Page 45 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

11

The next morning, after another night of sleeping under a mound of blankets on the couch, the far-off sound of someone speaking pulls her towards consciousness.

For a few minutes she flounders, the human brain she’s trapped in unwilling to fully wake from the soft smudged comfort of sleep, before the voice continues.

Sitting up, the blankets slither from her, and sunlight trickles in past the curtains.

Dust motes dance in the beams, catching her attention, until, very clearly, Gurlien says something back past the closed door of the bedroom, then gets an answer through a speaker of a phone.

Ah.

Testing her balance, she stands, and though her legs ache, there’s no shooting pain to accompany them.

So she’s recovering.

Good to know.

Light on her feet, she steps towards the door, but his voice is still indistinct enough that she can’t pick out words, the condo too well insulated.

And he had so clearly wanted to be alone the night before.

But he speaks, and she puzzles out her own name, so she turns the doorknob and pokes her head in.

He’s dressed in a different button up, this one a light sage green with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and one phone is propped up in front of him and his head is bent over the other, the case off it’s back, poking with a screwdriver into its innards.

There’s a new set of bandages on his arm, pristine.

“Yes?” he asks, not glancing up at her.

Taking it as permission, she approaches, and on the other phone is the Half Demon on video, his brows raised at her appearance.

“How’s your knee?” she asks, and the Half Demon rolls his eyes.

“I’ll be in a brace for about a month,” he replies. “Are you going to bring Gurlien back?”

This gets Gurlien to sit upright, raising an eyebrow.

“When it’s safe,” Ambra replies, nervy at the direct question.

“Good,” the Half Demon responds, and briefly, behind him, the Necromancer walks through the view, a mere crossing of the frame, but he scowls at Ambra’s gaze tracking the movement. “Back off.”

“I didn’t do a thing,” Ambra protests, and Gurlien shakes his head at them. “What, I didn’t.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gurlien replies blandly, which is bullshit. “Maison’s helping me with aremote device so we can get some data easier without being tracked.”

The Half Demon—Maison, she should work on remembering his name—sits back, crossing his arms. He frowns at the phone, like he’s deeply disappointed in them both. “Gurlien, mind if I talk to her alone?”

Instead of letting him stand up, Ambra drapes her arms over Gurlien’s shoulders, leaning against him to be closer to the camera. “Why?” Still, her heart pounds, even though the Half Demon is hundreds of miles away and no danger to her or Gurlien.

Gurlien startles a bit. “Are you okay?” he asks, tilting his head up to her, as if the sudden contact is worrisome, and he’s warmer than she thought he’d be, despite the relative coolness of the room.

“Depends,” Ambra scowls at the phone, and Maison appears to be fighting a smile, “on whether or not the Half Demon is going to threaten me.”

“I’m not,” Maison replies, like her actions are amusing instead of a direct response to his posturing. “Just talking, Half Demon to trapped demon.”

Ambra straightens, letting her arms fall away from Gurlien’s shoulders, and he shoots her a bemused glance before stepping away, closing the door behind him.

The blankets on the bed lay rumpled, like he didn’t bother to put them back when he got up, but she sits down at the simple desk chair, scowling at the phone.

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