She frowned. “But—”
“Please. It’s important. Don’t ask me why, but you need to get out of here right now.”
“Okay, Ms. Dramatic. Are you coming with me?”
“No, I…I have to do something first.”
“With him?”
My jaw tightened. “Yeah.”
Carly looked confused. “So you’re ditching me for some guy you just met?”
I wasn’t the kind of girl who ditched her friends for some cute guy, so I could understand her confusion. Giving him my phone number was one thing, but leaving with him was another.
“I’m not ditching you,” I said firmly. I didn’t have time to argue about this. “Just—please, trust me and go home. I’ll call you later.” She nodded slowly, and I turned back to Bishop. “Let’s go.”
“Sam!” Carly called after me as Bishop and I moved toward the exit. “You never told me what happened with Stephen.”
“Later, I promise,” I told her. Then I looked at Bishop. “You have one hour. That’s it.”
He shook his head. “That won’t be enough time.”
“Too bad. That’s all I’m willing to give you tonight. Take it or leave it.”
He glared at me. I mean, contrary to what Carly might think and any confusing feelings I needed to sort through, I wasn’t interested in Bishop romantically. Not a chance. If I’d thought Stephen was trouble, then this guy was trouble times a thousand.
“Fine,” he said, his jaw tight. “I’ll take it.”
I cast one last glance over my shoulder. Standing behind the glass barrier on the second floor, Stephen watched as we left the club.
Chapter 8
It was just before nine o’clock on Monday night and I was walking the streets of Trinity with an angel who looked like he could go to my high school.
My mother once read this book that said when she was overwhelmed by stuff she couldn’t control, she should focus on what was happening right at that moment. Basically it meant that what happened in the past was over and what might happen in the future was not worth thinking about yet if it was only going to cause anxiety.
Live in the now. Right here. Right now. Nowhere else.
So I focused on doing just that. I didn’t think about my missing soul or who’d stolen it from me in a kiss that, for a few fleeting moments, I’d honestly thought had meant something—that the cute boy who lived on my street might actually be interested in me, had noticed me, thought I was worthy of his attention, but instead had turned out to be a monster in disguise.
Nope. Instead, I thought about how tight my shoes felt and how they’d never been meant for long walks like this. And how chilly the wind felt against my face. Instead of thinking about what my swirling hunger meant, I focused on the gorgeous guy walking next to me and how being this close to him made my stomach do constant flip-flops.
Well, maybe I needed to focus on something else. Thinking of Bishop like that was dangerous. He’d promised to restore my soul if I helped him. That was the only reason I was with him right now.
Information—that’s what I needed. And there was only one way I could think of to get it: ask.
I braved a glance at Bishop. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Why are you working with a demon? Angels and demons…well, I’d assume you should be enemies.”
“We are.”
“Then…what’s going on? I mean, you and Kraven, you don’t seem to like each other much.”
He hesitated. “We don’t.”
“You hate him?”
“Angels don’t hate.”
Bishop seemed to talk like that. Short answers and sometimes a little too formal for your average teen. “How old are you?”
That earned me a look. “How old do I look?”
“Seventeen or eighteen.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Then that’s pretty much what I am.”
Pretty much? That wasn’t exactly a comforting answer, since it basically told me he wasn’t only seventeen or eighteen.
I cleared my throat. “So, um, the nonhating thing. What about, like, fiery vengeance and smiting the unholy? Angels do that, right?”
This earned me a half grin, which unfortunately drew my gaze back to his lips. I wondered if all grays constantly thought about kissing people—with or without souls. I really didn’t want him to affect me so much, not now that I knew what he was and what he could do.
He didn’t look directly at me when he replied. “It’s a little different than you might think.”
“Okay, then what’s up with the demon/angel interaction?”
“Do you see a searchlight yet?” he asked instead of answering.
I glanced around. “Not yet. You’re sure there are others?”
“I’m sure.”
“Angels or demons?”
“Likely a mix.” He was quiet for a moment. “Angels and demons—we’re two different but necessary ends of a scale. Demons are on one end and angels are on the other. Balanced numbers—of both light and dark forces—keep everything properly aligned.”
I had an image in my head of a huge weight scale with a bunch of demons sitting on one side and an equal number of angels on the other. “Could you tell what Kraven was last night? I mean, if you hadn’t checked his back to see the imprint? He looked so normal to me.”