For an entire two hours, my day had been peaceful.
I had binged three consecutive episodes ofTrue Crime Aranthium,my guilty pleasure. Full of caffeine, I started on the mountains of paperwork I had been putting off for the past month. Payroll for my crew, etc.
Things had been going peacefully. Until 8:02 a.m.
That was when Helena had woken up.
I know that because she had texted me the second her eyelids had fluttered open. Three hours have passed since then, and she has sent me over ten messages.
Ten.
I haven’t even sent ten texts in the past two months. How can one being have so much to say? Gods. It isn’t even lunchtime yet.
Groaning, I rest my forehead against my palm as I consider the slew of texts on my screen. An exasperated sigh leaves my lips as my fingers fly over the keyboard. Pressing send, I slam my phone down on the desk. Threading my fingers, I rest my forehead on my hands and consider the text I just sent.
Me: Not hungry.
I let out a low breath as I yank open one drawer, then the next.
“Come on,” I mutter as I rustle through the drawers. “There must be something in here to eat.”
After inspecting the third drawer, I groan as I bang my head against the desk. All I have are some oat protein bars.
This is not exactly the feast I was hoping for. Peeling back the wrapper, I chew on the grainy bar before turning my podcast back on. The breakfast bar tastes like sawdust, but anything is better than dealing with Helena right now.
Leaning back in my office chair, I force out thoughts of the irritating female as I close my eyes.
My mind drifts as the hosts ofTrue Crime Aranthium,Jenny and Ansel, finish talking about the gruesome murder of Melinda Johnson. She was killed by a Daemon who had escaped from the prison in the Gates of Hell, but the DaePolice never had enough to charge the suspect. The Daemon only served two years for his escape from Blackwater Prison before being allowed to go free.
Two years.
“Typical,” I mutter under my breath as the closing credits roll. Yet another murderer roaming free in Aranthium. Daemons get away with everything. The haunting memories of female screams flit through my mind, and I sit up abruptly as my heart begins to pound in my chest.
Push it away, Erik.
Rubbing my prosthetic on my head, I turn off the podcast and focus on my meditative breathing.
You are not there any longer. You are safe. They can’t hurt you.
Repeating the mantra in my mind, I focus on breathing in and out. Slowly, the screams become nothing more than a distant memory. A wisp of nothing more than a nightmare.
Once they are gone, I shake my head and scroll through my FaePhone to download the next episode of the podcast.
Just as Ansel, the perkier of the two hosts, is diving into the explanation of the episode—apparently, this one is about a Warlock, a Pixie, and a torrid love affair gone wrong—my phone dingsagain.
Berating myself for my moment of weakness, I pick up my phone. “You just had to respond to her and open the door of communication, didn’t you, Erik?”
Princess: I have a question for you. ??
Staring at the phone in my hand, I blink. What in the nine circles of hell is this? Who sends this crap?
Did adults even use emojis?
My fingers fly over the screen faster than they ever have before. I hit send before I can even re-read what I’ve written.
Me: This better be good. You’re interrupting my work.
Three dots appear on the screen, and almost instantly, threedingscome from the infernal piece of technology in my hand. I resist the urge to throw it against the wall, instead watching as one text after the other appears on my screen.