“Colby will be fine.” Clay halted an arm’s length away, which I appreciated, given I was still hurt. “She’s a smart kid, and we made an emergency exit while you were asleep.”
“You made an emergency exit?” I examined what I could see of the cabin. “What does that mean?”
“The bigger skylights in the loft crank open to let in cool night breezes. I cracked the one in the loft a few inches and popped off the mesh screen so she can fly out if she needs a quick escape.”
“Good thinking.” I kept my tone neutral. “I didn’t know they could do that.”
“The newer ones do.” He cut me a reflexive glance that skated away before I met it. “One of the reasons why I chose this place. I figured she had her pick of exit routes. We just got lucky one was in the loft.”
“Thanks.”
I was fighting hard to hold on to my mad when he was doing what he always did—looking out for me. He might not go about it how I would like, but he was good down to his bones. Or he would be. If he had any. Which he didn’t. Anyway. Not the point. He did his best, but sometimes he got it wrong.
How often had I gotten it wrong and had him shrug it off with a laugh or a hug?
“Rue,” he said softly, reading me easily. “I really am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“We’ll get past this.” I shoved him. “Let me stomp around and grumble under my breath for a little while first.” I set my expression into serious lines. “I can’t let this go. You get that, right? I have to know.”
Hunger to know my parents, even with outlandish rumors, left me ravenous for more scraps of their lives.
“Only one person can tell you.” Clay dipped his chin. “Asking would give him too much power over you.”
As usual, he was right. No one divined the director’s twisted motives better than Clay. Except maybe me.
The old coot would use this breadcrumb trail to lure me deeper into the fold, right back to his side.
Daemon blood might explain my ruthlessness and bloodthirstiness when I was high on black magic. I had no daemon form like Asa, but we shared the same instincts. I had recognized his potential for violence the first time we met, and part of me had liked it. A lot. Enough to swap spit muffins with him.
But was that logic talking, or was I looking for an excuse to get me off the hook for my past crimes? “There must be another way.”
“If you start picking, I don’t know what you’ll unravel, but I guarantee he’ll tie the threads into a noose.”
Too bad I didn’t know someone who had been friends with Mom, who might have overheard the rumors about Dad, a person who was out of the director’s reach. Someone like…
Megara.
As soon as Asa exited the house, Clay grunted to indicate it was time to go, and I put the topic to bed.
Part of me wondered if Asa was regretting his impulsive act, given his suspicions about my heritage.
To slap a hair bracelet on a witch was one thing. To bind a daemoness was another.
As if reading my mind, he took my hand and laced our fingers.
The friction of his palm sliding across mine twisted my stomach into knots I tried hard to ignore.
And if a tiny smile played around his lips as he watched me squirm from the intimacy, I ignored that too.
Before the twenty minutes were up, Clay jerked to a halt and cranked his head toward the brush.
“Oh goody.” He coughed into his fist. “We’ve got scat.”
He knelt beside the human-sized pile of poop and used stick to break it apart, searching for larvae to age the dry mass. It was all I could do to see through the tears streaming from my eyes from the foul stench.
“Less than twenty-four hours old.” He covered the waste, sans larvae, with a layer of dirt. “It’s still in the area. That’s good news.”
“How is it even pooping if it’s dead?” I pulled up short. “Does that mean vampires poop?”