Page 44 of Grave Mistakes
“If he’d found something, do you think we’d still be wasting our energy babysitting you every damn day?”
I clench my teeth and press my fingers against my eyes, like they can somehow be a reset button to my life. I want to go back to when things were simple. Things still sucked, but at least it wasn’t to the level ofdemons are trying to kill mesuckage.
“Where’s Crux?” I ask, feeling exhausted as the earlier adrenaline that spiked through me outside drains away.
I know I look just as bad as I feel, the heavy circles beneath my eyes giving me a battered appearance. My limbs are leaden and my brain foggy, but sleep is still an elusive bitch, and Jerif doesn’t look like he’s faring much better. Physically, he’s the same enigma he’s always been, pitch black skin and flickering flame eyes and hair, but the exhaustion wafting off of him is palpable.
“That’s really none of your business,” Jerif growls, and I have to fight the urge to break his nose and then revel in the sight of him choking on his own blood.
I blame my irritability on lack of sleep and definitely not the steady flow of demon blood in my veins. I glare at Jerif, but he’s too busy looking around at my house to notice.
“Remind me again why you insist on staying here instead of on our property where you’d be more protected? This place is a dump,” he observes, and just like that, any goodwill I was feeling toward him for his protection tonight evaporates, and my stomach clenches with hurt. If my dad were alive to hear that...
“Thanks for stopping by, Jerif. Don’t let the door bash your skull in on the way out,” I tell him with saccharine sweetness.
He gives an unamused snort and levels me with a look that saystempting, but no dice.I pointedly ignore him and then turn, pulling a mug out of my cabinet. Maybe a nice warm cup of tea will help calm my violent urges. I purposely don’t offer Jerif one. I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea and actually think he’s welcome here or anything.
“You know, if you knocked this wall out, you could double the footprint of your kitchen. No one needs a formal dining room anymore, and you’d have plenty of space for a decent sized breakfast nook.”
I turn an incredulous look on Jerif.Is he serious?
“Thank you, Tim the Toolman Taylor, for that unsolicited opinion. I’d just like to point out thatyouhave a formal dining room in your house.”
“Of course, because myhouseis a mansion, and mansions have formal dining rooms. But in this shack, the space needs to be allocated better.”
Fuck’s sake, does he even know how condescending and insulting he’s being?
“Is that your professional opinion based off of all your years in construction?” I snark.
Jerif smiles at me, but it looks more like a taunt than an expression of amusement.
“My cousin’s stepdad was a pretty prolific carpenter. I learned a thing or two,” he defends.
I cross my arms. “Oh, really?” I challenge.
“Yeah, you might have heard of him. His name is Joseph...you know, Jesus’s dad.”
Fuck. Walked right into that one.
I give Jerif my bestcome the fuck onstare, but he just meets my irritation head-on with a look of amusedgotchyaon his face. I immediately don’t believe him, but the more I stare into his flame-filled eyes, the more I wonder if he’s not actually pulling my leg. Just how old are these guys? The question is on the tip of my tongue, just ripe for the asking, but I swallow it down instead. Not my demons, not my problem. I’m trying to get as far from their world as I can, not dive curiosity-first into their life stories.
“Well, regardless of what this house needs or not, you have to have money to do those things, and my account balance has a tight strangle hold on exactly two hundred and thirty-seven dollars right now,” I tell him. “So that would be just enough to cover putting a hole in the wall that offends you, just so long as I never eat again.”
Jerif’s eyes fill with judgment. “You spent your pay that fast? He looks around, feigning even more bewilderment before his stare settles back on me and my ratty clothes. “Where did it go?”
“Pay?” I ask, my judgmental tone matching his. “What pay are you talking about?”
“Uh, yourpaycheck,” he intones, as if I’m slow to the uptake.“Perdition Estate paid you for the hours you worked. We also threw in the agreed hazard bonus for the attack and for your trip to Hell.”
Eyes widening, I have my phone out of my pocket and my bank app loading in no time. I try to calculate exactly how much a hazard bonus might constitute. If I’m lucky, maybe around eight hundred, give or take? That seems fair. Elated relief surges through me...until my account balance loads.
I stare at the screen, but my head does not comprehend what I’m seeing.
“Well?” Jerif asks impatiently. “Did you get it?”
“It says my balance...I got a deposit of twentythousanddollars,” I tell him, showing him the screen like my words need evidence to back them up.
His eyes scan the screen with a nod. “Like I said, there was the hazard pay added to your hourly rate.”
