Omens (Dark in You 6)

Done for the day, Khloé picked up her purse. “You ready to go, Raini?” They often carpooled to work, since they lived so close to one another.

“More than ready,” replied Raini.

Both of them crossed to the coat rack near the vending machine and grabbed their jackets. Khloé had just finished slipping hers on when the front door opened and none other than Keenan stepped inside.

His eyes immediately found her. “Going somewhere?”

“Slowly insane.”

He grunted. “That I can agree with.” He folded his arms. “I have some news you need to hear.”

She listened as he relayed what Knox had told him. Her nose wrinkled. “A steel blade forged in the pit of hell? The best hope I have of killing Enoch is to stab him with one of those?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, not many such blades exist.”

Khloé blew out a breath. “Well that sucks balls.”

“Larkin is currently searching the black market to see if any are for sale. With any luck, there’ll be at least one.”

Khloé’s relatives were also highly familiar with the black market, so she’d pass on the information to Jolene and have the imps search for one, too. Although he hadn’t given Khloé any info that her grandmother wouldn’t have unearthed for herself at some point, she nonetheless said, “Thanks for letting me know. I appreciate you looking into it.”

He inclined his head. “Anything to keep Harper’s panic level to a minimum; she’s worried about you.”

Khloé almost laughed at the “don’t read anything into it” message. Oh, she wasn’t. He considered her under his protection, sure, but he also considered Raini and Devon under his protection—all because they were important to one of his Primes. The only people who held any importance to Keenan were the other sentinels, Knox, Harper, and Asher.

Khloé wondered if he’d told any of them about their wager. Probably not.

She gave him a quick head-to-toe scan. He wasn’t sweating, tremoring, or showing any other signs of withdrawal. He would soon, though. It was inevitable.

“I gotta get home. Farewell, muchachos,” Khloé loudly called out as she and Raini breezed out of the studio.

She dropped Raini off at her house and then drove straight home. She’d no sooner walked through the door than her parents showed up, wanting to check on her after the Enoch business. It was no surprise. She’d called Penelope and Richie early that morning to tell them what had happened, not wanting them to hear about it via the lair’s grapevine.

While Penelope, Richie, and his mate, Meredith, settled themselves on the cream upholstered sofa, Khloé made coffees. Penelope and Meredith luckily got along like a house on fire. But then, Richie’s mate was easy to like. The stunning redhead also seemed to take it in her stride that Richie had several kids with numerous women.

Maybe Penelope might have felt a twinge of jealousy if she and Richie had loved each other once upon a time, but they’d had nothing more than a shallow fling that had resulted in a multiple pregnancy that shocked the hell out of them both.

It was still a little weird for Khloé to see him all loved-up. Until Meredith, Richie hadn’t stayed with one woman for more than a few years. Khloé had begun to wonder if he’d ever take a mate. It was good to see him happy and settled. She just wished her mother would find that same happiness.

Despite her addiction, Penelope was still a giving and sensitive person who supported, encouraged, and loved her children. But she wasn’t so caring toward herself—she had a self-destructive streak that had been born a decade ago, after she gave birth to a stillborn baby girl. It had broken something in Penelope.

Khloé didn’t judge her mother for looking to numb her pain in some way. But she did judge that her mother insisted on bringing asshole-men into her life—fellow addicts who treated her like shit, spent every cent of her money, and liked to smack her around.

Penelope had occasionally tried overcoming her addiction, but she’d always veered off the path at some point. And the years of denials, lies, broken promises, and useless interventions had taken a toll on their mother-daughter relationship.

Joining her visitors in the living area a few minutes later, Khloé set a tray on her trunk-slash-coffee table. They descended on it, claiming cups and a cookie or two. She sank into her overstuffed armchair and turned her gaze to the partially open window as she sipped at her coffee. Sounds filtered through it—car engines purring, pedestrians murmuring, wind chimes jingling.

“Enoch always seemed like a normal enough guy to me,” said Meredith, adjusting the throw pillow behind her. “A little odd and withdrawn, maybe. I never would have imagined he’d … It’s just horrible to even think of those children’s bodies being used like puppets.”

Penelope nodded. “Losing a child is a pain like no other,” she said, her voice cracking, her sad eyes arrowed on the wall-mounted TV, unseeing—she was stuck in the past. “You’d do anything to hold them again. Anything to bring them back. But reanimate their corpse? No. That’s not bringing them back to life. There’s no life in them.”