permanent grass marks at the knees from the pickup football games he played. His sneakers were scuffed from contact with the concrete basketball court behind the school. A shock of his blond hair stuck up at a weird angle in the back.

I pointed that out with a passing glance. He smoothed it out with a big hand.

“I had second watch,” he said.

“Good job falling asleep.” I grinned at him.

“Ugh. Just don’t do that, okay?”

“What?”

“Smile. You have any idea how terrible you look?”

“That’s your best adjective?” I asked.

“Class clown. Hopeless.” He rolled his eyes. “Hey, Kev? Your dad went to sleep. Actually, I carried him to his bed and put him in it after he fell asleep. He wanted to see you get home. Lame, I know.”

“He’s my dad,” Kevin said. “Thanks, man.”

“No worries.”

Kevin took off down the hall toward his dad’s room.

“What time is it?” Scott reached for a puddle of silver links on the table beneath the lamp. His watch. “3:30. Nice.”

“We got sidetracked,” I said.

“Always. Listen, those cops are sacked out at the breakfast table and Stacy’s in Kevin’s room. They couldn’t find Mr. Nance. I should say we couldn’t find him. We tried.” He met the Singer’s gaze. “Sorry—oh, right. You guys don’t get along.

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