Page 43 of Grave Mistakes
The haze of the streetlight across the road looks like an orange halo through the mist, offering the only light available to my eyes. I scan the shadows, but I don’t see the surfer demon anywhere. The back of my neck prickles, and chills sweep over my body at the inkling intuition that’s crawling over me like insects.
I’m being watched.
Holding the front of my jacket closed, I back away from my weed-ridden front lawn that’s speckled with dewdrops, the soles of my slippers scraping against the cement. I’m breathing fast but stilted, my inhales getting stuck in my chest with a rattle of unease.
Just as I make it to the threshold of my door, I hear a noise like something heavy slamming against pavement. My heart leaps into my throat, and the noise is so loud I almost feel the impact vibrating through the ground.
Cursing at my own stupidity for coming out here, I whirl around and grab my doorknob, but the damn door is stuck. The wood swells when there’s humidity, and the fact that my palms are slick with sweat isn’t helping me to grip and turn the knob properly.
Hurried footsteps sound behind me, and my heart goes into overdrive. I’m so gripped with fear that I’m shaking all over. I risk a glance over my shoulder, spotting a silhouette heading right toward me from the street. Terror takes over.
With all my might, I heave my shoulder into the door, once, twice, three times, and when I canfeelthe ominous presence behind me, I give the door one last shove with all my strength, and the swollen wood finally scrapes open, sending me hurtling forward.
I fall inside, barely catching myself on the doorknob, and then spin around and shove the door shut as fast as I can, but I’m too late.
A black boot slams between the door and the frame, immediately halting my movement. The body pushes the door open, and even though I do my best to keep it closed, I don’t stand a chance. A scream climbs out of my throat as the door is shoved open the rest of the way, but then a dark hand is covering my mouth and another arm bands around me, keeping me from falling back. I have to blink several times to realize that the person staring down at me isn’t a demon attacking me, but Jerif.
My eyes widen for a split second before I shove away from him. “You fucking asshole!” I yell, seething.
“Quiet,” he snaps impatiently, like this ismyfault.
He turns and closes the front door, locking it before pressing his hand against the wood. He murmurs a few unintelligible words, and a faint red glow emits from his fingers, like the way your skin looks when you hold a flashlight against it.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“Adding another ward to your house,” he says before dropping his hand.
“You fucking scared me to death,” I hiss. “You could’ve just told me it was you. I thought I was about to be murdered!”
He turns on his heel, his lava-red hair swept back, the orange and yellow highlights looking warm despite the cold hate that seems to have settled in my house. “I had to be quiet,” he grits out, looking down at me with anger radiating in his fiery eyes.
“Why?” I ask warily, noting for the first time that he has black splatters all over his dark jacket and jeans. I reach forward and swipe a finger against one of the drops, and my finger drags away stained red. My face goes pale. “What is this?”
“Demon blood.”
Swallowing hard, I turn around and hurry to the kitchen, feeling suddenly queasy. Rushing to the sink, I start scrubbing the putrid blood off my finger, cringing the whole time that I touched it. I scrub my hands again just for good measure, wanting to make sure I get rid of all traces of the oily residue.
When I’m satisfied it’s actually gone, I dry my hands on the dishrag and turn around, keeping my palms braced on the countertop behind me as I look at Jerif. “What happened?” I ask, even though I don’t want to know.
“Why do you care?”
“Don’t be a dick, Jerif,” I tell him. “Are you saying that demons came to attack me tonight?”
“Tonight. Last night. The night before, the night before that…” he trails off when the blood drains from my face.
“Every night?” I whisper, shell-shocked. I hadn’t seen or heard a thing.
“Just about. They prefer to attack at night, but we’ve dispatched a few during the day too. Mostly imps.”
“Why?” I ask, running a hand through my tangled purple hair. “I don’t understand why they keep coming for me.”
He gives me a look like I’m an idiot for asking. “You’re a powerful demon. They can sense you. If they’re able to kill you, then they can take in some of your power. If there’s one thing demons are hungry for, it’s more power. Nobody revels in being at the bottom of the pecking order.”
My mouth drops open. “Nobody said anything about that!”
“What difference would it have made?” he asks. “We’d still be right here in the same place we are now.”
He’s right, but I don’t want to admit it. “What about Iceman—I mean, Rafferty? Has he found anything yet to get my block put back on? Then these demons wouldn’t be able to sense me anymore.”
