The Lost by Vicki Pettersson Page B

address.”
    â€œYou left me to find my own way,” he corrected.
    â€œI left you a hat with a built-in compass.”
    He narrowed his eyes beneath his old fedora, and, swallowing hard, Kit took up the offense. She crossed her arms. “You didn’t tell me there were angels masquerading as monsters.”
    He opened his mouth like he had something more to say about that, but then shook his head and changed the subject. “Don’t you realize what you could have done?”
    â€œNothing, apparently.” Sighing, she stared east where the sun had begun its stretch into the sky, its yellow yawn wide behind the lavender-draped mountain range. Nothing she did ever seemed to matter against fate’s heavy fist.
    Grif stepped forward, into Kit’s personal space . . . and not in a good way. “You got yourself gummed up in something you shouldn’t have, Kit. Your name’s going to be attached to a death you never should have touched. Again.”
    Kit understood his worry. She’d been targeted for death the last time she’d had an inadvertent run-in with fate, but hey—they’d come through that okay in the end. Besides, done was done, and Kit knew she’d try to save Jeap again, given the chance. It wasn’t the human element she was worried about anyway.
    â€œThat thing had black stars for eyes, Grif. It had a voice that sounded like a hurricane. It could see me.”
    And as soon as she said it, Kit could see that was why he’d been worried. His jaw clenched as he jerked his head. “It shouldn’t have been able to. You’re alive. You’re Chosen—”
    â€œAnd angels can’t harm the Chosen,” she said quickly, though it was really a question. “Those are the rules, right?”
    â€œI don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the fallen ones have a history of breaking rules.”
    Kit froze. She’d have reached for another cigarette if she could have moved. “But they’re weaker than you guys, right? Like, neutered and scared with their tails tucked between their legs?”
    â€œThe fallen angels hate God and everyone on His Christmas list. They especially hate humans.”
    Kit held up a hand. “I appreciate the theology lesson, but right now all I want to know is why. Could. It. See. Me?”
    â€œBetter question: why could you see it?” Grif shook his head, but still tried to answer. “I think it’s because you know so much. Too much.”
    The EMTs emerged just then, carefully rolling Jeap’s body from the abandoned home. Watching them go, Kit was glad Grif had Taken the boy. Jeap Yang had suffered enough.
    â€œDennis has no idea what that drug is,” she said, lighting another cigarette. The sight of the body grounded her back in this world, but her nerves spiked all over again. “He’s seen heroin, roofies, X, meth, GHB, and one or more of them combined into a lethal cocktail, but he’s never seen a drug made with paint thinner and lighter fluid.”
    Grif glanced back at the house, and Kit watched the memory of thickly clogged needles flash in his dark gaze. The recollection of the cleaners and solvents in the corner made Kit wince, too. “He shot industrial cleaner into his body?”
    â€œAmong other things.” Blowing out a skein of smoke, she pulled out her Moleskine. “Dennis did a check on the kid. He’d been going to a trade school for culinary arts. Jeap wanted to be a chef at one time, can you believe that?”
    â€œWell he cooked up a hell of a recipe here,” Grif said.
    â€œSomeone else gave it to him, though,” she said, flipping the notebook shut. “And I’m going to find out who.”
    Tapping out his own smoke, Grif eyed her as he tucked the pack in his pocket. “Kit—”
    â€œDon’t even try—”
    Grif grabbed her by the arm, cigarette forgotten. “You read a private