EMMA
Best friends have a way of asking you exactly the question you least want to hear. Phoebe’s eyes stay locked on mine as her words ring in my ears.
Which is great—if you can keep your feelings out of it. The question is: can you?
That’s the question of the year. Of the lifetime, maybe.
Because I’ve had these nightmares already and I know what would happen if the answer turns out to be “no.” I spend as little waking time as possible considering those outcomes.
Luckily, I’m saved from having to actually answer her question by a call vibrating my phone. I turn it over and groan the moment I see the name on my lock screen. “Satan’s Right and Left Hands.” I hold the phone up to Phoebe so she can see.
“Ugh. Just ignore them.”
Talk to the demons who spawned me or answer Phoebe’s questi
