Page 11 of Satan's Son

“Funny.” I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets and kept walking beside him. My heels clicked on the sidewalk. Weird to think the living couldn’t hear me.

“Don’t you have questions?” he asked.

I glanced sideways at Ethan. Of course, I had questions, but I wasn’t stupid enough to try and get answers out of him. “Yeah.”

“Then why aren’t you firing them at me?” he asked. “Usually, you don’t shut up.”

“You’re a liar. Why would I ask a liar?” I challenged him by raising an eyebrow.

“Fine, whatever.” He rolled his eyes and picked up his pace, which I had a feeling he did just to annoy me because I couldn’t keep up with his long strides.

“So, is it always like that?” I asked, my heels clicking more as I had to take more steps to keep up with him. “Dude, slow down!”

“If you are referring to your experience with the living back there, the answer is no.” Ethan’s pace slowed slightly. “And you walk slow.”

“Explain in more detail, please, and I do not.”

“You knew him.” Ethan walked slower. “You had a connection with him, so it was easier for you to make contact and search through his mind. You knew roughly what to search for.”

“So, it isn’t usually like that?” I liked this slower pace we were now keeping. “Is it harder dealing with strangers?”

“It’s different.” Ethan pulled something out of his pocket.

“His mind was cloudy, like foggy or something. Is that what they are all like?” I asked.

“No, that was because of the substances in his body. It’s harder to focus on memories when the person is under the influence, which is why not many are saved.”

“Why was I able save him?” I felt the stupid smile wash across my face as I remembered why. “Oh, right. I knew him.”

“Yep.” Ethan twirled something in his fingers: “He was lucky to have you. Another guider wouldn’t have saved him.”

“Lucky I listened to you then.” I smiled a very small smile at him as we came to a stop.

“Are you saying thank you?” He smirked.

“No.” I crossed my arms. “Stating a fact, nothing else.”

“Right.” He rolled his eyes. “Where’s your key?”

“Key?” I frowned.

“The key. You would have gotten it when you were given a room. It opens your door.” Ethan spoke slowly, as if he was speaking to a child.

“Oh, that. Back in the room, I guess.” I shrugged my shoulders. Why would a bedroom key matter at this moment? Personally, I didn’t care if someone stole everything I had. Which was nothing.

“Newbies know nothing,” Ethan muttered under his breath: “This is why I don’t deal with newcomers. Frustrating.”

“It’s a bedroom key, Ethan. Get a grip!”

“No, it’s your key.” Ethan’s expression tightened, and he let out a heavy sigh, as though trying to calm himself.

“I know it’s my key. It unlocks the matchbox for me. But if you really want it—”

“Shut up!” He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “The key gets you back into Hell.”

“Wow, sounds like a key I have always wanted!”

“Without it, you can’t get back into Hell.” He grunted. “Which means I have to go back and get it for you.”

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