The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz #1)(82)

“Then–”

He held up a hand. “It is not usually sanctioned by the Brotherhood. In fact, in our entire history, I’ve only heard of it being allowed once.”

“Help me. I’ll do anything. Fight more actively or not at all. Whatever they want. Whatever it takes.”

Rabbi Abrams got out the honey and a spoon. “Drio learned nothing from Evelyn and everything else we’ve tried to determine if Samson is a demon has been a dead end. We have one avenue left open to us. Get Rohan to do the theme song and I’ll confirm Ari’s status.”

“Rohan doesn’t want to do this.”

“He’s all we have. Do it and I give you my word.” He lay the tea ball on a small saucer, spooning honey into his mug. “I too very much want Ari to be Rasha.”

My stomach twisted, but it seemed I had no other choice. “Done.”



Ari found me a few hours later, sitting motionless on the edge of my bed, an unfolded pile of laundry next to me. “You okay?” he asked.

I forced a wan smile. “Yeah. What’s up?”

“Drive me home? Kane does any more disinterested hovering and I’ll kill him.”

“Hovering, huh?”

“I’m not up to his game-playing.” Ari was disinclined to say any more. He looked around my room, wistfully. “I think it’s time for me to go.”

Much as I wanted to force him to stay here until he was completely healed, I understood. And honestly, I was glad of the excuse to get away. He came with me downstairs to tell Ms. Clara we were leaving.

She greeted us with a smile. “Feeling better?” She tapped her head.

“Depends,” my brother replied. “Unfortunately, I now remember I have a sister.”

I licked my finger and stuffed it in his ear. He shoved me away.

“Before you leave,” she pulled a new phone out of her desk and tossed it over to me. “I’ll have your new laptop put back in your room. Remember, this goes with you everywhere.”

I gotta admit, I had a pang or two as I picked up the sleek technowonder. “You’re not going to be able to find my iPhone anymore,” I said to Ari, with a mournful shake of my head.

He smiled. “You forbade me.”

“Like you believed me.”

Ari took the phone away and smashed it against the desk.

I clutched at his arm. Ms. Clara was going to murder him. “He didn’t mean it,” I yelped, blocking him from bodily harm.

Ms. Clara laughed.

Ari waved the phone at me, intact and not even dented. “Indestructible. You’ll save a bundle on replacements.” He dropped the phone in my hand.

I ran a finger over the spot on her desk that he’d whacked to make sure it wasn’t dented either, because no way did I want Ms. Clara angry. But, like the rest of her office, it was in perfect, orderly condition.

We said goodbye, then headed out to Dad’s Prius, sitting gleaming in the sunlight, scratch-free. Demon Club had restored it to showroom pristine condition.

“Dad’s totally gonna know,” I said. Ari and I had been driving the car for a couple of years. Pristine had been blown off its list of adjectives in the first two weeks.

We exchanged mischievous grins. He picked up a rock and I got out my key and we proceeded to nick and scratch the thing back to its former state. Five minutes later, we surveyed our handiwork with pride. Much better.

The house was empty when we pulled up, since Mom and Dad weren’t due back from their cruise for more than a week. Party animals that we were, Ari went straight to bed and after triple checking that he didn’t need anything, I went into my room. Funny how small it seemed. I trailed a finger over my stuff, restless, bored, but not wanting to leave Ari alone until he woke up. I could have watched TV, but daytime programming blew at the best of times. Besides, I was too distracted.

How was I going to convince Rohan to step back into the spotlight and do the theme song? It wasn’t my place to force him back into something that had deeply scarred him. He might have stopped singing because he no longer enjoyed it. I’d never gotten an answer out of him one way or the other. On the other hand, if I didn’t convince him? Then Ari’s chances of becoming Rasha were well and truly dead. As dead as he might be if he started hunting.

Absently, I stopped in front of my tap shoes, picking them up to wipe the dust off with my sleeve. Once they were in my hands though? I itched to put them on, something I hadn’t done in over two years.

There’d been no dancing in moderation since my dream had come crashing down. My heart couldn’t take it. The only way for me to cope had been to go cold turkey. Slam that door forever and padlock it tight. I couldn’t handle having something that had been my entire life be relegated to a hobby.

The taste of copper brought me to my senses and I released my poor bottom lip from my teeth, shocked at how strong my urge to slip the shoes on was. Maybe I’d grieved enough. Still, I hesitated, running a hand over my calf. Did my Rasha healing mean I wouldn’t relapse into the pain of my dance injury?

I’d do anything to be able to dance on a regular basis again but, for many reasons including my newfound destiny, the ship had sailed on my dreams of dancing professionally. I’d resigned myself to it, believing I couldn’t dance anymore. But now?

I wasn’t ready to think about the long-term ramifications–or lack thereof.