Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

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.

though I’m pretty sure he was, considering

"Mhm."

"So you were here?"

course. It’s my

is this even a mission? You probably could have sniffed it out in half a second, and it took me..." I’m

my washer is still

arched eyebrow rising with them. His expression radiates condescension the way normal people radiate body heat. Seriously, I can practically

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

know I’m weak, no need to bathe my ears in

involves heroics, Miss Harper. We try

how inefficient and stupid the mission

But...

my

is logical, even if it only increases my

on a spin cycle,

a bit anticlimactic to find essentially nothing. A piece of old

paper disappears somewhere into the folds of his ridiculously dramatic trenchcoat, and

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 hidden away in an

rather Socratic. Apparently Wash-N-Were was only fronting as a laundromat

is a good one, and while I might not be thrilled over my assigned professor, I still have a mission to complete and I

All the help.

So. Much. Help.

does seem... odd. My mind races through possibilities, none of them comforting, and most of them pulled out of fantasy books and battle-hungry animated shows, which means they all basically end