I turn, cautiously peeking at his expression while also judging the distance between where I stand and the exit on the other end of the galley kitchen. There are only two ways out and Kincaid is blocking the other.
His expression, unsurprisingly, is unreadable, as it so often is. I can’t tell from a look in his eyes what his intentions are like I could Ford. I truly don’t know.
I try to form the words for an apology, but that stubborn pocket of defiant fury is still there, and I can’t say it. It would be a lie. Was it true that demons could tell if you were lying?
“Thank you,” I say instead, and even that tastes foul on my tongue. “For bringing the boy.”
“It was part of our bargain.”
“Right.”
Kincaid licks his lips, and something slithers through my belly in response. I worry for a moment that he’s using his ability on me again, but he isn’t looking at me. His gaze is downcast as he runs a shaky hand through his tousled black hair.
He looks more disheveled than I’ve ever seen him before, I realize. His plain cotton shirt is undone at the top, revealing the smooth expanse of his tan chest beneath. His pants look rumpled, like he might’ve fallen asleep in them, and his eyes, normally a bright almost radiant yellow gold are dull and so bloodshot I have to wonder if he even slept at all.
“Are you sick?” The question topples from my lips, and I’m taken aback at how worried it sounds when it does. I bite my tongue to keep anything else from coming out.
He crooks his neck to stare at me curiously. “No,” he answers and then seems to come back to himself. “No, of course I’m not, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Okay,” I all but snap. “Never mind then.”
I turn away, but Kincaid stops me, moving so fast I don’t even see him until he’s standing in front of me again. Startled, I fall back, knocking into a spice rack on the countertop. Jars rattle and fall, rolling from the counter’s edge.
I fumble to catch them before they can shatter, but Kincaid is faster, snatching all three up in the span of a single blink and then placing them slowly back on the counter.
“I didn’t come to you to trade insults.”
“Then what do you want?”
This time, I can tell he’s angry. A vein jumps in his left temple when his jaw clenches. “For you to fulfill your end. There’s somewhere I want to take you. Tonight.”
“Where?”
“Bellefontaine,” he says, as if I should know what that means. “If I’m right about what I think you are, it won’t be pleasant.”
I huff a vicious laugh. He clearly wasn’t hearing me when he made me spill my entire life’s sob story to him last night. He doesn’t need to warn me, since when is anything ever pleasant in the life of Paige St. Clare?
“What time?”
“At three.”
“I thought you said tonight?”
It would be three in less than two hours from now.
“Three in the morning. We’ll leave just before then.”
Lovely.
“Is that all?” I ask as tonelessly as I am able, trying to hide how incredibly uncomfortable he’s making me. His mood swings are giving me whiplash.
“One more thing, I meant to ask before but…” he trails off.
“You mean when you ransacked my head?”
I couldn’t help myself.
Kincaid grimaces. “Who are your parents, Paige?”
I’m taken aback at the question. He already knows Ford was my legal guardian. When I don’t answer straight away, his eyes glint with the bitter edge of rancor.
Not wanting him to do what he did last night again, I tell him. It’s no secret. “I don’t know,” I state matter-of-factly. “My mom’s name was Cassandra St. Clare. As far as I know she was mortal. She was raped—apparently by a Diablim—and I am the result. That’s all I know.”
It’s all Ford would tell me about her. A hollowness spreads like poison in my gut.
My fingernails carve half-moons into my palms. I can’t meet Kincaid’s fiery gaze, but I can feel it on my cheek. “Are we done here?”
Kincaid leaves without replying, but I think I hear him whisper something under his breath. I can’t make it out.
Once he’s gone, I slump against the counter, glaring at my body as if it’s a separate entity from myself.
“Get your shit together, Paige,” I hiss, shaking the disquiet from my skull as I rummage for something for Artemis to eat.
I’ve completely lost my appetite.
I roll my shoulder, amazed at Artemis’ skill. It’s completely healed. As is what remained of the small cuts on my palms, though those had nearly healed themselves already.
Both Artemis and I had been surprised to find the wound in my shoulder had mostly healed itself, too. After I’d explained to him what happened and how deep the punctures were—well, suffice it to say, he was confused when the bandage came off.
The three puncture marks were fully closed and scabbed over.
“Don’t look so impressed,” Artemis said around a mouthful of canned beans. I really needed to ask Kincaid to stock the kitchen better. Besides canned goods and shelf stable items, there wasn’t much at all. The fridge stood all but empty, with a funny smell inside. And the breadbox held nothing but a loaf of old bread, covered over in fuzzy blue mold.
Did demons not eat?
“There was barely anything left for me to heal,” he continues after a big swallow.
Artemis practically glows after his long shower earlier in the day. His hair is still a little matted, and I expect he’ll need a fine-tooth comb to get the small dreads out of it, or maybe a haircut, but his muddy-brown hair looks more like shiny milk chocolate now. And I never would have guessed there was a smattering of light freckles beneath all the grime coating his cheeks.
He looks exactly like someone who does not belong in Elisium.
“When did you say that happened to your shoulder?”
I work to remember. I’ve begun counting the days since Kincaid and my bargain was struck. Only 38 more until I’ll gain my freedom. Which means the run in with the daeva in the park was… “About four days ago. Maybe five. I was passed out for a while.”
He frowns. “That’s some speedy healing. Guess you really are Diablim then. Maybe close to a pure blood.”
“Do they heal faster than others?”
He nods. “Yeah. Demons heal the fastest. Like, lightning fast. Pure-blooded Diablim heal really fast. Low level Diablim still heal faster than a mortal, but not by much.”
Curiosity piqued, I tug my sleeve back on and cross my legs atop the bed. “And Nephilim?”
He makes a so-so motion with his head, his mouth filled again with beans. “Pretty much the same.”
I remember the books downstairs in the library. Part of the bargain with Kincaid allows me to read them, but with everything going on, all of it happening so fast, the desire for knowledge has taken a back seat to other more pressing issues.
“Hey,” I say, jumping up from the bed. Artemis snatches up his bowl to keep it from spilling as the whole thing is jostled. “Have you heard of Bellefontaine?”
The little drawer on the left side of the vanity squeals as I pull it open and retrieve the map I snatched from Tori’s shop. It crinkles as I splay it open in front of Artemis on the bed.