Dark Star Read Online Free PDF Page B

wrong thing to say. Mom had gone quiet and had never finished the story.
    But that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy playing with fire. I’d seen her snickering over newspaper articles that mentioned her alter ego a few too many times to think otherwise. I just hoped she was right and she could handle Detective Wyle. I felt a touch of apprehension. There had been no malice in him, but that didn’t make him harmless.
    An hour passed before he left. I slogged halfheartedly through my homework and watched the green numbers of my clock blink upward. Tink called to inform me that Greg, although not undead, was a terrible kisser, and she was gravely disappointed my reading had failed to reveal that.
    I laughed, momentarily distracted. “Rejected him already? You work fast.”
    “What can I say? I know what I want.”
    “Too bad what you want changes by the hour.”
    “We can’t all be Gideon, pining stupidly for the same girl for three years. That boy needs a good kick—”
    I shushed her, listening to the movement below me. Downstairs, the hall door opened. Footsteps sounded in the entrance. I crossed to my window and shifted the blinds with my fingers. Outside, on the walkway, Detective Wyle shuffled toward the street. He turned, once, looking back at the house. Then he was gone.
    Which meant—
    “Audrey!” When my mother wanted to, she could really bellow. I supposed the superstrength extended to her lungs. “Down here, now!”
    “Uh, I’ll call you back. I have to go get yelled at,” I told Tink, then hurried downstairs. Mom was in the sitting room, curled up on the sofa, drinking cocoa and appearing for all the world as though she couldn’t actually rip both my arms off or dangle me upside down.
    “You forgot a coaster,” I said, pointing at her mug.
    She rolled her eyes at me but dutifully slid one of the ceramic coasters beneath her cup. “We really should examine your priorities.”
    “Gram loved that table.”
    “Gram bought it at a garage sale for two dollars. Nice try distracting me, though. Since it didn’t work, why don’t you explain to me why I just spent several minutes talking to Detective Wyle about my ‘deeply intuitive’ daughter.”
    “Deeply intuitive—without an ounce of common sense.”
    That was Leon.
    I turned. I hadn’t noticed him in the room—but then, it was possible he hadn’t been there. He had this annoying habit of simply appearing, without bothering with nuisances like doors or asking permission. And though he was only three years older than me, he seemed to think being a Guardian meant he knew more about the world in general than I ever would.
    I shot him a glare. He stood near the window, arms crossed, leaning back against the wall. Like Mom, Leon gave the illusion of being totally harmless. He was tall and broad-shouldered, but he was so skinny that most of his shirts just sort of hung on him. And he was tidy, clean-cut, the kind of guy you’d expect to see at some Ivy League college, taking eight classes and sucking up to professors, not smiting evildoers. He didn’t like to go anywhere without a tie, and his white button-down shirts were always ironed. (I’d actually seen him iron them.) Sure, he looked good—I could admit that, just not to his face—but he didn’t exactly look dangerous.
    Of course, even if he’d wanted to appear moody and mysterious, the effect would’ve been ruined by the dusting of flour in his dark hair. Not to mention that he usually smelled like cake and frosting, and often appeared with cookies. You’d think that someone who had shown up in Minneapolis on a motorcycle with nothing but a backpack and half a cheese sandwich to his name might not want to criticize anyone else’s life choices—but no. Leon was convinced he knew how to fix the world, starting with me. He didn’t think I had any sense, common or otherwise. And since he appeared to be cookieless tonight, I wasn’t feeling very forgiving.
    I stepped toward him, giving