Page 18 of There is No Devil

There’s no warmth to the word. We might have only met this morning.

I helped her clean out her grandfather’s house after he died, stopping regularly to hug her while she cried. Joanna sublet her studio to me, over all our other roommates who would have jumped at the chance.

Friendship feels so real, until it pops like a soap bubble.

Her coldness doesn’t stem from jealousy or the belief that Cole is giving me an unfair advantage.

This is about Erin.

Joanna doesn’t know what happened, but she knows it’s my fault.

I’m the one who drew the evil eye upon us. I was attacked first. And I didn’t finish the fight—instead, I began to change.

I didn’t want to be the old Mara—the loser, the unlucky one, the victim.

Cole appeared in my life like a dark genie, offering me everything I ever wanted: money, fame, success.

I took his offer before I even knew the terms of the contract. Before I knew the price.

I shed my old life like a molted skin. And I left Erin to die in my place, in my bed.

For that, I feel as guilty as Joanna could wish.

I just don’t know what to do about it.

I have no evidence against Shaw. No way of fighting back against him, of getting justice for Erin.

Cole wants to kill him. That would break my vow to always keep swimming to the surface, never sinking to the bottom, becoming more vicious than the monsters trying to devour me.

My worst fear is to become like my mother. When I catch myself doing anything her way, I want to slap my own face. I won’t do it. I refuse.

“If you don’t want the money, will you give it to Frank?” I ask.

Now Joanna does consent to take the envelopes. I have no doubt she’ll give them both to Frank. Joanna’s principles are as iron-hard as her posture. I always respected that about her.

“Thank you again,” I say. “If you ever need anything—”

“I won’t.”

She closes the door, not slamming it in my face, but certainly not waiting for my response.

Making the long descent back to the car, I can tell Cole has followed the conversation as closely as if he could hear it.

“She’s still upset about Erin,” he guesses.

“So am I,” I tell him. “What are we going to do about Shaw? Why has he been so quiet?”

“He usually goes dark after three kills. This time it was four—but the third was a prop, to trap me. He meant the real climax to be you.”

Cole’s intimate understanding of Shaw’s process unnerves me.

Stomach clenching, I ask him, “How do you know that? How did you find out what Shaw does? And how did he find out about you? Were you friends?”

Cole sits tall in the driver’s seat, seeming to fill the whole space of the car. Seeming to loom over me.

Asking him questions is terrifying.

“You want me to tell you information that could put me in prison, while you refuse to share any of your secrets with me.”

---