I nod and sniffle again. Miserable.
He grabs my shoulder in his large hand and, for a second, I believe he might be winding up a punch. But he just shoves me back against the wall and goes for the door.
As he walks through, I pull it enough together to say, “You shouldn’t leave the office wards. You’re hurt. It’s still night, and your father might try to find you.”
He pauses for a beat, shoulders tense. Then he stalks off down the hallway and doesn’t look back.
And I let him. Because there really isn’t any good that I can do. That much is now crystal clear.
I close the door and stagger back into the office, face hot, tummy trembling, hands shaking. My breath shudders in and out, quick, shallow, and ragged. Then I collapse belly-first onto the couch to bury my face deep in the crook of my elbow.
And no longer able to help myself, I sob and sob like a stupid baby, until exhaustion forces me to sleep.
12
Lightfrom the window wakes me up. Not morning light—it’s golden light from the west. It must be very late afternoon, which means I’ve slept through almost the entire day.
You’d think that a sleep like that would give me perspective. Or at least some relief from the previous night’s emotional misery. But I can still see the hate in Rafa’s eyes as if he were right here in front of me. Just like I can see Collin’s gentle smile, moments before I sacrificed him for nothing.
Repugnant. Outplayed.Outsmarted. I desperately run over the last moments in the Benevolent Society in my head—we fought our way through vampires, so does that mean Valiente broke his end of the deal? I don’t have Collin to answer, but something tells me there’s no way I’m getting off that easy. Valiente was shouting “Stop!” while we were being chased—that is, until I knocked a bunch of vamps down the stairs into him. He could very well havebeen trying to get them to stand down. And both Rafa and I were able to leave the building, and he didn’t come after us once we were out. That’s probably more than enough.
There is no avoiding that I’ve literally ruined everything, so I just pick up crying where I left off, only this time with more quiet tears and rolled onto my back instead of face-first. That’s how pathetic I am.
It takes me another fifteen minutes of on and off weeping before I’m finally out of gas and feeling hollowed out and empty. My neck really hurts. And I’m also crazy hungry, since I haven’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday.
I’m debating between doing nothing about that—thus punishing myself with some kind of sloth-like hunger strike—versus calling for food delivery, when there’s a knock at the office door.
I can’t help hoping it’s Rafa coming back (I know, that’s screwed up) while also being afraid it’s the vampires (not likely in daylight!). But the unmistakable silhouette of a woman behind the frosted glass clues me into what would actually be realistic:
It must be Nicole. Checking in to find out if I have any news on her daughter.
God, this is the last bit of music I want to face! And I have to look crazy scary, covered in dried blood and with what I’m sure are huge bruises around my neck. But I owe her an answer, so I trundle my achy body over to the door and pull it open—to see my mother standing there, all blond and teenage in a form-fitting, strapless pastel-pink dress. She has a minuscule clutch purse expertly tuckedunder her arm and is holding up a branded brown paper bag of McDonald’s.
Mom started speaking the moment I turned the handle. “I realize actually placing a call to me with an update is too much to ask, but I would at least expect you to answer your?—”
Then she sees me and her entire face falls.
“Christ.Alvin.” She brings up the pink french-manicured fingertips from her free hand to cover her mouth, blanching. It causes the clutch purse under her armpit to slip almost a whole quarter of an inch.
She seems honestly shocked. I must really look like hell.
“What are you doing here, Mom?” I’m so stunned, I just blink. “How do you evenknowabout this place?”
She swallows and regains a bit of her usual arrogance. “Because I’m yourmother.”
Sure. Okay. Whatever that means.
We stare at each other across the open doorway for an awkwardly long time. She breaks first.
“I… could tell you were in pain,” she says. “Emotionalpain. More than you usually are. That’s why I’m here.” She motions with glossy nails at the stenciled SARAH STRYKER, PARANORMAL INVESTIGATOR text on the frosted glass of the door. “And I’ve known for months that you’ve been working for the human wizard, because I make aneffortto keep myself informed about who my son associates with.”
Um… what? She can sense my emotions across distance? And she’s been straight-up spying on me? Well, none ofthatis awesome!
My mother arches her eyebrow and sighs. “So, are you going to let me in or should I just eat this unholy garbage pretending to be food, by myself, in the hall?”
There’s probably a million reasons I shouldn’t let my mom through my boss’s door. After all, she’s apparently some kind of evil succubus Hell queen. But if she really has malevolent intentions, odds are Stryker’s magic will still stop her.
And fuck it, I’m hungry.
