“He doesn’t chew food properly because his molars are the wrong shape.”

She pulled a disgusted face. “Were you looking into his mouth? That’s gross.”

I shrugged. “It was for science.”

Zylas looked between us, eyes narrowed. Then, as though to make a point, he folded his mini pie in half, shoved the entire thing in his mouth, and swallowed it whole.

“Any progress?” I asked her.

“Define progress,” she replied drily, leaning against the doorframe and flipping her long blond ponytail off her shoulder. “I heard back from three of my stepmom’s relatives and they all claimed to have no clue where she is. Then I threatened to blackmail them. They still denied it, but I got four more numbers to call, including her former lawyer. I left a message with the lawyer’s office and I’m waiting to hear back from the others.”

“So … nothing,” I concluded.

“Nothing at all. Oh, but I’ve started asking around about Claude. No one seems to know him, but I’ll keep trying.”

She retreated into her room. Deciding to leave Zylas alone, I scooped up Socks before she could sneak under the coffee table and returned to the kitchen. Zylas tracked my withdrawal, then leaned back into the sofa. As I dried and put away dishes, his eyes slid closed again. Even annoyed with me, he was too lazy today to do anything about it.

Smiling to myself, I dried the baking sheet. How did you take a demon’s edge off? Why, simply feed him a dozen small apple pies.

It wasn’t that my home-baked offerings softened his mood. I suspected it was physiological. By my best guess, sugar wasn’t a significant part of a demon’s diet, and large quantities of sweet desserts made him sleepy. I’d used that knowledge to my advantage several times over the past few weeks.

Finishing in the kitchen, I collected my photocopy of the grimoire, scrap paper, and my laptop. Since Zylas was hogging the sofa, I sat on the floor, set up my stuff on the coffee table, and started translating the next paragraph of the grimoire page. Zylas dozed, his tail hanging off the cushions and the barbed end flicking in a relaxed way. I scribbled on my page, working through several sentences, all of them describing the generalities of a Vh’alyir demon’s appearance. Nothing shocking like the warning to never summon a Twelfth House demon.

Zylas didn’t know why, before him, no demon of his House had ever been summoned, or I would’ve asked if he knew what that warning meant. I pondered it again, then resumed translating the rest of the page. From Amalia’s room, the muffled hum of her sewing machine started up. She hadn’t cracked a single Demonica text since leaving her father’s house; instead, she devoted her free time to sewing projects—her custom-designed “hex clothes”—though I hadn’t seen a finished garment yet.

The afternoon slid by, the dull monotony of Ancient Greek translation a nice change after yesterday’s near-death adventure. The heavy overcast broke, allowing a rare return of December’s elusive sun. I shifted around the coffee table so the golden light could warm my face, my back to the sofa. Zylas’s hickory-and-leather scent teased my nose as I worked. Socks wandered into the middle of the room and sprawled in a sunny spot, her black fur gleaming.

As I puzzled over an unfamiliar word with my pencil poised above my notes, an unexpected realization slid through me: I felt content.

I lowered my pencil, my brow wrinkling. Behind me, Zylas’s slow breathing was a quiet rhythm. Every few minutes, Amalia’s sewing machine would whir energetically, then stop. Sprawled in the sun, Socks rolled onto her back, furry tail swishing.

This was the most peaceful I’d felt since my parents’ deaths.

Tears clung to my eyelashes. Sniffing back a sob, I rose quietly and hurried into the bathroom. I blew my nose, dried my eyes, and smiled weakly at my reflection. It was okay to feel content. I could miss them and find my way toward a new happiness at the same time.

Opening the door, I paused.

Socks had left her sunny spot on the carpet. She now stood on the back of the sofa, her huge green eyes on the napping demon. Her tail flicked back and forth. Crouching, she cautiously stretched out a paw.

The kitten booped the demon on the nose.

His eyes snapped open. Socks cocked her head, ears perked forward, and lightly batted at his hair. He observed the kitten with that predatory stillness that always unnerved me. Socks hopped onto the armrest and stretched out her neck, whiskers twitching forward.

He finally moved—lifting his arm, reaching for the kitten. I tensed, certain he was about to shove poor little Socks right off the sofa.

He brushed his fingers across the top of her head. She inched closer, eagerly smelling the strange creature sharing her new domain, and he stroked her delicate ear like he’d never seen such a thing before.

A visceral memory hit me: Zylas gripping my wrist in one hand while he carefully traced my fingers. The first time he had touched me—first time he had touched any human. Curiosity had motivated his gentle touch—right up until he’d dragged me into the summoning circle and asked what my blood looked like.

Before I could decide if I should rescue Socks, the muffled trill of a ringing phone broke the quiet. Socks hopped off the sofa and Zylas looked toward Amalia’s room.

“Hello? Oh, yeah … Okay … Sure, I’ll let her know.”

Her door opened. Amalia scanned the living room and spotted me. She waved her cell.

“Is your phone dead? That was Zora. She’s been trying to reach you.”

My phone was in my room … on silent. Oops. “What did she say?”

“She wants you to meet her at the guild. She’s got an update on the vampires.”

An update? Maybe, finally, we could get somewhere with all this. “Then I’d better get going.”

Chapter Fifteen

I pushed open the guild door and a wave of conversation rolled out, followed by the aroma of hot French fries and spicy chicken wings. A dozen people were scattered throughout the pub, sitting at the tables in twos and threes, eating food or chatting casually.

A few faces were familiar: the assistant guild master, her brown hair sticking to her face as she rushed behind the bar; Girard, the first officer, poring over papers with a middle-aged man I didn’t know; a short, skinny young man with round sunglasses, looking at something on his phone; and the elderly diviner Rose, easy to spot with her turquoise eyeglasses and pink knitted cap.

The diviner gestured me toward her table, beaming eagerly, but I pretended to misunderstand and merely waved. As intriguing as my first crystal ball séance had been, I wasn’t in the mood for another one.

The door behind me swung open, chiming loudly. Zora grinned as she entered the pub. “Good timing! Let’s sit.”

I followed her to a table in the corner and she shrugged off her coat, revealing a black corset-style top that laced up at the front. I instantly wanted one, even though I’d never be brave enough to wear something like that.

“No glasses yet?” she asked, sounding guilty.

“I put in an order but it takes a few days.” I blinked against the uncomfortable dryness in my eyes. “I’m wearing contacts.”

“Oh, good. I was worried you’d have to go around half blind until you got new glasses.” She dug into her jacket and pulled out a folded map. “Let’s get to it.”