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In fact, my spirits are so improved that instead of going directly home to enjoy my wings, I stop at Cove Park to enjoy them in the bright autumn light.
Tad and I had some of our first dates here and a part of me thought I’d never go back.
But just like I don’t want to be a person who freezes in fear, I don’t want to be a person who avoids every place that holds a Tad memory.
He doesn’t own my feelings anymore. Or the park, for that matter.
I find a bench under a spindly tree yet to shed its leaves and pick out the top flat from the box. The first bite explodes on my tongue as the spicy, acidic little treats hit the same spot as the salt and vinegar chips I crave once a month. I suck the sauce off my fingers, not entirely sold on how messy they are.
I grab another, this time a drumstick and end up people-watching since my hands are too messy to scroll.
This time of day, the park is full of people walking their dogs or exercising in some way or another—walking, jogging, or that strange power-walk thing. A few people have their phones out, gaze glued to it as they follow the paths and somehow avoid bumping into others.
Every last one of them seem like regular people. None of them blur away too fast or smile with sharpened teeth. I tune in to the sounds of the park, dogs barking, songbirds cheeping, the wind-rattled tree limbs dull, steady song, and all that too seems normal.
With a sigh, I finish the last few wings, clean the sauce off my face, and head back to the car.
I keep my eyes peeled the whole rest of the way back to my condo for anything out of the ordinary. If a single leaf is out of place, I’ll notice because if I am going to tell a doctor, I want them to know everything. Every time it happens, every weird thing I see… everything.
And the whole way home, I find myself almost hoping that something will be different or weird, both to add to the list and to prove to myself I hadn’t imagined every time before. So much so that when I enter my condo, I’m met with a stiff wall of disappointment. The hum of the fridge, the creak of the floorboard two steps beyond the threshold, even the echo of my heels on the floor, all ring familiar as I confront the sameness in every angle and color.
I throw away my hot wings box and head to the bedroom to change into loungewear. Because there’s no chance in hell I’ll be caught in office wear outside an office. Even if I am going crazy.
Chapter7
Mal
“She’s naked,” I say to the others through our link.
Rhygel’s essence vies for control of the host and forces the rest of us to the furthest reaches of her mind. So far from her consciousness, we can only connect to one of her senses—sight—and only just. Everything we see through her is shrouded and dim, as if through a veil of darkness.
“Yes. And her mind seems still, void of all the usual turmoil. Perhaps she’s just found her own release.”
Barbas groans. “Good. Then there’s no need to do so ourselves. Put some clothing on her.”
“Agreed,” says Typhon.
“Ahem.” I push my incorporeal self to the front of our host’s mind. “It’s my turn, Rhygel.”
Our demon leader isn’t keen to release control and says so with a growl in our shared link.
“I know, I know, you like to be in the human suit, but we agreed to share the responsibility evenly each possession and since Typhon—”
“Do not bring me into this, Malphas. You can fight your own battles.” Typhon retreats further into the recessed corners of our host’s mind. I don’t see him do this, I only see what our host sees. But while in her mind, we gain a sort of second-sight. An ability we use to sense each other as well as our host’s mental and physical states.
It’s smart of Typhon to stay out of this, especially after directly disobeying Rhygel.
Even if his disobedience led to this discovery.
“I’ll relinquish control, Malphas, only if you vow to follow protocol.”
“Don’t I always?” I can’t even say it without laughing. “Sorry, I know. Look, I’ll get it together when you remove the stick from your ass, OK?”
Rhygel’s essence vibrates with malice, growing dense and dark, overwhelming mine. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re referring to and I take umbrage with your tone, Malphas.”
The only time demons spend on the earth plane is while collecting souls, so it’s no wonder Rhygel isn’t familiar with all the creative turns of phrase human minds have come up with. But human culture—language, especially—fascinates me and I’ve made it my priority to understand idioms to the full extent of my capabilities. Among my favorites, in no particular order are:
Elephant in the room.Draws a very specific mental picture, doesn’t it?
