Logan’s eyes whirled around the room, taking in the music posters on the pink walls and the web of twinkle lights hanging along the ceiling before stopping to inspect my bookshelf.
“Who are these people?” he asked, picking up a silver-framed photo and studying it.
“Uh, just old friends from my old school.”
“The ones who stopped talking to you after you saved Dylan’s life?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
I nodded.
“I never got around to replacing the picture,” I lied, aware it was a weak excuse. How could I explain that I used to cling to these reminders of a time when my biggest problems were remembering if Amber and Hannah were still in a fight or if Chris Delaney only liked me, or if he liked me liked me.
Logan set the picture back, giving it one last look.
“Why replace it? You look pretty in that photo. Happy,” he said in a measured tone. He next picked up one of my cat figurines, a bobblehead that resembled Mercer, who was currently curled up on the bed.
“Oh, didn’t you know? I’m a future cat lady,” I explained matter-of-factly, and he laughed, patting the black-and-white cat so its head bounced around.
“So, what do you think of my room?” I asked nervously as he sat down next to me on the bed, smoothing his hand over my pink-and-pale-yellow bedspread. And then Logan looked up at me, a mischievous glint in his sparkling brown eyes.
“Well, the pink pens make sense now,” he said, leaning back to smack his palm against the pink-painted wall.
“Shut up,” I muttered, turning my back to him and folding my arms. “I like pink.”
“Well, I like you. And I like your room.” Logan wound his arms around me from behind, pulling my back against his chest. “Very much, on both accounts.”
“As much as I’d like to stay like this, my dad’s going to come in here in about three seconds and ask us if we want soda or snacks,” I groaned, “and if he sees us like this he’s going to add castration to the menu.”
Logan dropped me from his hold as if I were made of lava—a bold statement, considering he wielded fire demon power. He bolted to the opposite side of the room, settling in my pink beanbag chair with a textbook protectively over his crotch. He glanced warily at the door, his face pale.
Sure enough, a minute later my dad poked his head in just to check and see if we needed anything. Then he made sure the door was as wide open as possible. And tested the lock. And studied the hinges, possibly contemplating removing the door from the frame. And then he left. Probably to go collect his award for Most Embarrassing Dad of All Time That Ever Existed in the History of Everything.
“So what did you do today?” I asked, hiding a grin at the sight of Logan in the beanbag, which puffed out around him like a big pink pillow. And then his cheeks turned as pink as the poofy chair.
“I used my skills to get out of my afternoon classes,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I fell asleep in two of my morning ones.”
“Seriously?”
“Hey, I was tired,” he said defensively, the very mention of exhaustion making him stifle back a yawn. He stretched out his arms, smiling in relief—but his smile soon faded, leaving Logan with an apprehensive, almost nervous expression on his face.
“What?” I asked, paling.
“So, I have to tell you something,” Logan said, brushing his hair back and then clutching a fistful in his palm. “Apparently Ajax was right about the final battle coming up. Cerus was talking with Rego while I was home this afternoon. Something about how the greed demons are all shutting their shops, stockpiling their coins and prepping for the coming war.”
“What did they tell you?”
“They didn’t tell me anything. They thought I was at school. I was in bed—their voices woke me up and I eavesdropped. The greed demons operate out of what would be lower Manhattan, and they’re slowly abandoning it. Not big fighters, those guys.”
I traced the pattern on my bedspread as Logan spoke, mulling over his words.
“Logan, I think it’s affecting this world.”
“What do you mean?”
“The news is full of reports of the stock market dropping. We’re talking at a crazy rate. And the greed demons’ neighborhood mirrors the financial district,” I explained. “I mean, Rego did say that the two worlds were connected, and what happens in one affects the other. A war on that side’s definitely going to affect us.”
“Who’s going to war?” Dad asked, popping his head into the doorway. “Everything going okay? You having trouble with some kids at school?”
“Dad, seriously?” I cried, throwing my hands in the air and letting them fall onto my mattress with a thud. “Have you been standing there eavesdropping?”
My dad coughed awkwardly in reply.
“No.” Yes. “I just wanted to see if you need anything.”
“Dad, we’re fine,” I insisted, and he spun on his heel and walked out of the room. I followed him and peered out the door, making sure he’d gone back into the living room.
“I’m sorry about my dad,” I said, pulling over an ottoman to sit next to Logan.
“Don’t be. Your dad’s scary, but you’re lucky,” he said wistfully, tracing a seam in the beanbag with his thumb. “You know he cares.”
I studied Logan’s pained expression. “Can you tell me about your parents?” I asked hesitantly, not wanting to push him.
“My parents...” He paused, steeling himself with a deep breath before he continued in a small voice. “My parents wanted me far, far away from that world. I remember they wanted a normal life for me. Giving me a normal name,” he emphasized the word, “was the first step.”
“What do you mean normal? Compared to what?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, everyone who is somehow connected to the Dark World has a ridiculous name. They’re all nicknames and titles, loaded with meaning and insight and Very. Heavy. Symbolism,” he said in a dramatically deep voice, rolling his eyes.
“Aiden’s a normal name.”
“Because you’re thinking of it as being spelled the human way, but the demon spelling is A-e-o-d-h-a-n. Aeodhan,” he explained, pronouncing it in an affected tone. “Means fiery or some other forced complimentary spin on his temper.”
“Does your name have another meaning, too?”
“Other than King Awesome?”
“Well, yeah. Other than the obvious.”
Logan shook his head, a smile on his face.
“Logan’s a pretty common name. My parents originally wanted something super normal, like John or Mike, but they liked what the name Logan meant. It means ‘little hollow’—that dip of land between valleys,” he continued, taking his left hand and swiping it sharply through the air in a V-shape. “I remember someone telling me I was named for the earth.”
He paused. “This earth,” he clarified. “This side.”
Logan stared upward again, but his eyes grew unfocused, as if he wasn’t seeing the strands of twinkle lights above his head. His brow twitched, and his lips turned down as he reacted to the memory he was replaying.
“I really don’t remember much, to be honest. The first eight years of my life are really foggy. But I remember waking up one night and hearing my parents arguing. I was seven, I think. My father said he wanted me free of obligation, free to enjoy the gift of life. I remember him saying that—the gift of life.” He repeated the words reverentially, a melancholic smile on his face as he remembered his father.
“I was a little kid, so of course I was excited. I was expecting a present, something wrapped up in a bow that I could play with. It was years later before I understood that he’d been trying to save me from this existence.”