Sweet Peril (The Sweet Trilogy #2)(13)

I sobered at the mention of a demon whisperer near Kaidan.

“What do you think’s going on with him?” I asked. “He won’t talk to me.”

“I think he’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic. I know you want to believe he feels the same as you, but what if he doesn’t? I love him, but he’s a funny one, Anna. Finicky. I’m telling you for your own good. . . .” I hated her remorseful tone. “Let him go, luv. He won’t budge when he’s made his mind up about something. He’s gone.”

Gone. A ragged breath caught in my chest.

“I’ve got to go,” Marna said. “Ginger’s waking.”

“Take care, Marna,” I whispered.

“You as well,” she whispered back.

My body wanted to cry—to soak my pillow in tears, but they wouldn’t come. Instead I ended up on the floor, on my knees, pulling down the pillow to muffle my gasps for air. I’d known since Kai left that I’d have to let go of him, but it was a fresh slice of pain to hear Marna say it. I’d tried to come to terms with not having the things I wanted. I knew there would be something bigger to focus on someday, bigger than my life and my worries. And now it was happening. But I never imagined my life’s mission would be coupled with such agony and loss.

It wasn’t about me, and I couldn’t lose sight of that. My life was a tiny dot on the map. But even those tiny dots could make a difference—especially when they came together. I grasped that thread of hope and let it lift me.

The next morning Patti and I puttered around the kitchen in slow motion, waiting for Dad to show.

“Taste this.” Patti held out a plastic spoon she’d been using to stir the pitcher of sweet tea. I took the offered sip.

It was perfect, as always. I gave her a thumbs-up, then squinted my eyes against the sharp pounding in my head.

“A couple aspirin would help,” Patti said.

I shook my head. No painkillers. They’d burn through me too quickly to be worthwhile anyway.

When Dad showed up, he skipped all greetings, coming straight for me, wearing faded black leather pants and a white T-shirt tight around his wide chest and arms.

“What’s going on?” he asked in a rough voice, searching my face.

He appeared the same as always—like a giant brute glaring down at me with his shaved head and graying goatee, but I knew it was only a harsh look of concern.

“Hello to you, too,” I said. I went into his arms and let him squeeze me. After half a year, it was a sweet relief to see him again.

I reached out and took his hand.

“Let’s sit down,” I told him. We sat next to each other on the couch, with Patti across from us in the rocking recliner. He watched me intently. “Something major happened yesterday. Remember Sister Ruth, who died before I met her?” Dad nodded. “Well, her spirit found me after all this time and she told me a prophecy.”

His demeanor changed. His eyes got bigger and he sat up straighter. “Go on.”

I told him everything. How Sister Ruth was a heavenly Neph, and who she’d descended from. When I got to the part in the prophecy about the fate of the demons, and a second chance at heaven, his eyes glazed over, lost in thought. The room quieted as we all pondered the possibilities. I was once again filled with exhilaration, imagining earth without demons, and that excitement was followed closely by the fear of having no clue what I’d have to do to make it happen.

I squeezed Dad’s hand.

“You’re sure she said that?” he whispered gruffly. “You’re positive about every word?”

“I’m positive.”

When he finally sucked in a breath, his body shuddered. Dad brought my hand up to his lips for a kiss, then patted it and laughed with a quick burst of joy.

“You don’t know what this means to me. The thought of going home again . . .” He brought my hand to his heart. “Thank you, thank you.”

I had a hunch he wasn’t thanking me. I glanced at Patti, whose eyes were glistening just as mine were.

Dad stood and began to pace, running a hand over his smooth head. He whispered “hot damn” under his breath and grinned to himself. “I can’t believe there’s really a prophecy.”

“Huh?” I asked, confused.

“Back before I became a Duke, there were legends of a supposed prophecy of a Nephilim destroying the demons, but nobody believed it. They all thought it was made up by angels to psyche us out. Duke Rahab’s always hated the Neph and refused to have any of his own. I think it’s ’cause rumors of that prophecy left a bad taste in his mouth.” He stood there, shaking his head as if he were still trying to process it all.

“Why don’t I get us something to drink?” Patti said, standing. She tried to pass my dad, but he reached out and grabbed her up in a bear hug, laughing and spinning her around. Patti let out a surprised laugh and then slapped at his shoulder until he let her down. She shook her head and grinned all the way to the kitchen, a blast of orange and yellow swirling through her aura.

He beamed at me, and what could I do but smile back? The man-demon was joyous.

The three of us sat at the table with our glasses.

“Okay. What are we going to do?” I asked Dad. “How do I make this happen?”

I could see the wheels turning in his mind as he went into business mode. He spoke in quick bursts as thoughts came to him.