The Hearts We Sold(39)

“If I was naked, it would be creepy,” said Dee. “This is just… well. I mean. Artists get inspiration from real life, right?”

Relief broke across his face. “Yes.”

But even so, it made her feel odd. He must have been watching her more closely than she realized.

“Come on,” said Gremma, taking her hand. “I need to pee and I need company.” She flashed James a bright smile before pulling Dee away.

They made their way through the crowds, and Gremma dragged her into the small private alcove, before releasing her.

Gremma crossed her arms. “All right,” she said. “Talk.”

Dee squirmed, glancing at the single-occupancy restroom not far away, wondering how annoyed Gremma would be if she simply ran and locked the door.

“Your boy painted you,” said Gremma. “I thought people didn’t even do that outside of cheesy romantic flicks.”

“For the last time,” said Dee, “he is not my boy. And he doesn’t want me.”

Gremma gave her a look.

“He doesn’t!” Dee insisted. “Trust me—I’m not that kind of girl!”

She snorted. “What kind of girl is that?” said Gremma. “The breathing kind?”

“The datable kind!” Dee waved her hands uselessly about herself, trying to gesture. “I’m—I’m—”

Not worth it.

But there were some words a person didn’t say—couldn’t say. In real life or in fairy tales, there were some things that could not be uttered aloud. And this fear, this deepest fear of hers, was something she dared not even whisper.

With that, she turned and strode into the bathroom, leaving Gremma with her mouth open in a reply. Dee slid the dead bolt shut, stood in the darkness for a moment. This was one of those old-fashioned restrooms without automatic lights, and Dee was glad for it. It was almost a relief to stand in the dark, alone with herself. When she thought she could breathe again, she fumbled for the switch.

The light came on.

And someone was already in the restroom.

Dee choked back a shriek. Her hand reached for the doorknob, ready to yank it open and run, but then she recognized the figure standing between the sink and toilet.

The Daemon.

He gazed at her, his face unreadable. “Hello.”

“You are in a girls’ restroom,” said Dee, once she had caught her breath. Very observant, she thought. Very astute. She would likely win some kind of award for intellect. “You are not supposed to be here.”

“Well,” said the Daemon, “I would have done this outside, but that would have drawn attention.”

He reached for her.

Dee jumped back. “What—what are you doing?”

“There is no time,” said the Daemon, and despite the stoic expression, she saw something flicker in his eyes. Unease.

“Something’s gone wrong, hasn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said curtly. He reached for her arm. His long, pale fingers closed around her wrist and—

It was like when he had taken her heart.

There was a yank.

There was the sensation she was falling, falling through the floor, gravity pulling her downward—

Her feet slammed into pavement and she wobbled, blinking at the sudden darkness and the cold night air.

She stood alone on a dark stretch of pavement.





TWENTY


D ee’s stomach rolled, and she felt as if she had just stepped off a particularly turbulent roller coaster. She fell to her knees, found herself crouching on oil-stained pavement.

She forced herself to look around, to take in where the Daemon had brought her.

A parking lot. It was huge, and in the distance she thought she saw the dim lights of a strip mall. A cold wind cut through her clothing and she shivered. The sounds of distant cars meant she was not in the middle of nowhere, but she was not in Portland, either. She turned in a circle and cried out in shock.

A figure sat on the pavement. A figure that had not been there a moment ago. She fumbled for her cell phone, fingers clumsy with panic, and when she managed to find the flashlight app, the sudden illumination spilled over—

“Cal,” Dee gasped.

Cal was cross-legged, sitting beside a large duffel bag. “Deirdre,” he said with a grin. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“W-what are we doing out here?” snapped Dee. Her voice was sharp with fear. “How did you—”

“He must have grabbed me after he dropped you off,” said Cal, shrugging. “The Daemon did his little ‘folding reality’ trick.”

Her stomach was still in knots. “That was—what the hell just happened?”

“Did the Daemon grab you from your dorm?” asked Cal.

She shook her head. “Women’s restroom in an art gallery.”

“Ah.” Cal nodded knowingly. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I was at the gym. Coming out of the showers. Wearing nothing but a towel. Luckily I’m a fast talker or I’d still be dressed like that.”

A little laugh escaped her. Cal looked pleased at this, as if making her more comfortable had been his goal. He was a nice guy. A bundle of contradictions—a genius who looked like a beefy jock—but nice.