Page 34 of Some Kind of Haunted

And my father . . . knowing this?

Maybe I’m in the middle of another dream right now. A continuation. But I pinch the inside of my elbow . . . hard.

And I feel it enough to cause a sting in my eyes.

My pulse is going triple time, and it doesn’t help when my gaze moves to Jack. He’s as scowly and disapproving as ever, which is oddly reassuring, and he clearly still thinks I’m a problem.

But not because I’m yammering on about dreams that can’t possibly be true, I realize then.

I’m a problem for him because my dreams are true, and I really am the harbinger of all this doom right here in his town.

For the strangest moment, I want to laugh. Even though this is awful, a hard wave of relief sweeps through me. I don’t have to hold on so hard to believing it was a dream if they don’t. I don’t have to pretend as hard as I’ve pretended these past few years.

I can just believe.

Maybe none of this is the best upgrade in the world, but I’m kind of in love with it just now.

It’s true, and I am not crazy.

I turn to my brother. My rock and foundation, really. If he believes me, if last night happened to him, too . . .

“So we believe in demons now?” It’s not that big of leap for me, not really, but for super-rational Logan?

He doesn’t answer this question. He doesn’t even look at me. He just keeps frowning at Jack.

But demons, feeds, historic deals that feel a lot like curses, and prayers that were maybe spells that made people like me—much as the sensible part of my brain wants to reject these things, everything I’ve experienced my whole life makes a lot more sense in this context.

I am the actual harbinger of doom.

There’s something oddly clarifying and even steadying about finally making sense. Maybe bringing on doom was not my life’s aspiration, but the people in this diner booth are taking that doom, and me, seriously. That’s not something I’ve experienced before.

Lexi Darling, purveyor of doom—not drama.

What this means is that, for the first time in my life, I get to take the things that have haunted me all this time seriously, too.

I get to take me seriously. It’s big. It’s huge. It’s the most wonderful thing I can think of.

Except for the whole demons part.

I note Logan has not acknowledged my question, but that can be okay for now. He hasn’t dealt with what I have. He hasn’t carried a weight that’s now been partially lifted.

By these . . . strangers.

I want to laugh again, but I swallow it down. I try to think like Logan would if he believed in all this. Rationally. With a plan in mind.

“What happens now?” I ask the table. And yet, even without having any history in this place, I find myself looking toward Jack to answer that. Like his authority has a gravitational pull—maybe that weight Cleo mentioned. Which doesn’t make him any less hot.

“We were going to meet tonight anyway and discuss some plans,” Jack says. “You’ll come.”

I note this is an order, not an invitation. I want to bristle, but . . . I’m being taken seriously? How can I bristle at that?

Jack glances around the diner like he expects someone to be paying us too much attention. He leans in, speaks more quietly. “Eight. The airport.”

“An airport doesn’t seem like a safe or neutral meeting space to discuss demons with near strangers,” Logan says in his lawyer voice.

“Who said you’re invited?” Jack asks gruffly. “You’re not the harbinger. You don’t even believe us.”

But Logan is undeterred. “We’re a set. You want her, you get me.”