Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 217

Chapter 217: Grace: Where’s Sadie (and the Cat)?

The yellowed paper suddenly feels... gross.

Blood?

Demi-God or not, I highly regret not bringing gloves along on this search. Hopefully said blood doesn’t transmit strange diseases.

And where the hell am I supposed to submit this thing? Does the App have a brick and mortar location? Business hours? A lab?

For one crazed second or thirty, I hold the paper to my phone, half-expecting it to disappear into the world of internet data and update my App.

Unsurprisingly, nothing happens.

"What are you doing?"

Cold, lemony breath blasts my ear and I jerk to the side in justifiably dramatic fashion, cringing my shoulder up to the side of my face to protect myself from Caeriel’s breathing.

My spine does its best to shrink back against my skin, equally revulsed by how close he is. "What are you doing?"

"Observing." Pale fingers pluck the paper from my hand, and he sniffs at it, his face too handsome for his creepy behavior. "How interesting. Good job."

How did he get in? I’m pretty sure Andrew would have followed him if it was through the front door. And when, precisely, did he arrive? I didn’t hear the telltale jingle.

Caeriel examines the small bit of blood-streaked paper like it’s truly some ancient artifact and not a possibly hazardous biosample, and I wonder if he can get any information just from sniffing at it... or if he’s just weird.

Honestly, I’m betting on weird.

the whole time?" I ask, even though


"Mhm."

"So you were here?"

It’s my

why is this even a mission? You probably could have sniffed it out in half a second, and

is still on the

with them. His expression radiates condescension the way

foray as a Guardian, Miss Grace Harper?" His voice has an annoying lilt, the kind where even a patient old grandma would want to smack him for his sass. "Perhaps battling a demon horde single-handedly? Stopping a dimensional rift

need to bathe my ears in your sarcasm. "No,

involves heroics, Miss Harper. We try

trying to point out how

But...

press my lips

logical, even if


of the washers suddenly goes manic-high on a

but you have to admit it’s a bit anticlimactic to find essentially nothing. A piece of old paper isn’t exactly the

hums thoughtfully. The paper disappears somewhere into the folds of his ridiculously dramatic trenchcoat, and I wonder where his scythe is. Maybe

Harper," he says, and my name has never sounded so damn annoying in my entire life, "Why would a random demi-god’s blood sample be

me, sounding rather Socratic. Apparently Wash-N-Were was only fronting as

I might not be thrilled over my assigned professor,

All the help.

So. Much. Help.

it over. Demi-god blood in a shifter laundromat does seem... odd. My mind races through possibilities, none of them comforting, and most of them pulled out of fantasy books and battle-hungry

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