He’s got me there. “Why, yes it is.” I purse my lips. My encyclopedic knowledge of demons and the Arena comes in super-handy during conversations like this one. “Some Cellula demons are being brought to the Arena next week. Suuuuuper-rare. They’re supposed to be semi-transparent and lit from within.” I twiddle my fingers on my belly as a visual aid. Walker’s a really good artist. Sometimes, he lets me keep his demon sketches too.

“Cellula, you say?”

Pay dirt. He must never have drawn these before. “Yup.”

“Deal.” He offers me his hand. “Now, I should get you to school.”

“I need to go home, actually. I still have to change and grab my stuff.” Which means I have more time-suck to enjoy before I actually have to get to class. Nice.

Walker lets out a dramatic sigh. “I’ll get an earful about you and the Tardy List.”

“You and me both.” I take his hand. “Let’s hit it.”

Walker bows his head, creating a portal nearby. My stomach turns queasy just looking at it. Together, we leave the Arena’s dirt floor, tumble through the portal’s darkness and then land on the ratty carpet in my living room. I stifle my puke reflex. Stupid portals.

Walker leans over, examining my face. “Are you alright, Myla?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I take a few deep breaths and clear my head. “Thanks.”

“Until next time.” He turns toward the open portal; I grab his sleeve.

“What?” My mouth winds with a crafty smile. “You won’t hang out with me and Mom while we discuss my awesome morning in the Arena?”

He shoots me a level stare. “Ah, no.”

“Chicken.”

“And proud.” He steps back through the opened portal and disappears.

I wish I could escape so easily. Straightening my shoulders, I prepare myself for the maternal inquisition, part deux. Usually, this flavor of interrogation starts with rapid-fire questions followed by slow hugs, sloppy tears, and loud exclamations of ‘I almost lost you, baby.’ If I’m lucky, I get homemade brownies out of it, too.

I grin. I’m feeling lucky.

2

Rocking on my heels, I scan the empty living room. “Mom?” No reply.

That’s weird. Mom rarely leaves the house. Especially rare if she knows I’m going to an Arena match. Those days she stays glued by the front door.

I look around. Our one-story ranch is a long rectangle with a kitchen on the far left and a living room in the center. Two bedrooms and one bathroom make up the far right. There’s a creepy basement too, but I only go there to shove clothes into the washer and run like Hell. Everything’s empty and open, except for Mom’s bedroom.

I knock on her closed door. “Hello?”

Still no reply.