In the Demon's Company (Demon's Assistant Book 2) Read Online Free Page B

she’s said too much, and with a shock, I realize she means me. “Especially something that big,” Melissa adds quickly. “I mean, the entire Ferris wheel fell over.”
    Melissa clearly doesn’t understand my concern but she was willing to come for the sake of cupcakes, which is as much as I could hope for. I can’t exactly explain that I think Mrs. Crane made a deal with my demon boss. I wish Cam didn’t have after school obligations and could have driven me instead.
    “Maybe, but it’ll bother me if I don’t at least check. You can wait in the car if you want.”
    I walk up onto the narrow porch and knock. After months of delivering letters for Azmos, I’ve lost all compunction about marching up and banging on people’s doors. When there’s no answer, I look for a doorbell and when I don’t find one, I knock again. Mel appears beside me and lifts a gloved hand to shield her view from the glare as she peers in the window.
    “Wow, it’s a disaster area in there.” She smooths her pink-cherry-dotted skirt. “When I have a house, I’ll never let it get so gross.”
    I lean over and look through the dirty glass. Inside, the living room is littered with take-out containers, pizza boxes, and empty wine bottles. There are blankets tossed on the sofa, like someone’s been sleeping there, and there are crumpled tissues all over the place.
    I knock a third time. Nothing. I try the door handle but it’s locked.
    “What are you doing?” Melissa asks, eyeing me strangely.
    “What if she’s hurt?”
    “She’s probably upstairs. Maybe she’s in the shower and can’t hear you. We should go.” She shoots another disgusted look toward the window and heads back to her car.
    Except I can’t let it go, especially now that I’m here and something feels off. I can understand her place being messy if she’s been too hurt or drugged out on painkillers to clean but I have a bad feeling that something’s wrong.
    “Let me try the back real quick,” I call. I catch Melissa rolling her eyes in my periphery but she doesn’t protest.
    The yard around the house is a patch of grass surrounded by a knee-high wire fence that’s decorative rather than intended to keep people out. It’s easy enough to step over. The back porch is bigger, with a barbecue and outdoor dining set, both in pristine condition and possibly unused. The back windows reveal a kitchen that’s as messy as the living room: the sink is piled high with dishes, take-out containers cover the counter, and wine and vodka bottles spill out of the recycle bin.
    I see a shadow behind the dining table, looming in the hall, and swallow. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. A cat? A dog? Mrs. Crane? I knock again. I don’t hear any sounds like water running through pipes that might indicate she’s in the shower, like Melissa theorized. I twist the knob on the back door. It’s locked, but the way the door moves inside the frame, I can tell the dead bolt isn’t set. I’m seriously considering attempting to pick the lock—not that I know how—when a face appears in the window.
    I jump back, heart hammering.
    It’s the pale face of death. I gasp, swallowing a scream as my brain recognizes Xanan. The glass fogs up around his face. He glares at me and then opens the door.
    “What are you doing here?” he asks, in his familiar monotone, like he doesn’t really care but figures he might as well find out.
    “This is my teacher’s house. What are you doing here?”
    “She’s dead.” He says it like one might say “it’s sunny,” or “grass is green.” Like it’s merely a fact of no consequence. I remember why I’m not overly fond of him.
    “How?” I ask, my voice pitching up an octave. “She was just at school this morning.”
    “You want details?” His lips curve into a small, crooked smile, the tiny silver lip ring on the left side of his mouth jutting up. “That’s a little morbid, isn’t it?”
    “She’s my teacher,