Page 2 of Micah

“Camden?” he asks. “Are you Camden Torrence?”

“Cam,” I correct. Nobody calls me Camden.

“Were you expecting someone? A visitor?”

It’s my turn to frown, and I hesitate. Is he not my ride? He’s a demon—I can tell, even though he has his horns glamoured to hide them from humans. Those of us in the community don’t need physical characteristics to recognize each other.

“I was expecting someone… is that not you? Because I’m all ready to go.” I gesture to my bags and somehow drop my keys. “Whoops.”

When I straighten from picking them up, he’s staring at me. “Do I have something on my face?” I swipe at my cheek and only just avoid putting my eye out with my keys. Maybe there’s a machine oil smudge. Working with moving metal bits calls for it, and sometimes I’m not as neat as I could be.

“No, there’s nothing on your face. I… There was a man at your door. He’d just knocked. But when I got here and said hi, he ran off. That was him in the car, driving like he’d been set on fire.”

“Oh. Well, hopefully he slows down before he causes an accident,” I say brightly. “Are we ready to go?”

The frown comes back as he studies my face. “Aren’t you curious? Or concerned? This isn’t exactly the safest neighborhood in the world.” He pointedly glances at the overgrown yards with cars up on blocks, and the group of young men hanging out on a porch across the street. My yard isn’t overgrown, but only because it’s concreted. Not by me—the previous owner did it—but it was a definite selling point when I bought the place. One less thing for me to forget to take care of.

I shrug. “Meh. I’m not gonna be here, and I’m bringing my tools with me. There’s not really anything else worth stealing.” Not unless the thief wants some bolts and other bits of metal. I work on commission only, so I don’t have any finished pieces in the house, just components.

He blinks. “But… it’s still not good for someone to break into your home. What if they decide to stick around once they realize you’re not here? They could wait for you to come back.”

And then what? Ransom me off? Nobody’s paying money for me. The only value I’d have to them is if they want a custom mechanical puzzle, which seems like a stretch.

But this guy doesn’t seem like he’s gonna let this go, and I really want to leave. So I smile confidently at him and put down my bags. “You’re right. I should take precautions for while I’m gone.” Stepping past him, I cup my hands around my mouth and shout, “Hey, Lenny! I’m going away for a bit. Keep an eye on the house for me?”

One of the men across the street looks up. He and his friends do stuff I don’t ask questions about, ever, but they’ve been nice to me ever since I moved in and gave Lenny’s daughter a puzzle. He’s super proud of her, says she’s going to be a scientist one day.

“I gotcha, man,” he calls back, then glares at my new friend… demon teleporter guy.

My new friend glares right back. I guess it takes more than a drug dealer to intimidate a demon. Or maybe he’s like Alistair, trained to kill in a million different ways.

I wave my thanks, then turn back to the house. “All set.”

He seems to be on the verge of saying something, then changes his mind and nods. “Sure. All set.” He looks down at my bags. “Uh, I’m not sure how we’re gonna do this with your neighbors watching.”

“We can go inside,” I suggest.

“Yeah, but you just told them you were going away. And your bags are here. They’re going to expect you to actuallyleave.”

Oh. Good point. “Let’s take my bags and walk down the block. There are a few shady alleys we can duck into. Nobody looks down them, because sometimes it’s best not to see things.”

From the expression of distaste on his face, he doesn’t live in a neighborhood like mine. What a Judgy McJudgerson.

“Sounds… great.” He reaches down and picks up the suitcase, then makes a pained sound. “What exactly is in here?”

“Tools.” I grab my overnight bag. “But it has wheels.”

“I need to get it down the steps,” he points out. “What kind of tools?”

I jump down the aforementioned steps. “Ones I use to work. I’m not sure if I’ll need them, but better safe than sorry!”

“Funny how that approach applies to your work but not your house or your person,” he mutters, not moving from the porch. “Does the door lock automatically?”

“No. Why?”

He tilts his head toward my front door… which is still open. Damn.

“Whoops!” I jog up the four steps, pull it closed, then lock it. It only takes me two tries, and I don’t drop the keysat all. Go me. “Okay, now we’re ready.” I turn back to the steps, and my cranky travel buddy sighs and reaches past me to pull my keys out of the lock.

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