Echoes (Dance with My Demons #2)

19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Avery

Mr. Whittingham has this ridiculous talent to look completely together no matter what time of day or night it is. The sun has barely cracked over the horizon, my hair resembling a bird's nest, while he sips on coffee in a freshly steamed suit.

"You'll be in here all day," he tells me with an artificial smile. "Except for your appointment with Dr. Smith. Unfortunately, that neat stack of paperwork got knocked over."

I resist the urge to twitch, but keep my mouth shut, getting started again on the scattered papers.

A few hours later, I'm escorted to Dr. Smith's office, and I'm surprised to find the chessboard set up exactly how we last left it.

"Do you remember the rules?" he asks, summoning me to the ground.

"Not really," I admit with a sigh, crossing my legs underneath me. "Other than some bullshit about the queen having all the power."

Dr. Smith laughs, pointing out the different pieces and relaying some basic rules. He doesn't ask any questions about my feelings or about anything else outside of this room. I'm on edge, but try to stay focused on the game, enjoying a moment away from getting more papercuts, which have returned on my fingertips with a sting. But in comparison to the still aching mark on my thigh, hidden by my shorts, it's nothing. Still, if I had to choose my pain, I'd opt for Grey every time.

Somewhere midway through the session, the door flies open with a loud bang, startling me. I whip my head around, eyes widening at Damon's figure lingering in the doorframe.

He's never interrupted my sessions before, but the way he's staring at Dr. Smith, I don't think his beef is with me. Besides, last night changed things for us. Well, I like to think so.

Even though I was woken up early and dragged from my bed, I'm still buzzing with a feeling I haven't felt in ages. And it's still baffling that it's somewhat because of Demon Boy.

"Games, really? Is that what they are paying you for?" he says. "Avery, come with me."

I rise to my feet, heading over to him. I'm not about to rock the boat when he just did me the favor of a lifetime. Besides, what loyalty do I have to the staff here? All they have done is punish me, allow my information to be stolen, treated me like I'm a criminal… even if I am .

At least Grey and Theo see me for who I am. And I guess in a weird turn of events, so does Damon.

I hear Damon shoot back a curse at Dr. Smith before gesturing for me to follow him down the hallway. I walk beside him, checking around for the guards which have mysteriously vanished.

"I'm due back in Whittingham's office after my session," I say.

Damon doesn't look at me, but I notice his eyebrow raises at my words. "And what does he have you doing today?"

"Alphabetizing paperwork… again."

"Pathetic," he mumbles. "That's Teddy's job. No doubt she's too busy blowing him under the desk to handle her actual job."

A shutter of disgust rolls over me, making Damon laugh.

"Do they really?" I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.

He hums, confirming it before leading us into the giant hall. It's empty at this time of day, except for a few lingering staff members getting the food trays ready for lunch.

I look around, noticing how no one pays any attention to us. It's almost as if we are ghosts, just haunting and passing by peacefully.

"What are we doing here?" I ask as Damon leads us through a set of double doors to the kitchen.

Staff in white coats are bustling around, the smell of food lingering in the air. A few curious eyes look over as we enter, but no one says anything.

"Getting some food for you," he answers casually, walking up to an older man with fading brown hair and green eyes. "Tony, organize some food for her."

Tony pauses, knife in hand at a chopping board. He briskly looks at me with disinterest, nodding at Damon. "Alright. What does she want?"

Damon rolls his eyes, throwing his hand toward me. "Ask her yourself. She's obviously right here."

My eyes widen slightly as Tony slams the knife down, turning his body to face me. "What do ya want? I can spare about ten minutes to cook something up before we need to get lunch well and truly underway."

"Uh," I mumble stupidly. I wasn't prepared for this. I'm so hungry that I'd probably settle for the dry, plain pasta at this point. "Honestly, I'm happy with anything easy."

Tony groans, snapping his eyes to Damon. "I don't have time for this, Damon. I can't be fucking around on the clock. Whittingham will have my balls if lunch is late."

"Just make her a sandwich or something," Damon scoffs. "Whatever you have on hand."

Tony nods, disappearing into a nearby walk-in freezer. My mind is still turning, cooks rushing past us to attend to pots of boiling water and cutting up vegetables.

I spot an empty countertop not being used and I gesture to it. "Can I wait there?" I ask Damon.

He looks behind me to the stainless steel countertop, nodding.

We head out of the way of the staff as someone runs past with more steaming food. I push myself off the ground, sitting on the countertop with my legs dangling off the side.

Damon leans against the wall near me, folding his arms as he observes the staff.

"Is this how you guys get your food?" I ask, trying to make conversation.

He glances over at me. "For the society meetings? Yes."

I nod. "And your snack stash."

His lips twitch into a smile. "I thought I was missing some. I assume Grey made himself busy in my drawers."

"Yeah," I laugh awkwardly. "Sorry… and, uh, sorry about your bed."

I don't know why I mention it. I get word vomit when I'm nervous, and I'm not an idiot. He absolutely saw the state of his room. I know Grey said he wouldn't care, but still… an apology seems appropriate.

"I had the sheets changed," he murmurs, unfazed.

Nodding again, I look up as Tony approaches with a plate. My mouth waters at the sight of a large sandwich, piled high with various fresh ingredients—ones we never see at meal times.

"Here," he says, shoving it toward me. "Drinks are in the fridge."

He dashes off before we can respond and I look at Damon, picking up the sandwich with two hands. "Drinks?"

"Soda, alcohol. The usual. I'll grab one."

It's bizarre that he refers to it as the usual since we're never offered anything except water and milk. I watch as he heads to the other side of the kitchen, taking the opportunity to bite into the sandwich. It's easily one of the best meals I've had since coming here—second only to the society feasts.

When Damon returns, he holds out a can of Coke to me.

"I haven't had Coke in ages," I mumble with excitement, grabbing the cold can from his grip.

He doesn't respond, leaning back against the wall. I can only assume he's not thrilled about being on Avery-sitting duty, so I keep quiet, eating quickly.

I demolish the whole sandwich and the can of soda, leaving the plate on the countertop next to me.

Damon glances over at the empty plate, a bored expression on his face. "Are you full?"

"Yeah, I'm good," I tell him, sparing a sympathetic look to the busy staff. "We should get out of here. They seem stressed."

"They'll live," he shoots back, kicking off the wall.

We leave the kitchen and I give Tony a little wave to show my appreciation. He pauses slightly, looking almost confused, but quickly turns away, continuing with his tasks.

"Am I heading back to Mr. Whittingham's office?" I ask Damon as we cross the hall to the doors.

Damon looks at me, a smirk on his face. "Absolutely not. Unless you want to, of course."

"No," I answer quickly, shaking my head. "Anything but that."

He snorts. "Don't care much for his company?"

My face scrunches up in frustration. "He's not my first choice, that's for sure. Or my second. Hell, probably wouldn't even rank him anything above last."

"So, I'm a step above him?" Damon taunts, leading us toward the courtyard.

"Definitely more than a step," I mutter. "You're growing on me a little."

He laughs and we head past the empty rooms. I look inside, instinctively searching for Theo.

Theo…

I haven't seen him for days because of all this bullshit. I told him I wouldn't avoid him and now I've been forced to do that.

Is he mad at me?

Sick of me?

My eyebrows furrow with anxiety and worry. It's not unnoticed by Damon, who stops in front of the door to the stairwell.

I stop walking, remembering the last time I was here. Theo had smashed the access pad and swept me away underground to escape the bomb that had been dropped in the hall.

The keypad has been replaced, the shiny black metal untouched, not even a single finger mark smear on it.

"What now?" Damon asks, annoyed.

Looking at him in confusion, I quickly shrug. "It's just been a crazy few weeks. I'm just thinking of shit. It's okay."

Damon raises an eyebrow at me. "You need to learn to get a handle on your emotions. You have no control whatsoever. It's pathetic."

I scowl at him. "Every time I start to almost like you, you say shit like that."

"Lucky for me, I don't care about being liked."

"Why?" I blurt out. "Why would you not want to be liked?"

Damon looks at me, unfamiliar disbelief on his face. He's glaring at me like it's the stupidest question he's ever heard. "This is exactly the emotional bullshit I'm referring to. When will you learn that likeableness gets you nowhere? Power is everything, Avery. I'm not here to make friends. We're not going to sit in the library and braid each other's hair and share secrets."

"But we do share secrets," I point out sarcastically.

"No, we don't," he answers coolly. "I provide information as required. You should be mindful that you are lucky to be included. Sadly, that was out of my control."

I snort. "Something out of your control. Shit—Hell is freezing over."

I realize instantly that I'm going too far. Damon's arm slams onto the wall next to my head as he leans in, eyes darkening.

"We are in Hell. The only difference is I took over from the Devil. However, I believe in rewarding loyalty. Grey has been loyal to me since the day he arrived. Thus… I tolerate you."

My jaw clenches. "I know," I tell him quietly. "If we're being honest, I tolerate you for the same reason."

His eyebrow twitches, but I offer a quick smile, trying not to stir the beast.

"But regardless, I'm thankful for your… tolerance ," I add.

Damon straightens up, scanning me curiously. "I'm glad to hear because there are many secrets about this place you don't know. It's best you do as you're told and follow orders."

"And that includes looking after Grey," I murmur. "Because you need him."

He nods. "Exactly." Pausing, he smirks, looking away. "You might think I'm the villain, Avery. And you'd be correct. But that's because we're made to be. There's nothing wrong with that."

I stare at him in confusion. What is he talking about?

Damon reaches into his pocket, extracting a staff card. He holds it up to my face between his fingers, tilting his head to the side.

"You remember how to get to the morgue, correct?"