Page 12 of The Devil May Care

“I’m Kay,” I say, softer now. “Just Kay. And I have a shard of volcanic glass in my pocket, so if you are real and planning to murder me, just know I’ll go down swinging. Not efficiently, but if I can handle trimming the nails of Curtis the deadly one-eyed chihuahua, I can draw some blood from you too, on my way down.”

He doesn’t react to the threat. Just glances briefly at my hand when I hold it out. No handshake. No acknowledgment. His stare is cool, unreadable.

“You should not give your name so easily,” he says.

“You asked who I was.”

“And you answered. Quickly. Carelessly.”

I narrow my eyes. “I’m pretty sure ‘Kay’ doesn’t qualify as a full incantation.”

“In this realm, names hold power.”

“Okay, Gandalf. You could’ve led with that.”

“And you should not announce that you are armed.”

“I said rock shard. I’m not exactly a war criminal.”

“Self-defense is more effective when not advertised.”

I drop my hand. “Good tip. I’ll save it for my next inter-dimensional adventure.”

We stand in silence for a beat, and for the first time, I feel myself crashing. The adrenaline is fading fast, leaving me shaky and dry-mouthed, too tired to keep talking but too wired to stop. He studies me again and I wonder if he catches the shake in my muscles or droop in my shoulders. His tone softens.

“I have been tasked with watching you.”

“Watching,” I echo. “Like a babysitter?”

“If you wish to call it that.”

“I don’t. That makes it sound like I’m going to eat glue and wander off.”

His mouth twitches—barely—but I catch it. The flicker of something like amusement. Or at least curiosity.

“Will you?”

It’s hard to grin when my lips are so chapped, but I think that I manage it in response to his question. I doubt he’d be teasing me if he was still considering running me through with some form of blade.

“I have been instructed to observe until a determination is made.”

“About what?” I ask.

He watches me again, eyes narrowed just slightly. “About whether you are a threat

I blink. “Wow. Okay. Instead of being Captain Cryptic, you could’ve opened with that and saved us both a lot of confusion. I’m not a threat to anything but cheese fries. I’m pretty sure I’m dead or you’re a figment of my traumatic brain injury.” He says nothing. Of course he doesn’t. I cross my arms, mostly so he can’t see how my fingers are trembling. “What kind of threat are we talking here? Biological? Magical? Emotional damage from unresolved childhood trauma?” Still nothing. “A threat to whom?” I push. “You? Your realm? The general atmosphere?”

His expression does not shift, but the air around him seems to tighten.

“To Crimson,” he says at last.

It’s the second time he’s mentioned the color and sure, the rocks and dirt are definitely more pinkish maroon than the beige from my memories, but I’d assumed that was the cones in my eyes were damaged in the elevator tragedy. Or, you know, because i’m dead.

“Crimson. Is that where I am?”

“You are at its edge. Behind you, is Gilded, Viridian is to your north, and Cobalt is at the other end of the realm, beyond the citadel.”

“Right,” I mutter. “So, a random, dehydrated human girl appears in your fire-and-glass rainbow wasteland and your immediate instinct is that I might destroy an entire kingdom.”