Page 79 of The Devil's Trials
“I’ve been on a pasta kick lately,” Dad says. “I hope you like rigatoni.”
“Pasta of any shape is perfect. I don’t discriminate.”
Dad laughs, tossing the dish towel over his shoulder. “Excellent.” He looks like he just got home from work, wearing a black dress shirt and slacks with his hair tousled but still neat, professional. Not so professional are the fuzzy slippers on his feet. They’re the ones I got him for Christmas last year, and I love that he actually wears them—I wasn’t sure he would.
“I’m making the pasta in a vodka sauce you’re going to love. I also have garlic bread in the oven and a salad on the table.”
“That all sounds great. Thanks, Dad.”
“My pleasure, kiddo.” He grabs a wooden spoon off the counter and turns to the stove, stirring the pot. “Tell me how things are going at Ballard. I’ve been looking forward to hearing about your experience so far.”
I’m reaching for the bottle of Riesling, unscrewing the cap and pouring each of us a glass before I say, “It’s been…a lot.” I take a sip and settle into my seat. “I’m constantly reminded of how behind I am, which has sucked, but I’ve made a few friends. I really didn’t expect to, so that aspect is nice.”
He glances at me over his shoulder. “Training with Noah is going well?”
“I think so. As well as it can be.” I run my finger through the condensation on my wineglass. “What has Noah told you?”
Turning off the stove, he carries the steaming pot to the sink to drain the water. “He’s kept me updated, but I want to hear from you.”
I press my lips together, watching him mix the pasta into the sauce. “It’s hard. Some of the trainees don’t exactly like me being there because of my connection to the demon world, so there’s a level of distrustbecause of that. Not everyone is mean, though. There’s one girl, Sierra, who’s become somewhat of a friend.”
“That’s great to hear.” Dad pulls a couple plates down from the cupboard and dishes out the pasta.
“Yeah.” I follow him to the dining table, carrying our glasses of wine and taking the chair across from him.
After a trip back to the kitchen for the garlic bread, we’re digging into our food and sipping our wine.
“This is phenomenal,” I tell Dad around a mouthful of pasta.
He smiles. “I’m glad you like it. Don’t get too full, though. There’s tiramisu for dessert.”
“I’m coming here every night from now on,” I say, only half joking.
Dad laughs. “You’re welcome anytime.”
I take a sip of wine before asking, “How are things going with you?”
“Busy at the office as usual, but nothing I can’t handle.”
I arch a brow at him. “You say that as if you have a normal job instead of hunting demons.”
“I’m trying to be considerate of what I share with you,” he explains in a gentle tone.
The knots in my stomach announce themselves with an uncomfortable tug. “Is there something I should know? Something about Xander?”
His brows furrow. “Nothing in particular. We’re monitoring the number of demon attacks as usual, and nothing has appeared out of the ordinary. The Seattle team scoured the apartment Xander used to live in but found nothing to lead them where he’s hiding out.”
I chew the inside of my cheek, setting my fork down beside my empty plate. “Before you ask, I have no idea where he is.”
“I wasn’t going to ask, kiddo. I didn’t expect you to know, as I hope you haven’t been in communication with him.”
I nod slowly without offering a real answer. I don’t want to lie to him.
“How about dessert?” Dad asks, picking up on my discomfort.
“Yes, please.”
Dad clears the table and brings out dessert. Halfway through and another glass of wine later, I find myself asking, “How many demons have you killed?”
