“How did you break her spell, anyway?” Logan asked, studying me with a curious expression on his face. “What made you snap out of it?”
“I don’t know,” I lied, grabbing a piece of torn sheet music off the floor and studying the beginning notes of “When the Saints Go Marching In.”
“You don’t know?” Logan repeated skeptically as I busied myself with twisting the corners of the paper in my hands, intently focusing on my crappy origami project as if I were getting graded on it.
“Paige?” Logan said my name the same way he had when he first came into the room, his voice wrapping around the word, reminding me of how seeing him had helped me tear down the mental blocks Della had put into place.
“If you have some other talents—if you’re a spellcaster of some kind or a witch, please, tell me,” he pleaded. “You know I’ll believe you.”
Of course you will. Because you’re the first person in years to talk to me like I’m not crazy. You’re the first person to really talk to me.
I took a deep breath, staring at the folded scrap of sheet music in my hand as I steeled my resolve.
“It was you,” I confessed, running my thumb over the creases in the paper.
“Me?”
I forced myself to meet Logan’s eyes, bracing myself for the rejection I expected to see. Instead, he merely looked confused, his dark eyebrows pulling together as he stared at me blankly.
“What do you mean?” he asked, guileless.
“When I saw you, and heard your voice, I just knew,” I explained, trying to keep my voice even and nonchalant and not at all affected by the fact that this admission would lay bare just how much Logan meant to me.
“Just knew what?” Logan asked, that same bewildered look on his face. He’s gonna make me spell it out, isn’t he?
I took a deep breath and exhaled through my nose.
“Before you came in, I felt—I don’t know—loyal to them. But that’s not even a strong enough word.” I fumbled through my explanation as I tried to describe what it felt like to be under Della’s spell. “There was this unexplainable urge to stay with them. I didn’t question it. It felt natural, and right. But when I saw you, suddenly I knew that Aiden was wrong. That the feeling of belonging to him and Della was wrong.” I closed my eyes for the last confession. “You felt right.”
I opened my eyes to see Logan’s puzzled expression soften.
“But you didn’t want me touching you. You don’t feel that way about me....” Logan’s voice trailed off as he studied me. I bit my lip and stared at the folded-up paper in my hands when I heard him inhale sharply.
“Do you?” He curled his hand around my arm when I didn’t answer. His voice was soft, layered with some emotion that I couldn’t quite identify and desperately hoped wasn’t pity. I steeled myself to look at him—to face the rejection I’d undoubtedly see in his eyes.
“Paige! Oh, my goodness, there you are, Paige!” Dottie exclaimed, bursting into the classroom. Her hand was linked with Travis’s, and she dragged him behind her as she hurried into the classroom, her uniform skirt swishing around her knees while her hair, of course, remained perfectly immobile. Both Logan and I jumped at the intrusion, and he dropped his hand from my arm.
“You’re bleeding! What happened? Why aren’t you standing?” she asked, lines of worry cutting into her forehead. “Why isn’t she standing?” she demanded, directing her bossy question at Logan, who was now on his feet next to me. “I’m Dottie, by the way.”
“I know,” Logan said with an entertained smile. “Nice to officially meet the famous Dottie.”
Dottie became flustered, smoothing her perfect hair as she beamed at Logan, and Travis scowled at her, dropping her hand to cross his arms. Just how friendly had Dottie and Travis gotten in the past couple of days?
“Paige will be all right. We have stuff that can heal her. She just needs to rest for a minute,” Logan explained, adding a halfhearted wave. “I’m Logan, by the way.”
“I know,” Dottie replied, sizing him up through her curled lashes.
“What happened in here?” Travis asked, taking a few steps around the classroom.
“Just your usual, boring, everyday demon fight,” I offered weakly as Travis strolled over to the shredded blackboard. He clasped his hands behind his back as he studied the violent, jagged slices in the slate—which would have been me, had Logan not saved me. Again.
“Wow, the school’s insurance agent must friggin’ hate you,” he said with a low whistle as he attempted to kick a few crumbled shards with his toe. Travis frowned when his foot passed through the debris.
“I’m never going to get used to that.” He grimaced.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, and Travis gave me a resigned shrug in reply.
“Listen, we have to tell you what we saw,” Dottie said, sitting down cross-legged in front of me.
“So, we were in the library, and we heard this commotion outside. There was this big gray monster with wings.” She spread her arms to mimic Aiden’s wingspan and flapped them a few times. “It had this girl under its arm—but it didn’t look like he was hurting her. It looked like he was helping her walk.”
“Aiden and Della! You saw them!” I slapped my palms against the floor in disbelief. “Did they see you?”
“No, they had their backs to us. We hid against the wall inside the library,” Travis explained, sinking down to join us on the floor.
“Anyway, they both sounded like hell, but the girl was worse. She was coughing up all this red smoke—weird, right?” Dottie shuddered at the memory. “And she was crying and the guy was getting angry with her. He told her that he’d promised to take her to a healer so she’d better, and I quote, ‘Stop crying about getting stabbed in the stomach already, it’s annoying me.’ Then he complained about going through the portal and how he’d have left her there if he could have gone through alone. So the girl started saying she couldn’t wait to tell everyone about the Traveler—you, I assume?” Dottie pointed a perfect pink oval nail at me, and I flinched at the term, nodding my head. “Anyway, she said the Queen would be so thrilled, that she’d be sure to get an army here immediately to get you.”
I turned to Logan, terrified.
“It’s as bad as you thought,” I whispered, and Logan hesitantly reached his hand out to comfort me.
“Wait. But then the monster—Aiden, right?—said, ‘We’re not telling the Queen anything yet,’” Dottie continued.
“What?” Logan’s head snapped to face Dottie, dropping his outstretched hand as he leaned forward on his palms. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Well, the girl agreed with you, because she said the same thing,” Dottie explained. “And Aiden said that, well....”
“What?” Logan prodded her, and Dottie took a deep breath, visibly steeling herself to continue.
“Aiden said, ‘I want to see the grateful look on the Queen’s face when I drag the bodies of the demonslayer and his little bitch into her throne room.’” Dottie mouthed the curse word in an effort to take the sting out of it. My poor, sweet old-fashioned friend. As if calling me a bitch was the worst part of that statement.
Travis jumped in to continue the story. “But then the girl started saying that they had to tell the Queen, that you were too valuable a weapon to leave here.” I flinched at his words; I was considered a weapon, a thing to be used.
“And Aiden told her to shut it, and then he went on this whole dramatic rant about how he’s going to prove himself, and he’ll reap all the glory of bringing you both in and finally be considered worthy—whatever that means,” Travis said, adding, “He sounded like a whiny little bitch, if you ask me.”
“Della said she was going to tell the Queen, and he couldn’t stop her,” Dottie said, picking
up where Travis left off. “Aiden told her, ‘I can’t let you do that.’ And then we heard this loud cry—” Dottie shrieked, mimicking what she’d heard, and Logan and I cringed at her earsplitting screech “—and then a thump on the floor.”
My theatrical friend pounded her fist on the floor to re-create the sound.
“After we were sure he was gone, we left the library and saw Della on the ground in the hallway,” Travis continued. “There was all this red smoke pouring out of her. It was nasty.”
“She started to disintegrate. She actually turned into smoke!” Dottie added with an amazed whisper, spreading her hands and wiggling her fingers to imitate the creeping spread of the crimson smoke.
“Why didn’t she explode?” I asked Logan.
“That’s only fire demons. Every kind of demon bleeds and dies differently,” Logan explained before shaking his head in disbelief. “He killed her. I can’t believe he killed her.”
“That’s a good thing, right?” I asked.
“It’s a surprising thing.” Logan looked lost in thought.
“Well, he’s a demon. You can’t be surprised that he’s a murderer with zero loyalty,” I reasoned, and Logan pursed his lips.
“That’s not always the case,” he said, quickly rising to his feet. I cringed, remembering Logan’s demonic buddy Ajax a moment too late.
“Paige, I’ll get your stuff out of your locker and then we’ll go.” I looked up to see Logan standing in front of me. “Are you feeling strong enough? We’ll go to my apartment and see what Rego knows.”
“I’m fine,” I replied automatically, nodding my head.
Once Logan was out of the classroom, Dottie’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
“What is going on with you two?” Dottie asked, propping her chin on the heel of her hand as she rested her elbow on her bent knee. All she needed was the telephone cord from a rotary phone coiled around her finger, and she’d be a poster child for the fifties teen.
“Seriously? I’m attacked by a demon, the music room looks like this—” I waved my hand around the disaster “—and you want to talk about boys?”
“We can talk about demons when Logan returns,” Dottie said, blinking her lashes at me. “What’s going on with you two?”
“Well, I could ask you the same question, Little Miss Holding Hands with You-Know-Who,” I hissed in reply, mimicking her pose by resting my chin on my hand.
“I’ll tell you if you tell me,” Dottie wheedled, her brown eyes sparkling. “Did Logan kiss you? You haven’t kissed anyone since playing Truth or Dare with Chris when you were a sophomore. The first time you were a sophomore.”
“I know, Dots. I was there. And thanks for bringing up my rockin’ romantic history, by the way,” I added dryly as Travis rolled his eyes.
“Well, maybe you’ll have some new romantic history to write,” she said, her eyes starry.
“It’ll be a short book. We’re talking pamphlet, here,” I retorted, thinking of how I’d accidentally offended Logan repeatedly today.
“Hey, can I just stop you guys before you start talking about pantyhose or ribbons or some other girly shit?” Travis interrupted, plopping down to join us on the floor. “And can someone tell me what happened here? I’d like to know.”
I quickly told them what had happened—and before Dottie could beg for more information about what was going on between us, Logan returned with my bag and coat.
“You were gone a long time.” I twisted my neck to stare at the clock above the destroyed blackboard. I had started to wonder if Logan had ditched me in all my rude, unrequitedly affectionate and slightly aching glory. Instead, he just smiled arrogantly, puffing his chest out.
“All your teachers will think you were in class this afternoon. And you’re going to get an A on the pop quiz in physics. You’re welcome,” he added with a self-satisfied smile.
“Oh. Thanks. That hypnotism thing comes in handy, huh?” I forced a friendly grin on my face, but it probably just looked awkward. I was too unsure of how to act around Logan once we were alone. Would he want to pick up our conversation where it left off? Pretend it never happened?
I was definitely a member of Team It Never Happened.
“Are you okay to move?” Logan asked, coming to stand before me. He hesitantly stretched his palm out, and I gave him my uninjured hand, letting him help me off the floor. I winced as the movement pulled against my sore side.
“Your ribs?”
“I’ll be okay, though,” I insisted, shrugging into my coat. “I should be able to make it a few blocks.”
I reached for my bag but Logan refused, insisting on carrying it. Because he just had to do perfect gentlemanly things that made me like him even more. That bastard.
Dottie cleared her throat. “Take good care of her,” she told Logan, giving him a warning glance which disclosed her real meaning. “Or else you’ll have to deal with me.”
Logan gave Dottie a small smile, and I followed him out of the classroom. A few minutes later, we were back on the school roof, beginning our quiet trek across the skyline.
It wasn’t until we had climbed over the wall at the end of the school that Logan spoke, calling my name softly.
I stopped talking and turned to face him, wincing at the pull in my side.
“That hurts worse than you’re letting on, isn’t it?” he asked, concerned.
“I’ll be fine. I can make the jump,” I insisted through gritted teeth. “What did you want to say?”
Logan just shook his head, his face composed in a stoic mask.
“Nothing. I can wait until you’re healed,” Logan said. But he grabbed my hand and swiftly led me across the rooftops before my mind could whirl into overdrive on what he meant. Does he not want to hurt my feelings on top of my hurt body? Is he looking to let me down easily when I feel better? Then why did it feel like he was going to kiss me earlier?
Okay, maybe my mind went into overdrive a little bit.
I kept a tight hold on Logan until we’d crossed the magical threshold into his apartment, and then he pushed me behind him, against the now-solid door, as he drew his sword.
A rapid whirring sound hit my ears as a pink blur whizzed by, embedding itself into the door with a low thunk.
“Stay where you are,” wheezed the unfamiliar, gravelly voice. I tried to peer around Logan, but he reached behind his back, his arm wrapping around my waist and gently shoving me behind him.
Logan took a step forward, his body tensely coiled and ready to strike.
“Where’s Rego? What did you do with him?” Logan demanded, but his voice was laced with fear.
“I said, stay where you are,” the voice said. “That was a warning shot. I must promise you, kid, I never miss.”
Heavy footsteps sounded on the floor, and he came into view.
He was short and stocky, and dressed in simple dark pants with a long gray tunic and a scratchy-looking vest made out of a burlaplike fabric. He had a ruddy, rotund face and thinning, dark yellow hair that was pulled back into a stringy ponytail. He would have looked nonthreatening—like the purveyor of a shop that sold patchouli and healing crystals—if it weren’t for the crossbow he brandished, keeping a steady aim on Logan with his violet eyes.
“Drop your sword,” the demon ordered.
Chapter 8
HIS SHOULDERS, RISING and falling with each measured breath, were the only part of Logan that moved. Otherwise, he was statue-still, holding his weapon steady.
“I said, drop your sword,” the demon repeated from his perch by the wobbly table. He shot again, sending a thin red arrow finished with a plume of pink feathers and red beads sailing through the air. I yelped as it pierced the door a mere six inches from my head, my hands flying to clutch my book bag as it hung off Logan’s
back.
“I hand-make these arrows, kid,” he warned, lovingly stroking the next one he loaded into the crossbow. “I know every dip and curve—the slight imperfections that impact where it lands. I never, ever miss.” The demon grinned proudly at his deadly creation as it sat, tensed and ready, in his weapon. “Now, do you want me to shoot you in your wrist and force you drop to your sword? Or perhaps ensure that the girl cowering behind you never walks properly again, with one well-placed shot into her kneecap? Your choice, unless you relinquish your weapon.”
The door behind us shimmered, this time with the telltale amethyst glow that heralded an arrival from the Dark World. Logan grabbed me and spun me around, so I was against the wall, pinned behind him between this new demon and whomever—or whatever—was about to come through the door.
The outline of two figures could be seen through the swirling dark fog that obscured the portal to the Dark World. Logan shuffled me back even more, the hand that wasn’t holding his sword reaching behind him to again wrap protectively around my waist. I heard heavy footsteps as our new visitors breached the threshold, and Logan’s shoulders relaxed slightly.
“Well, if I knew we were having a party, I would have brought a bottle of sunwine. Seems like we could all use a drink,” came Ajax’s familiar voice. His words were flippant but spoken carefully, cautiously. I peered around Logan’s shoulder and saw Ajax’s eyes sweeping the room, locking on mine briefly before settling on the demon with the crossbow. A girl stood next to him, small but fierce and beautiful, wearing a rust-colored trench coat that hung open over skintight black pants and an equally tight shirt. Her hair was a beautiful mess of fire-truck-red and coal-black waves, parted in the middle and tumbling over her shoulders, where it bled into the long dark scarf that hung casually around her neck. She would have been effortlessly stunning, if not for her telltale inhuman eyes—a ring of black surrounding a yellow pupil—that exposed her demonic heritage. Eyes which raked over Logan so thoroughly, she was sure to leave his skin marked up.