Lord of Embers(The Demon Queen Trials #2)(2)

I pulled the plastic bag of sweatpants closer, hoping they wouldn’t be wet by the time I arrived at the home of Mr. Esposito, my mom’s nonagenarian friend. Earlier today, I’d peered out my dingy basement windows and seen him walking to the bus stop in the pouring rain. His pants had sagged to his knees on his skinny frame, and he’d shuffled along, trying to get to a bench so he could pull them up.

I’d stood at the window, frozen in indecision. Should I run out to help him, or would that embarrass him? Was it better to pretend I never saw it? While I’d dithered over the decision, he’d reached the bench and restored his dignity himself. But it was clear to me what he’d needed— elasticated sweatpants that would stay on.

At Family Dollar, I’d spent twelve dollars on three pairs of sweatpants, discounted to four dollars each. Two for Mr. Esposito, one for myself.

I pulled out my phone, hoping to see a text from Shai, but my battery had run out. Raindrops slid down the dark phone screen, and I shoved it back into my pocket. These cheap sweatpants were comfortable enough, and they had pockets. I was starting to think I wouldn’t wear anything else.

Mortana liked glamour. I wanted to wear pajamas all day. Not much

of a life plan, maybe, but right now, I didn’t have a better one.

After I dropped off these sweatpants, I’d get a bus to my favorite part of town, the historic district around Osborne Common, and splurge on a hot chocolate in Ye Olde Osborne Coffee Shoppe. Situated northeast of here, that part of the city boasted Georgian houses, quaint brick sidewalks, cobbled roads, and signs with pristine gold lettering. And while I was lifting my spirits there, I’d dry off, pull out my little notepad, and come up with my master plan.

When you had only a few dollars and half a box of cereal left, you really needed a plan.

I turned onto Gallows Hill Road, walking quickly. Colored flags fluttered in the wind, adorning an overgrown parking lot that had once been a used car dealership. The sky was growing darker now. Across the street, the broken windows of a mint-green concrete building had been boarded up with plywood. Just beyond that sat Mr. Esposito’s ramshackle house—chipped white paint, a garden of weeds and tall grass, and a curtain hanging halfway down the front window. I really needed to come back here and help with the house a bit. No one else lived around here or kept an eye on him, and he didn’t have any family.

The gate in the chain link fence was open, and I crossed through. I climbed the steps onto the front porch, where Mr. Esposito stored his cans and newspapers. On the porch, water dripped through the overhang onto rotting wood.

As I waited, shivering, I listened to the shuffling behind the door, accompanied by the sound of a walker hitting the wooden floor.

Even if my magic was fading in the mortal world, I could still hear like a demon. Was this why my mom had always seemed to know everything I was up to? I couldn’t get up in the night to check my phone without her overhearing it.

After a few moments, Mr. Esposito opened the door. His thick white eyebrows crept up his forehead, questioning, and he peered at me through his glasses. “Rowan!”

I held up the bag of sweatpants. “I brought you something, Mr.

Esposito. I accidentally ordered a bunch of men’s sweatpants, and they don’t fit. I thought they might fit you. I’m too lazy to mail them back, you know?”

“Oh.” He smiled. “That’s nice of you to think of me.”

Mr. Esposito and I were alike. Neither of us had any other friends in Osborne, and we could barely manage getting through normal life without a series of disasters befalling us. When we had nothing to do, we sometimes ended up at a coffee shop for chess. He played slowly and deliberately and was a million times better than me.

With a shaking hand, he took the bag from me and gave me a feeble smile. “Do you want to come in for tea?”

The warmth sounded nice, but he looked exhausted. “I’ve got to run, but thanks. Chess soon?”

He nodded. “That would be lovely, Rowan.”

I watched as he tied the plastic bag around the top of his walker.

“You should get out of the rain. Night is falling fast.” He frowned. “I don’t think it’s a good night for you to be out.” His eyes became unfocused, his forehead furrowed. “Rowan, I think… there’s something…

something’s not right.”

Maybe he could tell I was a demon now. “Yeah. It’s grim weather, isn’t it? I’ll see you soon, Mr. Esposito.”

I waved goodbye as he scooted back to shut the door.

As he did, I felt the hair rising on my nape. My demon instincts screamed that I was being watched by a malign presence.

Orion?





C H A P T E R 2 — R O W A N

F or one moment, I thought—hoped?—that it was my former incubus friend. Maybe he’d realized his mistake. Maybe, any minute now, I’d be back in the City of Thorns, looking out at the Atlantic.

But when I turned around, I found something much worse than Orion hurtling down the sidewalk. Five demon hunters were headed toward me, each one wearing the little hammer insignia of the Malleus Daemoniorum—Hammer of the Demons.

They stopped at the fence’s opening, blocking me in. Jack was among them, along with his dad—an older, white-haired version of him who I’d seen in political ads. I was pretty sure I recognized two of the other guys from Jack’s fraternity—large, red-cheeked men in white baseball caps,