Page 89 of Not Today, Satan
I frown as I study the photo further.
This was taken the same year Nate died. His arm’s clamped tight around the older man’s shoulders, fingers denting the skin, like he’s afraid of letting go.
I’m about to set the photo aside when something in the background catches my eye. I squint and tilt it toward the light.
There’s a boy in the shadows, a little older than Nate, standing between the two men. He’s scowling, either unaware or unconcerned that the camera’s captured his disapproval. Even in the semidarkness, his features are clearly a smoothed version of Gabe’s lined face, his blond hair gleaming in the light from the lamp beside him, his eyes piercing into mine.
This must be Nate’s foster brother. Nate mentioned he wasn’t very nice to him, but he left out the ick vibes he gives off.
Maybe it’s just me.
Dropping the photo beside me, I dig deeper in the box. It’s mostly clothes and books, all weathered from use. A smile tugs at my lips when I pull out Dante’sThe Divine Comedy. I flip through the familiar pages ofInferno, then land onParadiso, where someone’s highlighted various passages throughout. A yellow-tinted line in the first canto draws my gaze: “From a little spark may burst a flame.” Nate recited this to me when I was struggling to light the wooden planks by the river.
I chuckle.
Leave it to that boy to quoteParadisoin the middle of the actualInferno.
“What are you doing?”
My head snaps up, and the book thuds to the floor.
I hadn’t heard anyone come home, much less creep into the room. It’s the boy from the birthday photo. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, amusement dancing across his features. Not exactly the picture of someone who’s just encountered a stranger in their house rummaging through their stuff.
Not that I blame him for lacking concern. He’s twice my size, tall and muscular, his jaw and nose sharp as razors, his cheekbones curving up when he smirks.
By Earth standards, he’s probably considered attractive, but there’s a chill in his eyes that makes my insides squirm. It’s the same coldness I see in Ferus every day.
I stand, dusting off my dress, and widen my eyes in the “I’m innocent” way shadelings look at me in the Welcome Hall. “I’m Devica. A friend of Nate’s. And you are…?” I extend my hand in the traditional human greeting, my palm damp with sweat.
The boy stares, his gaze practically boring holes through me. He makes no move to take my hand, so I drop it to my side.
“Alex,” he says.
It’s a complete sentence that’s not an invitation for more, but I try anyway. “Nice to meet you, Alex.” I force my mouth into something I hope constitutes a smile and lie the way Father taught me. “Nate told me all about you.”
Alex’s eyes roam over my body, lingering too long in certain places. I suppress the urge to wrap my arms around myself. Instead, I keep the smile molded into my cheeks. He licks his lips, and my hand grips the hilt of my sword.
“You’re a friend of Nate’s?” he asks.
“You could say that.”
“Nate’s a killer.” Alex’s voice is as flat as the tile beneath our feet. “He murdered my dad.”
When I don’t reply, he eyes the open box at my feet. “I should’ve burned that when they put Dad in the ground. I don’t know why I kept any of his shit. Maybe I had the foresight that a pretty young thing would come through the window looking for it.”
He takes a step toward me, and I instinctively step back.
Humans shouldn’t unnerve me like this. I’m stronger than him. I could blast a ball of fire into his puffed-out chest.
But I should probably speak to him first.
“Nate didn’t kill your dad,” I blurt. “I came here to clear his name.”
Alex raises his eyebrows and strides slowly toward me. “Is that so? And have you found anything here to prove that?”
I frown.
A box of Nate’s crap gives me nothing to free him. Father won’t accept highlighted Dante quotes and used clothing as proof of his innocence. And Alex doesn’t exactly seem concerned with helping. His eyes narrow as he waits for my reply, and it’s enough to leave a sour taste in my mouth.
