Free Truth or Demon by Kathy Love Page A

furniture and decorations. “Isn’t there somewhere else I could stay?”
    “No,” Madison said, her nose wrinkling too. She didn’t care for this place any more than he did.
    “I can’t stay here indefinitely.” He raised his hands, gesturing around him. Surely he could sway them. If he did have to stay in Boston, there had to be nicer accommodations. Hell, he could pay for a five-star hotel himself. He shot a look at the plastic-covered sofa. It would be money well spent.
    “No, you can’t stay here indefinitely,” Daisy agreed. “Only until you fulfill the wish. So I guess you’d better figure out how to do that.”
    With that, the girls trooped down the hall, leaving him in flower and doily hell. Just then the cat appeared, somehow managing to spring its amazing girth up onto the back of the chair. It hissed and swiped at him, missing.
    Killian jumped back just as it lashed out again.
    “I guess I’d be pretty pissy too, if this was my permanent residence.”
    “Oh, I’m pissy. But not for the reasons you think.”
    Killian stared at the cat, then blinked. He knew that voice.
    “Vepar?”
    The cat cocked its head. “Yes, in the fur.”
    Poppy stared at the page of dry, technical writing, red pencil in hand. But she didn’t mark any changes, nor did she really even see what she was reading.
    Finally she dropped the pencil in defeat, watching it roll across the desk. Her work was pretty tedious on the best of days, but today, it wasn’t holding her attention for even a paragraph.
    She glanced at the clock on her computer monitor. Four-thirty. Rather early to start dinner, but puttering around in the kitchen was bound to be more distracting than the edits of Milton’s Business Law, Eleventh Edition.
    She pushed away from her desk, an antique piece made from mahogany, with carvings of swirls and ivy along the bottom and down the legs. It had been her father’s, and she loved it. Even though she never really enjoyed her work, she did like sitting in the very place where her father had done his research, or corrected papers, or written his essays on great pieces of art and their artists.
    Usually that gave her a sense of peace, but not today.
    She wandered through the living room to the kitchen. The whole apartment was filled with things from her parents’ house. Pictures, dishes, pieces of furniture, even her mother’s pots and pans.
    Poppy went to the cupboard where she stored those very items and pulled out the stockpot that her mother had used for her specialties like fish chowder and chili and her amazing lentil soup.
    Lentil soup. That’s what she’d make tonight, since she was starting dinner early enough. She began gathering the ingredients she needed, placing them on the soapstone countertop. Twice, she went to the pantry, only to stand staring at the stocked shelves, trying to remember what she’d been about to get.
    It wasn’t like her to be so preoccupied. Over the last four years, she’d trained herself to be task oriented, organized, to live on a set schedule. She’d had to have routines to create a stable, healthy environment for Daisy.
    But since the girls had told her about Killian’s disastrous love affair, her mind seemed to be skittering all over the place. To her own lost love. To losing hopes and letting go of dreams. She rarely allowed herself to consider what might have been. There was no point. But Killian’s story had triggered those thoughts.
    Yet, as much as she thought about her own past, she spent even more time thinking about Killian. Had his losses changed him? Made him the kind of callous guy he seemed to be now?
    No, callous wasn’t the right word. He was more tactless than outright unfeeling. Did that sort of thoughtlessness stem from hurt? She didn’t have an answer, but that didn’t keep her from mulling the idea over and over.
    He could be quite nice, which made her think that maybe his moments of insensitivity weren’t the real him.
    And much to her