Page 34 of Demon's Prey
Faith nodded, then rubbed his back. Her touch was warm and inviting.
“I’ll try to get them out of here,” she whispered. “There’s already enough going on without their judgments, honestly.”
Faith left the room when her father called to her. Kurse stood in the kitchen alone, unhappy with the mess he felt he had created.
18
FAITH
The same night that her parents came for an unexpected visit, Faith laid in bed for hours, unable to sleep. She watched cars drift by her window, headlights shooting shadows across the ceiling. She sighed, wishing Kurse was there to lull her to sleep.
Her parents stayed for a few hours after the whole hell shenanigans, but Kurse had sat in the corner silent, nodding only every now and then.
Her parents spoke about themselves, as usual, their careers as semi-retired journalists and inquired about the work Faith had been doing. She relayed to them her feelings about working for such knob heads as her company, and they encouraged her to stick with it.
Faith thought it was pointless even telling them about the John Savage story. That story had meaning. And the only one who seemed to understand that was Kurse.
“What was your most recent story?” Her father asked.
Faith started up at the ceiling, forgetting entirely about the duct tape that covered up the hole. For a moment, her mind was blank, but then the thought came through like a worm through the dirt.
Gross and quite unremarkable.
“Oh, it was something about a garden club around the corner.”
Her mother, finally removed from her daze, shot her head up. “You think?”
Faith shrugged, “As I said, these stories don’t do anything for me. They’re all flowery and boring. I want to get down into the dirt.”
Faith noticed how Kurse had smiled when she said this. He was holding a cup of coffee in one hand, looking like Alice, who had grown too big for her own mug.
Charles waved his hand at her, wiping away any support he could have given her at that moment. “That is nonsense, Faith! You have to take what you are given! You make the story.”
Faith sipped at her coffee and sighed.
“There’s only so much passion I can give to a story about a garden, dad.”
“You don’t think I’ve written about such fluff?”
Faith’s mother perked up. “That’s how you get started, Faith! Not everyone begins as a New York Times bestseller.”
She was, of course, referring to her father, who had written an article about the Vietnam War when she was young and received a multitude of awards. Maybe he had made a difference, but he clung onto it like grim death.
He never had to wade through the bullshit to get to the real story. Faith did her best to keep from rolling her eyes.
Kurse was still sitting in the corner, saying nothing. Charles noticed this, pointing at him fervently.
“Why don’t you write about this fellow? It’s not every day that you come across a demon.”
Kurse looked up, appearing more and more like a child in time out. Faith smiled at him, then turned back to her father.
“Not since The Veil fell. Shifters are one of the hottest topics online. Social media is awash with stories about them. I wouldn’t stand out.”
Her father rolled his eyes. “It’s not always about standing out, dear one.”
They continued on like this for a bit until Faith said she needed to get up early in the morning. It wasn’t the truth, but she wanted them out of there. When they finally left, she realized that she was actually exhausted.
Kurse laid half on the couch, yawning widely like a lion. Faith grinned at the comparison she had made in her mind.
