Page 13 of Sigils & Spells

ANGEL

My blood chillsand I feel sick, as I sit outside Q’s home, in my car. I don’t have the mental capacity to do much of anything other than turn the car off.

This isn’t what I signed up for.

And quite frankly, I don’t think Evie signed up for it either.

Granted, I knew Ivan Cambridge was trouble, but I ignored it. And as I look at the envelope of five thousand dollars sitting on my passenger seat, sick to my stomach, I think that come hell or high water, I’ll find a way out of this, not just for me, but for the both of us.

Q woke up this morning excited to make a couple extra grand for hisvolunteerservice, even talked about what he was going to do with the money.

And by nightfall, Q was nothing more than charred bone and muscle, some mangled corpse stuck between a demonic animal and the human he once was.

He deserved better. So much fucking better.

I ball my fist and hit the horn, which does nothing to quell my pain, my sadness.

He was my friend. Bright, funny, and man the guy could cook one hell of a burger…

And now he’ll never do any of those things again.

He knew what he was signing up for,I try to tell myself, but I know it’s a lie.If you’d told me what Evie’s potion would do—

No, Ivan’s potion. Evie was only following orders; she didn’t come up with the compound herself, he’d already had a boatload of the stuff made beforehand…

If someone had told me that a little vial of pink liquid would turn someone into a literal animal, I never would have believed it had I not seen it with my very own eyes.

For a moment, it looked like he was okay … but then he wasn’t.

Then the room started to smell like burned flesh and blood and I wanted out of there.

I focus my breathing as I grab the envelope and exit the car. It’s late, so I know his mama won’t be awake; something I am most thankful for. I don’t know if I could do this face-to-face.

Creeping up slowly to the porch, my heart races in my chest.

One last time I open the envelope, counting the bills even though I’ve counted them over and over a dozen times at this point. I slide the envelope with Q’s money into her mailbox, tears threatening to run down my face, and I make a promise to myself and to Q that I will find a way to avenge his death and see Ivan pay for his crimes—if it’s the last thing I do.

* * *

At home,I pour myself a stiff drink, and one for Q. My father dozes away on the couch, bathed in the light of Happy Days reruns, and I let the sound of canned laughter fill the room. Tomorrow, I put an end to this. I will tell Ivan myself that I cannot do this anymore, not after watching my friend bite the literal bullet.

God, that image will forever be burned in my brain. Of my friend, writhing in pain, his scorched screams echoing in the lab as he lunged with long, sharp claws toward Evie.

I didn’t think twice about shooting him.

What does that say about me? Has Ivan Cambridge ruined me? Made me a monster?

I drain the whiskey a little too quickly, and it does nothing to calm my nerves. In fact, it only makes the melancholy that much worse.

“That’s it, I’ve made up my mind,” I say to the air, but in reality, I hope he can hear me.

Q.

“I’m out,” I promise, though I don’t know who I am trying to convince, myself or…

I finish my drink, then I finish Q’s.

And just as I am about to go to bed, I hear a noise just outside, coming from the front porch. I instinctively grab my gun, making my steps as silent as they can be as I slowly creep to the door. With one, swift, hurried motion, I throw the door open, glancing around for a sign of human life, but I see nothing. I smell nothing.

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