Sweet Evil(38)

Inside the small room we dropped our things, kicked off our shoes, and fell onto our beds. Kaidan took the bed by the window, and I was by the wall, with the bathroom on the other side. I peeked around the room. No roaches scuttling by.

Before long we’d both turned over, lying on our sides to face each other across the space between us. I was propped on my elbow watching him play with one of his knives. I cringed as he spun it on his palm, then wove it fast between his fingers and spun it on top of his knuckles.

“It makes me nervous when you do that,” I said.

“I can tell. I haven’t cut myself since I was a small child, so don’t worry.”

“You’ve been playing with knives since you were a small child?”

“When I was seven I came home from school after my first fight—the brother of a girl I kissed on the playground. My father gave me a switchblade and told me to learn to protect myself, because there would be many fights to come.”

“He wanted you to use a weapon in fights at school? Against other children?”

“No, no. Just preparation for defending myself when I got older, like now.”

“Was he the one who taught you to use it?”

“No, I taught myself with practice. My father doesn’t use a weapon. Not a physical one, anyway. He uses his influence to get himself out of situations, and he has other demon spirits who watch his back.”

“Have you ever needed to use it?”

“A few times.” His tone was flippant, like it was no biggie. “Only flesh wounds. No need to kill anyone. That’s not my sin.”

He winked at me and whipped the blade closed. Time to change the subject.

“Were you scared when your senses started getting crazy?” I asked.

He rolled to his back and rested his head in his hands, crossing his ankles.

“Scared? No, but I knew it was coming. I take it you did not.”

I shook my head and he continued.

“My father was all but nonexistent my first five years, but he came home for a week before I turned six to explain ‘the extraordinary changes that would set me apart from humanity.’” He mocked his father’s serious tone. “He taught me how to control each sense and use them to my advantage over humans. I learned fast. I wanted to... please him.”

“And did you?”

He grimaced up at the ceiling. “If I did, he never told me. But when I turned thirteen he began staying home more, taking an interest in my involvement in his work. I took it to mean he was proud. I felt useful.”

“So, before he came back around, did you have a nanny or someone who raised you?” I imagined a Mary Poppins type singing to him and showing him gentleness.

“I had many nannies, but they were all preoccupied with thoughts of my father. He made sure of that. None of them stayed for more than a year, six months on average. When they became too overbearing, they were replaced. He bores easily.”

So much for a spoonful of sugar. I felt a familiar anger at the thought of Kaidan’s father: the same anger I felt toward my own father. Kaidan looked in my direction.

“You really should try to control your emotions.”

I couldn’t get used to the fact that someone could see my colors.

Kaidan’s phone beeped again. I gave it a stare filled with loathing and he grinned at my expression.

“Would you like me to turn it off?” he asked.

“Yes, please. Otherwise it’ll be going off all night.”

“Quite right,” he said, turning it off with a chime sound and putting it on the nightstand. “Which is your favorite sense, little Ann?”

Ann. He’d called me by a nickname. That shouldn’t have warmed me so, but it did.

I focused on his question. My senses hadn’t been something I’d ever considered enjoyable, certainly not worthy of ranking for favoritism. It was hard to get past what a painful burden they’d been in the beginning.

“The smells can be really nice,” I said. “Until you get a whiff of skunk or something. Um... the sight is useful, getting to read signs from so far away and stuff.”

He gave me a skeptical look. “You never use them, do you?”

“Not very often,” I confessed. “I like to pretend I’m normal.”

“Why?”

I shrugged, intimidated by his confidence.

“You didn’t mention your sense of touch,” he said.

“Ugh, no. But let me guess—that’s your favorite.”

He climbed off his bed with graceful movements and came to sit next to me. I scrambled to sit up, but he put a hand on my arm.

“No, stay lying down. I want to show you something.”

I eyed him with suspicion and he laughed.