Reapers -- The First Familiar (Reapers Chronicles Book II)

4 - Artificial

"I'll need to think about it," I finally sighed, letting my hands fall limply to my side.

Millie, showing no sign of disappointment or any emotion for that matter, nodded to me. "My master promises the safety of both you and your master. I shall meet you here tomorrow at exactly the same time."

'Safety' seemed like too vague a word for someone like Hector. Ironic, even. And I was sure safety didn't include summer picnics, health benefits and holiday pays.

I was told Hector had been sort of the family nerd. He and Alexis, to be exact. Though the latter was more fascinated with human technology. But Hector, he delved into the more messy stuff-wraith experiments, soul fusions, the occult.

Something in me was fretting as I thought of The Eleventh. Behind that slight and delicate appearance, that kind face, there was a kind of viciousness that radiated from him. Once I decide to go by his terms, I knew there was no escape.

Still, I couldn't resist. My friends were just a grasp away. All I had to do was choose.

As I deliberated about it, a gust of wind disturbed the stillness of the trees. I shielded my eyes from the leaves and debris that circled me. My hair whipped against my face, I could barely make out what was happening. When the wind subsided, the spot where Millie stood was already empty. Talk about dramatic exits.

Dad was waiting for me in his favorite skull-embellished grandfather chair when I got home. Did I mention he had an obsession on creepy things? Which explained the miniature bronze statues of winged girl and guy demons making out on top of the fireplace. Or the skull heads keeping his books organized. And don't get me started about the dusty old mummy sarcophagus that served as the table for his mini bar. Freaky, I know.

Dad didn't say anything. He just removed his eyeglasses, pushed his laptop close then let out a deep breath. Dad wasn't always the worrying type. In the past, what he didn't know didn't bother him. Of course, he didn't try to know anything about me. That made life so much easier for him. We used to be like two strangers who were, by some sick twist of fate, got stuck together in the same house. And we both couldn't do anything about it.

Everything changed last year. Too much had happened. At this point, even if he couldn't remember a thing-about that night he tried to kill me when he got possessed by wraiths-it felt like he really changed on the inside.

"Sorry, Dad." I took the seat nearest to him-the ordinary looking sofa with no skulls. "I had to... do homework with Lindsay." Ironically, my throat was burning with every word. Liar, liar. Pants on fire.

"Hungry?" he asked, setting his laptop on the coffee table. "I made potato salad."

"Uh... sure." The least I could do was join him for late supper even though I wasn't hungry. Guilt trip.

There wasn't much distraction as we ate apart from the clinking of forks against our plates. My head was starting to hurt with all this thinking. But the more I tried to clear my mind, the more thoughts rushed in.

Finally, a ticket back to the Halo, served to me in a silver platter. All I had to do was grab it. Could Millie really help me get Vincent back? Would Hector keep his word? Even if the answer was yes, it didn't make me feel better at all.

I sighed heavily, forking on my food.

"Not doing so well with that homework?" Dad asked, glancing up at me.

Nodding, I took a small bite, barely tasting the food before forcing it down my gullet. So this was how it must feel for people in the death row when they were having a final feast.