Page 46 of The Devil and His Sparrow

It wasn’t like he had a choice. We were bound to each other for the rest of my life, so he had to be along for the ride. That was probably the only reason he offered.

Still, his inspiring words had me believing that maybe I could talk to Mom. There was nothing wrong with having a conversation about me gaining a bit more wiggle room. I could be my own person with my own ideas and desires.

Now that I was back in my quiet, lonely apartment, though, the confidence I’d felt with him rapidly dwindled. While at the club, a place full of demons in this seemingly other world, life felt separate from this one where my mother existed. I felt safer from her and the reality of my situation, but that sense of strength and security was gone now. I was back in my mother’s domain, and now, I questioned if Zagan really knew what he was talking about. I questioned if I knew what I’d been saying.

My mom was brilliant, and she just wanted what was best for me. What was wrong with wanting to make her proud?

I wanted Mom to accept me and love who I was as a daughter. So I pushed aside what Zagan and I talked about as I prepped for midterms.

I spent all of Saturday organizing my notes from the semester and going over them. I rewatched any lecture I had a video of and reworked old homework problems. By the time Sunday morning rolled around, my eyes felt full of sand, and when I sat down at my kitchen island to get back to work, my brain felt like putty. It desperately needed a break from philosophy of law, public policy, and government.

My fingers twitched with a need to relieve the stress by doing what I loved. I stared at my hands, which were ready to move over ghost keys, but instead of playing a nonexistent piano on my cold countertop, I curled my fingers inward and took a deep breath.

Coffee. I just needed some coffee.

And Nahla.

I grabbed my phone and called my best friend. It was nine in the morning on a Sunday, so I wasn’t sure if she was actually awake, yet. Still, I needed to hear her voice to distract me from the tightening in my chest as I ignored the need to get lost in Bach or Mozart.

“Perfect timing,” her voice suddenly said from the other end of the line.

I nearly dropped the glass coffee pot when I realized she was actually awake. “Wow. You’re up,” I said disbelievingly, holding the coffee pot under the sink faucet to fill it up. “Why’s it perfect timing?”

“Because I’m coming up your apartment elevator right now.”

Instantly perking up, I rushed to my door. I peeked my head out just as Nahla appeared at the other end of the hall. Her long hair had been straightened and partly pinned back with a gold clip. She wore a thin gold turtleneck, black pants, and held two cups of coffee from a nearby café.

Awake and dressed? Was the world ending?

“I’ve brought the goods,” Nahla announced, holding out one of the cups for me.

“Perfect,” I said, taking it and letting her in. “I was just about to make some.”

She dropped her purse by the island and collapsed onto the barstool beside mine. I immediately joined her and sipped on the warm brew as I eyed her expectantly. She was being oddly quiet, and she was up before noon on a Sunday.

I stared at her while she looked around the apartment, seemingly too afraid to meet my eyes.

“Nahla,” I said slowly. My heart was beginning to pound harder as potential reasons for her odd behavior darted through my head.

Was she pregnant?

Was she sick?

Was her sister, Noya, hurt?

Had Noya dropped some secrets, and it was actually Gemma who was hurt?

“Is that a new couch?” she asked, pointing at it with a forced edge of normalcy to her tone.

I couldn’t tear my eyes from her face. “No. It’s the same couch I’ve always had.”

“Really? It looks—”

“Spill it, Nahla,” I demanded quickly. “You’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”

Her mouth clamped shut, and she finally faced me. I held my breath as she took a deep one herself. “I …”

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. I was ready to pass out from the anxiety soaring through me right now.

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