Page 73 of Cry for Help

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, careful not to meet her eyes.

“So, you and Caim, huh?” She said after a few minutes, grabbing her curling wand.

I shrugged.

She continued. “I didn’t mean to step on your toes. It’s just...” Darla exhaled, focusing on my hair as she spoke. “I have a sister. She has cystic fibrosis. She came to the city with me. I want to find a way to help her. To make her a Daemon.”

A Daemon was a human corrupted by demonic magic. Immortal, though not as powerful as a pureblooded demon.

Would becoming a daemon cure a chronic health condition like cystic fibrosis? I didn’t know. I’d never had cause to ask.

“I’m going to find someone to help me,” Darla said, meeting my eyes through the mirror. “I didn’t mean to be a bitch, but time is running out.” I nodded in understanding.

I just wished I could help, but I wasn’t sure how.

Once Darla finished my hair and makeup, admittinglydoing a much better job than I would have been able to do myself, I was left alone with my thoughts for a few moments.

The television studio had given us the hotel room to get ready. Though the summit was in one of the conference rooms on the lower floor, we’d been told that we had to leave the building out the back and arrive through the front door for some benign reason, probably for the cameras.

I readied myself for a day of hell when someone knocked on the door again. I really hoped Darla hadn’t forgotten something.

Murmur opened the door, slipping inside before I could stand.

My heart leaped to my throat, and my voice died once more.

I hadn’t had a chance to speak to him since the claiming, not really. We had all returned to the Human district to lick our wounds, but Murmur had been curiously absent. Every time I entered a room, he would leave it.

I’d tried not to be offended, but I couldn’t deny that it hadhurt.

I didn’t have an excuse. It was my own fault. I had claimed Murmur, Malphas, Caim, and Stolas without consent. Though the others seemed to have come to terms with the new situation, Murmur had yet to voice any opinion one way or the other.

Though silence often said much more than words.

Murmur sat on the hotel bed, brushing his hand over the comforter, his mind a million miles away.

“For someone that sees the truth in things, I’m surprised you’re willing to touch that bed. It probably glows under a blacklight.”

Murmur yanked his hand back.

“I—” His words died as he turned to me, his gaze fallingon mine for the first time since Behem’s dungeon. Whatever response died in his throat as he caught sight of my dress and the artfully applied makeup.

I wasn’t sure what the fuss was about. I was still me.

“You—” His teeth clicked together.

It seemed like I wasn’t the only one having trouble speaking today.

“I can’t reverse it.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “You’re stuck with me until I die, and I’m Sídhe, so it’s a toss-up if I last forever. I’m a Bean Sídhe, we’re long-lived.”

Murmur inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, but he held back a smile, which was a good sign. “That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

I jutted my chin, meeting his eyes. Murmur always waxed on about how he saw the truth in things, but I hadn’t thought of the nuisance of that until that moment. The truth was subjective. It meant different things to different people. Even if you gave someone all the facts, the history, and the context, no two people would come to the same conclusion.

Maybe Murmur saw everything. I could understand how that could be a curse.

“I haven’t smoked in a week.” He told me, meeting my gaze in challenge.

“That’s good.” I nodded, licking my lips with nerves.

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