“So, how’d you manage it?” I asked, eager to hear what she did.
Her face fell. “I just asked.”
Oh. Well, that wasn’t very exciting. “But you got them,” I said, trying to cheer her up.
“True. And I’m going to bed.” She eyed Garrett self-consciously then gave me a furtive look from underneath her lashes. My brows rose in question. She gritted her teeth and widened her eyes. I crinkled my nose, again in question. She sighed and gestured toward the door with a slight nod. Oh! I glanced at Garrett, who was trying to be the gentleman and not notice the exchange between us. He suddenly had an intense fascination with the arm of the chair.
“I’ll come with.” I hopped up and walked her across the hall, figuring she wanted to talk about Garrett. I hoped she didn’t want me to pass him a note. I didn’t have any paper on me.
She opened her door then turned back. “So, is he here?”
“Garrett?” I asked, confused.
“What?”
“Wait, who?”
“Charley,” she said, annoyed, “the little boy.”
“Oh.” I’d totally forgotten that while we were traipsing along the streets of Albuquerque at three o’clock this morning—walking in bunny slippers really wasn’t much different from walking barefoot—I’d let slip she had a departed child hanging in her humble abode. I needed to learn to keep my mouth shut. I scanned the area quickly. Her apartment was a montage of black and the bright colors of Mexico, her décor a mixture of rustic Southwest and ranch. My apartment, though identical in size and shape to hers, was more a montage of garage sale and leftover college student paraphernalia. “Nope, don’t see him.”
“Can you check the rest of the apartment?”
“Sure.”
After a five-minute search that had guilt eating away at my innards—really, I should never have told her—we were standing back at her front door, no departed kid in sight.
“Okay, I have a question for you,” I said, drawing her interest. “If you were the dying son of Satan, where would you stash your body?”
She cast a sympathetic glance my way. “Since you’re the one he’s hiding from, sweet pea, my guess would be the last place you, of all people, would be likely to look.”
“No offense,” I said, disappointed, “but that doesn’t really help.”
“I know. I suck at all of this supernatural stuff. But I fry a mean chicken.”
“Oh, good. I hate it when the nice ones get fried.”
“Can I have him for Christmas?” she asked.
“Reyes?”
With a lovesick sigh, she said, “No, the other one.”
“Ew,” I said, realizing she was talking about Garrett. Okay, he was sexy and all, but still, “Ew.”
“You’re just saying that ’cause you’re jealous of our thing.”
After an amazingly rude snort, I said, “Your thing needs a good talking to.”
“Whatever, girlfriend,” she said, showing me a palm before closing her door. I loved it when she got all dramaholic.
When I walked back into my apartment, Garrett had returned to studying Mr. Wong’s corner.
“He won’t bite,” I said, teasing him.
He furrowed his brows in doubt then turned a curious gaze on me. “What was it like growing up with dead people everywhere? Didn’t it freak you out?”
I grinned. “It’s all I’ve ever known. And, I don’t really get scared like most people. Not much frightens me.”
“Well, you are the grim reaper,” he said, teasing me with a shiver. Then his eyes traveled slowly over me, apparently taking in the sights.
“Stop gawking at what you can’t have,” I said, grabbing my cup and heading to the kitchen.
“Just checking out the package deal. You do sweats proud for a girl named Charles.”
I couldn’t help but laugh as he got up and strode to the door. He opened it then hesitated.
“Is there anything else on your mind?” I asked.
He looked back at me, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “Besides the fact that I could make a meal out of you?”
The air crackled with Reyes’s anger. I had to wonder if Garrett did that on purpose. Maybe he was figuring out how all this otherworldly stuff worked.
“Cannibalism is frowned upon, buddy.”
“Are you going to report me for sexual harassment?”
“No, but I will grade you,” I said, rinsing out my cup.
He winked then closed the door.
After a moment, I asked, “Are you going to stay in my apartment and sulk all night?”
In an instant, Reyes was gone. Guess that answered that.
I plopped down at my computer to get a little research in before hitting it with Bugs Bunny. I’d had my comforter-slash-security blanket since I was nine. We’d been through a lot together, including Wade Forester. I was in high school. He was in the school of hard knocks, which taught its students much more about procreation than high school did. Bugs was never the same.
Back to my demon problem. If I couldn’t see the darned things, how was I supposed to fight them? Then again, if I could see demons, how was I supposed to fight them? I hadn’t missed the references Reyes let slip about my going up against evil incarnate. I needed info, the 411 on everything demonic.
I did a search on how to detect demons and received a slew of no-help-whatsoever for my effort. Everything that loaded onto my screen was about as useful as dental floss in a plane crash, from demonic possession being the underlying cause of ADHD to video games with scary demon overlords. But a few pages in, I found a site that looked almost relevant. Ignoring the fact that the owner’s name was Mistress Marigold, I waded through legend and lore, biblical and historical references, until I came to a page titled “How to Detect Demons.” Bingo.