sigh.
It was his destiny, not mine. I wasn’t quite sure where I belonged.
As much as I loved Dimitri, I couldn’t just take up the life of a griffin housewife. Not that we’d ever talked marriage. That was the problem with him – with us. Our past was fiery. Our present was toe-curling, but our future was anything but certain.
I couldn’t live in a griffin clan on Santorini. I’d tried. And I didn’t think he wanted to spend the rest of his life tearing around on the back of a Harley, hunting demons.
Who would?
Creely slapped both hands onto our table, rattling everything on it. “You got any beer cans?” She reached for my Diet Coke, and shook it. “Good enough.”
“Hey,” I protested, “I still have a little more in there.”
“I can fix that,” Creely said, drinking it in a swig.
“Gee, thanks.”
But she was already jogging back to Bob, Pirate and a group of witches who were building a beer can tower by the bar.
“You see what I put up with?” I was about to get up and get another soda when the ashes of the rope twitched in Grandma’s jar.
Holy Hades. “Look at that.”
The particles in the jar rolled over each other as if blown by an invisible wind. They twisted faster and faster until they shaped themselves into a paler version of the silver rope. One end poked against the glass, reminding me ofa blind snake, arching and finding its way. It stretched up into thin air, as if looking for something, and then wound back around itself, forming a noose.
“Unreal,” I murmured . Of course so was a zombie crow.
We stared at it, waiting for it to do something else, likeI don’t know – make rope animals. I was up for anything at that point.
I wished Rachmort were here to see this. He not only had generations of experience mentoring slayers, he was also a necromancer who specialized in lost souls and spiritual apparitions.
Maybe there was a way to contact him. I’d have to talk to Grandma once she finished building the Budweiser tower of Babel.
Dimitri didn’t say a word about the reconstituted rope, which was telling. In our half year together, I’d learned he didn’t like to state the obvious. We both knew it was evil.
We watched the jar to see what it would do next. Yet once the rope made itself whole again, it seemed content to wind itself around the bottom.
Across the bar, the biker witches let out a collective hoot as Ant Eater launched a dart at the wobbling tower of beer cans.
“So listen to this,” I said, in a futile attempt to ignore them. I told Dimitri about my dad, the zombie crow and everything else he’d missed while he was out on patrol.
He placed his hand over mine. “I wish I could have been there.”
I nodded, swiping at a few tears.
“We’ll fix this,” he said.
The kicker was, he meant every word. Leave it to Dimitri to save the world.
I could do it on my own, but thanks to this man, I’d abandoned the notion that I should.
Single kick butt demon slayers who were mad at the world and did everything on their own were fine in the movies, or in books. But in real life, I needed a partner. I wanted Dimitri by my side. Not because I had trouble handling things on my own, but because I wanted someone to share this life with.
I ducked as a dart hit the wall between Dimitri and me.
“The beer can tower is that way,” Dimitri said, yanking the dart out of the wall and taking aim himself. His shot went wide. The Red Skulls cheered anyway.
The witches were getting rowdy, which meant it was time for Dimitri and I to turn in. It was either that or try to control them.
Ha.
We stood. “Thanks for killing banshees for me,” I said.
Dimitri brushed a kiss along my shoulder and let me step in front of him. “You do a pretty good job yourself.”
We waved at the witches, who toasted us and started giving us bedroom tips as we headed for the second floor.
Dimitri placed a protective hand on my back as we navigated the narrow stairs, lit by broken light
It was his destiny, not mine. I wasn’t quite sure where I belonged.
As much as I loved Dimitri, I couldn’t just take up the life of a griffin housewife. Not that we’d ever talked marriage. That was the problem with him – with us. Our past was fiery. Our present was toe-curling, but our future was anything but certain.
I couldn’t live in a griffin clan on Santorini. I’d tried. And I didn’t think he wanted to spend the rest of his life tearing around on the back of a Harley, hunting demons.
Who would?
Creely slapped both hands onto our table, rattling everything on it. “You got any beer cans?” She reached for my Diet Coke, and shook it. “Good enough.”
“Hey,” I protested, “I still have a little more in there.”
“I can fix that,” Creely said, drinking it in a swig.
“Gee, thanks.”
But she was already jogging back to Bob, Pirate and a group of witches who were building a beer can tower by the bar.
“You see what I put up with?” I was about to get up and get another soda when the ashes of the rope twitched in Grandma’s jar.
Holy Hades. “Look at that.”
The particles in the jar rolled over each other as if blown by an invisible wind. They twisted faster and faster until they shaped themselves into a paler version of the silver rope. One end poked against the glass, reminding me ofa blind snake, arching and finding its way. It stretched up into thin air, as if looking for something, and then wound back around itself, forming a noose.
“Unreal,” I murmured . Of course so was a zombie crow.
We stared at it, waiting for it to do something else, likeI don’t know – make rope animals. I was up for anything at that point.
I wished Rachmort were here to see this. He not only had generations of experience mentoring slayers, he was also a necromancer who specialized in lost souls and spiritual apparitions.
Maybe there was a way to contact him. I’d have to talk to Grandma once she finished building the Budweiser tower of Babel.
Dimitri didn’t say a word about the reconstituted rope, which was telling. In our half year together, I’d learned he didn’t like to state the obvious. We both knew it was evil.
We watched the jar to see what it would do next. Yet once the rope made itself whole again, it seemed content to wind itself around the bottom.
Across the bar, the biker witches let out a collective hoot as Ant Eater launched a dart at the wobbling tower of beer cans.
“So listen to this,” I said, in a futile attempt to ignore them. I told Dimitri about my dad, the zombie crow and everything else he’d missed while he was out on patrol.
He placed his hand over mine. “I wish I could have been there.”
I nodded, swiping at a few tears.
“We’ll fix this,” he said.
The kicker was, he meant every word. Leave it to Dimitri to save the world.
I could do it on my own, but thanks to this man, I’d abandoned the notion that I should.
Single kick butt demon slayers who were mad at the world and did everything on their own were fine in the movies, or in books. But in real life, I needed a partner. I wanted Dimitri by my side. Not because I had trouble handling things on my own, but because I wanted someone to share this life with.
I ducked as a dart hit the wall between Dimitri and me.
“The beer can tower is that way,” Dimitri said, yanking the dart out of the wall and taking aim himself. His shot went wide. The Red Skulls cheered anyway.
The witches were getting rowdy, which meant it was time for Dimitri and I to turn in. It was either that or try to control them.
Ha.
We stood. “Thanks for killing banshees for me,” I said.
Dimitri brushed a kiss along my shoulder and let me step in front of him. “You do a pretty good job yourself.”
We waved at the witches, who toasted us and started giving us bedroom tips as we headed for the second floor.
Dimitri placed a protective hand on my back as we navigated the narrow stairs, lit by broken light
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