Page 46 of Thorns from the Fall

“I touched base with demons in each of the areas you mentioned on that list, and there was an unusual uptick in vampire killings, but not enough for them to be concerned. The authorities didn’t suspect my people, so there was no need to worry about it. Based on how many bodies were reported, my guess is he only stayed a couple days at each location. But he’s hit every single one. Virginia was the last known place, but that was a few days ago. One of the bodies was found near your townhouse.”

I wonder if he killed one of my neighbors. If so, I hope it was Cunty Carol across the street who liked to sit on her front porch and shout bitchy things about my ‘offensively fat ass’ and the outfits I chose to wear. She also referred to Hale as ‘that gay man you live with,’ so I kind of hope Agnarr killed the shriveled bitch.

“So, I was too late?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“I mean, could he be back here or in California maybe? Visiting Ketill’s coven?”

“My boss fucking hated Bjorn, little hybrid.” He inhales quickly before blowing out, and I imagine the demon sitting at a grand desk, expensive shoes propped up on the corner while he puffs on a cigar. I’m not sure exactly why I imagine him as some kind of Mad Men businessman. Maybe the vintage-looking business cards are what did it. “We owe you one for taking that asshole out, so believe me when I say to stay the fuck away from Ketill’s coven. You will not find Agnarr there.”

“But they’re brothers,” I argue.

“By all means, do what you want. But we will not assist you in such an endeavor,” the demon says. “Perhaps you’ll make a deal with me before you go?”

Before I can respond, he lets out a low and guttural rumble, and I hear a whimper in the background.

“Uh,” I say, rolling onto my back and rubbing my eyes. “Did you call me while you were fucking someone?”

“Facefucking. My mouth isn’t occupied, and I have business to attend to,” he says and it's so detached, lacking in any passion whatsoever, that I’m momentarily stunned into silence.

“Well, I guess if he revisits those places, they’ll let you know?” I ask.

“Yes. If he moves anywhere near any of the locations on that list, me or Dahlia will call you. Right, Dahlia?”

Dahlia, I assume, gives a muffled yes, and I make a face, thinking about her saying it around the demon’s dick.

“Thanks,” I say, before eagerly hanging up.

Just one more disappointment. Agnarr had been making his rounds to all the places I once lived. Is he looking for Cynthia, I wonder? Angry over what she’d done to him, I don’t blame him for seeking vengeance, but she’s already dead.

I was his vengeance when she died in childbirth.

From my conception, I have been vengeance by design. Now, though, do I have any left in me?

Navigating to my text thread with Hale, I frown at the message he sent me the same night Sasha left.

Hale

I just need some space.

Without Sasha and without Hale, I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself. I’m spiraling, and the only escape I have is sleep. Hale lost his magic and was turned into a vampire because of me, no matter what Sasha says. They were only here in Chicago, susceptible to Emile’s attack, because of me. Every bad thing that has happened since my parents’ death is because of me. It should have been me who died that rainy night over a year ago. Of my family, I was the one who never felt particularly tethered to staying. It’s not that I’ve always wanted to die necessarily—although there have definitely been times that I desired it—but I’ve never cared either way if I live or not.

I close my eyes again, wanting to escape back into sleep, but it evades me. I roll out of bed instead, carefully traversing abandoned takeout containers, empty blood bags, piles of clothing, boxes that had been delivered after Sasha left, and a sprawled sleeping dog. I missed Zuul so much, but having him living in a top floor penthouse is not the most convenient thing.He deserves better than pissing and shitting in the small rooftop garden.

He deserves better than me.

For a fraction of a second, I imagine Roman’s greystone and the small backyard where Hale nearly bled out. At least Zuul likes Roman—annoyingly. But I blink it away, not allowing myself to think anything so goddamn dangerous, and I’m rewarded with the distraction of stubbing my toe on a box of my things. I grunt and switch on the light in the corner. Before Ascending, that lamp wouldn’t have done much to illuminate the room, but now it’s nearly blinding.

The entirety of my life has been stuffed into cardboard and brought into the penthouse by begrudging vampires who are sworn to Roman now but don’t know what the fuck to do about me. Sasha had texted, telling me she thought I’d like to wallow amongst my own things.

It was a waste of time. I don’t intend to be here much longer, so I don’t bother to unpack.

Vaguely, I consider trying to find my vibrator if only to lull me to sleep. Although that makes me think about the fact that a stranger packed my drawer of sex toys.

Whatever.

I find a stack of boxes and plop the top one onto the bed, surprised by its lightness. And then I roll my eyes when I find my pillow shoved into it. One giant box for one single pillow feels like a waste. I toss it on the bed, throw the box out into the hallway, and tell myself if I don’t find my vibrator in the next box, I’m giving up.

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