Rooming with the Wicked

43 | new assistant

Vanguard.

Dad was in the Vanguard.

I tightened my grip on Haze's stomach.

Why else would he have that patch? Not like he would keep it as a souvenir.

Colorful city lights lit up the night sky in front of us. Haze merged onto the relatively empty highway. His gloved hand found my thigh and he tapped twice before accelerating. I shut my eyes.

Just when I thought for a moment that I might be onto whatever had happened to Mom, that old piece of cloth burned a gigantic hole into my theory. How could Dad do this? Didn't he know what they did?

Did he condone it—or worse—agree with them?

How could he look at himself in the mirror every day wearing that ambassador cloak and pretending to have everyone's best interest at heart?

Liar.

A hand gently squeezed my arm. I exhaled and opened my eyes. We were almost back in the city.

Tomorrow.

I would barge into his office and throw that stupid patch on his desk tomorrow. And then he'd have to tell me the truth. Well, it was either that or losing me forever.

Unless he didn't care enough.

I clenched my teeth until my jaw hurt.

Then I would make him care.

I kept replaying possible scenarios of how that conversation would go in my head over and over again until we left the highway. It had to be close to midnight, but the city that never slept was still bustling with cars and pedestrians. The full moon had reached its apex, shimmering a silver-white high above the city lights, by the time Haze stopped in front of the garage. The bike's brights lit up in some kind of coded sequence and the metal gate slowly opened.

Just like before, the entire parking garage was empty. At least this level. The second Haze stopped the bike, I carefully climbed off. His hand hovered above the handlebars, almost like he was waiting for me to lose my footing again. When I didn't, he backed the bike into its spot and dismounted.

"You can give me that," Haze said, staring at the helmet I was about to try to fit into my much too-small backpack. "Unless you plan on riding another motorcycle anytime soon."

"Definitely not," I said, watching him place it next to his jet-black one on the back of the bike. Somehow even trying to imagine sitting behind anyone else on a bike like that was impossible. Hell, if it wasn't for my tired limbs, the ride to and from the mansion seemed about as real as running into a full-grown vynari on my way home.

Maybe it was time to change my definition of weird.

My backpack was heavy, heavier than it should with only a binder and a few loose papers extra inside. Our steps echoed through the stale gray concrete building, but my mind was already preoccupied with planning my night at the library. I'd just made a mental checklist of all the ingredients I'd need for a quick Elixir of Heightened Focus when Haze swiftly stepped to my left.

I looked up in time to see the guard's pale red eyes on me as we passed the little cabin he was sitting in before Haze blocked him from view. He spoke to the demon in a language I didn't understand. Whatever he said, it left no room for negotiation. I tried to sneak another peek at the guy, but Haze casually steered me out the open garage door. I was about to ask him for an explanation, but one look at his face changed my mind.

His eyes were narrowed and avoiding mine. Their color, a deep red, perfectly matched the small cut on his lip. I felt myself frown. That hadn't been there before, had it? When he took a deep breath and sighed, one of his canines perfectly aligned with the wound.