Page 58 of The Devil and His Sparrow

MY BLOOD BOILED PAST THE point of fuming. I was ready to maul, burn, and fucking destroy the world so that Iyla could stand atop the ashes of everyone who tried to keep her caged—her mother being at the bottom of that pile where she belonged.

Do you want to get fat?

Dreams are for sleeping. This is real life.

The world was full of pricks like Mrs. Winters who made life suck for everyone else. People like her were why demons like me existed—to show the chained and discarded that they were more than what kept them bound.

There was nothing wrong with Iyla’s curves. Humans were beautiful, no matter their shape, size, or color. It was why demons coveted humans so much. Just existing and having a soul that shined like a beacon in the dark made them exquisite. Shallow assholes like Iyla’s mom made people cower from themselves, shaming them for what made them beautiful.

And to tell Iyla that she shouldn’t dream? Shouldn’t strive for something wonderful that she wanted?

Fucking bullshit.

Iyla was allowed to have her own passions, ones that didn’t include her mother’s wishes. And that clearly had to do with piano. Mrs. Winters had connected the instrument to Iyla’s talk about dreams, and even now, I remembered the way Iyla’s entire body froze when she saw my piano. It was like it had called out to her on some deep level, but she’d forced herself to ignore that urge.

She’d forced herself to walk away from her dream.

The memory of those words leaving that woman’s mouth made my human guise threaten to crumble all over again. Iyla couldn’t even look at me after that. She’d kept her eyes down, slowly eating her shit salad while her mother did the same. The only reason I didn’t storm to that table and rip that woman apart, casting her into the deepest, foulest pits of Hell, was because I knew she was important to Iyla.

For some fucking reason.

I lingered like vapor in the shadows of Iyla’s apartment, waiting for her to appear after leaving the restaurant. The lock unlatching sounded in the quiet room. I watched Iyla slowly walk inside alone and trudge through the dark. She didn’t make a move to turn on any lights. She found the first surface she could sit on—the kitchen island chair—and sank onto it like all the energy had been zapped right from her body. Her disappointment and hurt permeated the air, and I felt an overwhelming need to reach out to her and find some way to make this better.

This night was supposed to celebrate her hard-earned success, but it couldn’t have been further from that.

I stepped out of the shadow and quietly crossed the room to her side. She didn’t lift her head from the countertop, even as her muffled voice said, “I know you’re there, Zagan.”

The fact that she knew that made me smile a little, but the grin fell away just as quickly. “Tonight didn’t go as planned, huh?”

She gave a humorless laugh and lifted her head to prop it on her fist. “That’s an understatement.”

With a snap of my fingers, the kitchen light came on. Iyla blinked a couple times with the sudden light. Her eyes were glassy and red like she wanted to cry, but no tears came. Something told me she was a professional at keeping her tears at bay.

Which only reignited my temper.

“Your mom is a bitch,” I stated flatly.

I knew humans were protective of their kin and got riled up when someone talked poorly about them, but I didn’t give a shit. Carrying someone for nine months didn’t make someone a mom. That was a title that got earned by how you raised, loved, and supported your kid. I didn’t see any of those qualities in Valerie Winters, so even though that was Iyla’s “mom,” she was undeserving of the name. She was undeserving of Iyla. And I wouldn’t show the woman an ounce of fucking civility.

Iyla didn’t argue with my assessment, which only reaffirmed my stance. She stared at the countertop like even though she was here, her mind was still back there in the restaurant, being shit on by the one person who should always love her.

I leaned across the island until my face was right in hers. She looked up at me then, and I offered her a comforting smile. “It’s over, Sparrow. She’s gone. So come back to me. We need to talk about what you want to do.”

“What I want to do?” she repeated.

I nodded. “To celebrate. This night was supposed to celebrate your achievement, remember? But that clearly didn’t happen. So we’re having a re-do. If it were up to you, what would you like to do to celebrate?”

Her eyes searched mine, and I could see the wheels in her head turning. Because, of course, she hadn’t already thought about what she’d like. She had to think about it to figure it out.

Finally, she whispered, “Cake.”

I ran my finger thoughtfully over one of my lip rings as I took that information in. “Cake?”

She nodded. “Cake. I’d like to eat some cake with Gemma and Nahla.” She paused, then added, “And you.”

It was so simple. Cake with those closest to her. And somehow, I’d managed to get myself on that short list. Fuck, if that didn’t do something to me …

“Okay,” I said. “Why don’t you text Nahla? See if she can hang out or something tonight. Tomorrow, you and I will go see Gemma.”

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