“Are you sure you want to know everything?” he asked me, his soft voice contradicting his intense stare.
“What do you mean? Of course I do!” I needed to finally know more about what I could do, what it meant...to finally have proof that I wasn’t insane.
“I mean...” Logan looked down at the bits of frost on the tips of his Converse sneakers. “I could make you forget,” he whispered, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. “You wouldn’t have to know any of this. You wouldn’t have to know about the existence of demons.”
He finally met my gaze, his brown eyes serious. “You wouldn’t remember what happened to Travis.”
“No, I—”
“All you’d have to do is look into my eyes. I’d say a little spell, and the memory would be gone. Think about it.”
I narrowed my eyes as I studied him, and Logan shifted uncomfortably under my stare.
“Blaise did this mind control thing with Miller. It was like he was her puppet,” I recalled, feeling my stomach churn when I thought of how she robbed him of his free will. “She controlled him and told him what to do. Is that what you’re offering to do to me?”
“It’s called a somnorvik spell.”
“Whatever. It gets a different name in every vampire and witch show I’ve ever seen. It might as well be called mind-vik eraser-vik hypnotizer-vik,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “I don’t care what it’s called in real life. But I do care that you want to mess with my head!”
“It’s really not like that,” Logan said defensively.
“It’s exactly like that. Look, I’m so tired of not knowing why I can do what I can do. It’s time I knew what’s really going on.”
He studied me for a moment, his gaze serious. Finally, Logan gave me one quick but decisive nod.
“Okay, you’ve got it.”
I grabbed on to Logan’s hand again as he began to walk down the hallway, afraid he would disappear—and with him, all the answers I so desperately needed would also vanish. But as we stood in front of his apartment, it felt like Logan was the one holding on to me for support, clutching my hand in a crushing grip.
“Is everything okay?” I asked. “Did you forget your keys?”
Logan chuckled and cocked his head to one side as he gave me a slightly amused look.
“This isn’t the kind of door that opens with keys,” he said.
“Why is that so funny?”
He shrugged. “Because it’s such a normal question.”
“Well, what’s the problem? Did you forget which secret compartment to press?” I stuck out my finger and poked the metal frame of the door.
“No, I’m just stalling,” Logan admitted with a sheepish grin. “I should warn you. My uncle can be a little intimidating. He’s...well, he’s a warlock.”
“Warlock?” I repeated, my voice rising in pitch as my studies of the paranormal came rushing back at me. “I thought those were evil wizards.”
Logan shook his head, smiling at my comment. “No, movies got that part wrong. Rego’s not evil—although he can be an asshole,” he said with a grimace. “He’ll probably be in a mood. Especially since things didn’t go the way they were supposed to today.”
“I thought you were supposed to save my life. You did that,” I reminded him, but was met with a wry smile.
“True. But you weren’t supposed to know. I was supposed to be stealthy, follow the plan. But things kind of fell apart,” Logan said before casting a sideways look at me. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not your problem.” He gave my hand a quick squeeze before slapping his other palm against the brown-painted door.
“Reclaxarit ne bulsharak,” Logan whispered. I didn’t recognize these words either, all discordant consonants and unfamiliar, tongue-twisting syllables. The frame of the door glowed a brilliant white, and Logan stepped back, pulling me with him. Thin lines of light dripped down from the top of the door, appearing to slice through the metal. The door quivered, then shimmered to the floor in iridescent ribbons, which fell into nothingness in the almost blinding glow outlining the entryway to the apartment.
“Rego? Are you here?” Logan called, stepping inside and tugging me with him. I wasn’t quite sure what a demonslayer’s apartment with a magical entrance would look like. I briefly pictured a cavernous, candlelit stone lair—maybe a pet dragon would be hanging out in the corner. I sure didn’t expect to walk into a small kitchen in a somewhat rundown old apartment. The walls were dingy white plaster, dotted with gouges and deep scrapes. Some surprisingly pleasant fruit-and-spice scented concoction I couldn’t quite identify bubbled over on a hot plate, sending a frothy pink foam spilling onto a kitchen counter cluttered with papers and bags of chips.
Past the pink-stained mess was a wobbly-looking table, which was littered with books and scrolls. Mismatched chairs with shredded vinyl seat cushions sat around it, and a heavy, deep blue curtain blocked off access to the center room.
“I know it’s not much,” Logan said apologetically, his cheeks pink as he surveyed the apartment, clearly embarrassed. “You probably have an amazing home.”
“No, this is great,” I said encouragingly. He smiled self-consciously as the curtain was pushed aside. A lean young man strode out, clad in a rumpled black uniform with some kind of purple emblem on his left shoulder. He was boyishly handsome and looked barely old enough to torment a fraternity pledge, let alone be an intimidating warlock. He flashed a quick, dimpled grin at us as he ran a hand through his dark brown hair, which rivaled Logan’s in its unruliness.
Nope, there was nothing immediately scary about the person that stood before us—well, except for the spiked mace that hung from his belt, swinging slightly as he gave Logan a friendly clap on the shoulder, a large, opal-like stone glowing on his index finger.
“Logan! I was hoping I’d see you. And you’ve brought a girl over?” He managed to load the four-letter word with innuendo, his arched eyebrows rising in surprise as he not-so-subtly gave me the once-over.
“Hi, you must be Rego—” I began, and the man recoiled in mock-horror.
“Rego?” he repeated, his voice saturated with exaggerated disgust. “Do I look like I forgot to take the hanger out of my shirt when I got dressed this morning?”
He gave me a sly smile as he stepped closer.
“Let me kiss the hand of the most beautiful creature I’ve seen all day,” the man cooed, taking my palm in his and bending down with his lips pursed, only to flip our hands at the last moment and plant a big kiss on his own knuckles.
“Wow. So that happened.” I stared, incredulous, as he winked at me, his lips still puckered over his own skin.
“Paige, this is Ajax,” Logan said dryly, gesturing to the young man, who was grinning widely, clearly pleased by his own joke. “He’s—”
“Devastatingly handsome, renowned for his wit, and thrilled to meet the lovely young thing Logan’s told me so much about,” Ajax said, winking at me again, his violet eyes sparkling above an impish grin.
I gave Logan a questioning look, and he pulled me away from Ajax.
“I didn’t—it’s not like that—I was talking about possible targets and your name came up,” Logan sputtered, glaring at his friend. “You know, Ajax, you’re embarrassing and completely inappropriate.”
“And starving,” Ajax added, hopping up to sit on the kitchen counter. He grabbed a half-open bag of sour cream and onion potato chips and began digging in.