“Kim,” I said, blinking slowly.

“Looks like you need a nap,” she said.

“Nightmares.”

Kim looked to the floor, nodding. “Nigh, you don’t get to hate me. I would understand if the demonic voodoo stuff gave you the heebie-jeebies, but you’re just mad because you think I lied to you.”

The rankling produced a second wind. “You did lie to me. I don’t even know you.”

Her head popped up. “And I know you? Jared’s half-angel, and you’re not exactly your run-of-the-mill Brown co-ed yourself, Miss Merovingian. Have they told you what that means?”

“They told me,” I grumbled.

“So, I just came to tell you that we’re still friends. And you can like it, and let me piss you off like I used to without worrying if you’re really pissed. Got it?”

“Whatever, I’m pooped,” I said, pushing myself from the chair.

“Really? We’re good?” she asked.

I turned, and seeing her expectant eyes, I smiled. “Yeah, Kim. We’re good.”

Kim stood, and then held out both of her arms, jutting her lip out. “Hugs?”

“Quit it.”

She let her hands fall to her thighs with a slap. “Well, thought I’d try.”

I walked her to the door, and she leaned close to my ear. “I’m going with Jared tonight. I’ll try not to make out with him while we’re hunting down your book.”

“You’re a good friend,” I said.

“Kiss noise,” Kim said, jogging down the drive to her Sentra. How had I missed that horrid thing? I was more tired than I thought.

Jared met me at the bottom of the staircase. He held my arm for a few steps, and then gave up, lifting me in his arms, and carrying me up the stairs.

“Shower,” I said.

Jared lowered me to the overstuffed mattress in my room. “In the morning. Bex is here. Sleep.”

I'm not sure when I fell asleep, or how long Jared stayed, because I was unconscious the moment my head hit the pillow. The nightmares stayed away, even after my previous nightmare of Shax being in that very room. I was so tired, and slept so hard, that I didn’t dream at all.

I peeled my eyes open to see Bex standing at the end of the bed. “Just so you know, that’s creepy,” I said, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“Not as scary as your hair,” he frowned.

“Wow, you’re grumpy this morning.”

“Cynthia doesn’t trust me in the kitchen.”

Three knocks at the door, and Cynthia backed in to my room, a tray in her hands. “Good morning. I thought I would bring you breakfast.”

“Does Agatha have the day off?” I asked.

“No, she’s downstairs. Why?” Cynthia asked.

I watched my mother for a moment in disbelief, and then shook my head. “Nothing. Thank you.”