The Demon's Half

Chapter 25

Six months left to either lose my soul or fight with teeth and nails to get it back. And Oz was gone. No entiendo pinches nada.
We agreed he'd train me and he never appeared again. His absence had me stuck in some weird emotional limbo between thank all Gods and holy shit, I'm screwed. I needed his training but the thought of actually seeing him again made my tummy feel like a dying insect. Not that I'd ever admit it to anyone, but I'd started yelling at the sky whenever I was alone. Cursing him. Demanding answers.
But the worst part was that no matter how much I hated it, I could feel him. Somewhere, somehow, he was still watching. My own guardian demon.
¿Estaba loca? Maybe.
Did I care? Less and less every day.

It was messing with my already fragile mental health. My father was still suffering, trapped in unimaginable torment, and I had done nothing to stop it. Mia needed him to rest in peace and I was failing her, again. How the hell was I supposed to save him? Even if somehow I managed to take down a single demon, I'd still have two more. And that wasn't even counting the spirits. Even with the council's help, we were outnumbered.
And now, without Oz it felt impossible.

Jade, Alilla, and Elliot (who was basically a cryptid at this point) had stayed at Elena's longer than planned—officially to train me and prepare for Oz's return. Unofficially? Their attention was locked on the new ability I apparently had. The one that hadn't shown up again. No matter how hard I tried, el pinche fuego wouldn't come back.
If Logan hadn't been there to witness it, I was positive the council would've chalked it up to me being sleep-deprived and delusional.
Flames had crawled up my skin, erupted from me. Logan had smothered it out. And the second we got back from the beach, he dragged me into an emergency council meeting.

I barely survived the interrogation.
Exhausted and regretting every life choice that led me there, I sat through hours of relentless questioning, being drilled for every last detail. Every. Little. Detail.
By the time Logan finished recounting our date—kissing, playing, talking, (also about how I basically dry-humped him in the ocean) I was actively plotting my own murder. He didn't let one single detail out. My spirit dagger, soul-bound weapon? Suddenly irrelevant. Completely overshadowed by something far more pressing.
The fire.

Elliot made us repeat the story. TRES VECES.
And each time, the council listened like it was brand-new information. Except for Alilla. She wasn't listening. She was shooting daggers at me with her eyes.
Logan, either unaware or intentionally ignoring her murderous energy, kept going, his gaze flicking briefly to his mother before settling back on Elliot.

"What happened just before she turned to flames?" Erick asked.

"We were—uhm," he rubbed the back of his neck. "Kissing."

Dan snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Her body started getting really warm. At first, I didn't think much of it, but then I noticed her skin—"

"Turning red," I cut in.

Alilla's face was pure murder mode.

Logan inhaled. "And then she burned me."

Elena stood up. "She burned you?" I shrank into myself. "Are you okay?" She asked.

"It wasn't bad," he said quickly. "But she was the fire. There were flames in her entire body. I ran for the blanket, dunked it in the ocean, and threw it over her."

I hugged my arms around myself, the scene replaying in my head. His voice. The raw panic in it. The flames had crawled over my skin, licking at my hair, my clothes. I should have been screaming. But I felt nothing.

"Did it hurt you, child?" Erick asked me.

"No."

"That's very intriguing."