“Dad, I look like I’m going to the grocery store. I’ve actually worn this to the grocery store.”
Logan rapped on the door as my father grumbled, “I still think you should put on a sweatshirt. And a sweater.”
I ignored my Dad and opened the door to see Logan standing in the small hallway, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“Hi,” I greeted him almost timidly, resting my head against the door.
“Hi, yourself,” he replied just as shyly, an endearing smile on his face. The brim of his baseball cap was sticking out of his coat pocket, his hair adorably mussed and his cheeks flushed from the walk over. Dark locks hung in his eyes, which sparkled in spite of the swipe of shadows underneath.
Had he looked this tired last night? It had been too dim on the rooftop to notice, but in the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway, exhaustion and stress were evident on Logan’s face.
But we’d overcome an emotional hurdle last night, and the effects of that were also evident, because we just stood there, staring at each other with starry-eyed grins.
“I brought you hot chocolate,” Logan said, holding out a cup. “It’s really good this time, I promise. You didn’t drink yours last—”
“Weekend, right. Last weekend. Thanks, that’s so nice of you,” I interrupted loudly, before mouthing, “My dad is here, remember?”
Logan squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth.
“Sorry,” he mouthed, opening one eye with a pained expression on his face.
I leaned against the door and pushed it open with my back.
“Come on in. Dad, Logan brought me hot chocolate. Isn’t that nice?” I added pointedly, peeling back the plastic lid to take a sip, delighting in the rich taste.
“Did he bring your schoolbooks, too? Or is this just a social call while you’re still sick?” Dad asked, crossing the room and folding his arms to scrutinize Logan as he stood awkwardly next to me.
I gawked at my father as Logan slid his overstuffed backpack off his shoulders and lost his grip on the strap, letting it fall to the floor with a loud thunk.
“Yes—um, yes, I have her books, Mr. Kelly, sir,” Logan sputtered, clearly unnerved by my dad. I stared in surprise. Demonslayer Logan would have bounced the heavy backpack on his foot like a hacky sack before slicing it open with his sword, all the books magically falling onto the coffee table open to the correct pages. It’s a good thing Aiden never attacked around my father, because he seemed to make Logan more skittish than my cat around a vacuum cleaner.
“Well, I guess you kids will set up at the table, right?” Dad asked before sitting back on the couch, resuming his rapid-fire channel flipping.
“Dad, I have a lot of work to catch up on, and there’s not enough room on that table for all our books.” I gestured to the small round table in the corner of the living room. “We’ll study in my room.”
“Paige Dawn Kelly...” Dad warned me, dragging my name out.
“Daddy Richard Kelly...” I repeated in a deep voice, imitating his tone.
“If your dad says we should stay here...” Logan began, and I shot him a surprised look.
“Dad, you’re watching TV and it’s really loud,” I pointed out, grabbing Logan’s elbow and ushering him out of the room as quickly as I could.
“We’ll keep the door open,” I called as I led the way to my bedroom.
“Paige?” Dad called.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll check to make sure the door stays open.”
“Of course, Dad.” I sighed, a little annoyed. What did he think was going to happen in my bedroom while he was home, anyway? The last thing I needed was for my father to catch me in a compromising position with Logan. Forget the demon army—I’d be spending senior year in a military school.
“Why do you get so flustered around my dad?” I asked in a hushed voice as Logan followed me down the short hall to my bedroom.
“I don’t know! I just get nervous,” he hissed in reply, his brown eyes wide and adorably panicked. “He acts like he hates me! And apparently, today I’m extra hateable.”
I rested my hand against his cheek and gave him a warm smile. “Okay, so you protect me from demons, and I’ll protect you from my dad,” I said sweetly. “And if he scares you, just remember that my dad is wearing a free shirt for a frozen fish company, and he’s allergic to shellfish. This is the big scary man you’re dealing with.”
“I’m not trying to cook him a nice shrimp dinner. I’m trying to be respectful, so he doesn’t forbid you to be my girlfriend,” he mumbled, and I felt that twinge in my heart again, for the insecure, wounded side of Logan he hid so well.
I darted a quick look to the living room and swiftly kissed Logan on the cheek.
“Don’t be afraid of my dad,” I whispered, grabbing his hand. “Now, come look at your girlfriend’s bedroom.”
His answering smile was blinding, and he followed me as I strode confidently into my room, internally doing backflips over being “officially” boyfriend/girlfriend. I couldn’t wait to tell Dottie, my eternally romantic friend. She’d probably say we were “going steady” and offer us a bunch of old-fashioned romantic advice. I wondered if she would ask Logan if he was going to give me his varsity jacket or pin me. More like I’m going to pin him. To the wall. And make out with his face.
I plopped on my bed, but my bravado faded as he hovered in the doorway before stepping in, slowly setting his backpack on the floor. I hadn’t had anyone who wasn’t a family member in my bedroom since my first sophomore year, when my then best friend Hannah accused me of faking insanity for attention before she stormed out, telling all our friends I was crazy.
Logan’s eyes whirled around the room, taking in the music posters on the pink walls and the web of twinkle lights hanging along the ceiling before stopping to inspect my bookshelf.
“Who are these people?” he asked, picking up a silver-framed photo and studying it.
“Uh, just old friends from my old school.”
“The ones who stopped talking to you after you saved Dylan’s life?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
I nodded.
“I never got around to replacing the picture,” I lied, aware it was a weak excuse. How could I explain that I used to cling to these reminders of a time when my biggest problems were remembering if Amber and Hannah were still in a fight or if Chris Delaney only liked me, or if he liked me liked me.
Logan set the picture back, giving it one last look.
“Why replace it? You look pretty in that photo. Happy,” he said in a measured tone. He next picked up one of my cat figurines, a bobblehead that resembled Mercer, who was currently curled up on the bed.
“Oh, didn’t you know? I’m a future cat lady,” I explained matter-of-factly, and he laughed, patting the black-and-white cat so its head bounced around.
“So, what do you think of my room?” I asked nervously as he sat down next to me on the bed, smoothing his hand over my pink-and-pale-yellow bedspread. And then Logan looked up at me, a mischievous glint in his sparkling brown eyes.
“Well, the pink pens make sense now,” he said, leaning back to smack his palm against the pink-painted wall.
“Shut up,” I muttered, turning my back to him and folding my arms. “I like pink.”
“Well, I like you. And I like your room.” Logan wound his arms around me from behind, pulling my back against his chest. “Very much, on both accounts.”
“As much as I’d like to stay like this, my dad’s going to come in here in about three seconds and ask us if we want soda or snacks,” I groaned, “and if he sees us like this he’s going to add castration to the menu.”
Logan dropped me from his hold as if I were made of lava—a bold statement, considering he wielded fire demon power. He bolted to the oppos
ite side of the room, settling in my pink beanbag chair with a textbook protectively over his crotch. He glanced warily at the door, his face pale.
Sure enough, a minute later my dad poked his head in just to check and see if we needed anything. Then he made sure the door was as wide open as possible. And tested the lock. And studied the hinges, possibly contemplating removing the door from the frame. And then he left. Probably to go collect his award for Most Embarrassing Dad of All Time That Ever Existed in the History of Everything.
“So what did you do today?” I asked, hiding a grin at the sight of Logan in the beanbag, which puffed out around him like a big pink pillow. And then his cheeks turned as pink as the poofy chair.
“I used my skills to get out of my afternoon classes,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I fell asleep in two of my morning ones.”
“Seriously?”
“Hey, I was tired,” he said defensively, the very mention of exhaustion making him stifle back a yawn. He stretched out his arms, smiling in relief—but his smile soon faded, leaving Logan with an apprehensive, almost nervous expression on his face.
“What?” I asked, paling.
“So, I have to tell you something,” Logan said, brushing his hair back and then clutching a fistful in his palm. “Apparently Ajax was right about the final battle coming up. Cerus was talking with Rego while I was home this afternoon. Something about how the greed demons are all shutting their shops, stockpiling their coins and prepping for the coming war.”
“What did they tell you?”
“They didn’t tell me anything. They thought I was at school. I was in bed—their voices woke me up and I eavesdropped. The greed demons operate out of what would be lower Manhattan, and they’re slowly abandoning it. Not big fighters, those guys.”
I traced the pattern on my bedspread as Logan spoke, mulling over his words.
“Logan, I think it’s affecting this world.”
“What do you mean?”
“The news is full of reports of the stock market dropping. We’re talking at a crazy rate. And the greed demons’ neighborhood mirrors the financial district,” I explained. “I mean, Rego did say that the two worlds were connected, and what happens in one affects the other. A war on that side’s definitely going to affect us.”
“Who’s going to war?” Dad asked, popping his head into the doorway. “Everything going okay? You having trouble with some kids at school?”
“Dad, seriously?” I cried, throwing my hands in the air and letting them fall onto my mattress with a thud. “Have you been standing there eavesdropping?”
My dad coughed awkwardly in reply.
“No.” Yes. “I just wanted to see if you need anything.”
“Dad, we’re fine,” I insisted, and he spun on his heel and walked out of the room. I followed him and peered out the door, making sure he’d gone back into the living room.
“I’m sorry about my dad,” I said, pulling over an ottoman to sit next to Logan.
“Don’t be. Your dad’s scary, but you’re lucky,” he said wistfully, tracing a seam in the beanbag with his thumb. “You know he cares.”
I studied Logan’s pained expression. “Can you tell me about your parents?” I asked hesitantly, not wanting to push him.
“My parents...” He paused, steeling himself with a deep breath before he continued in a small voice. “My parents wanted me far, far away from that world. I remember they wanted a normal life for me. Giving me a normal name,” he emphasized the word, “was the first step.”
“What do you mean normal? Compared to what?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, everyone who is somehow connected to the Dark World has a ridiculous name. They’re all nicknames and titles, loaded with meaning and insight and Very. Heavy. Symbolism,” he said in a dramatically deep voice, rolling his eyes.
“Aiden’s a normal name.”
“Because you’re thinking of it as being spelled the human way, but the demon spelling is A-e-o-d-h-a-n. Aeodhan,” he explained, pronouncing it in an affected tone. “Means fiery or some other forced complimentary spin on his temper.”
“Does your name have another meaning, too?”
“Other than King Awesome?”
“Well, yeah. Other than the obvious.”
Logan shook his head, a smile on his face.
“Logan’s a pretty common name. My parents originally wanted something super normal, like John or Mike, but they liked what the name Logan meant. It means ‘little hollow’—that dip of land between valleys,” he continued, taking his left hand and swiping it sharply through the air in a V-shape. “I remember someone telling me I was named for the earth.”
He paused. “This earth,” he clarified. “This side.”
Logan stared upward again, but his eyes grew unfocused, as if he wasn’t seeing the strands of twinkle lights above his head. His brow twitched, and his lips turned down as he reacted to the memory he was replaying.
“I really don’t remember much, to be honest. The first eight years of my life are really foggy. But I remember waking up one night and hearing my parents arguing. I was seven, I think. My father said he wanted me free of obligation, free to enjoy the gift of life. I remember him saying that—the gift of life.” He repeated the words reverentially, a melancholic smile on his face as he remembered his father.
“I was a little kid, so of course I was excited. I was expecting a present, something wrapped up in a bow that I could play with. It was years later before I understood that he’d been trying to save me from this existence.”
“What else do you remember about your dad?” I asked, and a hard, guarded mask overtook his face.
“Does it matter? I ended up surrounded by the war and death and duty I was supposed to be spared.” His face was impassive as he rattled off the powerful words, words that should have been significant and symbolic but instead were merely routine for him.
I nodded, realizing that this topic of conversation was closed. Sensing that Logan needed a minute alone, I excused myself to grab my notebook from where I’d left it in the living room—and, of course, got caught in a mini-inquisition from my father.
“Just keep the door open,” Dad cautioned me again as I headed back inside. My eyes rolled of their own accord at that reminder. My dad was nearby, and he was a walking, talking cold shower. What did he think was going to happen? I had my feelings in check.
But when I returned to my bedroom, I practically swooned at the sight that greeted me. We’re talking resting-my-head-against-the-door-and-sliding-down-to-the-floor-with-my-hands-clasped-over-my-heart-level swoonage.
Logan was asleep in the beanbag chair, his hand resting on Mercer’s belly as my cat stretched along his denim-clad thigh. Logan’s lips were slightly parted as he breathed deeply, his dark lashes resting on the deep shadows that spread underneath his eyes, which were even more prominent as his face relaxed. He curled his legs and tilted his head toward me, his hair a messy dark tangle on top of his head.
I smiled at how, a few weeks ago, I would’ve never imagined that Logan, the Dottie-dubbed “potential dreamboat,” would be in my life beyond stealing all my pens and making random conversation in class—let alone curled up in a warm, sleepy ball on my pink beanbag chair. But that was a time before demons and warlocks came into my life. Before I realized that there was no “potential” about it—Logan was beautiful to me, a complicated and wonderful person, who I was slowly realizing needed me as much as I needed him.
While my dad would probably love the fact that Logan opted to fall asleep in my room rather than make a move on his daughter, I knew Logan would flip out if Dad found him unconscious in my room. I gave his shoulder one gentle shake, and Logan’s eyes flew open immediately, his hand flying over his shoulder to grab at his sword before his eyes focused on me, real
izing where he was. Mercer shot off Logan’s lap, scrambling to find refuge underneath my bed.
“And I thought I was irritable when I woke up in the morning. Don’t take my head off. I mean that literally,” I warned, wrapping my hand around his and pulling it down.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep.” He sat up straighter and rubbed his eyes as he tried to wake up, looking at me with adorably bleary eyes and messy hair.
“I can’t believe how cute you look right now,” I replied, the words out of my mouth before I could stop them, and we both blushed.
“I’ll forgive you for calling me ‘cute’ since I fell asleep on you, but I should go.” He pushed himself off the floor and clasped his hands together, raising them over his head in a stretch.
“It’s okay. You looked tired. You don’t have to leave.”
“I actually have a bunch of stuff I need to get done with Rego. I just wanted to make sure I came by. I didn’t want to disappoint you again.” Logan stuffed his hands into his back pockets as he looked down, gazing up at me through his dark lashes.
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” I said, squeezing his arm. “Anything specific got you so tired?”
“Just a bunch of stuff. Still helping make weapons.” He brushed it off. “Now, I know your dad is here, so hook me up with a hug before I go.”
Logan widened his stance, curling his fingers at me.
“Well, okay. I guess I can suffer through a hug,” I teased, before grabbing him by the collar and surprising him with a kiss that I could still feel that night as I sat at my desk, finishing the assignments that I’d missed during my fake bout of the stomach flu. The kiss definitely distracted me during my Spanish homework. With the amount of time I spent reminiscing about Logan’s lips, you’d think I was an honors French student.
Logan was picking me up in the morning—he insisted—and his arrival was barely seven hours away by the time I finally finished everything. My cat was gently snoring as he stretched out across the foot of my bed, so I hugged my pillow to my chest as I tried to find a comfortable position around the fur ball when I heard the soft rustle of paper.