Page 105 of Demon Apathy: Sunderverse
“So that went well,” I said, smiling at Preston.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said, ambling toward the empty bed across from mine. I was the only person in the infirmary, and beyond the expansive windows, a clear blue sky stretched over the low buildings across the street.
I had the urge to run outside and look at the trees, the birds, the people. It was silly, but I felt as if I’d been given a second chance at life.
Preston set his cane on the bed and grabbed something that was lying on the white sheets and lifted it up. He angled what turned out to be a portrait in my direction. The person depicted on it was familiar enough. I saw his semblance almost every day in the common room.
It was Konrad Striker.
Raising his bushy eyebrows, Preston said, “So… what do you see?”
“Konrad Striker,” I said with a heavy dose ofduhin my voice.
The mage librarian made a slightly disapproving sound in the back of his throat, then set the portrait back down on the bed.
“It may take a few days yet.” Preston retrieved his walking stick andtapped, tapped, tappedtoward the door. “You’re free to return to your normal duties.”
Grant and I watched him leave.
When he was out of earshot, I gestured toward Konrad Striker’s portrait. “Was that supposed to test my Truesight?”
The director nodded.
“Is the portrait spelled or something?”
He sat at the foot of my bed. “It is.”
I hummed in approval. It made sense they would have a way to see if the procedure worked. It’d been silly of me to think that Striker—
“Also, Striker was a demon,” Grant added.
“What?! You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“The greatest demon hunter in the history of the LDH was a demon?!”
“He was.”
I shook my head. “That makes no sense.”
“That’s exactly what I thought when I got my Truesight.”
That dull headache started again. “I don’t understand. I read his biography and it said nothing about him being a demon.”
“Perhaps Preston can lend you a book with a more detailed account of Striker’s life.” He stood and walked toward the window. A shaft of sunlight fell over him, highlighting his blond hair.
“You mean one of the books he has—” My words cut off. I tried again. “Books from—” Again, the same thing happened.
Grant glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “That is precisely why no one knows about—” His words also cut off. “You know.”
So it was impossible to talk about all that brewed under Striker Hall. Some sort of magic prevented it. No wonder it was such a big secret.
“I’ll ask him about therealbiography,” I said.
“The one you read is real enough, I’m sure. Preston’s is justenhanced.”
I kicked my naked feet off the bed and slid to the floor. Its coolness jolted me, but I welcomed it. I was still wearing my clothes, but someone had removed my shoes and socks.
