Page 13 of Demon Apathy: Sunderverse
He shook his head. “He wouldn’t have. You’re part of the game.”
“Some game! I wish you would all just leave me out of it.”
“We did, just as you requested.”
“You can’t blame me for wanting to live a normal life.”
“I guess not. If you find purpose in the mundane, who am I to judge?”
Mundane? Really? He was judging, all right!
“We can’t all lead exciting existences like you,” I said with a shrug.
“I’ll send someone to make sure you and your family are safe.”
“Can you take me back?”
“I can’t. Not right now. I haven’t regained all my strength, but depending on where we are, I may be able to find someone to take you home.” His clipped words cut deep.
God, how had I gotten myself into this again? Now I just have to refocus on forgetting demon hunting, the league, the end of the world, and Drevan all over again. Easy peasy. Well, maybe now that he was behaving like an asshole, it would be much easier.
“Well, let’s get this over with,” he said, walking toward the exit as he thrust his hands forward and the doors to the crypt flew open.
6
Westeppedoutintothe night to find ourselves surrounded by rows and rows of tombstones, grass, wilting flowers, and trees.
Drevan glanced around, eyes narrowed. He sniffed the air and, after a moment, said, “We’re in New York.”
"How do you know?"
“I just do.” He started walking.
It looked like any other cemetery to me—someplace where I didn’t want to be at night. I hurried up to join him, glancing about skeptically.
“It’s Woodland Cemetery in the Bronx,” he insisted as he strolled down a narrow path. “See that’s Miles Davis tomb right over there.”
I squinted at a massive black headstone with musical notes and a trumpet carved on its polished surface.
I read the inscription. “In Memory Of Sir Miles Davis 1926 ~ 1991.”
He paused and glanced from side to side. “Let’s go this way,” he said, taking a right. After only a couple of steps, he whirled and went in the opposite direction. “Never mind, this way.”
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?”
He just kept walking. I slung the Queller over my shoulder and followed him, weaving many fancy-looking crypts. The night was chilly, well under fifty degrees, which seemed low for October.
“Um, you can have my hoodie if you want,” I said, wondering if the cold was getting to him. He was shirtless and barefoot, after all.
“No, thank you. I run hot.”
Did he ever? I shivered at the thought of his warm fingertips tracing over my body.
Stop it, Lucia!I had no business letting those kinds of thoughts roam free inside my mind. I wished there was some sort of exorcism that could be performed to kick him out of there. But he was like a thorn right in the middle of my heart.
Several moments later, we found ourselves by an iron gate, which Drevan opened with a wave of his hand. He walked to the edge of the sidewalk, crossed his arms, and just stood there.
“Um, what now?” I asked.
