The Lariat (Finding Justus Series) by Ashley Dotson

beautiful.”
    “Fine. Your subject is hideous. It’s not like you took that photo on purpose. You accidentally snapped it when I called your name. You passed out, for God’s sake.”
    “I’m still using it.” She grabbed the camera and walked to her room. I followed.
    It was now or never.
    “You can’t use that photo.”
    “I can.”
    “You can’t.”
    “Can.”
    “Can’t. Listen, Bennet. I’m asking you not to use it. I don’t want anyone to see me like that.” I could feel my face and hands heating. My temper was rising and I didn’t want it directed toward Ben. She was barely over Samael’s attack- she didn’t need to be victimized by another daemon.
    She turned, her eyes stared straight into mine looking for the real reason to my reluctance. She couldn’t find it. I had buried my secret so deeply, layered it in humanity and coffee grinds and alcohol. I was as far from supernatural or superhero as anyone could get. I didn’t know the girl in that picture- she was an avenging angel, and most days I felt like a bottom-feeding Vagabond.
    “Tell me why.” She crossed her arms and stood waiting for my answer.
    Cyrus words swam in my mind. I needed to tell her. I was time to tell her the truth. I was about to ensnare her in a world of darkness and shatter her notions of her boring, bookish best friend. I hope she wouldn’t hate me forever, but I was out of options.
    I thought back to how Orrin had first told me I was a daemon. Actually, that didn’t go well either. Instead of words he used actions. He showed me the power of his birthright- he jumped. He gave me what needed- proof.
    I tamped down on my ever-present anger and prepared to spill my guts, “What do you know about angels and daemons?”

 
     
     
    11
     
     
     
    I needed to let loose, I needed the fire surging beneath my skin to burn free. I had never felt such a need in my life. I knew these added pressures of Ben, Cyrus, and Samael were at the root of the problem. Running was no good, drinking just dulled the pain, and I didn’t have the patience or peace of mind for yoga. Ben plied me with question after question, I was explaining badly and her doubt was like wet cement, even after I showed her the proof of my birthright.
    She smile and clapped once, “Well that’s a very nifty trick, Layla. I’m very impressed really, I am. But that’s just a spoon and you probably learned that from watching YouTube. But really, Layla, that doesn’t make you a daemon. I know you’ve had a bit of a hard time getting over that jackass from high school, but that was a lifetime ago. I think you just need to quit drinking and deal. I know you’d be able to put yourself back together.”
    “It’s not the drinking,” I sighed.
    “I’m not stupid, Layla. It was bound to come to a head eventually. You drink like a fish. Actually, you drink like four fish, but who’s counting. I don’t see how you’re coherent most days. I figured you’d get kicked out of school or lose your job…”
    “Thanks friend…”
    “But that never happened, friend, so I figured it wasn’t actually a problem. And you never wanted to talk about it.”
    “I still don’t.”
    “The idea that you’re blaming it on some kind of daemon is just nuts. I don’t believe in daemon possession.”
    I was astounded. I wanted to laugh in her face. If she only knew that she had been a victim of daemon possession back in high school. If she knew the way her face twisted into a hideous toothy grin of a Vagabond, the way her flesh melted from her face, the helpless feeling of being trapped in her own body. She had luckily forgotten, or she might be a shell of her former self, like Daisy. But this wasn’t the moment to remind her of the experience. According to Ben, she had enough ammunition for therapy from her mother alone.
    “Okay,” I sighed and backed away from the couch. “I guess it’s time go full-monty.”
    “Layla, if you start taking off your clothes I’m moving