Page 18 of A Soul's Curse
“It’s complicated,” I answered. “He’s a popular video game streamer and, well, you know how the internet works. I think the fame gets into his head. He’s easily swayed by what other people think and will do whatever it takes to grow his following. I … don’t think hereallyfeels that way. It’s just for show.”
I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince more: myself or Ren. I missed the old Gerald, the man I fell in love with, but I kept reminding myself that even though he might have a different name, the changes in his attitude were all for the fans. The real Gerald Pinkus was still underneath the designer clothes, excessive partying, and obsessive skin products … somewhere.
“I have to work tonight, but how about we meet up tomorrow around 2PM at Emberheart Place? I’m assuming you’ve heard of it. I’ll be there for a couple hours with my sister to check in on a few people. It’s a safe place and maybe my best friend theNew Jersey Devilwill have some advice for us.”
Ren answered my sarcastic comment with an eye roll. Most demons knew of the shelter. If they didn’t end up sleeping there at some point, they likely volunteered their time, and Nick James Deville was one of the most popular names in this state, thanks to his relentless dedication to the community.
As I was about to get out of the car, Ren stopped me by grabbing my arm. “Do you have a ride to work later?”
Confusion scrambled my thoughts. “Huh?”
Ren let go of his grip. “I thought … we can meet up tomorrow, but maybe I could pick you up and we can chat on the way overto your work. The sooner we get started, the better chance we have at staying ahead of the Syndicate.”
I scratched my face to cover the awkward, lopsided smile. I worried Sly might see him if he came to pick me up, but it beat having to walk or take the bus. “Yeah. Let’s do that. I usually head in around three to help prep for the evening. But … don’t come inside or honk or anything. I’ll be waiting outside.”
Ren narrowed his eyes, irritation flickering in his gaze. He might have never met Sly, but I could tell just from the few words I had spoken about him, Ren already hated my boyfriend.
“Fine. I’ll be here. But be ready. Don’t make me wait outside and hide like you’re a teenager sneaking out on a date.”
That elicited an awkward giggle from me, my cheeks radiating fire. I was putting a lot of my trust in this demon I had officially met only a couple of hours ago. I should have been skeptical, especially knowing the things he did and was capable of doing as James Whitfield, but on some level I understood where he was coming from and why he had done it.
“Okay. See you later.” I scrambled out of the car and hurried up the steps to the front door, checking on my plants before going inside. Winter was beginning to set in, and I’d have to find a place to bring them all inside so they didn’t die.
I watched as Ren pulled away, and then stepped into the entryway and kicked off my shoes. Immediately, I saw the living room was a mess. Sly must have had friends over last night and lost patience waiting for his pizza delivery. Evidence of their betrayal sat on the coffee table—an empty box from one of Mr. Carson’s biggest competitors. Judging by the dozen or so empty beer bottles scattered across the end tables, they were no doubt drunk. Paper plates were stuffed into couch cushions, pizza crust bits and sauce stains now smeared into the brown suede like some chaotic modern art.
I sighed, but ultimately decided cleaning would need to wait. I needed a shower before dealing with this mess. I trudged up the stairs toward my bedroom, a separate place I still kept for privacy. I often still slept in it since Sly and I kept completely different scheduled. The second I stepped into the room, I was greeted with a barrage of curses.
“Fuck you. Asshole. Dickhead.”
“Oh, shit!” I ran over to the cage in the corner of my room, grabbing the bag of sunflower seeds I left beside it. “Shit. I’m so sorry, Fluffernutter. I guess it would have been too much to hope Sly would have fed you.”
“Fuck you,” the bird spoke again, her beady black eyes glaring with a judgmental fury that made me feel small and guilty. I hadn’t even realized parakeets could talk until one day she started cussing at Sly. She was now fond of saying “fuck you” and “asshole,” which was a startling realization at how much we must have cursed if she picked up on those words so easily.
“Fine, I deserve that. I promise next time I get attacked by the Syndicate, I’ll make sure to ask my sister to stop by and feed you before I get knocked unconscious.” She squawked at that, ultimately deciding to peck at the seeds in my hand while I used the other to stroke her delicate yellow and green feathers.
A comforting warmth washed over me. I had a soft spot for animals just as much as I felt compelled to help humans. The parakeet appeared on my front porch last winter, pecking at my empty flower boxes for anything to eat. I immediately brought her inside from the cold, letting the snow melt off her feathers. She obviously wasn’t a wild bird, but when I couldn’t find her owner I didn’t have it in me to give her up. I had to beg Sly to let me keep ‘the filthy, obnoxious animal’ as he called her, and he allowed it on one condition: that I kept the cage out of his sight and in my room.
Fluffernutter grew on him, though. I caught him in my room from time to time talking to her and taking her out of her cage, but he still refused to acknowledge his acceptance of the budgerigar, or do anything that remotely counted as taking care of her.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, so I placed the seeds in a pile at the bottom of the cage and checked the message.
The text came from my sister. Why aren’t you answering me? Are we still on for tomorrow? Work is asking if I can take up another shift.
I immediately started typing out my response. She had messaged me quite a few times last night and this morning, but I never got the chance to respond.Yeah. Sorry. Been a bit busy. I’ll be there tomorrow around 2PM.
My sister’s schedule didn’t often align with mine, but on the rare occasion we had the same day off, we both went to Emberheart Place to offer whatever assistance we could provide. I also wanted to warn her about the Syndicate, given they could very well go after her to get to me, like they had done with Ellie.
I rummaged through my dresser, selecting a pair of bootcut jeans along with a clean t-shirt that was actually my size, and a blue flannel button-down to wear over it. I saved Ren’s clothing, stuffing them in my backpack to give back to him later. I was about to check in on Sly, the TV in his bedroom/office blaring through the closed door that was apparently locked. I figured he was sleeping, so I let him be.
One hot shower later, I felt refreshed and ready for the day. As I trotted down the stairs and made my way toward the kitchen, the mouthwatering smell of something smokey and salty made my stomach growl.
“Is that bacon I smell?” I called out as a smile crept up my face and excitement fluttered in my chest. I couldn’t even remember the last time Sly made me breakfast. Granted, it was after noonat this point, but with his schedule, this was his night. I was surprised he was even up and heard me in the shower.
I hopped off the stairs, continuing to ignore the mess in the living room. The inside of the apartment was a beautiful space—when it wasn’t dirty—with a blend of sleek, modern luxury mixed with casual chaos. Sly made more money in a day than I did in a month, and his wealth showed in the carefully selected furnishings: a plush, oversized sectional couch in a deep gray, a massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, and a state-of-the-art gaming setup tucked into the corner of the living space, even though he usually played on the computer in his room. The open concept space meant I could see straight past the living and dining area, and right into the kitchen.
“Babe, are you making me breakfast? I’m starv—” I didn’t see anyone moving around, but I did see a frying pan on the stove, and that savory smell of bacon earlier was being replaced by something bitter and charred as a cloud of smoke carried through the kitchen with the reminder of a meal gone horribly wrong.
“Sly?” I dashed around the large kitchen island toward the stove to shut it off, tripping over a body on the floor. A raw and piercing scream sliced through the air like a jagged knife. Pressing herself up against the kitchen cabinets was the female demon I ran into last night, right before work. Her short, black hair was pinned back out of her face, her thick bangs pushed off to the side and showing her desperate violet eyes. She held a kitchen knife in her shaking hands, brandishing the weapon in front of her.
