He studied it for a few seconds, then gave it back to me.

“You can keep it,” I said.

“No need. I’ve already memorized it.”

Show-off. “Then the only other thing I know is that the demon uses his talons to gut his victims from breastbone to pelvis—rips the torsos open in one, clean swipe.”

He gave me a blank look. No emotion whatsoever.

“Can you help her?” Father Carrow asked as he cradled his paper cup filled with hot tea.

“Don’t know.”

“She’s a good gal, Lon. I wouldn’t get you involved in this if I didn’t trust her.”

Lon tilted his head to the side and slowly rolled his cigarette between thumb and index finger. “Why do you need to locate this demon?”

Because my parents’ lives depend on it, and maybe mine too. I couldn’t say that, though. I ran through several excuses in my head and answered, “I just do. It’s important.”

“You planning some sort of revenge against someone?”

“Just the opposite.”

“What does that mean?”

For God’s sake.

“The demon … has some information that I need.”

Lon stared at me for several moments until I became uncomfortable and had to struggle not to look away. Then he pushed back his chair and got up. “I’ll think about it.”

“Think about it?” I repeated in disbelief. “I’m asking for your help, Mr. Butler. I’ll pay you, if that’s what you want.”

“It’s Lon, like I already told you, and I don’t want your money.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I just need to think about it.”

“Why do you need to think about it?” I asked, thoroughly exasperated by his blasé manner.

“You sound like a parrot, repeating everything I say, Miss Bell.” A strange, rather unkind smile attempted to hoist the corners of his mouth, but didn’t quite succeed.

Attractive or not, he was pissing me off. I definitely felt insulted at that point, and probably looked it as well.

“It’s Arcadia, not Miss Bell,” I mocked. “And if you want me to beg, you can fucking forget it. I can find someone else to help me.” Aware that Father Carrow was displeased by my nasty outburst, I grabbed my purse off the back of my chair and ground out my cigarette on the side of a nearby metal trash can before tossing it inside.

“Can you, now?” Lon’s smile was getting bigger. I was furious, but he had a point. My back was against the wall, and I couldn’t afford to let my pride get in the way.

I blew out a frustrated breath and attempted to calm down. “No, not really,” I admitted. “Will you help me?” I tried to say please, but I just couldn’t.

It took him several seconds to answer. “I’ll consider it. Whom should I contact?” His eyes flicked between the two of us.

“Cady,” Father Carrow said gently, “why don’t you give him your number, dear?”

I grumbled and dug the pen back out of my purse, then scribbled my cell number on the back of the torn envelope paper that I’d tried to give him earlier. We locked gazes as I stiffly offered it to him again; he took it without looking at it—just stuck the paper under the flap of the torn breast pocket of his jacket, valrivia cigarette dangling between his lips.

“I’ll be in touch either way. After the weekend,” he said, then turned to leave.

“Wait! I need the information sooner than that.”

He stopped and stood in place, but didn’t turn around.

“Please,” I finally said, caving in and gritting my teeth.

With a brief nod, he slowly walked away, rounded the corner of the building, and was out of sight without a proper answer.

5

Lon’s nonexistent sense of urgency ate away at me for the remainder of the day. I spent the early evening scouring my own private library for the albino demon. I called my guardian to ask if it could find any information in the Æthyr about the classification (a bust). I even strengthened the protective wards over the doors and the windows on the first floor of my house. After I ate dinner, my neighbor— Mrs. Marsh, an elderly Earthbound with an ongoing imp infestation—asked me to get rid of an imp, which I chased around her kitchen for several minutes, only to have it escape at the last moment.

But none of that could curb the rising resentment I was feeling toward Lon. And my sour mood nosedived when three quick raps at my side door told me that my pesky neighbor had returned. I cursed under my breath and briefly entertained the ideal of physically harming her on the way to answer her knock; in my defense, it just hadn’t been a good day.

Mrs. Marsh’s frail frame stood in my doorway. “I’m so sorry, but it’s back. The same one—I can tell because its left ear is torn.” Dressed in a pale blue quilted housecoat that zipped up the front, Mrs. Marsh gave me a pleading look behind thick glasses.

“Hold on, let me put on some shoes.”

Flip-flops it was. I grabbed a rolled-up piece of canvas and a small caduceus, then followed Mrs. Marsh across my dark driveway and through a narrow hole in the shrubbery to get into her side yard.

“Where is it now?”

Before she could answer, one of her two large cats sprang from the hood of a rusted barbecue grill at the side of her house. Mrs. Marsh groaned as she bent low to scoop the cat into her arms; it nestled against her neck with its arms lazily dangling over her shoulder.