Page 17 of Whispers From The Dark

“Is that your mother?”

Petra says nothing.

“May I kill her?”

“Jesus Christ, Az, no.”

“She deserves it, doesn’t she? She is the one who makes your life harder and shames you for how you choose to live it. It’s her you’re running from, isn’t it?”

She bites her lip and closes her eyes before lifting onto her tiptoes, fingers fumbling over the door frame. She doesn’t find the key she’s looking for.

“She’s off-limits,” Petra whispers. “I don’t want to talk about her, and I certainly don’t want you digging through my memories of her. Okay?”

“That requires an addendum to our agreement. What do I get in exchange?”

“You get what you want,” she says. “Now unlock the goddamn door before I lose my nerve.”

7

PETRA

“Stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thinking.”

There is nowhere in my mind to retreat from Az. All I can do is repeat myself over and over again to hide what makes my heart race and my hands shake. I’m doing my best to focus on what is in front of me, and nothing more. I can’t think about how he invaded my memories of my shitty mom. I can’t think of what I gave him in exchange for him to leave those thoughts alone. And I really can’t think about how it wasn’t a hard⁠—

“No,” I say to myself, quiet as a mouse, stopping that line of thinking.

If it hadn’t been for Mom leaving the light on over the stove, I wouldn’t have seen Jack sprawled across my bed. I sigh, remembering the broken window, as I look at my little brother. I don’t know how he manages to muss up the blankets so much, but there’s a pillow on the floor, and one bare foot juts out over the edge.

“Are demons responsible for the monster under the bed thing?” I ask in my mind, creeping my way down the hall towards the bathroom. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I have to keep moving. First things first—I need a shower.

“I’m sure in the history of demonkind, one has hidden beneath a bed to scare a child, but it’s not something we learn at the Academy.”

“The Academy?” I respond in my head, cautious of my volume for Jack’s sake.

“Demon Academy—where we learn how best to possess people, how to speak modern languages, learn about how Earth works,” Az says.

“That’s a thing?”

“No,” he says, a low rumble of laughter echoing deep in my chest.

“Asshole.”

Az goes quiet for a moment as I dig through the hallway closet that holds both linens and my personal clothing. I can feel his mood, somehow, as strange as that is. He’s curious, but I’m not sure what about. After grabbing an oversized t-shirt and a towel, I lock myself in the bathroom, and my nerves almost drown out Az’s inquisitive nature until his deep voice infiltrates my thoughts once more.

“Why don’t you speak that way to other people?”

“What do you mean?” I whisper aloud.

“You didn’t hesitate to call me an asshole, and yet you played along with that man at the bar after he touched you without consent. Why didn’t you call him an asshole too?”

The question takes me by surprise. “I don’t know. I guess there’s no point. If I told every shitty customer they were shitty, I wouldn’t have a job.”

“When Dmitri broke your phone, you pretended it didn’t happen. Is there no point in asking him to fix it?”

“I mean, of course there is. But it’s my own fault, isn’t it? Why start drama over that? I should have had a better grip on it.”

“Perhaps he shouldn’t have waved his arms around like a fool with no regard for the person next to him. There is a reason for that saying. How does it go? The road to hell is paved with good intentions? Truthfully, it’s neutral intentions leading the charge. Consideration is oft overlooked here in the mortal realm. Not giving a damn about anyone else is worse than being wicked and depraved. Most of the time, anyway.”