Page 10 of Not Today, Satan
“I could never hate you,” I say. “I think it’s great. And hey, this means when I take over, you can work beside me. Just, please, be safe, okay? Especially around Ferus. I don’t trust him.”
“Of course.” He bows. “Goodbye, Your Highness.”
“Devica.”
“Right. See you around.” He’s gone before I can chastise him for not saying my name.
I take a deep breath and exhale the sadness that follows his departure before frowning at Father’s throne and heading out of the room.
Nathan Reynolds’s photograph stares up at me from my bedside table. I haven’t had a chance to return it to his file yet. Plucking it off the blue wood, I stretch onto my side on my bed and hold the picture so it catches the light of the crystal lamp beside me.
I study his eyes, so blue I could swim in them—if I knew how to swim. That lock of hair that escapes from behind his ear to tickle his cheek. He’s good-looking for a shadeling. But he’s also human and a sinner. An adorable smile can’t override that.
Tracing around his face with my finger, I use everything Mr. Bellum’s taught me about my sight to see the moment he murdered his foster dad.
I focus on the photo so long that a headache burns behind my eyes.
Nathan Reynolds’s smiling face never changes.
I shove the picture under my pillow and flop on top of it, groaning in frustration. I’m not getting any better at this, and I have until my next birthday to make it work. Whether I’m ready or not.
And I’m absolutely not.
V.
The second siren comes in the middle of the night.
I jam my pillow over my ears and roll onto my back. Something pricks me between the shoulders, and I furrow my brows.
Wiggling my torso, I press into the mattress, the object pushing deeper into my skin. I flip over and study the bed, feeling along the top for a broken spring. There’s nothing there.
“What the here?”
I slip out of bed and pad toward the oval mirror in the corner of my room. I’m in a nightgown, so I only have to turn and pull the hair off my back in order to see them. Sharp corners in the shape of triangles poke out from beneath my shoulders, and my breath catches in my throat.
Wings.
Or, at least, the start of them.
Father warned me I might inherit his wings, but he refused to discuss it further. His were severed in the Fall—an additional punishment to his banishment here. They are now tacked up on the wall of his chambers, as if he dreams of one day slipping them on again. Father mourns the loss of his wings like humans grieve for their loved ones. They’re his biggest regret.
Well, that and falling for my mother, whom we also never talk about.
My door slams.
I spin from the mirror and gasp at the familiar face. “Nathan Reynolds?!”
He’s backed against my bedroom door, red coveralls dirty and torn open at the chest, revealing a hint of skin. Blood drips down his face from a gash over his left eye.
“You’re the girl who… The one who checked me in.”
I nod, suddenly aware I’m clad in only a nightgown. I fold my arms over my chest. “Devica. And what are you doing in my room? You can’t be here.” I stride toward him, my arm outstretched so I can push him into the hall.
“Please don’t make me go back.” He flattens himself against the door. “Do you know what they do to us there?”
“I have an idea.” I shrug. “But that’s where murderers belong. If we surrounded you with rainbows and puppies, that’d sort of defeat the purpose of Hell.”
The heavy beat of boots on the ground echo from the hall, and both our heads snap in their direction.
