“It’s a little late, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Well, yes, but—”
The priest shook his head. “You’ll have to call and make an appointment if you want to talk to someone.”
She blinked, expecting him to say something else, to smile, to change his mind. But he just stood there.
“I’m sorry, F-Father,” she managed. “I didn’t mean to disturb anyone, I just—do you believe demons exist?” The words came out in a rush. She wanted to hook him, to make him listen.
He shook his head. “You just need a good night’s sleep, I bet,” he said. “Good night.”
He turned and walked away. He didn’t look back.
Megan stared after him, her blood heating her cheeks, becoming aware of how stupid she must look. So much for that idea. There was no help, there was no sanctuary, there was nothing but the icy wind whipping around the corners of the building and insinuating itself through her coat.
The feeling of letdown lasted as long as it took to pull into the parking lot at the Holiday Hideaway, replaced by a different emotion, one she couldn’t quite analyze, when her headlights skimmed over one very familiar black Jaguar parked outside her room.
She didn’t know what to say.
She’d wanted him here, wanted him as badly as she’d ever wanted anything, but now that he was…she fidgeted, she couldn’t meet his eyes, she thought about hiding.
Not that hiding was possible, not when Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud practically leaped on her, so eager were they to express their sympathy. Spud didn’t speak, of course, just patted her back—hard enough to make her cough—with tears in his eyes. It took several minutes to free herself, and another deep breath before she forced herself to meet Greyson’s eyes. His were completely unreadable, remote.
“How did you…how did you find out I was here?”
He shrugged. “They called me.”
“They?”
“The local crew here.”
Ah. “Mr. Malton.”
“Maldon, yes. His boss, Winston, called me.”
The brothers kept shooting little glances in their direction, like they were waiting for either a fight or some explosive sex. Or both.
“Why did he call you? I mean, why you?”
“He didn’t have a number for you and he was pretty sure I would, Meg.”
“Oh. Right.”
She felt his gaze on her, tasted the awkwardness in the air. He didn’t know what she wanted, or maybe he did and didn’t know if she wanted it from him.
Neither did she. She wanted to be held. She wanted to be kissed, to be reassured that the world outside this shitty little town existed and that she had a place in it. Was welcome and wanted in it.
But her soul cringed at the thought of his arms around her while he checked his watch behind her back. Of a kiss given with perfunctory ease because it was expected. She wanted his empathy, not his sympathy, and it was an emotion she didn’t know if he understood or was willing to give—if he cared enough about her for her problems to really matter to him, enough for her to penetrate that smooth, hard veneer.
For the first time since the night she’d let him take her home, she wanted him to be someone or something other than what he was. Not a demon. Not someone who looked at the foibles of humanity with a sardonic eye because they didn’t affect him. But just a man.
He took the six-pack from her hand, and the chips. The chips he tossed to Maleficarum; the beer he kept, and with his free hand he grabbed hers, enveloping her fingers in heat.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
“It’s too cold.”
“Come on.” He set out across the parking lot, pulling her after him.
They walked in silence for a while, down the deserted street, past the scanty forest marking the edge of the town proper. The street continued, all the way into the heart of Grant Falls, but Megan stopped. “I don’t want to go there.”
“Why not?”
She looked away, down at her shoes, until his hand under her chin forced her to look up at him. Damn it. Her lids fluttered. “They…they remember me.”
He was silent for a moment, digesting that. “Why didn’t you call me?”
She shrugged. In her head she heard her own voice, reassuring a client, floating into people’s homes and cars from the radio. Never be afraid to talk about your feelings. Speaking up is bravery. If they don’t know how you feel, they can’t respond to your emotions.
Bullshit. “So I guess whoever this Maldon guy is, he isn’t very happy I’m here. He sent some of his Yezer to the bar, I was at this bar in town, and they—”
“Why didn’t you call me, Meg?”
“You were in New York.”
“Didn’t you think I’d come back?” He paused. “Or did you not want me to?”
She shrugged. “You were mad at me.”
“And you were mad at me.” He let go of her chin and sat down on the curb. Glass clinked loudly in the crisp air as he pulled two beers out of the pack and opened them, their caps ringing on the sidewalk. “Are you still mad?”
She tucked her coat beneath her to try and guard her behind from the freezing pavement. “No. You?”
“No.” He drank his beer and made a face.
“It was all they had,” she said, smiling for what felt like the first time in days.
“No wonder you went to a bar. What happened?”
She told him, as quickly as she could, not wanting to think for too long about the sullen faces and bulky bodies in her way. When she got to the part about the Yezer appearing, he interrupted.
“Where was Roc?”
“He’s at my par—my mom’s house.”
“You should keep him with you. Especially when you’re not in the city.”
“I just…didn’t want to deal with him tonight.”
Greyson nodded. “Maldon isn’t happy you’re here. He wants to meet with you.”
“Oh, for—”
“Yeah, I know. I tried to talk him out of it but…honestly, bryaela, he’s probably pissed off because of me. He doesn’t care for me too much.”
“Why not? Do I want to know?”
“I seduced his wife.”
She choked on her beer. “Really?”
He nodded. “Five years or so ago. They were in town for some kind of meeting. I was bored.”
“Well, at least you found something to amuse you.”
Why did she love his smile so much? In spite of everything she’d been thinking only ten minutes ago—and it was all true and she knew it—he could smile at her like that and she didn’t care anymore, despite the tiny, almost unacknowledged stab of jealousy. “Such as it was. Yes, I did.”
“I guess when I go meet this guy you won’t be with me.”
“Oh, no. I definitely will be.”
“But if he hates you—”
“He hates me, yes. But he also knows I’m more powerful than he is. Which, by extension, makes you more powerful than he is. I don’t want him to forget it.”
“Why do I have to go at all?”
“Because it’s courteous and you have enough to deal with here without his Yezer—or who knows what else—following you around.”
She sighed. “When do we have to do this?”
“When is the funeral?”
“Eleven, tomorrow.”
He checked his watch. “We might still be able to catch him tonight. If not, we’ll try for morning.”
“Do we have to? Tonight, I mean?”
“Best to get it over with.” He opened another beer. “Besides, he’ll probably have decent scotch.”
An hour later they arrived at Maldon’s house, a bland split-level in a new development. Megan, accustomed to the homes of important demons being as opulent as imperial palaces, felt like she’d arrived at the gates of Hell and found Heck instead.
Not that the grand Iureanliers actually resembled Hell, or that Hell even existed—apparently it didn’t, but she hadn’t yet learned the true story. The analogy suited her anyway and won another smile from Greyson when she whispered it to him.