She glanced at the window again. The details didn’t add up. If Kaleb had been in the street, he wouldn’t disappear. Do daimons vanish? If the window was unbroken, the wards should have stopped Kaleb too. She glanced at the red numbers on the microwave. And if it’s this late, my father should be home. Gun still in hand, she walked over to her phone, picked it up, and checked for messages. There weren’t any.

A sound at the door made her lift the 9mm again. She raised it up, ready to fire, and tensed. The door opened.

As he stepped inside, Kaleb held up his hands, palms out in a halt gesture.

She let her breath out in a sigh. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.”

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” She lowered the gun again. “I’m standing in my house, holding a pistol, wondering why there’s glass on the floor if the window isn’t broken . . . and wondering why you disappeared. My house’s wards kept whoever that was out, but not you. My father isn’t here. You’re a daimon . . . and is that person-witch-daimon dead?”

For a moment, Kaleb looked very much like the sort of person who could calmly dispose of bodies—which could be because of their current circumstances or because of the blood on his jeans. This was not the boy she’d been falling for the past month or so. This was a daimon who had lied to her and misled her.

“You did just carry a man down the street, didn’t you?”

Kaleb sighed. “Yes.”

“Someone tried to break in, and the wards stopped him,” she said. She knew it. The proof was on her floor and on his jeans, but she wanted to hear the words too.

“Yes.”

“Is he—”

“Mallory,” Kaleb interrupted.

She looked at the window again. “You walked through the wards that killed him. The wards worked, but not on you.”

He turned his face away then, looking at the window or maybe through it into the street.

They stood silently for a moment, and then he asked, “Do you have a dustpan?”

Mallory followed his gaze back to the floor.

“A dustpan,” she repeated. “Someone just died, and the daimon in my house wants a dustpan. This is insane.” She walked away from him, trying not to notice the tiny pieces of glass that were embedded in the undersides of her slippers.

Mallory rummaged around in the kitchen until she found a dustpan and broom. The reality was that someone had tried to break into her home. It didn’t occur to her to call the police: her father’s injunction against letting strangers into the house included the police.

After handing the broom and dustpan to Kaleb, she picked up her cell phone. There still weren’t any messages—or missed calls. It was charged, but her father hadn’t called.

“Call him.”

“What?” Mallory looked down at Kaleb.

He didn’t meet her gaze. “Call Adam. Tell him whatever you want. We need to know if he’s safe or not, and if he is safe, he needs to know about this.”

Kaleb finished sweeping up the broken shards of glass and poured them into the trash while Mallory called her father’s cell phone, office phone, and then, when she had no answer on either of those, she called the building receptionist.

“Stoneleigh-Ross.”

“I’m trying to reach my dad . . . Adam Rothesay.”

“Mr. Rothesay didn’t come in today.”

“Are you sure?” Mallory sat down unsteadily. “Maybe—”

“I’m the only one on duty, dear, and I’d have noticed Mr. Rothesay if he had signed in, so yes, I’m sure. Hold on.” The sound of papers shuffling was all Mallory heard, and then the receptionist came back. “Some of the staff had an emergency. Perhaps he is with them. You should’ve had a call from the division coordinator if so.”

“I didn’t.”

The clacking of keys filled the pause, and then the receptionist said, “I’ve entered a note for an update call to be sent to this number. Is there anything else, Miss Rothesay?”

“No. Thank you.” Mallory disconnected. She kept the phone in her hand, but she wasn’t sure what to do next.

When Kaleb came to stand in front of her, she looked up at him, and she saw that he’d heard her side of the conversation with the receptionist. He said nothing, but he brushed her hair back.

She flinched away from his touch. “He’s not answering his cell phone, but the receptionist said there was an emergency. I guess they were to call me, but didn’t.”

Kaleb sat down next to her on the sofa. He didn’t put his arm around her, and she didn’t move closer to him. On the table in front of them was the gun that she’d held only moments prior.

“I’ll be here for you. Whatever it is, I’ll be here. You can trust me.” He sat so stiffly that she wondered who the real Kaleb was: the one who casually carried a body away or the one she had first met. He seemed like two different people.

She glanced at him and wondered what sort of person disposed of bodies without question.

He’s a daimon, not a person.

Beside her, Kaleb looked at her expectantly, and when she said nothing, he stood. “I need to wash the blood out of these before it sets in.”

He was halfway down the hallway when she admitted, “I want to trust you.”

Kaleb stopped and turned back to face her. “I want that too, Mallory.”

CHAPTER 29

HE DIDN’T WANT TO be the one to tell her the truths Adam had hidden from her. More to the point, he wasn’t sure he could tell her without being cast out of her house, and unless Adam was here to keep her safe, Kaleb wasn’t about to say anything that would make her try to send him away. Of course, if Adam came home, there was no need to tell her anything yet.

At least until she finds out that she needs to leave this world.

Tonight’s events had a decidedly dampening effect on his brief fantasy of a life in which he could stay in the human world and get to know his new wife better. Aside from fight days, he had no reason to live in The City for the next year. He’d still need to go to The City occasionally to earn money to support himself and Zevi, but after he won the competition, he’d be highly sought after, so mask-work would pay more. He’d do a few jobs, exchange the coin for human money, and then he could stay mostly in this world. After the year, he’d have to take Mallory—and their child—to live near her father, but until such time, he’d thought they could remain here.

Assuming the witches don’t kill me. Kaleb wasn’t sure whether it was better for Adam to come home or to have vanished. Either way, there were more problems to resolve, and doing so without his wife’s trust was far more complicated than he’d like it to be.

He tugged off his jeans and stepped out of them. He only had a few articles of clothing, and he had no human currency to buy more clothes. That meant getting the blood out of his jeans so that he could wear them without attracting the kind of attention that blood spatter would. He turned on the water, looked down, and caught sight of the blood on the bottom hem of his shirt. He removed the shirt too. Jeans first. He could sleep without a shirt, but he wasn’t about to sleep in only his shorts. Not here.

“Is there a brush or sponge of some sort I can use?” Kaleb called through the door. “Mallory?” He waited for a moment, but when she didn’t reply, he repeated, “Mallory?”

Panicked at her silence, he yanked open the door to find her standing there. Hurriedly, he held his jeans in front of him and started to close the door.

She held out a sponge. “Here.”

“I didn’t hear you, and I worried—” He took the sponge. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . I . . .”

Mallory stared at him. “You’re sorry for . . . worrying? For carrying away that dead man so calmly? For what this time?”

“Not any of that.” He held his pants lower, blocking her view as best he could, and immediately felt ridiculous. He was a cur who had sold his body to earn money for food and shelter, not an inexperienced human boy, but Mallory made him feel different. He wanted what they had started to share to be special. He wanted all of the secrets to be already out and resolved so they could move forward—not because it would be better for a plan or for anything other than the simple fact that he wanted her to be happy.