My heart thumps in my chest. Angels? Closer relationships between the realms? Maybe we really are on the edge of a new era. I smile, thinking about a ghoul-free life where I choose my own job, clothes, anything. The boy speaks, interrupting my thoughts.
“I understand. What should I do?”
“Try to socialize; meet some quasis in particular.” The father’s eyes glimmer in the shadows. His irises are mismatched: one blue and one brown.
They’re thrax. High-fives to Miss Thing for actually teaching something useful.
“Quasis aren’t people,” snaps the boy. “They’re demons.”
What?! My hands clench into fists. Actually, we’re mostly human, thank you very much.
“Angels say they’re different. Try to keep an open mind.” The father points to the dance floor where Cissy shimmies up and down Zeke’s thigh. “Take that girl, for example. Why don’t you ask her to dance? She seems quite, uh, friendly.”
I roll my eyes. What an old-guy thing to say. Sure, Cissy’s a little over the top right now, but she’s been dreaming of this night since she was nine. I glance at my friend and smile. Cissy looks absolutely blissed out. Maybe a wee bit slutty as she paws Zeke’s abs during the mambo, but who cares? She’s eighteen; it’s her job to be stupid.
The boy folds his arms over his chest. “That quasi has a dog’s tail and acts like one in heat.”
My blood simmers with anger. What an ASSHOLE-GUY thing to say!
The boy grips his fist behind his back. “Besides father, you know I’m no diplomat.”
You think?!
“Where’s my best soldier?” The older man punches his son’s upper arm. “I know I can rely on you for this mission.”
The boy nods briskly. “Of course.”
“That’s my boy.” Grinning broadly, the father marches off into the crowd and starts glad-handing a pack of ghoul diplomats.
I sip the rest of my soda, glaring at the boy’s silhouette. My inner demon begins to stir. I imagine wagging my finger in his face, screaming the differences between demons and quasis. Or even better, I could leap beside him and land one good kick behind his kneecaps. I’m so distracted that instead of setting my empty soda can back on the table, I drop it to the floor with a crash.
Turning on his heel, the boy steps to my side. “Are you alright, Miss?” Up close, I can see that he’s my age with mismatched eyes, one wheat-brown and the other slate-gray. His face is square with a strong jaw and scooped-out cheeks. For some reason, I can’t stop staring at his full mouth, wondering what it would be like to brush my lips against his. He looks mighty tasty indeed.
Wait a minute. Me thinking about kissing anybody? When does that happen?
Pull yourself together, Myla. You downed too many candy bars, that’s all. Clearly, this is some kind of sugar-induced hallucination.
I take a deep breath, refocusing my sugary brain on how this dirt-bag insulted Cissy. “I’m fine.” My voice comes out low and sharp. “I dropped an empty can, that’s all.”
His mismatched eyes lock with mine. Our stare quickly turns intense, enveloping. “You look familiar.” He leans in a bit and I inhale his earthy scent, a mixture of forest pine and leather. “You don’t visit the Ryder stables, by any chance?”
Oh, you mean the Ryder stables where I break in all the freaking time to hunt demons? Little doxy monsters go there to pester the horses; I’ve appointed myself stable exterminator, on the sly, of course. But there’s no way can he know that, though. The question must be a weird coincidence.
I anxiously shift my weight from foot to foot. “Nope.”
A ghost of a smile rounds the boy’s mouth. “Ah, my error then.” He bows slightly. “My name’s Lincoln.” He scans me from head to toe, his gaze resting on my tail. “You must be a quasi, um, ‘demon.’” His voice lowers when he says the word ‘demon.’
“I’m ‘Myla.’” My voice lowers when I say ‘Myla.’ I have a name, creep.
“Pleasure to meet you.” Lincoln rakes his hand through his mop of brown hair. “Would you…” He has the look of someone about to force himself to do something disgusting. “Would you like to dance, Myla?” He glances toward the ballroom floor, locks his gaze on Cissy and Zeke, then sneers. “It seems to be something your kind enjoys.”
Rage boils through me. “Do you mean ‘our kind’ as in my friend with the dog tail?” I hitch my thumb to the dance floor, where Cissy and Zeke are mid-cha-cha. “You remember? The one in heat?”
Lincoln folds his arms across his chest. “What I said was true.” His upper lip curls with disgust. “I can hardly bear to watch.”
“So, you find quasis repulsive.”
“What do you expect?” His mismatched eyes open wider. “You’re part demon. I’m a demon hunter. Asking you to dance was a kind gesture on behalf of–”
“Kind gesture?!” I’m so itching to kick him. “I’ve got a gesture for you.” I turn on my heel and walk away, my tail waving good-bye to him from my backside.