"…and a demon of joy, and a demon of hope, and even a demon of love," Tod finished, gesturing with a corn chip. "There's a hellion for every emotion and weakness known to man. More than one. There are hundreds of hellions in the Netherworld. Maybe thousands. Knowing what Addy's demon specializes in won't be much help without something more specific."
"But it's a starting place, right?" I twisted my can on the table. "It's more than we knew yesterday."
Tod nodded slowly. "For what little good it does us."
"Wait…" My thoughts had stalled on something he'd said, like a thorn caught on a loose thread. "How can there be a hellion of love? Or of hope? I thought hellions fed on pain and suffering. And chaos. How can they possibly feed on emotions that make people happy?"
Nash smiled at me, but it was a sweet, pitying smile, like he was humoring me. As if I were too naive for words. But it was Tod who answered, as usual more than willing to enlighten me on the darker side of life.
"A hellion can wring pain and chaos from any emotion, Kaylee. If you want love, he gives you unrequited love. Pangs of it so torturous you go insane and die. If you ask for hope, he makes it vain hope, hope so fruitless that after grasping at it, clutching it, you eventually go insane and die. And if you beg for faith, you get blind faith. Faith you cling to, and build upon, until the day you discover that it's unfounded, and you—"
"I get it," I interrupted, a chip halfway to my mouth. "You go insane and die. Hellions are the sum of all things cruel and evil. Thanks for clarifying."
Nash chuckled, and I couldn't hold back a grin.
"You two are cracked," Tod snapped.
My smile widened. "Says the undead man in love with the soulless pop star."
Tod scowled, and I thought I saw his cheeks flush. Which struck me as kind of weird for a man who'd died two years ago. "I'm not in love with her."
"So you pulled us into a potentially deadly scheme to save the soul of some girl you don't even care about?"
His scowl deepened, and Tod scooted his folding chair across the faded linoleum. "Fine. You don't want to help? I'll do it myself." He stood. "So what if I get killed in the process? Permanently, this time."
I rolled my eyes. "Sit down, reaper, we're going to help." I just couldn't resist getting back at him for constantly invading our privacy. "But we're suffering from a conspicuous lack of ideas, here. We need someone who knows more about hellions. Or at least about the Netherworld in general."
"Hello? Reaper here." Exasperated, Tod laid one hand flat on the tabletop. "I know about the Netherworld."
"Not enough, apparently." Nash tossed another piece of popcorn into his mouth, ignoring Tod's annoyed under-his-breath muttering. "We need to talk to someone who's been around longer." He eyed me solemnly. "Kaylee, we need to talk to your dad."
"No." I shook my head firmly. "No way. If I even mention the word hellion he'll lock me in my room and swallow the key."
"He's the oldest non-human I know, and you don't have to tell him what we're doing." Nash shrugged, as if my decision should have been a no-brainer. "Just tell him you're curious. Or come up with something that won't make him worry. Besides, he promised not to keep any more secrets from you."
"Yeah, but he never promised to give me the inside scoop on demons." I looked him straight in the eye to convey my final word on the subject. "If I ask my dad about hellions, this whole thing is over." Then I smiled as an alternate solution came to mind. "Why don't you ask your mom?"
Nash frowned, and Tod's expression echoed the sentiment. "Because not only would she freak out, she'd call your dad so they could freak out in stereo."
"So we're back where we started." My shoulders slumped, and I dipped a chip into the bowl of salsa. "We need someone old enough to have lots of experience in the Netherworld, but who won't care what we're up to."
Tod sat up straight in his chair, as if the lightbulb over his head had just blinked to life. "Libby. We need to talk to Libby."
CHAPTER 9
"How much trouble are you going to be in if we get caught?" Nash asked, concern lining the edges of his perfect, practically edible mouth. A tall, skinny guy in a letter jacket rushed past us in the hallway, carrying a huge black tuba case. He narrowly missed smashing my shoulder with it, and when Nash tugged me out of the way, the tubaist ran into the lockers instead with a horrible metal-crunching crash.
"You mean if we get caught here…" In the human world. "Or there?" I whispered, unwilling to say "the Netherworld" in public. Especially at school, with the tuba player still regaining his balance a few feet away.
"Either one." Nash veered away from the dark green lockers and I followed him, ducking into an alcove near the first-floor restrooms.
"Well, I doubt Coach Rundell will even notice I'm not there." I had American History last period, and with the football play-offs coming up, the coach had been too busy studying his playbook to come up with actual lesson plans, so we'd been watching installments of a documentary about the Civil War for the past week and a half. "But if he does, and they call my dad…" I'd have to be home before dusk for the remainder of my adolescence.
My father was trying really hard to be a good dad, and he wasn't doing too bad a job, considering he'd been absent for the past thirteen years of my life. But he was going overboard on a few vital issues. Like quality family time—thus, our Sunday night dinners—and his need to know where I was at all times.
That was appropriate the last time we'd shared a home—back when I was three. But at sixteen, I needed a little more freedom, and a lot less nosiness.
"And if we get caught there…" I shrugged. "All bets are off."
Nash swallowed thickly. "With any luck, we won't have to actually cross over. Yet." But we both heard the uncertainty in his pause. "Where does your dad think you're going?"
"Downtown with me," Emma said. Startled, I spun to find my best friend leaning against a bright purple chess club flyer taped to the wall behind us. "After work, we're grabbing pizza and going birthday shopping for my mom." Emma winked one deep chocolate-colored eye at me and smiled to show even, white teeth. She was pretty enough to be spectacularly popular, but smart enough not to give a damn, and I loved her for it.
I'd convinced a lovesick coworker at the Cinemark to switch my Tuesday shift for his Friday shift just by mentioning that he'd spend all four hours alone with Emma in the ticket booth. As soon as I said her name, he'd offered to trade entire schedules.
"I said I'd have her home by ten-thirty, so don't be late," Emma teased Nash.
He grinned and pulled me closer, and I wanted to melt into him. "No problem." But I couldn't help mentally crossing my fingers. Tod had done some digging and found out that Libby would be pulling in another dose of Demon's Breath that night in Abilene. But Abilene was a six-hour round-trip. Counting rest stops, dinner, and however long it took to actually convince her to help us, it was bound to be a long night.
"So, where are you really going?" Em tucked a strand of long, straight blond hair behind one ear and eyed us both with a knowing grin. "Or do I even want to know?"
"Probably not. It's not what you think." I sighed, wishing it was what she thought. Wishing hard.
Her grin melted into a look of concern to match Nash's, and she tugged her backpack higher on her shoulder. "Bean sidhe business?" she whispered, glancing around dramatically for potential eavesdroppers.
"Yeah." We'd had to fill Emma in on some basic Netherworld stuff when Nash and I had reinstated her soul, thus saving her life. And accidentally ending another, a fact which haunted me constantly. But Emma didn't know about Tod, or that reapers even existed, and I wasn't going to tell her anything that could bring her to the attention of any dangerous Netherworld elements. I hadn't saved her just to let her go again. Ever.