Refuge(45)

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flutter of the bed skirt, and I whipped my head around to see a tiny pale face peering out at me. Imps in a Mohiri home? I almost laughed at the notion of the great demon hunters’ stronghold infested with the thieving little demons that were considered vermin in the supernatural world. This one was a bold little fiend too, showing himself to me like that. It had taken years to form an unlikely truce with the imps in our home back in New Hastings. Was I going to have to lock up my things now to keep them safe from these new imps?

I tossed the quilt on the bed and bent to scrape the squashed muffin off the floor. Rising, I moved to throw it in the wastebasket, but a small chattering from under the bed made me look at the imp that had come farther into the open and was watching my hand intently.

“Are you hungry? Do you want this?” I extended my hand toward him, and I was so shocked when he nodded that I almost dropped the muffin. Imps are not the friendliest of creatures and they usually go out of their way to pretend not to understand people. Suspicion filled me. There was no way an imp would reveal itself to someone, let alone communicate with them.

“I know you, don’t I? You hitched a ride in my boxes from home.” The ripped box made sense now. Sneaky little buggers.

The imp shifted from one foot to the other before he nodded again.

“I know you didn’t decide to go off and explore the world on your own. Where are your buddies?” When he did not move, I said, “If you guys want this muffin, you better come clean with me.” I had no intention of withholding the food from him, but he didn’t know that.

A long moment passed before two more faces appeared around the edge of the bed skirt. I held back a groan. What was I going to do with three stowaway imps? And what would Tristan say if he discovered I’d infested his home with the little demons?

“I hope you guys didn’t come here to get away from Oscar, because if so, I have bad news for you. Nate’s bringing him when he comes for Thanksgiving.” Which reminds me I need to buy a litter box and some cat food. My room was going to get very crowded all too soon.

I broke the flattened muffin into three pieces and laid them on the floor near the bed. Then I backed away so the imps could run out and grab their treats. As they disappeared under the bed again, I wondered if they had made a home under there or somewhere in the walls like they had back home. “Hey, you guys better not go to the bathroom under my bed or I’m going to find some new roommates,” I called after them.

Shaking my head, I pulled my grandmother’s quilt over the bed, and it immediately made the room feel homier and more like a place I would live in. I replaced the expensive rug with my faded blue-and-yellow one and installed my dad’s old stereo on a table in the sitting area along with my stack of CDs. A soft red throw blanket lay across the couch, and a framed drawing I’d done of my dad a long time ago took the place of honor on the mantel. Against one wall I stacked a few drawings and framed photos of Nate, Roland, and Peter to hang when I found some tools. When I finally stood back and looked around my transformed room, I felt at home in it for the first time.

There was one more thing I wanted to do tonight. I reached under my desk and pulled out the bag containing the antique chessboard I’d bought at the jewelry store to replace the one that had been burned.

I hadn’t seen Desmund since the night we played checkers, and I felt a mix of eagerness and trepidation as I approached the library. Had he noticed my reaction when I touched his skin? Was my sudden hurry to leave what made him angry enough to rip apart the book I’d been reading and burn the chessboard? It was impossible to know how much pain he endured or how that affected his mind. It had hurt to see the destroyed book, and I had to remind myself that Desmund was not well and not responsible for his behavior.

When I entered the library, I was happy to see it had been restored to its previous state. The fire burning low in the hearth and the empty brandy glass on the table by Desmund’s chair told me he had been there recently, and it surprised me how disappointed I was that I’d missed him. I told myself that I just wanted to check on him and make sure he was okay, but the truth was that despite his volatile moods, Desmund was interesting and unlike anyone I’d ever met. When he turned on the charm he was almost endearing – in a Mad-Hatter-meets-Mr.-Darcy kind of way.

Even if I did not see him tonight, I could at least leave the chessboard. And hope he doesn’t torch this one, too. I laid it on the table by the window where we’d played and looked around for some paper to leave a note with the board. I found some stationary supplies in a small desk and scrawled a quick message: Looking forward to our rematch. Sara.