Darker Days (The Darker Agency #1)(64)

Another mom might have sugarcoated things. Told me it was just puppy love and assured me that one day my white knight would come along and sweep me away to make all my dreams come true. But that was total crap. And my mom had never lied to me. I was lucky that way.

Sort of…

We were in and out of the store in no time, which suited me fine. Mom was a little too fascinated by all the colors yarn came in. Fearless monster masher, my ass. In another life, she must’ve been a crocheting soccer mom. I had a mental image of her surrounded by knitted tea cozies. Or—even more twisted—knitted knife cozies.

“An artist?” Mom held out the plastic bag containing an oversized sketchpad, some colored pencils, and a set of watercolor paints. “I’m warning you now. If I catch him painting you nude, he’s a dead man.”

“Oh, that’s sick.” I tossed her the keys as I neared the Mustang. She’d flinched the entire way over. Every time I turned too sharp or went a mile over the speed limit. To save her sanity—and my nerves—I’d let her drive home.

“Don’t move,” a raspy voice breathed in my ear. I was about to whirl around when something hard jammed into the small of my back.

I held up my hands, the plastic bag with Lukas’ supplies dangling back and forth. “Not moving.”

On the other side of the car, Mom froze. “That’s my daughter.” Her voice was even. To anyone listening, it might have sounded like she was ordering coffee or chatting up an old friend. Me? I could hear the barely contained venom.

“Step back,” the voice snapped. “Move into those bushes.”

Mom nodded, putting her own hands up so he could see them. “I’m moving to those bushes.”

Once in the shadow of the trees, the man said, “That’s a sweet ride. I deserve it. Keys. Give me your keys and your wallet.”

“It’s fine. I’m just going to set them down.” Arm extended, the keys dangled from her thumb. Bending slightly, she repeated, “I’m just going to put…them…”

Eye’s locked on mine, she gave the slightest nod. “Down.”

I dropped to my knees as she hummed the keys at the man’s face. He stumbled back, surprised, and I sprinted forward. Unfortunately, I didn’t make it far. Something latched around my ankle, wrenching my feet and taking me down hard. The air expelling from my lungs in a single, violent whoosh as the man’s shadow loomed overhead. Fumbling with my pocket, I groped for the butterfly knife hidden there. It was one of the things I never left home without. But just as my fingertips brushed the cool, comforting iron, I was hauled to my feet.

The next few seconds were kind of fuzzy. Misty watercolor memories, my ass. They were more like hazy black fog. There was a tickle in the back of my throat and a loud bang that resonated in every one of my limbs. A swimming head and burning eyes, combined with an all over ache, made me feel slightly ill. There might have been screaming, too—I couldn’t be sure.

The first thing I thought was, hell in a hailstorm, he’d shot me. Me. I’d survived things that would make Rambo piss himself, and some normal dude with a gun comes along and blows me away? Where the heck’s the poetry in that?

But he didn’t shoot me. The gun wasn’t even in his hand anymore.

It was in mine.

But that wasn’t all. Not only was the gun not where it started out—neither was I. One minute I was staring down the blackhead-covered nose of a whack job with a gun and bad breath, the next I was standing behind said whack job. With his gun.

I was confused. No way had I moved that fast. Plus, I was pretty sure that was something I’d remember doing. It reminded me of the way Dad traveled—shadowing—but half-demon, half-human offspring couldn’t do that.

But first things first. The man spun around, just as surprised about what had happened as I was. I used it to my advantage. One well placed, denim-clad knee to his hot box, then, as he crumbled, a good one to his head. He went down like a sack of quartz.

“What—” Mom started, then whirled around as, behind us, someone gasped.

I followed her gaze, and off to the side, a few cars down, was a small girl wearing shiny Mary Janes and snow-white knee-high socks. The same small girl Meredith had introduced me to back at the school.

Ava—AKA Greed.





Chapter Twenty-five




“Ava,” I breathed.

“Who?”

I grabbed Mom’s hand and started running. “Greed. That’s Greed!”

There was a moment of hesitation, then Mom was flying along beside me while trying to dig her phone from her pocket.

Ava’s eyes widened and she took off. She raced through the rest of the lot and into the street. Squealing tires and horns blared as she ignored oncoming traffic and headed for the park.

“We should split up,” I huffed as we came to the entrance. “One of us hit the main gate, the other go around to the side. Lukas said the Sins are bound by the limitations of the human bodies they hijacked. She’s technically just a kid. How fast can she possibly move?”

Mom shook her head. “She’s a kid that can turn people into raving lunatics willing to rob you blind at any cost!”

“This isn’t the time for the Mom thing. There’s a Sin in the park. Right in front of us. Are you really gonna let her get away?” Low blow, but she needed to see the bigger picture here. We only had one day left, and opportunity had presented itself to us on a nice shiny platter.