The Hearts We Sold(40)

“So you were at an art gallery?” he said. “I don’t suppose… Lancer took you there?”

She nodded.

“Ah.” Cal appeared impressed. “Well, good for you. Haven’t ever really been able to get past his defenses. You know how it is—he’s all smiles until someone asks a personal question, then he clams right up.”

Perhaps Cal and James weren’t as close as she assumed. When she’d seen them in the hospital basement, they had been joking and comfortably insulting each other, but perhaps they weren’t truly friends. Half friends. Dee had plenty of those herself.

She took a moment to look around the parking lot. “The Daemon,” she said, then hesitated. She still remembered the stark, pale lines of his face. “Did you notice—was he…?”

Cal glanced at her, then looked away. “More curt than usual? Yes. I assume it means there’s a void that’s further gone than it should be.” He pushed himself upright, brushing the dirt from his jeans. “I hope this doesn’t take too long. I promised a buddy that I’d lend him my telescope later tonight. There’s some supernova he wanted to chart.”

She studied him—of all the heartless, Cal seemed the most level-headed. “So demons can just pop in and out of places?” she asked him. “I mean—if they can do that, why doesn’t he magic us to every void?”

Cal shook his head. “It isn’t magic. It’s… some kind of quantum entanglement, I think.”

She gaped. He grinned.

“Teleportation,” he said. “It’s not magic. It’s just not explainable by our tech yet. Yet,” he repeated, as if for emphasis. “As for not doing it all the time, I asked the Daemon about that. He isn’t big on answering questions. All he said was, ‘Fold a paper enough times and it will never be flat again.’”

Dee frowned. “And that means…?”

“I think he folds reality to bring us places,” said Cal. “And he can’t do it too often without the risk of messing things up permanently. So he only does it when it’s really needed.”

The chilled night air settled into her skin and she shivered. “Like now.”

“Like now,” Cal agreed.

“What do you think—”

She never finished.

There was a sensation of displacement, a ripple of air, and then—

The Daemon popped into existence again. He had James by the collar, the way one might drag an unruly pet. He released his hold and James fell to his knees. And then the Daemon vanished again.

Hurriedly, Dee scrambled to James’s side. Her hand fell on his shoulder and he looked up, his eyes searching for hers. “You’re all right?” he asked.

It was touching, especially considering he looked on the verge of vomiting. “Fine,” she said. “You?”

He swallowed audibly. “Shouldn’t have had that second glass of champagne.” He rose to his feet. “Where are we?”

“Woodburn,” replied Cal. “Something’s wrong. The Daemon came to me, and he had the duffel bag with the load in it—said there wasn’t time for us to drive or stop by the bank. He just took my arm and brought me here.”

Another shiver went through Dee. She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she had her hoodie. But she’d left it at the art gallery.

The art gallery.

Her stomach plummeted.

“Gremma,” said Dee. “Oh, hell. We just ditched her.” She reached for her phone; they had only been gone maybe five minutes, so it was likely that Gremma wouldn’t have noticed yet.

“Just tell her you had to run because of… I don’t know,” said James. “What do normal people use as excuses these days?”

“Illness,” replied Cal. “Family emergency. Statistically those are the two used most often to get out of something.”

Dee considered. “You know, those excuses might have worked if I hadn’t just vanished from a room with only one door.”

Cal looked thoughtful. “Were there any windows?”

Dee opened her mouth to reply, but before she could say a word, the Daemon appeared again not two inches away. She staggered backward, arms flailing wildly. James caught her around the waist, pulled her back.

Cora yanked herself free of the Daemon’s grip.

“What the hell?” she snapped. Her hazel eyes were lined in smoky gray and she wore a pencil skirt and frilly top. Even her shoes were dove-gray pumps. She looked nearly as put together as the Daemon himself.

“Whoa,” said James. “You look…”

“… Whose secretary are you?” finished Cal.

“I came from my internship,” Cora said. She stood in those heels far more comfortably than Dee could have ever managed. “Now, if someone would—”

“Not now,” said the Daemon sharply. “Follow me.”

And without another word, he picked up the duffel bag and strode away from the strip mall. Dee exchanged a glance with James, then Cal. James shrugged and was the first to fall into step behind the Daemon. Cal was second, and Dee went third. She glanced back, saw Cora hesitating, then the girl made an angry sound and followed, her pumps clicking against the ground.

The lights of the parking lot faded away. Despite the other heartless around her, Dee felt very alone as she walked after the Daemon, away from the mall and the sound of traffic, into a field. It was probably farmland—grass seed was big in this area, she knew. The dry dirt crumbled along her flip-flops, catching between her toes.