The_Demons_Wife_ARC Read Online Free PDF Page A

She said
something Claire found impossible to hear.
    “Hey, Sal…You
hear me?”
    “Claire…?”
Sally mumbled.
    “Can you—?”
Claire started to ask, but then she said, “Never mind,” and she cut the call.
    “Screw it,”
she said as she slipped her phone back into her purse. After considering
calling for a cab, she decided to hell with that, too. Her apartment was
halfamile away. She could make it, even with her injured foot. So what if it
started to rain? She wouldn’t get all that wet before she got home. After
pulling her jacket collar tight around her neck, she stuck her hands into her
jacket pockets. 
    That’s when
she felt the crumpled-up bar napkin.
    A thrill went
through her as she withdrew her hand from her pocket, clutching the note. That
thrill, however, quickly shifted into irritation when she thought about how
Samael had dumped her.
    “Fuckin’
asshole,” she whispered. She was tempted to throw the napkin to the wet
sidewalk where it would dissolve into pulp, but then she stuffed it back into
her jacket pocket…
    Why don’t you
get rid of it, she asked herself.
    She didn’t
have a good answer, so she started walking.
    Her progress
was slow because of her limp. Every other step sent a hot, tingly jab of pain
up through her ankle to her knee. A few late-night walkers or early risers
passed by, hurrying to get wherever they were going before it started to rain,
but they ignored her.
    That’s a good
thing ,
she thought.
    She didn’t
want some street creep to see her vulnerable like this.
    Shoulders
hunched and trying her best to ignore the sharp pain, she was about a hundred
yards away from the hospital when the rain did, indeed, start falling. It was a
cold, late March rain that bordered on snow, and with the wind blowing in off
the ocean, it had—as they say—“teeth.” The pain in her foot radiated in painful
throbs up her leg. Within minutes, her hair was a tangled mess of wet curls
that clung to her face like slugs. The rain was coming down so hard it all but
obscured the streetlights around her. A few cars passed by, their tires hissing
like a nest of snakes on the wet asphalt. Their lights barely pierced the
downpour, and a dense mist began to rise as the cool rain hit the warmer
asphalt.
    “Jesus…Christ…Just…Fucking…Great,”
Claire mumbled as she walked as fast as she could.
    She walked
with her head down, heading toward Longfellow Square. The runoff from the
sudden downpour was streaming down the sidewalk in dark, shimmering sheets. She
was concerned that the bandage on her foot would get soaked through. That sure
wouldn’t help with the healing. But the doctor had given her extra pads and a
roll of medical tape, so she could replace it when she got home.
    If I ever get
home .
    She was used
to walking around Portland—even late at night…or early in the morning—but her
apartment building had never seemed so far away as it did right then. The chill
bit through her jacket and jeans, and her teeth were chattering wildly. She
didn’t notice the car that had pulled up quietly a few feet behind her. She
jumped when the horn tooted three times.
    At first, she
ignored it, thinking some yo-yo wanted to give her a hard time.
    Eyes straight
ahead, she kept walking.
    The car didn’t
speed up and pass her by. It kept pace with her, like a hungry animal stalking
wounded prey. Claire slipped her hand into her purse and gripped her cell
phone, ready to call 911 if things got bad.
    The driver
honked his horn again, so Claire—still without looking—raised her middle finger
and shouted, “Fuck off.” She wasn’t sure if the driver heard her or not. She
didn’t care. All she wanted to do was get home.
    But then, still
keeping pace with her, he hit the horn again—longer—and she was finally forced
to stop and confront this asshole before it went any further. She turned and
faced the car. In the rain, all she could tell was that it was dark and kind of
fancy. In the downpour,