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.

whole time?" I ask, even though


"Mhm."

"So you were here?"

course. It’s my

flick of my finger. "Then why is this even a mission? You probably could have sniffed it out in half a second, and it took me..." I’m not sure how

still on the ’wash’

perfectly arched eyebrow rising with them. His expression radiates condescension

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

weak, no need to bathe my ears in

heroics, Miss Harper. We try to

point out how inefficient and stupid the

But...

press my lips

logical, even if it only increases my


the washers suddenly goes manic-high on a spin cycle,

nothing. A piece of old paper isn’t exactly the stuff

ridiculously dramatic trenchcoat, and I wonder where his scythe is. Maybe it’s out auto-collecting the

my entire life, "Why would a random demi-god’s blood sample be hidden away in

Socratic. Apparently Wash-N-Were was only fronting as a laundromat to hide its real identity as Professor Creep’s

not be thrilled over my assigned professor, I still have

All the help.

So. Much. Help.

in a shifter laundromat does seem... odd. My mind races through possibilities, none of them comforting, and most of them pulled out of fantasy

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