I roll my eyes. What an old-guy thing to say. Sure, Cissy’s a little over the top right now, but she’s been dreaming of this night since she was nine. I glance at my friend and smile. Cissy looks absolutely blissed out. Maybe a wee bit slutty as she paws Zeke’s abs during the mambo, but who cares? She’s eighteen; it’s her job to be stupid.

The boy folds his arms over his chest. “That quasi has a dog’s tail and acts like one in heat.”

My blood simmers with anger. What an ASSHOLE-GUY thing to say!

The boy grips his fist behind his back. “Besides father, you know I’m no diplomat.”

You think?!

“Where’s my best soldier?” The older man punches his son’s upper arm. “I know I can rely on you for this mission.”

The boy nods briskly. “Of course.”

“That’s my boy.” Grinning broadly, the father marches off into the crowd and starts glad-handing a pack of ghoul diplomats.

I sip the rest of my soda, glaring at the boy’s silhouette. My inner demon begins to stir. I imagine wagging my finger in his face, screaming the differences between demons and quasis. Or even better, I could leap beside him and land one good kick behind his kneecaps. I’m so distracted that instead of setting my empty soda can back on the table, I drop it to the floor with a crash.

Turning on his heel, the boy steps to my side. “Are you alright, Miss?” Up close, I can see that he’s my age with mismatched eyes, one wheat-brown and the other slate-gray. His face is square with a strong jaw and scooped-out cheeks. For some reason, I can’t stop staring at his full mouth, wondering what it would be like to brush my lips against his. He looks mighty tasty indeed.

Wait a minute. Me thinking about kissing anybody? When does that happen?

Pull yourself together, Myla. You downed too many candy bars, that’s all. Clearly, this is some kind of sugar-induced hallucination.

I take a deep breath, refocusing my sugary brain on how this dirt-bag insulted Cissy. “I’m fine.” My voice comes out low and sharp. “I dropped an empty can, that’s all.”

His mismatched eyes lock with mine. Our stare quickly turns intense, enveloping. “You look familiar.” He leans in a bit and I inhale his earthy scent, a mixture of forest pine and leather. “You don’t visit the Ryder stables, by any chance?”

Oh, you mean the Ryder stables where I break in all the freaking time to hunt demons? Little doxy monsters go there to pester the horses; I’ve appointed myself stable exterminator, on the sly, of course. But there’s no way can he know that, though. The question must be a weird coincidence.

I anxiously shift my weight from foot to foot. “Nope.”