Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
There, coming up beside me on the sidewalk, was Argos, my cat.
Now, was he actually a cat? Absolutely not. He was a daemon, which was a lot of different things, depending on the tome where you were looking up the definition. Some said demigod, others a watchful spirit, and yet others a goblin taking animal form. Daemons were not inherently good or evil. They imprinted on a family, and if you took care of them, which mostly involved feeding them, then they stuck around, didn’t eat you, and protected everyone in the home. No one knew where they came from or what made them show up, but when they did, attention needed to be lavished on them, as they basically saw you as a servant. As far as I knew, it was the same with normal cats.
My grandfather told me that his great-grandmother, who had been alive for a short time with him growing up, had been the one who found Argos in the forest. There was no record of him before that in anyone’s diary. He appeared often since then, and I was thankful. Because what made Argos different from a regular cat was that if I found myself in danger when he was around, he could suddenly grow to the size of a male grizzly bear with flashing red eyes and teeth like razors. The issue was, he was a bit of a traveler, and his vigilance was sporadic at best. Tonight, however, walking down the empty streets alone, his company was appreciated even though looking at him was strange. What had taken me by surprise was that normally, his fur was a lustrous, glossy black, but at the moment he appeared as an orange tabby—and a bit of a chunky one at that.
“What’s with you?” I asked him as he walked in front of me and stopped, nearly tripping me before I caught my balance and he darted forward. “And why’re you trying to kill me?”
He ran ahead, jumping up on the low wall that encircled the courthouse, putting him at waist level as I reached him.
“Really,” I said, squinting. “What’s with the color?”
“Oh, look who it is,” a voice said. Diana Flint. Twice in one day meant my luck was not good for some reason. Perhaps I needed to start carrying a periapt to keep her away from me. Though keeping track of whatever charm that would end up being could prove difficult. There were only so many things one could recall.
“Diana,” I greeted her as she walked toward me with Allard Pace, holding on to his arm.
“Xander,” she returned, her blond brows furrowing.
If one had to describe her, the best word would be pinched. She always looked like her face, her eyes, her entire demeanor, really, was both tight and uncomfortable. I had no idea if she ever unclenched any part of her. In contrast, Allard Pace appeared the picture of ease. He had a fluid grace about him, and he was tall and handsome, built like a swimmer. He too was blond, but whereas Diana’s hair was a natural mousy brown, which meant she was forced, by vanity, to constantly have it dyed, his was as golden as his skin, lashes, and brows. The man was basically gilded. Too bad I didn’t like him, but that had more to do with him cruising into town in his flashy Italian sports car and buying up property than anything else. I could own that. But even if he’d been a saint, still, his friendship with Diana Flint wasn’t doing him any favors.
“Mr. Corey,” Pace said, smiling. “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I agreed, trying to be cordial. “Are you two on your way to the carnival or on your way home?”
“What are you implying?” Diana snapped at me.
Sometimes I wasn’t as careful with my words as I should be. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. I only meant—”
“We know what you meant,” Pace said to Diana with a smile, which immediately soothed her ruffled feathers. “Don’t we?”
She cleared her throat. “I guess,” she granted belligerently.
“And we left not too long ago,” he explained as they reached me. “I was hoping to take the cemetery tour with you this evening—I saw Oliver earlier today, and he said you were covering for him—but I understand it was canceled.”
“That was a while ago now, but yeah. Whenever the carnival’s in town, a trip through the graveyard can’t hold a candle to that.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, looking me up and down. “I think it would depend on the company one has, don’t you?”
That was another aspect I wasn’t crazy about—the flirting. And not only with me. He flirted with everyone. He wasn’t picky.
“The cemetery tour is actually quite interesting,” Malachi Gant chimed in from behind me. “And Xander does spin a fairly good tale.”