Page 4 of The Devil's Trials
When we reach my mom’s office, Noah knocks once before opening the door. The three of us file in, and Rachel stands from the chair behind her desk. She’s on the phone but waves us over, a grim look darkening her features when her eyes land on me. A stomach-knotting mix of anger and worry fills them, making my throat go dry, as if I’m expecting her to reprimand me. Maybe I am. Old habits and all.
“I have to go,” she says quickly. “I’ll call you back when I have more information, Senator.”
Harper and I sit in the stiff chairs in front of her desk while Noah stands behind us.
Rachel sets her phone down and looks at each of us before exhaling a frustrated breath. “I’m not sure where to start.”
Noah clears his throat, and the minute he begins explaining what happened at Lucia’s compound, reality starts slipping from my grasp. It’s just as well—I don’t want to exist here right now.
My gaze wanders over my mom’s pristine desk, stopping on the incredibly ugly mug I made years ago sitting next to her laptop. I can’t believe she kept it, or that she uses it. It’s a small thing, something most likely wouldn’t notice, but I can’t stop staring at it. The purple polka dots are faded, and the handle is close to breaking off. It looks wildly out of place in this office where everything is lacking personality.
I tear my eyes away from the ceramic monstrosity and shift in my seat, wincing inwardly at the flare of heartburn that seems to be back with a vengeance. I clench my jaw against the fiery sensation as it travels upward through my chest.
Dropping my gaze to my lap, I close my eyes and inhale slowly, trying to breathe through the pain I can’t figure out. Originating deep in mychest, I’ve never felt anything like it. It ebbs in and out, reminiscent of an oncoming anxiety attack. My pulse hasn’t been normal for hours and it’s taking a toll, filling my head with fog and my limbs with exhaustion. The day we lost my sister Danielle was the worst of my life, but today comes in just below that.
“Are you okay?” Harper whispers next to me.
“I’m fine,” I force out despite it being the furthest thing from the truth. I suddenly wish I hadn’t closed my eyes, because all I can see is the carnage we left in Portland. Demons and hunters alike, dead. Bodies and piles of ash.
It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.
Xander wasn’t supposed to kill his mother.
Or take her place on the throne.
“For as long as you want me, I’ll be by your side. The gates of hell couldn’t keep me away from you.”
The memory of his words hit me like a brutal punch to the gut.
Did he know how things would go down?
Did he plan to kill Lucia?
“—Camille.”
I blink back into focus at the sound of my name, but I’m not sure who said it. I glance over at Harper, but her gaze is on my mom. Her face is white as a sheet and her knee is bouncing, though I don’t think she notices she’s doing it. I frown at the tightness in her jaw, her rigid posture. She’s in shock as much as I am. Finding out Xander is her half-brother…I can’t imagine what’s going through her head right now.
“Sorry,” I say, my voice hoarse. I swallow and try again. “What was that?” I ask my mom.
Her brows knit. “Perhaps you and Harper should get cleaned up while I speak with Noah?”
“Okay,” I say automatically, reaching for Harper’s hand and gripping it tightly in mine as we stand and cross the room to the private bathroom attached to Mom’s office. It’s equipped with everything, including a shower and shelves with towels, extra training gear, and clothes.
As soon as the door shuts, I pull her into my arms. “I’m so sorry.”
She hugs me back just as fiercely. “You have nothing to apologize for.” Her voice is thick with unshed tears and her chest rises and falls unevenly against mine. “None of this is your fault.”
When we pull back, my chest tightens at the glassy sheen in her eyes. “I don’t know what to say about Xander being your—”
“Don’t,” she rushes to cut me off. “Please. I can’t. I need to keep a level head right now, and if we talk—If I think about…” Harper shakes her head, swallowing hard. “I can’t,” she repeats.
“Okay.” I grab a face towel and get it wet with warm water before directing Harper to sit on the closed toilet seat. She doesn’t argue as I get to work cleaning the blood and smudges of makeup off her face, but she winces a few times even as I try my best to be gentle. I have to rinse the cloth a few times to get rid of all the blood, then grab the first aid kit from under the sink. I find the alcohol and get to work disinfecting the cuts on her lip and brow. Her jaw locks as she grits her teeth, keeping her gaze trained forward.
“Sorry,” I murmur, “I know it stings.”
“It’s fine,” she says through her teeth.
I smear antibiotic ointment over the cuts once they’re clean. “I don’t think they’re deep enough for stitches, so that’s good.”
