Free Jillian Cade by Jen Klein Page B

off the list of potential succubi.” I tried to sound like I meant it.
    Sky squinted at me. “You don’t mean it.”
    I couldn’t win with this guy.
    â€œYou’re right,” I said. “I don’t. But since I am temporarily allowing you to assist me on the case, I’m going to play nicely. At least, I’ll try.”
    â€œThere is a succubus loose in Los Angeles. That I know for sure.”
    â€œAnd if you’re wrong?” I asked him.
    He considered. “If I’m wrong, I’ll leave you alone. Norbert too. Even when your dad comes back. Your whole family. Completely, utterly, totally. Happy?”
    Oddly enough, I wasn’t, but I nodded anyway. “Beyond happy.”
    Sky leaned closer, lowering his voice. “However, if I’m right . . . ”
    I gazed back at him, once again too close to those green eyes. The seconds ticked past. Not attractive, not attractive, not attractive.
    â€œWhat? What if you’re right?” I demanded.
    Sky grinned and tilted away from me. “I’ll let you know.”
    I stood up, relieved. “Then I’ll get busy holding my breath. See you tomorrow.”
    He didn’t follow me. Instead he called to me from the bench as I walked away. “Bye, partner.”
    I knew he was still smiling.

Nine
    By the time I pulled into my driveway, the sun had almost disappeared. The sky was darkening, along with my mood. I was more tired, hungry, and confused than I’d been in a while—a considerable feat, considering I’d been fending for myself the past year. I was holding way too many questions in my brain and way too many emotions in my . . . wherever emotions live: anger at my father, fear about the obituary and what it meant, confusion about Sky, frustration with Corabelle’s case. Not to mention curiosity about who this “Rose” person could be.
    Funny: as usual, an Umbra case was the only thing in my life over which I had some small measure of control.
    I decided to focus on it.
    Todd seemed like a reasonably together guy—job, school, apartment, eyes on the future. So if he lied about going camping to his friends and ditched work, something really might be off with him. Something more than just a girl. I made an internal note to ask Corabelle if she knew about any history of mental illness in his family. Tomorrow, of course. Right now I needed a granola bar. Or a half bag of stale chips, or an apple, or a bowl of cereal without milk. Those were the options awaiting me . . .
    Shit. I was almost to my garage stairs when I remembered what I’d promised Norbert: Dad’s stupid red box.
    I let myself into the back door of my father’s house. It was really dark, so I slid my hand up the interior wall to the light switch. I flipped it up . . . and nothing happened. Oh yeah, the electricity. The other thing I’d forgotten: pay the final past-due notice. One of the big reasons I needed Corabelle’s case in the first place.
    With both arms blindly stretched out before me, I shuffled ahead until the floor under my high heels changed from wood to linoleum: the kitchen. Reaching out to the left, my fingers closed on the handle of a drawer and pulled it open. After a second of groping around the cluttered interior, I found what I was looking for—a box of emergency candles and a book of matches.
    After all, we did live in earthquake country.
    I lit a candle and used its flickering light to find one of my mother’s delicate china saucers. Drops of wax fell on the porcelain until there was enough to secure the candle in place. Holding my makeshift torch, I pushed open the slatted saloon doors separating the kitchen from the living room. They creaked when they swung shut behind me. A cobweb drifted over my face. Yet more reminders that everyone who used to live here was now somewhere else.
    I made my way to the couch and placed the saucer on the side table. The trunk doubled as