“Yeah,” Artemis says, glancing curiously at the map of Elisium. I can tell he’s wondering where I got it, but he doesn’t ask.
“It’s a cemetery,” he tells me, pointing at a spot on the map that’s all the way on the other side of the city. “Why is he taking you there?”
My nose wrinkles as though the scent of death already clogs my nostrils. My lungs seize and despite myself, my bottom lip trembles.
“Hey, are you okay?” Artemis asks me, his bowl of beans forgotten for the moment.
I shake my head, more to clear it than to give an answer. “No—I mean, yes. Yes, I’m fine.”
“You sure? You went all green for a second.”
I take a few deep breaths to center myself and reroll the map, tucking it back where I got it from on legs that feel suddenly weak.
Of course he’s taking me to a cemetery.
Bastard.
Tiny fragments of memories turn into clues in my mind. I struggle to string them together, but the picture they form is discordant and marred. And it isn’t one I like.
Ford liked to torture me with dead things, too. Why should Kincaid be any different?
Except…I thought maybe he was.
“Who’s that?” Artemis asks, and I turn to follow his gaze to the open bedroom door. Sitting squarely in the middle, tail swishing back and forth, is Kincaid’s cat.
Even from here, I can hear it purr softly as it watches us with bright green eyes. For the first time, I notice how strange they are. There’s no discernible pupil. The entire oculus is just solid green.
“A demonic cat,” I say, backing away a step when the feline lifts itself and slinks into the room.
“No way!” Artemis exclaims cheerfully. “I didn’t know there were demon cats. Hellhounds, sure. But not cats.”
“Shoo,” I tell it, trying to make a brushing motion with my hands that I hope scares it enough to leave but not enough to attack.
It mistakes my attempt as a call for it to come and patters over to me, it’s little belled collar chiming. Even as I back away until I’m blocked by the bed, it comes. It sits at my feet, curling its tail around its body as it stares up at me.
Meowing loudly, it cocks its demonic little head.
“Awe, look,” Artemis says. “It likes you.”
I don’t like it, but I think maybe the boy is right. After a moment of watching me, perhaps checking to make sure I’m not going to step on its tail again, it brushes its little nose and flat forehead against my shin, beginning to purr again.
Tentatively, I lower myself, not making any sudden movements.
What was it they said in all those nature documentaries. You need to let the animal scent you before touching it? Taking a chance, I put my hand out to the cat and wait while it sniffs my fingertips for a second before pushing its little head into my hand.
I pet it, reveling in the softness of its fur. This time when I find its little horns buried beneath, I don’t freak out. I finger their ridged edges and grin. “You aren’t so scary,” I tell it. “It’s not your fault you’re a demon cat.”
I giggle when it bumps its cold little nose to my palm. “What’s your name?” I ask it as though I’m anticipating an answer and feel under its chin for the collar.
There’s a name tag next to the little bell, but it’s blank.
“Don’t tell me Kincaid didn’t bother naming you? How rude.”
Artemis slides from the bed to his knees, reaching out a hand for the cat to acquaint itself to him.
At this angle, with what remains of the daylight streaming in from the window, there’s a strange, otherworldly glow around Artemis. I see it come in a flash, glowing like the purest form of radiant light in his bright blue eyes when he grins up at me, and the cat strides cautiously to him.
And then it’s gone just as quickly as it came.
The cat takes one sniff of Artemis and makes a swipe at his hand. Raising its back impossibly high, it hisses at him and then rushes away, pausing to hiss one more time before it vanishes.
Artemis shrugs. “Figures.”
I consider the Nephilim boy for a moment. Surprised at the strange feeling taking root in my gut. Like if the cat doesn’t trust him, then maybe I shouldn’t either. I mean, I’m fairly certain he just glowed a second ago, so…
He catches me staring and smirks. “Angel-born,” he says, pointing at himself.
“Demon cat,” he says, pointing out the door. “We don’t exactly get along.”
“Right.”
I slump, wondering if that was the glow I saw. Something to do with his being Nephilim…but no, that couldn’t be it. The diviner who effectively destroyed my life didn’t glow.
Ugh. Who knows? Maybe I’m just finally losing my mind.
It’d be about time.
20
When I leave my room just before three in the morning, exhausted but also somehow more alert than I’ve ever been, I can tell Kincaid is already waiting for me.
I creep on tiptoe past the door next to my room. Artemis snores softly within, and I don’t want to wake him. The space was vacant and when day turned to night and he began to yawn, I thought we should find some place for him to sleep.
I wouldn’t have been opposed to sharing my bed, but I was not the ideal sleeping companion. Waking often from nightmares and tossing and turning at all hours. I’d give my left kidney to have my weighted blanket back.
I hoped Kincaid wouldn’t be angry that I’d taken it upon myself to assign him his own room, too. Kincaid was nowhere to be found to ask first.
37 days, I remind myself. Just 37 more days.
It’s taken me until today to fully realize the potential of my freedom and what it could mean. I’d always pictured it like a fragile thing. I’d envisioned myself in a cabin in the woods away from people—from their illnesses that could kill me.
That picture has since changed. Artemis has assured me now for a second time that I am not in any way shape or form ill. I never was. I won’t ever be.
The possibilities for my freedom lie before me like a runway and I’m eager to take flight.
Except…
I am not mortal.
No matter how many times I think it, it doesn’t seem any more true, but there it is. And who is to say that even if Kincaid does return me to the mortal side of The Hinge that the people there won’t throw me back like an unwanted fish from a hooked line?
As I pad down the stairs, Kincaid’s yellow eyes shine when he lifts them to me, and I smooth the worried knot from my brow. He seems to consider me from head to toe, and I cringe as though I can feel everywhere his eyes touch.
Wordlessly, he lifts a black jacket from a hook above a round receptacle full of umbrellas and canes and hands it to me as I approach. “You’ll be wanting something warmer.”
I realize I’m still in the shorts from earlier and the most comfortable t-shirt I could find in all the clothes stuffed in the dresser. I hadn’t even thought I might need to change. It’s warm in the house, and I’m not exactly accustomed to going outside.
“I’ll just go change,” I offer, not wanting to take the jacket, but Kincaid shakes his head.
“There isn’t time.”