“I do need to get my truck.” He wolfed down some potatoes and finished his coffee. Seeing Jett’s longing look at some passing tourists, he offered, “Unless you want to walk by yourself for a while? I don’t want to be too forward.”
She gave him that silent nod again. Somehow submissive, which bothered him.
He tugged out his wallet and laid a couple twenty-euro notes before her. “You take that and go off walking by yourself. Buy what you want. If your appetite comes back, you’ll be covered. Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll leave the door to my place unlocked. Don’t let the demon wards freak you out. Sometimes they tug when you enter.”
“Didn’t even notice them last night,” she offered airily.
“They’re not all-purpose, but they’ve served me well. I’ll loosen them up for you anyway.” Because she probably still had residue from Daemonia on her. “And feel free to tuck your new purchases into a drawer. Make yourself at home, Jett. My place is your place until you feel like you need to get the hell out. Deal?”
“Deal.”
He signed the check, then stood, and thinking he should shake her hand or something, he decided that was stupid. And would she get the friendly double-cheek-kiss thing? It wasn’t something he ever did—why was he fretting about this?
Abandoning his ridiculous thoughts, he tossed out a “See you later?”
“I look forward to it.”
So did he. Because those beautiful, sad brown eyes made him hungry for things other than food. A man shouldn’t have such thoughts for a woman he hardly knew. And yet he did know her. The nine-year-old Jett. The intrepid, laughing best friend he’d promised to someday marry. Seemed like a long shot now. She was different. Could she get back to the usual? Did she want to? What had she been through?
He wanted to help her. He really did. And he needed to protect her. Things that came out of Daemonia might be required to return, no matter their species. Might someone—or something—come looking for Jett?
* * *
Jett wandered the cobblestoned streets and sidewalks through Paris, inhaling the smells of gasoline, cooked food and ancient limestone. The sounds of rushing cars, chattering tourists, Notre Dame’s bells and the laughter of children lightened her mood.
The sights were both historical and contemporary. The old buildings that had been around for centuries, and that she could recognize, gave her comfort. The city had not changed in her absence. And the people had only marginally changed, fashionwise. But there were so many cell phones now. Did everyone carry them always? Including the children? How bizarre to want to walk down the street having a conversation with a person on the phone while your family or friend walked next to you, doing the very same.
The city was as she’d remembered, and yet those memories were so old everything had become new again. She found herself smiling despite not having used those muscles around her mouth for a long time. A satisfied sigh followed.
She could make this her home once again.
As she was weaving through tourists who crowded the sidewalks, the scent of roasted meat lured her to draw in the savory aroma. But she didn’t feel hungry. After one bite of Savin’s pastry, she had realized it tasted like stale paper. It was not what she’d eaten in Daemonia. All senses had been engaged during meals, lush scents and flavors combining to satisfy in the most bizarre manner. The humans would not know what to call the demonic foods, and some dishes might even repulse them.
She could grow accustomed to roast chicken and potatoes again. She must.
Savin had taken her bags back to his place, so Jett swung her arms as she crossed a busy intersection. The river was close. The water smelled dark, yet much cleaner than anything she had known in a while.
A passerby rudely brushed her shoulder and kept on walking, his attention on the cell phone at his ear. But the sensations Jett got from that quick contact shocked up her arm. Demon. It was an innate knowledge. He didn’t turn to regard her. He couldn’t know acknowledgment was required. Rather, submission.
That was a good thing. Maybe?
Part of her decided it was. The darkest part of her crossed her arms and gave a huffy pout. Really. Where was the subservience? Should not all demons know and fear her? It was going to take time to adjust to being just another face in the crowd.
Shaking off the surprise of having been so close to a demon—and not feeling compelled to follow—Jett wandered to the river’s edge and leaned over the wide concrete balustrade. If demons walked the streets without notice, that meant surely the city must be populated with all species of paranormals. Something of which she’d not been aware when she was an innocent child.
And now knowing so much served her both bane and boon. All grown up and in the know, she could be smart and protect herself from anything that wished to harm her. If that anything knew who she was. Something she intended to conceal as long as physically possible.
Holding a hand out over the water, Jett closed her eyes and drew in the power of nature. Flowing water had always strengthened her. She harkened it to that fateful plunge over the falls. Rather, that push. She’d initially thought Savin had caught up to her and shoved her screaming and flailing over the edge. But she’d corrected that after the long fall. He hadn’t been close enough. He could never have known what had occurred during that fall.
Similar to the fall an angel makes from Above? It was a tale she’d made up, a secret belief that had helped her through hard times. Innocence falling to destruction and ruin, and all that fantastical stuff.
But that truth wasn’t something she could share with Savin. Maybe? No, she wasn’t nearly so ready to completely trust the man. It had been twenty years. So much had happened. Both had changed and been altered by their stays in that nightmare place. Jett would be wise to tread carefully around the man who could reckon demons out of this realm.
Hearing the loud chatter of a woman next to her, Jett turned, expecting to find her conversing with another, and only saw the one woman.
“Technology,” she muttered Savin’s explanation. “What else has changed?”
For one thing, the movie screens. Or were they television screens? Whatever they were, there was one set up in the parvis before Notre Dame just across the river; it played a film on the cathedral’s history. The screen was so large, and the images remarkably clear, even from where she stood.
The cars that zoomed past on the bridge were the same as she remembered, save newer and probably faster. The people all looked the same. Fashion in this touristy district still left much to be desired. Jett could spot a true Parisian by her smart, elegant style. Or there, the woman riding the bicycle in a skirt, with her high heels tucked in a side bag. Definitely a city native.
The food all seemed familiar. The Notre Dame Cathedral was still an awesome monument. The whine of tired children tugging on their parents’ legs was familiar, as well. So much remained familiar to her, and that was heartening.
Yet where were the bowing sycophants?
Jett’s eyes sought someone, anyone who might recognize
