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His heart pangs when he thinks of her.
His family hadn’t ever been dedicated to religion.Would she accept me as a man, as I am?
No grief. No regret. Only revenge. He can’t act over sadness; that’ll pull him into despondency over things he can’t change. People he can’t bring back, even himself. He needs anger and hate to keep going.
Anthony must die. He’ll figure out the rest later.
He has forever, after all.
Wetness on his hand. With a soft whine, Daisy licks his hand in sympathy. He pats her head.
“Mirebrook,” replies Lauren?iu. “It was near where we went to college together.” Outside of Atlanta, which isn’t Atlanta anymore.
Satisfied, Daisy returns to Paimon as slobber drips from Daisy’s mouths. She sits, as if expecting a treat. Sure enough, Paimon reaches into his pocket and feeds his hound something red that vaguely looks like jerky. “I’m afraid we don’t have anything with his scent to give to Daisy here, so we’ll start there and find something to help us. If he’s not there, we’ll need to find a hair, an old sweater, anything. If he is there, well, hey, easy job’s the best job.”
“I don’t even know if the house is still standing, after all that’s happened in the world.”
Paimon gives a nod, undisturbed. “We’ll see, then.”
Chapter 5
Paimon
With another snap of his fingers, they’re in what Paimon can only describe as an asphalt evening.
The three of them are completely alone on a street in front of a simple, if unloved, house. Moss creeps on all sides like rot.
Though Paimon still looks demon-y and his courtier still looks, well, vampire-y and dressed like he’s from Ancient Greece, Daisy has disguised herself as an ordinary black and tan German shepherd with a sequin-studded collar.
Paimon idly reaches up to comb his fingers through his own hair. He notices that Lauren?iu watches him, but he says nothing about it. Nor does the dear vampire seem too interested in this street, and the house where he must’ve died.
Let’s be honest here. Paimon’s hot. He looks good. People like looking at exquisite things. End of story. Completely understandable for Lauren?iu to lose sight of things. And if it keeps him from reliving old trauma, Paimon is happy to help. The vampire isn’t too bad to look at himself with his silver curls and ears, as pointy as Paimon’s. There’s just something about that elfin elegance.
They walk toward a set of steps where the left rail has rotted away and fallen, and there’s a little corpse. A rat or vole. Around them, a light rain drums on the pavement and abandoned houses. Regular rain, not acid rain. Huh. Novel. The sky darkens from sherbet orange to a dreary gray. A wind chime on the porch sways.
They are just outside the safe zone, he supposes, given that, across the street, he hears the telltale chewing of a reanimated person feeding in the abandoned area. On a raccoon, maybe, or a possum. Whatever. None of his business. Some cannibals can really be charming people, but good luck getting a reanimated person to commiserate over wine and liver.
Meanwhile, the reanimated person—he finds it a tad rude to call them “it”—pays them no mind because they cannot gain sustenance from a fallen angel or a vampire.
No matter. They must find evidence of where Anthony might’ve gone, something for Daisy to sniff out as she sticks her nose to the bottom of the stairs, sniffing.
Before they go inside the house, Paimon starts, concerned, “If this will be hard for you...”
The response is terse. “It won’t be. It’s not.”
Hm. What can he do, argue?
Then again, Paimon does enjoy doing that, but usually as a game. This is different, even if he does feel like this is a new adventure with just the two of them.
When they go inside, Paimon opens the door and lets Lauren?iu and Daisy inside first. He gives the other man a minute to stop and take in the environment before he goes in.
Inside, the main hall, the kitchen, the living room, it’s all empty with the faintest imprints of where furniture used to be. Any blood drained here is decades old, and the house reeks faintly of mildew.
Somewhere, probably the attic, rain drips inside the house. Plop, plop, plop.
Lauren?iu drifts from room to room as Daisy follows, and so does Paimon. Eventually, they do find some pieces of furniture and framed sentiments—Thankful. Blessed. Loved.—in the hallway.
The vampire points to a darker spot on the gray carpet, and he doesn’t say anything more. Paimon only clenches his fists and suppresses his rage.
