“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.