Battle With Fire (Demon Days & Vampire Nights)

“Why are we here?” I asked in a wooden voice.

Moss turned off the car and pushed open the door, getting out. He shut the door after him and moved away from the car.

“I thought you might like to see it again,” Darius murmured.

Tears clouded my vision, and I clenched my jaw, looking out through the window at the woods where I’d learned my magic. Half of my magic, anyway. Memories of my childhood flashed through my mind. Of playing hide-and-seek with her in those woods, and of my explosions of anger when I couldn’t harness the power I knew was there.

I remembered the stack of bills on the kitchen table, none of which I could afford to pay after she passed. The slip of paper tied to the door, telling me to evacuate. The debt collector turning up with the cops and forcing me out.

“I tried to earn enough money to buy it back, but it had already been sold.” I stared at the two-room paradise that held so many happy memories. Its dark windows served as an unneeded reminder of what it had been like at the end, when all I could feel was pain.

Pain that still reverberated through me.

“I never had a chance to buy it back. So I moved on. I have the memories—that’s what counts.”

“This house hasn’t been lived in since you left,” Darius said. “An investor bought it from the bank. He planned to tear it down and build a country club of sorts on the land. He envisioned it as a destination spot for city dwellers.”

I snorted, leaning into him. “Out here? He’s dreaming.”

“Yes, he was. He had big ideas about what to do with his family money and ended up squandering most of it. He gave the property back to the bank. It’s had no takers since.”

“And you bought it so you can play savior.”

I didn’t mean to sound so bitter. This was just one thing I would have preferred for him to leave alone. He’d bought my house for me, fine. He’d remodeled it, okay. He’d bought out the person behind me so he could add space and started building upward—whatever. I wasn’t attached to that place like I was to this one.

This house had been my world, and I’d let it go. It had been my inheritance, and I hadn’t been able to hold on to it. My mother had worked so hard to keep a roof over our heads, and I’d lost everything. To hear that Darius had just handed this to me, like he’d given me everything else… It was a tough pill to swallow.

Not that he could’ve known that. This wasn’t his fault.

“Is there actually a dinner?” I asked, hating the emotion that clogged my throat. The car ride had been so amazing. I looked amazing; he looked amazing. I didn’t want this situation—my past—to dampen the present.

“No, there’s no dinner. Not just yet.” He pushed open his door and got out.

I waited a moment, composing myself, reminding myself again that he meant well. Not many men would care this much about a girl’s past. Not many men were sentimental. I was incredibly lucky to have him.

I took a deep breath and wiped my eyes.

“Big-girl pants, Reagan.”

With another deep breath, I pushed away the confusing rush of pain and anger and got out of the car. Darius met me there and held out his hand. I took it and allowed him to lead me to the front door, which he unlocked with a wave of his hand.

It felt like the world came crashing down as we stepped inside. The dim interior showcased our heavily used gray couch, the color much darker than it had started. The coffee table was covered in dust, but it still had duct tape wrapped around the joint of one of its legs. I couldn’t believe the vase of fake lilies still stood on the end table next to the secondhand armchair. Darius made a beeline for the books in the particle-board bookcase against the wall.

Dust motes swam through the air. The done-in wood floor hadn’t gotten any nicer or fancier since I’d left.

“Wait,” Darius said in a hush, barely interrupting the silence. He had a knack for reading the mood of a room.

I turned toward him as he stepped back from the bookcase. He gazed at me with intense eyes.

“Six of these books are in your shelves at home.”

“Obviously. Everyone needs their own copies of the greats. Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, Wuthering Heights—some books need constant re-reads.”

“Shadows?”

I shrugged in embarrassment. “I was a member of John Saul’s fan club back in the day. In my teens I probably read every book he ever put out. I loved fantasy-horror. I found that one at a thrift shop, signed. You don’t throw away signed books by your favorite author.”