Wolf's Grace

Chapter 217: Grace: Where's Sadie (and the Cat)?

The yellowed paper suddenly feels... gross.

Blood?

Demi-God or not, | highly regret not bringing gloves along on this search. Hopefully said blood doesn’t transmit

strange diseases.

And where the hell am | supposed to submit this thing? Does thehave a brick and mortar location? Business

hours? A lab?

For one crazed second or thirty, | hold the paper to my phone, half-expecting it to disappear into the world of

intedata and update my App.

Unsurprisingly, nothing happens.

"What are you doing?"

Cold, lemony breath blasts my ear and | jerk to the side in justifiably tic fashion, cringing my shoulder up

to the side of my face to protect myself from Caeriel’s breathing.

My spine does its best to shrink back against my skin, equally revulsed by how close he is. "What are you

doing?"

"Observing." Pale fingers pluck the paper from my hand, and he sniffs at it, his face too handsfor his creepy

behavior. "How interesting. Good job."

How did he get in? I'm pretty sure Andrew would have followed him if it was through the front door. And when,

precisely, did he arrive? | didn’t hear the telltale jingle.

Caeriel examines the small bit of blood-streaked paper like it’s truly sancient artifact and not a possibly

hazardous biosample, and | wonder if he can get any information just from sniffing at it... or if he’s just weird.

Honestly, I'm betting on weird.

"Were you watching the whole time?" | ask, even though I'm pretty sure he was, considering his earlier message.

“Mhm."

"So you were here?"

"Of course. It's my job."

| point at the paper with a disdainful flick of my finger. "Then why is this even a mission? You probably could

have sniffed it out in half a second, and it took me..." I'm not sure how long, but it was probably an embarrassing

number.

Suddenly, | hope my washer is still on the ‘wash’ cycle, and not ’spin-dry’.

Silver eyes flick up from the paper, one perfectly arched eyebrow rising with them. His expression radiates

condescension the way normal people radiate body heat. Seriously, | can practically feel it in the air.

"Were you anticipating a subjugation mission for your first foray as a Guardian, Miss Grace Harper?" His voice

has an annoying lilt, the kind where even a patient old grandma would want to smack him for his sass. "Perhaps

battling a demon horde single-handedly? Stopping a dimensional rift with nothing but your wits and a butter

knife?"

Thanks, | know I'm weak, no need to bathe my ears in your sarcasm. "No, but—"

"Not every mission involves heroics, Miss Harper. We try to escalate our missions appropriately."

Way to makesound unreasonable. | was just trying to point out how inefficient and stupid the mission was,

and he’s turnedinto sglory hunter.

But...

| press my lips together.

Sarcasm aside, his logic is logical, even if it only increases my frustration.

One of the washers suddenly goes manic-high on a spin cycle, making the entire ground vibrate.

"Fine, but you have to admit it’s a bit anticlimactic to find essentially nothing. A piece of old paper isn’t exactly

the stuff of legends, and it wasn’t hidden very well."

He hums thoughtfully. The paper disappears somewhere into the folds of his ridiculously tic trenchcoat,

and | wonder where his scythe is. Maybe it’s out auto-collecting the souls of lesser mortals.

"Tell me, Miss Harper," he says, and my nhas never sounded so damn annoying in my entire life, "Why

would a random demi-god’s blood sample be hidden away in an establishment catering to werewolves?"

He even crosses his arms and legs to lean against the wall as he questions me, sounding rather Socratic.

Apparently Wash-N-Were was only fronting as a laundromat to hide its real identity as Professor Creep’s lecture

hall.

But his question is a good one, and while | might not be thrilled over my assigned professor, I still have a mission

to complete and | need help.

All the help.

So. Much. Help.

So | think it over. Demi-god blood in a shifter laundromat does seem... odd. My mind races through possibilities,

none of them comforting, and most of them pulled out of fantasy books and battle-hungry animated shows,

which means they all basically end with either the threat or reality of world domination at the hands of sevil

master villain.

Likely? Probably not. Then again, this world is apparently a lot more complicated than | ever thought it was, so

who knows.

My entire life feels like the trajectory of sfantastical tragedy, so maybe sevil overlord isn’t too far off as

a possibility.

I" : I + :

I have no idea," | finally admit,

deciding not to give voice to all the

: : )

crazy scenarios in ry (pad: ) don't

sqy their &atYoud, no one will know |

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thought them, and then Caeriel won't

: )

think I'm ssort of crazy teenager

who watches too much TV. The

content is on novelenglish.net! Read

the latest chapter there!

Frankly, | watch a lot less than most humans do.

"None at all?"

I" no )

Nope," | lie, even as I've already

created an entire backstory of how

angels and demons ke pean

one of tem startéda undromat in

a%bddr backward werewolf town, only

to be killed by a particularly evil

IR q "ot: q

sibling who didn't like them donating

money to orphanages and Increasing

the goodness level of the world. The

content is on novelenglish.net! Read

the latest chapter there!

The corner of his mouth

twitches—not quite a smile, but

definitely amusement @ my &pdnse.

OptsidéMaherew s still waiting in the

car, completely oblivious to the fact

’ q q q

that I'm having a conversation with

’ q ]

Death's fashion-forward cousin. The

content is on novelenglish.net! Read

the latest chapter there!

Either he hasn't paid a lick of attention toin a while, or he can’t see Caeriel. I'm not sure which option is

better.

Wait.

Where's Sadie?

And the cat?

My head whips around, but neither animal is anywhere to be found. A faint, foreboding feeling snakes down my

back as Caeriel pushes off the wall to step too close to me, asking what I'm looking for.

He smells like lemon furniture polish with the faintest whiff of stale cigarette smoke, and my eyes fall

automatically to his fingers. His left index and middle finger have yellowed calluses near the first knuckles.

Huh. He's a smoker.

Too bad the possibility of lung cancer in his future doesn’t helpin this moment as | ask faintly, "Did you do

something to my dog and cat?"