Page 42 of Thorns from the Fall

“Is he still headmaster?” I ask, hoping for a way to change her mind. “Will they even let you in? You’re like forty.”

She tosses my hand back into my lap as she rolls her eyes—but there’s definitely a hint of a smile when she says, “I just turned thirty, asshole.”

“Oh, is that all?” I ask, using humor to dodge my feelings.

“You’re not that far behind, shithead. Besides, do you really think they’d turn away a Proctor?”

I shudder when I hear her refer to a last name that only belongs to her by blood. Sasha is a Parsons, just like me, and no amount of leaning into her ancestry will take that from her.

“I mean, but are you a Proctor if you don’t claim it?” I ask, dreading the answer she inevitably gives.

“I think it’s time I do just that.”

I swallow, words sticky in my throat, as if I’d have to fight a battle to get each one out. I don’t know if I have the fortitude to fight past what’s welling up in my throat. When she leaves, I’ll be alone again, and that’s a scary fucking place to be these days. Despite the fact I haven’t committed any acts of personal hygiene in the past week, I still have a little pride, and I don’t let any pitiful words break past my defenses.

“Okay,” I say, nodding if only to assure myself. Instead of allowing the inescapable maw of despair to wrap around my throat and bite, I need to plan. “Demon networks are widespread. If I’m going to find Agnarr without the aid of magic, then I don’t think I have another choice.”

If she knows this is me deflecting my emotions, she doesn’t let on. The corners of her eyes crinkle, and she mulls over my idea. She stands, adjusting her clothing and pulling out her phone to check the time.

“I have to go if I’m going to make my flight, and you need to bathe if you’re going to treatise with a demon. Their hosts do have noses, you know.”

“Yeah,” I say, but I don’t stand up. For some reason I don’t want to think too hard about, I can’t meet her eyes.

“Call me, okay?” she asks, and she places her hand on the top of my head. My sister pushes, forcing my chin to tip and my eyes to meet hers. “You have to take care of yourself, alright?”

I don’t speak, but I give her a soft smile and nod. Words and tears are being held at bay with the tiniest of fingers plugging a hole in the dam.

“Keep me updated about Hale,” she says, and then she’s leaving—out the door and out of the penthouse and out of the country.

And I’m alone.

16

ROMAN

With a promise topass along my request to her boss, the demon skips down my porch steps. The minute she’s off my property, I turn to my brother where he sits in my darkened living room with his head in his hands.

“You recognized her,” I say, making sure to keep my tone neutral. Because if I understand the situation correctly, I’m pretty sure the demon I just had inside my house was Remy’s contact during the height of active addiction.

The demon was supposed to show at three a.m. but didn’t make her way up my steps until five. I’d wanted her gone before Remy woke, but when the creak of my guest bedroom’s door echoed loudly throughout the house just after six, I had told the demon it was time to go.

She didn’t have any valuable information to share anyway, and I’d grown sick of her fucked up demands. I’d had to relay every single detail of Remy’s predicament and subsequent kidnapping to her, and she’d eagerly listened, nodding her encouragement and biting her lip as if I was dirty talking to her. If it weren’t for the need to find answers, I’d have killed her on the spot when she started getting herself off on my couch to the story of his trauma.

Bitch.

It didn’t help that she looked so similar to another woman I hate.

“Yeah,” my brother says, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. There are only two ways he would know this demon, and based on his reaction, I think it’s the worst one of the two.

“You used to score from her, didn’t you?” I ask, knowing it might set him off. I’m not trying to dredge up the past and hurt him with it, but the way he stiffened, and the fact she knew his name? It feels like something I ought to do something about.

“She’s the one who gave Rose the tainted shit,” he says. “Some of their supply was tainted by a host body overpowering his demon and putting a shit ton of medicine on his skin that contained silver. When the demon came back, he didn’t know what happened, and, well…” He shrugs, staring at his clasped hands between his knees.

“You never told me.”

“What the fuck was there to say, Ro? She was dead, and you’d already assumed the truth. There was always a risk, and she just got unlucky.”

“But it was their fault she’s dead,” I say.

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