“Yes. It’s true.” I answer, exhausted. I know Aidan wants to hear every detail of what happened tonight.
“Let’s go inside.” Aidan turns to lead the way into the house. Lucio follows, and I notice something on the ground, not far from where we’re standing. My rusty old knife. It must have fallen out of my pocket when I got on the motorcycle earlier. I quickly bend down and put it back where it belongs, relieved to feel its weight in my pocket again.
For the next two hours we sit at the kitchen table, and Lucio and I tell Aidan about everything that happened. Aidan takes notes and asks questions, but in typical Aidan fashion, he gives us little in return.
Eventually, as the two of them discuss the description of the demon I gave them for a fifth time, I begin to fall asleep right there at the table. Aidan finally excuses us so we can get some sleep. But I’m pretty sure that no matter how tired I feel, I won’t be getting much sleep tonight.
I Find the Protector
I see him across the crowded coffee shop. I think I would have recognized him even if that woman hadn’t told me what he looked like. He has that same far-off look so many protectors have, as though being out here in the world interacting with people doesn’t come nearly as naturally to him as burying his head in a book.
There are a stack of open books in front of this boy. As he reads, he fingers a camera on the table with one hand, gripping his coffee mug with the other. He doesn’t take a single sip, as though he’s forgotten why he’s holding it at all. Instead, he puts the cup down and starts making frantic notes, like he’s hoping if he just writes quickly enough, he’ll get to his answer that much sooner.
Poor boy. Even from here he’s trying to help her. Hoping his research might reveal all the solutions they haven’t yet found. He looks profoundly unhappy. Which should make this a whole lot easier.
Like most luiseach, I’m aging slowly: no one who saw me would guess my real age. (Which is decades younger than Aidan, in any case.) And I’m short, shorter than the average female, which should work to my advantage.
Humans never quite stop associating height with age. When elderly people begin shrinking, humans treat them like they’re younger than they are. I can easily pass for a college student, just a few years older than that boy. I had the forethought to dress the part. Rather than my usual vintage clothes, I bought two pairs of jeans, several graphic T-shirts, and a puffy down jacket that makes me look like a marshmallow from nearby chain stores—nothing one-of-a-kind. Now I pull my hair down from its tightly knotted bun, letting my curls fall across my face. I concentrate on softening my expression: unfurrowing my brow, unsquinting my eyes, relaxing my jaw. Like I haven’t a care in the world.
That woman told me his name.
Of course, I have to pretend not to know it now.
Have to pretend I’m sitting down beside him only because there are so few vacant seats in this shop.
Have to strike up a conversation because I’m new to Ridgemont—just transferred to the university a couple of towns over, and rents were so much cheaper here than close to campus, but it’s hard making friends when you live so far away and you’re majoring in such a specialized subject.
A subject, I have no doubt, that will grab this boy’s attention.
It shouldn’t be so easy, but it is. I tuck my hair behind my ears, roll my shoulders into a schoolgirl-ish slouch, and smile slightly as I ask, “Is that a Nikon F5?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
My Ghost
I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since I arrived here. Each night I go to bed exhausted from the day’s work, certain that tonight I’ll finally crash into a deep, dreamless sleep. I imagine I won’t wake up until Aidan is banging on the door, insisting it’s time to get started for the day. But that never happens. Not even close.
The nightmares that started on my first night here haven’t stopped.
The woman holds my infant form tenderly, humming a sweet sort of nonsense tune. Her grip turns tight; her fingers are like rods of steel digging into my sides, my neck, my legs. I try to scream, but she’s squeezing me so tightly, I can’t even get out a pathetic, baby wail. I’m so small that she can wrap her hands around my entire rib cage. It feels like she’s going to break every bone that protects my heart. It feels like she’s going to keep on squeezing until her fingers go right through me.
I wake up gasping in the darkness. This isn’t the first time my dreams have carried over into my waking life. I spent night after night dreaming of Anna in her wet dress back in Ridgemont.