 
Hunt for the Fallen

by

Christina Byus

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Christina Byus

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter One

I think I may have died. This feels all too real to be a dream.

If I believed in the possibilities of an afterlife before, this is not as I imagined. When I first gain consciousness it is abysmally dark, cold, and malificently silent. Much like waking from a heavy sleep, drowsily I forced my eyelids apart to expose a vast emptiness in front of me. I'm floating, no, standing, being pulled by an invisible force toward the unforeseen destination that is my afterlife. From what I recall, according to tales we learn growing up, everyone comes to a different revelation, many a nightmare or fantasy. What could possibly be my destiny?

I continue through a heavy, black fog to my final stop. Countless emotions flow through me, even though I know the worst has been done. I have died, murdered in my sleep. Well, I assume that was the cause of my demise. The last thing I remember is being at home, in my bed, falling asleep under the light of the crescent moon shining through my bedroom window. Considering the fact that I was a perfectly healthy eighteen year old in life, aside from maybe a mystery health issue, murder is the only logical answer. Maybe I'm being a bit dramatic; after all, anything could have happened.

Three days ago I graduated from high school. I was hoping to start college in the fall. All my friends and I threw the biggest party of the year to celebrate, our lives were just beginning. Their happy faces begin to flip through my head like a fast moving picture book.

I'm too young to die. It's not fair.

I'm not sure what to expect. I have always been very open to religion and spirituality. I understand the concept of Heaven and Hell, the damned and the saved.

I'm just hoping I'm one of the saved.

Her face appears in my mind, not from my own memories of her but photos of her, my beautiful mom. I wonder if she's here somewhere, waiting for me.

My mother died in a hit and run when I was just two years old. I was told it was a sunny spring afternoon. She was pushing me in a stroller, crossing the street on our routine walk home from the park, when a speeding driver barreled into her. The car nicked my stroller. It flipped a few feet away into the grass with me still buckled in. I suffered minor injuries, but my mom wasn't so lucky. The driver was never caught. Apparently no one witnessed the accident. We were found roughly twenty minutes after the accident, far too late to save her.

I inhale and exhale in short rapid breaths as I near what can only be the end, thick fog clogs my lungs. I stifle a cough. It comes out a choking garble.

A tranquil voice sings out in the distance ahead of me, a woman's voice. A part of me is relieved. For some odd reason I had been expecting a man. The motherly sound is calming, a haunting lullaby. The song isn't clear but it it's sovereign, the sweet sound reverberates around me on my path.

"Hello, Clara," she sings to me. Hearing her voice traveling along my skin forces me to tremble uncontrollably in anticipation, I'm anxious to see what lie ahead of me. Merely saying my name convinces me everything will be alright, I will be safe with her.

She continues to sing, sweeter, more angelic. Her voice leads me blindly through the impossibly aphotic, directly to her. The fog slowly dissipates, opening up to a startling brightness. I'm "going into the light" as they say.

After my eyes adjust I'm able to see her, pale and bathed in a ghostly glow. Slightly a blur from the distance, her dark hair flows past her waist, floating around her as though she's standing under water. Long porcelain arms conclude in delicate outstretched hands, reaching for me. I have never seen her before, I swear it. But the urge to run into those arms is all but overpowering, just to feel the safety they contain.

A few short steps closer, the pull is so strong. I wouldn't stop even if I wanted to. Of course I don't want to, this feels right.

Closing the space between us, it's less like walking, I'm gliding to her. In fact I don't feel anything at all but my need to move forward. The only thing that matters is making it to her. These last inches seem like miles. My stupid feet must be able to move faster than this.

I've made it here, no more than a foot in front of her. But I don't stop, I can't. My legs halt their unnatural movement when my face is buried against the silky fabric of this stranger's gown. In her arms I feel alive and warm, her serene calm engulfs me. I've never experienced such joy. One soft hand cradles my head against her chest, where her heart beat sounds like what I think butterfly wings fluttering would sound like, could I hear them. The other hand rubs my back in small circles, still while her arms press me to her. I imagine this was what a mother's embrace does to a child. What was I so worried about before?

I pull away from her only enough to see her face. She's resistant at first but allows it. Staring straight up at her I realize her height. She has to be over six feet tall. I stand at five foot seven and I have to lean my head back to see her face. Focusing past her height I see her for the first time, truly exquisite. She can't be much older than I am, maybe a few years. Her left eye sparkles, a beautiful cocoa color, outlined in thin long lashes. Her right eye is completely closed. It appears to have been sewn shut at one point, the jagged thin lashes lining the top lid point down upon her cheek. Still, it takes nothing away from her beauty. Her smile reflects brightly in her left eye, causing my heart to swell.

She smooths my hair down on either side of my face, lovingly running her fingers through, eliminating any knots. All I can do was watch her movements, entranced by this woman before me. Why is it I'm unable to think of anything else? I only want to be near her comfort as long as she'll allow.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," she says solemnly, breaking the silence."It wasn't supposed to happen like this, you would have lived so long."

Her lone eye darkens, brow wrinkling, and finally I comprehend her, shocked back into the reality of the situation.

Instinctively my body tenses, she drops her hands to her sides in response. The second her skin loses contact with mine I'm alone and want her to hold me again. She steps away from me, fully breaking the bond, forcing me to clear my mind.

"What do you mean? Who are you? Where am I? What was that?" My voice is constrained, and though my words come out fast, they're clear.

"Is that all?" she asks, genuinely puzzled by my questions. Her brows rise before pinching together, the one lonely eye staring at me, into me. She tilts her head slightly, appraising me.

"How can you ask that? I think those are important questions," I respond, feeling suddenly exposed and concerned by how she examines me, as though I'm an insect under a magnifying glass. She's so big and I'm so small. My fate is in her pale hands.

Immediately her face softens, she laughs, lighting up her single eye once more.

"People usually have an endless stream of questions when they make it to me. I often have to stop them and make them slow down to one question at a time so that I might follow. You only asked four, I wanted to be sure that was all for now, before I begin to answer them." Her voice is as silky as her gown, running through my veins to caress my heart. I love her, I know it. Like a child loving its mother, I love her and this thought makes me want to run into her arms again.

Shaking my head to regain my senses, I look her in the eye. "I will probably have a million more questions later. Those just seem the most important at the moment."

"I understand." She speaks softly, probably trying not to overwhelm me.

Taking my hand in hers, she closes her open eye. About to open my mouth to say something stupid, I pause, mouth agape. The scene around us begins to shift. The gray behind me is eaten away by the gleaming light surrounding her. The light then changes, around us pictures of what appears to be people cascading down like an old movie reel but too rapid to make out details. Everything moves but us, the only still beings caught in a spectacle of vivid colors and shapes.

Tightening her grip on my hand, she glances at me, her right lid staring into me. It's odd, even though her lid is almost sealed shut, it's like she still has the ability to see through it. I wonder silently if the eye remains behind.

"The eye is gone."

As though she's been reading my thoughts she looks to me."I lost it in battle during The Wars." Her smile wavers a bit before returning to its normal brilliance. When she doesn't continue I don't pursue the subject. Later, there are more pressing matters at hand.

"What's your name?" I can't help but think it has to be something extravagant. Turning away from the kaleidoscope around us, I'm beginning to think it will never stop.

"I am Gabriela. It is my responsibility to assist you in finding your way. But you are special, Clara, so special. You don't have the same fate as all the other souls who pass through here."

What does that mean? Special? I hope she gets to down to business soon. I desperately want to hear what's in store for me here.

Her name is not as extravagant as I expected. She pulls me closer just before the lights abruptly come to a halt, revealing my bedroom, back home, on earth. Reality?

"This is my room!" I shout.

Completely taken aback, I yank free of her grip. The sudden loss of contact from her sends my emotions running wild. What the hell is going on?

Standing in the middle of my bedroom, staring at my bed which happens to be covered in mass amounts of blood, my blood, it hits me. I was right. Yup, someone murdered me. Great. Taking a deep breath to concentrate on the facts, bile gets caught in my throat, the scent of death clings heavily to the air. Morosely metallic, mixed with what smells like sewage. Swallowing back the lump, I nearly pass out, fighting back the urge to throw up all over the place.

Gabriela places one hand on my lower back, scooping under my arm with the other, as she leads me to my bed.

"There, there. We cleaned up all your physical remains, the scent and your, um... gore are a different matter. I suggest you throw all this out and purchase a new bed and linens. That is, if you want to come back. It shall continue to be your room. If you agree to our conditions, this life of yours will continue on," she announces rather cryptically.

She said 'conditions' like it's a special engagement, invitation only. I don't like the sound of that.

Why would I want to stay here? How can I forget that I was killed in my own home and I don't even know by whom? Everything she has said causes a burning frustration to build up inside me. Barely receiving the answers I seek, I want to scream.

"You still haven't answered any of my other questions, you're being incredibly vague, and I just want to know what the hell is going on!" I come off whinier and bitchier than I intended, not that I don't have a reason.

"Shh, have a seat and I will explain what I can," she urges, gesturing toward my blood-stained bed.

Flinching at the sight of all my blood, I reluctantly sit on the very edge of my mattress. So many scenarios pass through my head of how it happened, who would have done it. Who could I have wronged or offended so badly? Was this a planned execution?

Tears well in my eyes, threatening to spill over. I fight them. No crying. My cheeks are already stained with the tears I'd unwittingly shed when I was trying not to vomit.

Hovering above me, Gabriela shakes her head. Have I somehow displeased her? She had to have seen scenarios like this countless times, I can't possibly be the worst reaction. In this moment, displeasing Gabriela seems like the most appalling thing I could do. The threatening tears finally break free, swelling my eyes. Why are my emotions such a roller-coaster around this woman?

Tears begin to roll down my face. The warm drops hit the bare skin of my chest. I catch sight of the dried visceral juice on my chest and bra, still wearing the pj's I went to bed in. I must have been too caught up before to notice my appearance. They were my favorite pj's, given to me by my boyfriend, Michelangelo. Once bright blue plush bottoms covered with stars, now brownish and crusted with my own blood and who knows what else. The matching white tee shirt, now brown, had been torn open, revealing my sanguine fluid stained bra and torso. My bra was cut down the middle, only clinging to my chest because of the still sticky, drying blood and pieces of what I can only describe as clumps of possible organs. In strips dangling at my sides, I stand to I rip the rest of my tee shirt off. No sense in modesty when you're dead. Furious that this situation has befallen me, my hands ball into fists, my nails biting into my palms. Now angry tears burn down my face.

"Finished yet?" Gabriela seems intrigued by my mood shift. Motioning for me to sit back down, she slides past me to open the window next to my bed. I inhale deeply, welcoming the crisp, fresh pre-dawn air.

Nodding in return, I release the breath I'd held a few seconds longer.

"Yes, I'm finished," I reply calmly, my nerves just bouncing below the surface.

Smiling in appreciation, Gabriela draws in her own deep breath before she begins. "We need your help."

We, who? I almost interrupt, but she raises her hand to silence me. I press my hands together in my lap, awaiting her explanation.

"Please allow me to finish, Clara. You see, a year ago, an angel fell. She wanted what she could not have. The angel envied the mortal life, while not uncommon among the angels, she acted upon it. Fighting for what she called freedom, she eventually succeeded in breaking free to walk among your kind. This is considered an atrocity against angels. Since time began it has been a written rule, not to have contact with the mortals. A separation was created with purpose: To protect us all from one another. You have no idea the abominations we shield you from. Her decision weakened our guard against these creatures. She fell, expanding the hole in our defenses, leaving room for little bits of evil to seep through." She pauses to gauge my reaction.

Knowing my jaw is most likely hanging wide open, I close my mouth, gulping hard. I don't know how much of her story I believe, but it sure is interesting. I nod my head forward, eyebrows raised. I usher her to continue.

"Well, the last fallen angel occurred several years past, he sought a different path, tearing the hole in our defenses more than the last. The power that separates us cracks each time a being passes through unwarranted. From what I know, our army was only a bit stronger then, not much got past us. There was a time when nothing penetrated our forces. Then The Wars began thousands of years ago, weakening our boundaries. It's so different now." Her glow fades, sorrow creeps into her one eye. "So many lost." She looks down shaking her head. Her long locks fall over her face, concealing any human emotion that may show.

"What does this have to do with me? I died, so obviously I'm mortal. What do you expect me to do?" I ask defiantly. It's true, this has nothing to do with me and the angels are perfectly capable of fighting their own battles. I'm beginning to think I'm going bat shit crazy.

Gabriela raises her eye to meet mine, instantly I know I am going to help. There is such a sad pleading in her one eye, which in two would have shattered my heart into a million pieces. How can I not help someone so gentle and loving? Besides, whatever she wants of me can't be too difficult.

"What can I do?"

Relief washes over her face, she wraps her arms around me once again, placing motherly kisses atop my head. Pushing away almost as fast, she becomes serious, much more so than I had ever seen her in the minuscule time we've been acquainted. Crossing her arms over her chest she says, "You may not like what I am about to tell you. Please allow me to finish and keep an open mind."

"Go on," I reply, hesitantly.

"Demons have escaped the hole," she pauses once more to allow this information to sink in. "Not that of exceptional power, but the smaller ones. Keep in mind when I say 'smaller', I don't mean in size, I mean less powerful. Still dangerous as you've experienced yourself." She eyes my bed.

I gasp, inhaling another breath of death. "You're telling me a demon came into my room and killed me."

Impossible.

"Possible," she responds, again as if reading my mind once again. "Though how the demon killed you...you will probably find less believable."

"How?" A tinge of fear slithers up my spine. I don't really want to know, do I? This is the truth I wondered, anyone would wonder: How did I die?

"These smaller demons are unable to manifest in their true form once they pass through the hole. To better accommodate and achieve their goals they possess hosts." She allows me to feed this information to my brain.

It's all sinking in, possession and demons. I'm going to be sick for sure. Running to the open window, I get another whiff of the bodily fluids on my bed. Of course, this results in me dry heaving out my open window into the dark, which isn't right since I spent most of the night pigging out on pizza with my best friend, Talyn. That hadn't even been but a few hours ago.

"So, I was possessed by a demon and the demon killed me?" I speculate aloud, hanging half way out the window. No one's up this early around my neighborhood. I'm so thankful for that.

"No."

Hunched over, clutching my stomach, I turn around to face her. "What? You did say possession. What else could it be?" When I straighten my back to see her face, her expression has me immediately regret asking.

"Your brother, Robert."

Collapsing to my knees, the room starts to spin. I'm unable to hear anything over the ringing in my ears. My brother. How the hell is he involved in this? My mind has stopped working, if it is it's hiding the connection from me. Two creamy arms embrace me. I lay my head onto Gabriela's shoulder sagging into her, allowing her to fully support me.

"It will be alright," she whispers comfortingly in my ear. She continues to pat my back and stroke my hair until I'm able to calm down.

"Robbie killed me?" My voice is soft and raspy.

"It wasn't him. His body was simply the host. He's the reason we chose you to assist us," Gabriela explains, calmly rocking me in her arms.

"What do you mean? You want me to kill my brother?" I panic, pushing out of her arms. "I won't kill him!"

"Clara, please calm down."

"Where is he? Where is Robbie?" I cry out.

Grabbing me roughly by the shoulders, she shouts in my face, "Clara!"

Hindered in my attempts to run away, I freeze in place. I had no idea a woman so serene and kindhearted could sound so authoritative.

Gabriela's head is down, she refuses look at me. Tightening her grip, she speaks with harsh intensity. "Clara, I need you to relax and listen." I stare into her eyelids quietly. "This is a very serious situation. We need to prevent you from getting yourself killed, again. You need to know what happened, you need to know the signs. It is imperative I give you all the information now, you have a brother to save and I need to return home. We're running out of time."

She releases her hold on me, taking a step away, looking ashamed. Assuming what she wanted of me was stupid. Of course she wants to help. I'm a mess, a jumble of emotions unable to hone in on one.

"I'm so sorry, Gabriela. Please finish."

"No more interruptions?"

"I promise." Using my index finger I cross an x over my heart.

Finally, she sighs. "Robert should be in the surrounding vicinity, he's strong, and he'll fight to keep the demon from taking him too far. Thanks to the love of your brother we were able to choose you to help us. His will is strong, he fought the demon inside him for almost an hour before it over powered him, causing your death. Robert prevented the demon from eating your heart, thus we were able to find it and completely reassemble your body."

"He what? How exactly did I die?" I ask, still startled by the revelation.

"The possessed cut open the torso of their victims, exposing their organs. Demons feed off the hearts of angels, disturbingly enough, it makes them stronger. The stronger the demon, the bigger they can make the tear in our defenses. When the demon controlling your brother attempted to eat yours, Robert successfully fought it, using his remaining strength to hide your heart inside a drawer in his room. In our written history this is unheard of. No mere mortal has been so strong when possessed." She smiles radiantly, clasping her hands together in front of her chest.

Oh, my Robbie. I'm so proud of him, and utterly disgusted at the same time.

"I don't understand. I'm not an angel." I scrunch my face at such an absurd idea.

"No, they're searching for the fallen angel. You happen look like her, and like the four other girls who have become casualties in a war they never knew existed. The lesser demons can't sense the angel. They must track her by appearance and information they find on their own. Going by the last known area in which she resided, they will kill every young woman who looks like her until she's found. You're the fourth victim of the possessed. The fifth was killed shortly after you. I don't know how many are here. Soon mortals will begin to catch on to the exactness of the crimes. Potentially the possessed may be picked up and charged for these murders. Your brother included," Gabriela adds.

"Oh, hell," I whisper under my breath.

"My sentiments exactly," she sighs, obviously hearing me.

"What can I do?" I have to ask again, a pit is forming in my stomach because I know the answer isn't going to be an easy one.

"We cannot intervene, unless the demons attack us or something much more powerful escapes, we are but bystanders in your plight. Considering your brother's strength, I have been given permission to offer you the opportunity to have your life back, under the condition that you will assist in every way possible to eliminate the demons and seal the hole between worlds. I'm running out of time here, Clara. We need your answer now." She waves me closer to her.

"How-I-I don't know what I'm supposed to do. This is too much, you can't help at all? You're just going to leave me alone with this immense weight on my shoulders? Will I see you again?" The sobbing is unwelcome, I'm terrified. "I want to help, but what the hell am I supposed to do against demons?" I gaze up at her for the answers I so desperately require.

"Contact Father Joshua Brownstone in Maine, he specializes in exorcisms. First thing when you wake up, it is imperative. Do you understand me, Clara? Father Joshua Brownstone." She backs away slowly, step by step. "Good luck, sweet Clara, I will be watching."

Waving her goodbye, she fades until she has disappeared from sight.

I'm suddenly left feeling a world of exhaustion, fighting to keep my eyes open. There is something I'm supposed to remember. What is it? A name. Oh, the name.

Collapsing onto the carpeted floor of my once lovely bedroom, I give in to sleep.
Chapter Two

Waking, my head full of drummers from the Congo, I find myself balled up on the carpet of my bedroom. In an attempt to stretch out the kinks and cramps from a night on the floor, I turn over to lie flat on my back.

What a nightmare.

Left feeling revolting, I want a hot shower to boil off the disgust. As I push myself off the ground, the smell hits me like a kick to the throat, my stomach curls. I remember that scent. It was all a dream, right? Facing the open window, I slowly turn my head. The blood, my blood, has desiccated my teal and pink bed spread, turning it a filthy brown with hints of red.

Oh no.

I stagger painfully to the bathroom adjacent to my room, hands trembling over my mouth. This can't possibly be happening. Jumping into the tub, I shove the handle all the way to the left, cold water pours at my feet. At the same time I pull the shower tab and I shove my head under the cascading sprinkle of icy cold water, shocking myself into clear thought. Arms stretched out in front of me, I place my hands flat on the tile beneath the running shower. Breathing deeply I shake my head in an attempt to find reality. Neck bent sorely, I allow the water to pound the back of my head causing my long hair to plaster itself to my face. I wipe it away hastily. With my chin on my chest I can see the dried blood rinsing down my stomach. Still in what remains of my pj's and a ruined bra, I begin to peel them off while in the shower, remembering them during the events I was sure had been a dream. I'm able remember just bits and pieces, like a dream, but the plethora of evidence all round me leads me to believe that I'm wrong.

As I bend over to remove my bottoms I feel it—the slash that ended my life. Like a phantom limb, where an open wound should be, a sensation of non-existent scar tissue runs from four inches below my belly button to the hollow of my throat. My body is different, not visibly, but I feel stronger than before. Inside, my organs have shifted slightly to accommodate the invisible lesion. What exactly this means, I can't be sure. I'm sure I'll ever know.

Why am I still alive? I know if I alert the police they'll just test the blood on my bed and find it to be mine. What then? Will they lock me up in a loony bin? My throat tightens at the thought. No, I can't call the police.

In my bedroom, my phone rings, a generic tone I've been too lazy to change since texting is all I do these days. I grudgingly shut off the faucet, warily stepping out of the shower. My legs are strong but unsure. It could be a momentary bout of strength from leftover shock. I might drop to the floor at any moment.

Trying to get the towel adjusted tighter, I peer down at my cell phone on the nightstand beside my bed where I always keep it when I sleep. My best friend Talyn's number flashes on the touch-screen along with a goofy pic of her beautiful face. I need her to be here with me right now. I hope she'll come over.

She's calling, not texting, so I know something is seriously wrong. Worse than dying last night? Probably not. Snatching up my phone with purpose, I swipe the talk button on the touch screen.

"Hey Tal, what's wrong?" I answer.

"Look out your front window!" she screeches frantically.

Sucking in a deep breath, I tiptoe over to my still open bedroom window. Do I really want to see what lies outside? No, not a chance. Could it be related to my incident? Not likely. But unfortunately impossible isn't a word in my vocabulary anymore. After what I'm now sure happened last night I have to at least take a peek.

Glancing out, I hold myself a foot away from the window. I see nothing out of the ordinary. Closer, I can see the block is more crowded than usual. A bustle of hushed voices is gathered behind what appears to be yellow police tape. Leaning out just enough to see and not immediately be seen, I peer east down the street. Three houses down, a small army of marked and unmarked police cars are parked outside of Candice Mitchell's home. My heart sinks into my stomach, my breath quickens. All my problems seem to momentarily push themselves to the side of my mind. I would have dropped my phone if Talyn's panicked breathing through the receiver didn't remind me of her presence on the line.

"She's dead." Talyn's voice cracks, causing the little composure I have left to break.

"Who's dead, Tal? Who?" I suddenly begin sobbing heavily into the phone, laying my forehead against the window sill. Why is this happening? I can't handle any more death right now.

Candice," she murmurs coldly. "Someone broke into their home and murdered her last night." Her voice hardens. If she's crying, I'm unable to hear it.

I lose all ability to think. When my brother Robbie and I were little, we would come to Jacksonville to visit Gammy. While here we would play with Candice and her sisters. When Gammy passed away three years ago she left the house to my brother and me. We moved into my dad's childhood home on my eighteenth birthday and made it our own. Candice and I became closer when we moved here, having girls' nights out with Talyn. She wasn't as close a friend as Talyn, but she was a friend none the less. People tended to think Candice and I were twins because we looked so much alike, I called her my doppelganger.

"Talyn, please come over soon, I need you." I know she can hear the strain in my voice. I desperately need to not be alone.

She softens immediately, "Duh, I'll be over after work at seven, and I'm not leaving your side until they find the psycho responsible for this."

I forgot it will take her an hour to get here after work, one of the consequences of moving into Gammy's house. I have to sit all alone wallowing in my own woes until then with some murderer wandering the streets.

I nod then realize she can't see me through the phone.

"Tal, you're the best, thanks." It was my voices' turn to crack. "Wait, you're going to work?"

"Yea, there's nothing I can do to help. Besides, working will help me get my mind off of it. You need to call Michelangelo to let him know what's going on, right now. I love you, girl." She reminds me of the one person I'd rather not reveal this horrifying event to. But then again, having my boyfriend around would help me feel safe.

"I will. Thanks. Love you, too." We hang up in unison.

Standing, I toss my phone onto the white wicker chair beside my bed. Staring at the vomit inducing mess that has thoroughly ruined my bed, I sigh, running my fingers through my soaked hair in frustration. I had forgotten about this mess when Talyn called. How am I going to explain this to anyone and not come off sounding like a total lunatic? I scoop up the fitted sheet, wrapping it around the rest of the set, all while replaying the night's events in my head in a confusing loop. They're still only coming to me in pieces though, not everything is coming back.

Gabriela. That was the name she gave me. Was she supposed to be an angel? She gave me important information, what was it? Ugh, I wish my memory would stop failing me.

Frustrated, I shove the ball I'd wrapped up off my bed, revealing the body size blood stain on the mattress. I'm going to have to buy a new mattress, there will be no sleep lying on this mess, so I give up, opting to get dressed.

My cell rings once again while I pull my jeans on, startling me into falling over. I scramble to the chair where I left my phone, one jean leg on.

"Michelangelo!" I exclaim into the phone after seeing his handsome face flash on the screen. I immediately feel guilty, remembering that I meant to call him before I got distracted.

"Clara, are you OK? Why are you breathing hard?" He sounds panicked.

"I'm fine, just out of shape." I manage a weak laugh. No need to get him worked up on the phone over my breathing.

"You were supposed to call me." His tone turns serious.

"I know, I'm sorry, babe. I got caught up in...stuff. Did Talyn call you?" I quickly change the subject. Telling him about last night and my ruined bed right this moment doesn't seem like the best idea.

"No, Kaleb called me, Talyn called him. What's more important than calling me? Your friend was found murdered a few houses down from you and you don't think I'd be concerned about your safety?"

Thank you, Talyn, root of the phone tree. Michelangelo had to hear from Kaleb which has him steaming. He never really liked my friendship with him. I've always thought of Kaleb as another brother, Michelangelo considers him competition. Michelangelo and I have known each other for three years, since I was a sophomore in high school. We started dating a few weeks after my eighteenth birthday. Talyn, Kaleb, and I have been best friends since kindergarten. Options: Lose boyfriend over best friend or lose best friend over boyfriend. I was never going to make a choice, they will deal with it or both will lose me. The boys get along fine these days, but I worry sometimes that I might lose one of them due to the other, I'll make them both regret that if it were to ever happen.

"I'm sorry, babe, a lot has happened between last night and now, my mind is ready to explode. Please come over so we can talk about it, I don't want to argue." I try my best to sound normal, not like my whole life flipped upside down overnight and I can't completely remember how.

"You should've called," he sounds hurt. "Alright, I've got to meet with a client in a few minutes, at nine, some papers need filing, and we're stuck in a conference lunch today. After that I'll dip out of here, head home to change, and then I'll be over. Is that soon enough?"

At twenty-two he's already an environmental lawyer, just starting out, with a firm for little over six months. Michelangelo is great at what he does and he's worked hard to get where he is. On top of all his hard work, he has a way of talking to people that makes everyone adore him and puddle at his feet.

"Yes sir!" I silently salute him, though he knows the drill.

He laughs. The musical sound warms my heart if even for a moment. Despite my current predicament, his laugh can heal the deepest internal bruise.

"I want you to stay inside until I get there, check the doors and windows, everything needs to be shut and locked. I'm serious, the police are saying this is the work of a serial killer, Candice was his fourth victim." His mood turns somber at the mention of her name.

Something about what he says strikes a chord. Serial killer? Fourth victim? What do I know about that? I hate not being able to connect the mental dots.

"Clara?"

"Sorry, did you say serial killer?"

"Yea sweetie, are you OK? I didn't know if you were still there or not. This must be devastating, losing Candice and all, but you can't forget about your own safety."

I'm really worrying him. I need to act natural.

"I'm fine, I promise." I don't know if I am going to be able to wait another five hours before I get the chance to admit the truth to him. "This is a lot to take in, is all. Get back to work. I'll see you when you get here." I decide on holding it in a little while longer.

"Stay safe, I love you," he sighs reluctantly into the phone. "Just please stay safe."

"Promise, I love you more."

"Wait, is Robbie off today? I'll feel better knowing he's around to keep an eye on you." He's obviously uneasy about me being home alone, the worry in his voice heavy.

Now that I think about it, where is Robbie? This time I drop the phone, sprinting down the hall to Robbie's room. There is a sickening brown trail of dried blood on the hardwood floor leading into his room. Flashes of the night bursts through my head, I try to sort through them as I avoid stepping on the mess. I slow to a stop at his door. It's ajar with smears of blood along the white frame and copper handle. Using my foot, I gently push the door open, revealing an uncharacteristically disheveled room. Reddish-brown stains cover Robbie's dresser. I find myself unable to take anymore. I picture my brother cradling my heart, hiding it in one of those drawers. The memory I was involuntarily suppressing rushes back to me. Overwhelmed, my world goes black.
Chapter Three

In the distance, I hear his beautiful voice, deep and soothing. He's calling me, saying my name repeatedly. I can see him in my mind, a handsome knight, rescuing me from the evils of the world. His voice closer, I know I can almost touch him. I long for him to save me. I feel his rough palm against my forehead, fingers gently caress down my cheek.

"Clara!" Shocked out of my reverie my eyes snap open to see Michelangelo hovering over me, fear drowning his midnight blue eyes.

"Uh, what's going on?" I struggle to sit up, my entire body aches.

"Clara, don't try to get up too fast!" Michelangelo scolds me, his brows furrow questioningly. "What happened? I heard the phone drop and you were gone. I freaked out, rescheduled my morning meeting and left as soon as I was able. Traffic was a bitch, took me forty-five minutes to get here." His head drops, running his palm up his face from chin to the top of his black hair where it rests.

"When I got here," he pauses, taking in a shaky breath. "When I got here, your front door was open, I mean wide open. I didn't think twice, I leapt up the stairs, past bloodied handrails. And I found you here on the floor, your pants barely on. Not a drop of blood on you. You were still breathing, so I checked the house, I didn't find anyone. Your bed though...where did all this blood come from? Where the hell is Robbie?" He's shaking so terribly, trying hard not to show it. "There are a few police still outside at Candice's, we should get one."

"Michelangelo," I start, but shut my mouth. How the hell am I going to explain this? "No police, let's go sit downstairs. I haven't eaten all morning, we'll talk over breakfast." I place my hand on his shoulder hoping to assure him that I'm fine.

His head snaps up, bewildered. "How can you be so calm? Obviously there's something you're not telling me, spit it out now or I'm getting the police."

"I will tell you everything, I promise, downstairs." I slide my hand from his shoulder down to rub his back, attempting to calm him enough to get us downstairs. He needs to calm down to prepare his nerves for what I'm about to tell him. I'm not even sure if I fully believe it yet.

"Downstairs," he orders.

Yanking my other pant leg out and sliding them the rest of the way on, he scoops me up, supporting my back with one arm and wrapping the other tightly under my legs. I guess he doesn't want me to walk yet, or maybe he just wants to be close to me considering the scare he just went through finding me.

In the kitchen Michelangelo pulls a chair out with his foot, sitting me on it gently. Walking in a contained fury over to the cabinets, he retrieves a bowl and a box of Fruity Pebbles, placing them on the counter next to the fridge while he gets the milk. He isn't about to waste time cooking when I have a boatload of explaining to do. The utensil drawer slams shut and he spins on his heels with the bowl in his grasp. A trembling hand places the bowl, with spoon and my favorite cereal, before me as he sits at the opposite side of the two person kitchenette.

"You can start anytime now." His elbows on the table, he clasps his hands in front of his mouth. Instead of looking me in the eyes, he stares at the bowl as though it may grow legs and walk off at any moment.

Prolonging the conversation just a bit longer, I take a big bite of cereal. But my appetite has disappeared along with my sanity. I shove the bowl away, spilling milk and colorful bits of Fruity Pebbles over the sides. There's no point, either he'll believe me or have me locked away. It has to come out now, all of it. My heart feels like it's on the brink of crumbling, I really hope he believes me.

"The blood is mine."

Again, his head snaps up, glaring at me skeptically with his beautiful, impossibly deep blue eyes. I wave him off, keeping my hand up to warn him there's more. He doesn't look interested in hearing anything else, but I continue anyway. I have to.

"Last night, Robbie killed me, only it wasn't really him. He's possessed by a demon. Now, just hear me out before you say or do anything, OK?" Please listen, Mikey.

He nods—a slow up and down movement of his head, not quite a full motion. His face has grown bright red like I've never seen before. Bitter anger shines in his eyes. He looks me up and down feverishly. Is he angry with me? I thought he'd be disappointed and think that I've gone crazy, is his anger worse?

"As impossible as it is to believe, I really did die last night. When I woke up this morning I thought it was a dream, and then...well, you saw the mess." I pause to reach across the table for his hand. He doesn't recoil at my touch which is good, I think. The top of his hand is warm. Too warm.

"Michelangelo, death was incredible, not the dying part, I don't remember that. What I do remember is the after. I was alone, wandering in a world of nothing. Then I heard this voice, and I followed it to a girl—woman, and she was so beautiful, I swear. But strangely enough, she only had one eye. Her name was, um, Gabriela."

The red draining from his face, Michelangelo glares questioningly at me. I wave him off again. I have to finish before he passes judgment.

"Gabriela, who I'm pretty sure was an angel, told me what happened. Then she gave me my life back on the agreement that I would help stop the demons. Apparently they're killing girls who look like this fallen angel. If they eat her heart they get more power. She brought me back here, and then I guess I passed out, and when I woke, things were like this." I gesture around, though the real mess is upstairs. "I didn't remember everything until you asked if Robbie was working, that's when it all came back to me. I must've gone unconscious in Robbie's room after I realized the severity of the situation. That's the short version. I'm not lying. I promise you, I'm not." Ugh, it sounds insane when I say it aloud. I pray he believes me.

"There's no such thing as demons or possession, Clara." Suddenly looking exhausted, he scratches his head with both hands. "If this is some sort of sick joke, you're messed up." Hands falling to cover his face, he shakes his head. "No, there's something definitely going on, you're not telling me everything. I'm going to get the police."

I leap off the chair to jump in front of him as he heads for the living room, I can't let him involve the police. With all this disturbing evidence around me, my brother missing, and my out of this world story, they'll lock me up for sure, without as little as an explanation.

"Help me find Robbie," I plead. "When you see him, you'll know I'm speaking the truth. Please, if you don't believe me after you see him then you can go to the police." I haven't even seen him. I'm hoping this will persuade him to help me. If not, the consequences are irrevocable.

"Where is he?" Michelangelo asks plainly, his eyes refuse to meet mine.

"I'm not really sure." I gaze down at my bare feet. "I think we're going to need help, we should call Talyn. And Kaleb."

Michelangelo groans at the mention of Kaleb, but reluctantly agrees. Maybe he'll finally come around to the notion that I died. Kaleb's support could force him accept what I've told him, though I have my doubts. Convincing Talyn and Kaleb will go much smoother. They've known me long enough to take this seriously. At least I hope they do. Right now I'm not confident anyone will understand.

"I'll call Talyn, you call Kaleb, tell him to get here now," I order.

Not ready to go back upstairs and face the horrific scene of my demise, I grab the house phone and begin dialing Talyn's number.

"Sure." Unenthusiastically Michelangelo pulls his cell out of his pocket, speed dialing Kaleb. He starts mumbling, but I can't hear anything, Talyn picks up in the same moment.

"Hey girl, what's up?" she asks, clearly fatigued.

"I wasn't expecting you to answer, I was going to just leave a message," I begin to ramble. "Do you think you could leave work now? You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't dire circumstances."

Talyn waits tables at a local chain restaurant. I think they call them servers now instead of waiters. Her managers let her get away with just about anything since she works hard and the patrons adore her. It probably doesn't hurt that one of her managers has a crush on her that everyone knows he would never act on, they actually respect her there. No one can blame him for wishing though. Talyn is beautiful. She has hair not quite dark as Michelangelo's, with naturally sun browned skin and exotic slanted brown eyes, courtesy of her half Filipino roots. She has always been the prettiest of my friends—not to sound shallow or whatnot.

Her voice changes, abruptly concerned, "What? What's wrong, Clara?"

"Just get here soon, like yesterday soon." I try to keep my voice even and make her understand the urgency without sending her into a scared frenzy. I want her to get here soon but safe.

"I'll finish these last two tables and head over, less than two hours, cross my heart." I know she is crossing an x over her heart with her finger as she says it.

"Ok, drive safe!"

"Yes, Mom. Love you," she hurries off.

"Love you," I say into the empty air. One down.

"Thanks man, see you soon," Michelangelo mutters before hitting the end call button on his phone. His back is turned to me. I want to step behind him, wrap my arms around his waist and nuzzle into him. That isn't going to happen. He is either upset with me or currently considers me a nutcase. I don't know which hurts worse.

"When's he coming?" I sulk back to the table when he turns around. I don't want him to see me tear up.

"He was heading out the door when I hung up." He follows me pensively, taking the same seat on the opposite end of the table.

Kaleb tends bar late nights. He was most likely just getting ready for bed when Mikey called him.

Exasperated, I cross my arms on the table, resting my head on them. We sit in agonizing silence the entire forty minutes it takes Kaleb to arrive. I refuse to lift my head until I hear the front door open. Michelangelo never makes a sound. I don't know if he moved at all in the time we had been waiting.

I jump up at the click of the front door shutting, running to greet Kaleb. I latch onto him. No longer able to hold them back, instantly the tears burst from my ducts in hot streams.

"Hey there, shh. It's OK, it's OK" He softly consoles me, resting his chin atop my head. Gently pulling away from me, he frowns at something over my left shoulder. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen, Michelangelo's volcanic glare focuses on us, his eyes pulled to mere slits. Sighing, I release my grip on Kaleb, turning, with my hands on my hips, to fully face my angry boyfriend.

"You made it in a flash. I'm surprised you didn't get a ticket," Michelangelo growls, teeth clenched.

"Good to see you too, Mikey," Kaleb provokes, carelessly running a hand through his soft, messy blond hair.

"Not today boys, there are more pressing matters at hand than your giant egos." I plop myself uneasily into my favorite black overstuffed chair. The boys take my cue, sitting, Michelangelo on the couch closest to me, Kaleb on the love-seat across from him.

"Does this have anything to do with Candice?" Kaleb squirms uncomfortably, pulling at the knees of his jeans.

"Yes and no," I answer simply, not ready to explain until Talyn arrives.

"Waiting on Miss Diva?" he laughs, knowing all too well. I nod in response. "That girl is always late when it's important."

I stifle an inappropriate laugh, he's right, but this is not the time for jokes.

Clearing his throat, Michelangelo leans to face me. His eyes are unreadable cobalt orbs. "I think I'm going to go home for a bit, I need to clear my head. Call me when Talyn gets here."

Before I get the chance to respond, he's standing. Bending he plants a quick kiss on my forehead. As he pulls back, his clouded blue eyes searching my face for something I can tell he doesn't find. With that he brushes past my chair, walking toward the door. I don't bother turning around. It's better this way. He already knows what I'm going to tell my friends, and he doesn't believe me. I'll give him his space to consider all that he knows and think about what he wants to do with that information. Maybe he'll come to believe me. Maybe.

The door opens and shuts behind me.

"He's more agitated than usual," Kaleb observes humorlessly.

"Yea, he has his reasons." I play with the edge of a red throw pillow, fighting tears. No more crying today.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I scoff. "Definitely not, I want to pretend like none of this is real right now."

Out of the corner of my eye, I witness Kaleb chuckle silently.

"What?"

"Pretend, really? Ok, I'm in. What are we pretending?" He stands in one smooth movement, crossing the short span to take Michelangelo's place on the couch. Glancing at me thoughtfully, he props his foot on the corner of the coffee table, pushing it closer to the love-seat

"I've got a silly idea. I mean, only if you're up for it. You did say pretend, right?" Kaleb flashes me a boyish grin, and I find myself unwittingly returning the smile. Everything else aside, Kaleb is great at distracting me from this mess I call my life.

"The floor will be hot lava." He hops onto the couch, arms spread wide to emphasize the danger of touching the floor. "Get your feet up, quick!"

Bringing my knees to my chest, I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of two young adults playing a child's game during such a serious time. Leave it to Kaleb to take my mind off the bizarreness of my night. Especially when we were little, he was always our comic relief. Whenever Talyn or I had a bad day, broken arm, dropped a cupcake, he would be there to make us smile. I am so thankful to have him in my life. It will be a miracle if our relationship doesn't drastically do a one-eighty after today.

After a half hour of furniture hopping, Talyn has finally arrived. The front door opening startles me. I fall off the coffee table, landing painfully with the side my face against the cool ceramic tile floor. Leaping off the chair to help me up, Kaleb slips, falling over the table in an equally uncoordinated move. The door slams shut, and Talyn drops to the floor next to it, hysterical. She cackles and snorts obnoxiously. It's almost a typical day for us, aside from the evidence of a murder upstairs and the feeling in my gut of unavoidable dismay.

Kaleb assists me to my feet, before he jogs over to pick up Talyn. I slide the table back to its original position. Mascara blackened tears staining her face, Talyn holds her side while Kaleb nudges her toward my chair. Watching them causes my heart to flutter. I desperately need these two in my life, forever.

"What were you guys doing in here?" she asks between coughs, catching her breath. We can both use a little more cardio in our daily routines.

"Pretending," Kaleb tells her, using his fingers to create an air quote. "Clara wanted to escape reality until you got here, so we played hot lava." That boyish grin once again spreads across his face.

"What?" There she goes again, laughing uncontrollably. "Are you guys, like, six or something?"

"Shut up, Tal. If you were here, you know you would've joined the fun." I smack her arm playfully, trying so hard to act normal. Just a little more normality, please.

"Oh, we will play again later." Kaleb winks at her.

Later? Will there be a later for us? Do we have time for fun in the future? As much as I dread finding out, it's truth time. They will either love me as I am or abandon me, like Michelangelo probably has. No crying, I have to push that to the back of my mind.

"Guys, we need to talk, no joke." Calmly, I sit on the love-seat, tucking my feet under a big red and black striped throw pillow. Bile rises in my throat, my nerves are on edge. This has to go well, it has to. Holding back tears and puke, I keep thinking this is going to end badly. I keep trying to assure myself that things will be OK, but I know deep down it's not likely.

Talyn's face fades from joyous to apprehensive in less than a second, her olive skin drained pale. She senses the gravity weighting on my shoulders, the tears well in her eyes, but these are far from cheerful. Shifting her gaze back and forth between me and Kaleb, the anxiety builds in the room. Her nails visibly dig into the arms of my favorite chair, she looks like I feel, or maybe I look like that too. Kaleb sinks into the couch, his face a mask, void of emotion. His fingers interlace, resting on his chest. He's waiting patiently. Why isn't everyone else like him?

Playing with my hands, unsure of how to start, I must have opened and closed my mouth a hundred times.

Finally, "I know how Candice died."

Talyn sits up rigidly, her spine straight as an arrow, eyes roaming over me for answers. Kaleb hasn't moved, something in his sky blue eyes has changed, but physically, not a muscle. So far so good. Even if I have only just begun.

"I died last night, too." Avoiding their expressions, I focus on my hands. "Trust me, I know how crazy this is going to sound, just hear me out before you judge, please."

I proceed to tell them everything to right up to before Kaleb arrived. Talyn's breathing has quickened. Kaleb still a stoic statue. I finish by telling them to check out the upstairs.

"I understand if you think I'm nuts, go on up. If you can stomach that and still think I'm out of my mind, then I guess we aren't as good of friends as I thought."

"That's not fair!" Talyn shouts. "You know how this sounds, Clara, you're in shock over Candice's death."

"If you really believe that, go upstairs," I challenge, turning to see Kaleb stand.

"Let's check it out, together." He reaches a hand out for each of us to take, his face a rock, saving emotion and judgment for later.

The signs begin at the stairs, white wood handrails streaked with reddish-brown blood. Talyn gasps and backs away from it. The first bedroom on the right is mine, a stained trail leading from the bed, my mattress bright crimson and brown with still drying blood, comforter set balled on the floor next to it. Kaleb takes a step in, the vile smell still strong. Thankfully, Talyn makes it to the hall bathroom to throw up. She had a full stomach. A step is as far in as Kaleb gets. Turning on his heels he throws himself against the wall across from my room, palms flat to the surface at head level. A pained noise escapes his mouth, more child than man.

"Is there more?" his voice hardly more than a whisper.

"Follow the trail." I point to the floor coldly.

"How much worse does it get?" Talyn yells from the bathroom.

"Not much."

"Stay by my side," Kaleb demands grabbing my hand with a possessive force. There are two trails of dripped blood, the heavier leading to Robbie's room, the lighter drops leading out toward the staircase. Stopping in the frame of Robbie's door, Kaleb's grip tightens on my hand.

"Promise me you didn't kill him."

"What?" I yank my hand free causing me to losing my balance. I fall into the hall with a hard thump. "No! What kind of question is that?"

"Then where is he, Clara?" Terror darkens his eyes.

What is he so afraid of? Me?

"There's no blood on the front door or outside."

"I told you, I don't know." I didn't notice that. I haven't left the house since I woke.

Sitting on the floor, I hug my knees, rocking. "I told you, we have to find him before he gets caught or he kills again."

"Clara, you must know how this looks." Talyn appears in the doorway of the bathroom, clutching to the frame wearily.

Burning tears sting my cheeks, they don't believe me either. No one does. All is lost, Robbie will be caught and charged, and girls would continue to fall victim to demons. There is nothing else I can do to make them believe. I am going to end up alone in a straight jacket, telling stories to padded walls.

No. That isn't going to happen. Whether they believe or not, I have to find Robbie.

"Leave, I'm going to find my brother." I stand proudly, wobbly but proud.

"Not without us," Talyn steps out of the doorway. She has cleaned her face and is looking slightly less haggard.

"I'm not saying I believe everything you told us, but I do believe you wouldn't hurt Robbie. If you say it's so, then we'll stand by your side, thick or thin. Just don't murder us." Kaleb's voice drops on the last part, mocking me, his eyes light in the faintest again.

"Gee, thanks, dick." I punch his arm playfully. My friends are behind me, so far...kind of.

"Let's figure out where Robbie is." Talyn wraps her arms around my waist, squeezing me tight. In my ear she whispers, "I really want to believe you, Clare, show us you're right."
Chapter Four

Kaleb, Talyn, and I head back down the stairs, Talyn using a wet washcloth to wipe the handrail free of blood on her way. Before we're able to have a seat in the kitchen to regroup, a knock at the front door stops us dead in our tracks. Hesitantly, we exchange wary glances.

My house, I should get the door.

Talyn sneaks into the kitchen to dispose of the filthy rag. Kaleb positions himself carelessly on the couch.

Through Gammy's yellow lace curtain that hangs over the small window in the door, I see two men in slacks and semi-casual button up shirts, one off-white, one a mid-day sky blue, like Kaleb's eyes. Robbie and I meant to replace the aged lace with something more private when we moved in. We just hadn't gotten around to it yet. I twist the knob, hand clammy, opening the door just as the one in blue raises his fist to knock again.

"Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm Detective Schwartz, this is Detective Martin. We're with the OCSO. If we could have a moment of your time, we have some questions regarding Candice Mitchell." The man in the blue does all the talking. I guess the other guy is just around to look tough.

"Sure, please come in. I'm Clara Kenneth, this is my house." It's not like I'm really in the position to converse with police, but what choice do I have? Denying them will probably make them suspicious of me.

Standing awkwardly in front of the couch, Kaleb leans his weight onto one leg, running a nervous hand through his sandy blond tresses, his eyes wide and fearful. Talyn walks in from the kitchen, inching her way to the love seat, uneasily eyeing the detectives. They are going to totally blow it for me.

"Our apologies ma'am, we didn't know you had company," Det. Schwartz acknowledges sincerely.

"Um, no, it's fine." I gesture toward my friends. "These are my friends Kaleb and Talyn, we all knew Candice."

"I see." Det. Schwartz mentally notes. "I'm sure you have all heard what happened to her, Candice, I mean."

"Yes, how did she die?" Talyn bluntly blurts out, avoiding my bewildered gaze.

"Well, we can't divulge that information right now, once we know exactly how it happened we'll let the family know." Det. Martin, in white finally opens his mouth.

Not satisfied with his answer, Talyn accuses, "You know."

My stomach knots. I'm going to be sick. Talyn is surely going to get us both arrested.

"Ma'am, if we could ask you a few questions. It will only take a few minutes and we'll be out of your hair." Det. Schwartz returns to speaking with me, ignoring Talyn completely, stepping no further in than the entry way past the front door.

"Of course," I say, prepared to get them out of my house.

"What are your full names?" He pulls a small notepad from his back pocket, a mini pen stuck in its spiral. We tell him, he scratches it quickly onto the paper. "How well did the three of you know Candice?" We take turns answering. I had known her the longest. Kaleb and Talyn met her through me a few years ago. The rest of the questions we answered with lies, or from me they were lies, Kaleb and Talyn answered rather honestly if they weren't considering what I told them as the truth.

No, we don't know who could have done such a thing. No, we don't know if she was into anything shady. No, we didn't see anything peculiar last night. Yes, we would remember. No, her boyfriend was on a business trip in Washington. No, they had a wonderful relationship. Yes, we would contact the police if we received any new information.

Leaving us their business cards, the detectives march through the grass of my front yard to the next house on the block. Walking them out, I notice something I was thankful they hadn't. A corner of creamsicle colored fabric poking out of the overgrown bush against the porch. Waiting until they are completely out of view, I snatch it up and sprint into the house, quietly shutting the door behind me. Clutching it to my chest, I fight to control my breathing.

"What happened?" Talyn is at my side, looking me over. "You're so pale! What is that?"

I hold my arms out, crumpling the bundled mess that was once a curtain. I turn my head to the left, seeing what no one else had observed before. A broken curtain rod has swung askew to lie flat, concealed with the side of the window, half a curtain still clinging to it. The matching half in my hands splotched with dried blood, some stains appear to be hand and finger prints.

I gasp. That's why Kaleb didn't see blood on the door. The demon was smart enough to use the curtain to clean off my brothers hands and who knows what else. The thing may have changed his clothes. It wasn't smart enough to dispose of the curtain properly, but it might not always make such mistakes. I voice this to my friends, who seem a tad more relieved, we're learning something and it might take the blame off me in their eyes. I hope.

"If—and I emphasize the word if—your brother is out there, possessed and running amuck, where would he go?" Kaleb raises a brow, examining the dirty curtain grievously. I know he wants to believe me, I just haven't shown him enough proof yet.

"You should call James," Talyn suggests. James is my brother's boyfriend of two years. They met at a gay bar sometime after Gammy passed, when we were in the process of signing over the house.

Robbie officially came out to our dad three years ago, Gammy and I knew long before then. I never understood why he felt so secretive about it. Dad of course, had no idea. He was completely blind to all the signs. Robbie wasn't the flamboyant type, but the signs were there, and Dad didn't love him any less for it. The biggest plus was when Robbie began dating James, a tall, muscular ex-college football player. I almost think Dad fell in love when he first brought James home. He always wanted to corner him in a room and talk his ear off about sports. James is incredibly handsome, always wearing vibrant colors to accentuate his light mocha skin, and he has the best etiquette. He'd never turn away from a conversation with my dad.

"Geez, why didn't I think about that?" It never crossed my mind to call James. I hold out my hand for Kaleb to throw the house phone to me, he tosses it blindly, eyes on the curtain. It flies too far to my left, landing on the tile. Talyn picks up the phone, replacing the back that popped off.

"Smooth one, Kale." Handing me the phone, she grabs the pillow in my lap, throwing it at Kaleb. He barely moves, staring blankly at the curtain on the coffee table.

"Kaleb?"

"I don't understand," he mumbles to himself.

"Kaleb!" I shout, throwing the phone back at him, hitting him on the side of his head. He flinches at the pain, but makes no attempt to move. "Kaleb, you're scaring us."

"Scaring you?" He shifts his body to face me, his sky blue eyes wide and unfocused.

"I'm scared, Clara! Have you seen the amount of blood around you? Someone died here last night, and there's no body. The bloody hand prints and smears I've seen are too big to be yours, and Robbie is MIA. What the hell is going on?" His eyes water, his hands cover his face to hide it.

In all the years we've known each other neither of us have ever seen Kaleb so out of sorts. Beside me, Talyn sniffles at the sight of Kaleb upset. I refuse to look at her. Grabbing the phone by Kaleb's feet, I'm sure not to touch him and I head to the kitchen. No more crying, time to find Robbie.

James answers on the second ring, "Hey, doll face." His voice isn't its normal flirty tone.

"Uh, is there something wrong, James?" I have to ask.

"I've been trying to get a hold of Rob all day, he isn't answering his phone. Is he ignoring me?"

I hate hearing him so pensive.

"I was actually calling to see if you know where he is. I haven't seen him today." Reassuring Robbie's feelings for him to James will have to wait, finding Robbie is my priority.

"Oh no," he cries, "Meena called me earlier. She said she saw Robbie walking alone down Jefferson Avenue, toward Market Street. Is he seeing someone down there? After she called, I drove up and down both Market and Jefferson and a few streets beyond. I couldn't find him." He sniffles, breathing unevenly. He's obviously upset, so certain my brother is cheating on him.

Robbie's in Wilmington.

"No, James, Robbie would never do that to you. He had a bad night, that's all. He probably just went for a walk to clear his head. Call me if you hear from him."

"Yea, you do the same." James isn't convinced. Hopefully he doesn't run into possessed Robbie, he'll cause his own death over nothing.

"You know I will." I hang up before he can say anything more.

"What did James say?" Talyn's leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. Her eyes swollen from crying, doing her best to be tough.

"His friend, Meena, saw Robbie walking by Jefferson and Market Street." Turning the phone over in my hand, I wonder what the demon is doing with my brother. How much longer can it control him like this? What does it plan on doing with him once it finishes its job?

"Doesn't Michelangelo live over that way?" Her slanted eyes widen, revealing far too much white.

"Yea, but he wouldn't go to Michelangelo's," I say with conviction. The demon has no use for Michelangelo...right?

"Unless Robbie's really nuts and decided to go after him," Kaleb interjects, making his way into the kitchen.

"For what?" My confidence wavering, I can't afford to be sure anymore, I have to question everything.

"Maybe the demon found out you're back from the dead." Talyn sounds earnest. I think she's almost on my side.

"Or, Robbie's messed up pretty bad and needs help," Kaleb states, standing at the fridge. His back is to us as he rummages through the shelves. He twists the cap off of a bottle of water, chugging the entire thing in three big gulps. He's trying so hard not to believe, but I can see him relenting.

"Meena didn't tell James that Robbie was messed up, only that he was alone."

That's when Talyn asks," When was that?"

I think for a moment. James said earlier, from here to Market Street is roughly a forty minute drive, and from there to Michelangelo's is another fifteen minutes on foot. If that's where he was going, no matter what time he was seen, he would have been there by now. I release a sigh of relief.

"What?" Talyn asks, clearly confused.

"He would have made it to Michelangelo's by now, if that's where he was headed," Kaleb answers for me, leaning against the counter, arms crossed at his chest over confidently. The look on his face makes me want to punch him in his cocky jaw.

"Right, so he wasn't going there," I agree, smugly.

"No, we don't know that. Robbie could have been there when good ol' Mikey got home. When's the last time you spoke to Michelangelo?" He raises a brow at me, lips pulled to a smirk.

My heart sinks deep in my chest, a few hours ago Michelangelo left on a sour note, and we haven't spoken since. Accepting what Kaleb is saying means possible danger for both Robbie and Michelangelo. This day was getting worse and worse.

"Clara, come check this out."

Too caught up in the thoughts Kaleb has put in my head, I don't hear Talyn go into the living room. Standing at the window with the half curtain hanging, she peers through the glass. She's captivated by what she sees.

"A tinted, black Suburban parked across the street. That old psychic, Zelda-something, she got out with a man. Now she's crossing over to...Candice's house?" She turns to me for answers, I shrug.

How am I supposed to know what's going on?

"They're going inside." Kaleb's face hovers above my right shoulder, as we watch three other men exit the vehicle. He smells nice, reminds me of Michelangelo.

"What are they using a psychic for?" he asks more to himself than us.

"Maybe because the cause of death is preternatural related." I elbow him in the ribs. He lets out a grunt.

"What does that mean?"

Talyn needs to read more.

"Shh, what's going on?" Kaleb covers her mouth with his hand, using his other to pull me closer.

Zelda practically runs from the house, as fast as an eighty-ish year old can. She looks terrified. Whatever she saw spooked her good. One of the men, wearing a plain black suit, catches her in his arms when she reaches the SUV. The other man—in a navy suit without a tie—follows closely behind her. Shaking her head in a flurry of white hair, she pounds on the suit's chest, we can hear her wail, but her words are incoherent. The suit waves to the other men to get back in the vehicle, his arm around Zelda, supporting her. Turning to my window, staring directly at us, her face changes, her eyes narrow and a smile plays about her lips. I swear she winks at me before she allows the suit to help her up into the seat of the SUV. The men with her don't seem to notice. They hide behind the tinted windows and drive away.

"Clara, get down!" Kaleb whispers loudly, tugging my arm. He and Talyn cower under the window frame with deer in headlights eyes, motioning for me to join them.

I sigh. "They're gone, guys. I think Zelda winked at me though."

"See, she was telling the truth, Zelda knows." Talyn leaps to her feet, smacking Kaleb on the back of the head before he has a chance to get up. She smiles brightly at me, her smile fading at the thought of what I told them sinking in.

"That means nothing. She's just some old palm reader." His eyes don't match what he says, he's coming around.

My stomach growls loudly, I had a spoonful of cereal for the day and it's not happy. Yawning, I press my face against the glass of the window. Exhausted and hungry is not a good way to start a search mission. I have too much to do, no time for food or sleep. My eyes threaten to shut. It's all hitting me now. I fight to keep them open.

"I'm going to find us something to eat." Like he was reading my mind, Kaleb disappears into the kitchen.

"Come on, you look like you need to sit down." Talyn guides me to my chair, resting on the coffee table in front of it. "This has been a deranged day. I don't know what reality is anymore."

She lays her head in my lap, wrapping her arms around my knees. We would have fallen asleep as we are if Kaleb didn't interrupt us.

"Get up! Prepare for a gourmet meal, ladies." Balancing on one hand a tray of ham and cheese sandwiches, made with potato buns, Kaleb stands like a old fashioned wood cutout they put in front of restaurants. Potato buns, yummy. Using his foot, he pushes Talyn off the table, setting the tray in her place.

"I should kick you in the face, but I'm way too hungry right now," she scolds him, shoving half a sandwich into her mouth.

"Thanks, Kale," I mumble, mouth full. After three sandwiches and two bottles of water, I'm re-energized. Sleep can wait, we've wasted too much time already. I need to stop putting off the inevitable and call Michelangelo. I'm just so afraid of what I might discover. Chances are, Robbie is there and possibly putting himself and Mikey in danger, but I'm not ready to abandon all hope yet. Sensing the urgency in the air, Kaleb slides his cell phone across the table to me. It can't be in my hands fast enough. I quickly dial Michelangelo's number, praying for an answer. It rings and rings. The second his voice-mail picks up I hang up, trying again. Nine unsuccessful calls later, my hands are shaking so violently I'm unable to hold the phone anymore. Kaleb reaches over to pry it from my hand. He appraises me sympathetically.

Maybe he didn't answer because I was calling from Kaleb's phone. Maybe Michelangelo is still upset with me, he needs more time to himself. No matter how much I try to reason with myself, I know in my heart of hearts something is horribly wrong.

"Clara, the phone's ringing." Kaleb's face drains of color, staring at the phone in his hands.

"Answer it!" I scream, lunging for it.

He answers before I reach him, leaning back into the couch to avoid me. I practically climb into his lap to hear through the back of the phone.

"Hey, Michelangelo?"

I hear yelling through the receiver, my body goes still.

"I can't understand you, Michelangelo, what is it? Robbie?" Kaleb's jaw clenches, feel his muscles tense. My ear to the phone, his face is above mine, so it's difficult to see his expression. "Stay where you are, no, don't call the police, we're on our way." He hangs up. Dropping his hand with the phone from his face, he tries to loosen his muscles enough to move.

"Robbie's there?" I shriek.

"He said...the whites of Robbie's eyes are completely grayed over. He's going berserk, trashing his house. Michelangelo's held up in the attic. He dropped his phone in the open insulation, he only found it by following the ringing. It's a good thing you kept calling, Clara. Robbie's trying to kill him." Kaleb turns his phone over in his hands nervously.

Not wasting another minute, I'm at the front door with my shoes in my hands, Talyn right behind me, still stuffing her mouth. Kaleb remains on the couch, lost in his own cognitive realization.

"Kaleb, we're leaving, now!" I shout at him, walking out to Talyn's silver Ford Focus. The front door slams behind us. Kaleb is frantically running to catch up. We have a forty-five minute drive, depending on traffic. I pray we make it.
Chapter Five

Talyn's behind the steering wheel. She's the speedier driver. I sit tense in the front passenger seat, ready to jump out when we pull up to Michelangelo's house. Every minute drags on excruciatingly long, I have my doubts that we'll get there in time. Talyn attempts to make conversation, but my mind wants to be somewhere else. I barely hear a word she says. The blur of cars and buildings begins to hurt my head, I look away, remembering Kaleb in the back seat. Silent the twenty minutes we've driven, he's seated behind Talyn, elbow on the door with his fingers tangled in his shiny golden locks. He reminds me of that Dali painting—the one with the melting clocks— absorbing the colors of the sunset, shadows giving the illusion of an elongated face, frown twisted in a distorted exaggeration. He's melting in melancholy.

"What else did Michelangelo say?" I query, half facing him.

"He kept saying you were right, Robbie's possessed. And he apologized." He exhales a shaky breath, gaze trapped in the window.

My focus once again on the window to my right, I've heard enough. He knows—they know. But what good is it now? Luck on our side, both Michelangelo and Robbie will both be safe. In my mind, I play out the many ways this could go, every scenario ending in the worst possibility. How much worse depends on how fast we can arrive there and how quickly I can make it inside to them.

My feet hit the pavement before Talyn pulls the Focus to a complete stop. Surrounded by flowering dogwood trees, Michelangelo's split level rental stands, ominously staring back at me. Darkness shrouds his home. With Michelangelo trapped in the attic, his lights never made it on after the sun had set.

My ring of keys in hand, I barrel into the front door, fumbling with the spare key Michelangelo had given me. Mentally, I kick myself when I turn the key and find the door is unlocked. I take a step to run before Kaleb brushes past me, taking the lead. I let him run ahead of me, no time to fight over it.

Heart racing so fast it might rev right out of my chest, we round the corner at the top of the stairs, Talyn trailing slowly behind us. My face smacks into Kaleb's tense, well defined back. It's like hitting a wall of muscle.

The hall is far too dim for me to have known he stopped. Shuffling ahead of us alerts us to a presence. The pitch black hallway conceals the source of an ear curdling scraping. Heavy dragging of a wet, sharp object against hollow wood resonates from the end of the hall. Searching for the light-switch, I run my fingers along the wall, bumping Kaleb's as he does the same. He finds it first.

Hands pressed tightly to her mouth, Talyn muffles a frightened scream. Letting his hand drop from the wall, Kaleb's stiffened back blocks my view. He steps backward, crushing my foot under his weight. He spreads his arms, angling them behind him to hold me in place, protecting me from what lay ahead. Regrettably, I dig my palms into Kaleb's back, thrusting him forward.

I don't need protection. I mean, I've already died once.

A sound escapes my throat that I'd never heard before, an indescribably high-pitched, pained noise. At the end of the hall stands my brother, his hands bleeding profusely. The door leading to the attic is covered in gashes filled with blood, a fist size hole torn through the middle of it. Instead of knocking the door down with his body, the demon used Robbie's hands to slash at the door, causing several fingernails to tear off, ripping the flesh to the bone. A heavy grayness has swallowed my brother's eyes. That darkness bores into me.

Robbie isn't home at the moment, please hang up and try again.

Raising his head, he sniffs the air, remembering me. Thinking my brother has also recognized me from inside the monster's control, I reach out to Robbie. The sickly fingers of one hand stretch toward me. Palm up, he beckons me to him. Holding my ground, strong, I know I can save them both. Kaleb regains composure, adjusting himself and standing to my left. He shoots me a quick look that lets me know I'd be hearing about this later. Talyn has vanished from sight.

"Robbie?" I beg he'll hear me. "Robbie, it's me, Clara. I'm going to save you, don't worry. I'm here, and I'm alive. I'm alive."

Animalistic, he lunges at me, snarling as he closes the short distance between us. Without thinking, I kick in the bathroom door to my right. In the split second between his erratic trashing and swipes, I grab him by the shoulders in an attempt to get him through the doorway. Failing miserably, I fight for a dominant position. Kicking him in the only place I know to truly disengage a man, I free myself. The demon may not have felt it, but Robbie's body sure did, temporarily bringing him to his knees. Kaleb tries to interfere. I push him back, a gentle warning to let me handle this. No one else is getting hurt on my watch.

"Clara!"

A side table leg hits the back of my shoe. Resourceful Talyn has put together some weapons, whether I'd like to use them or not.

Scooping up the leg, I swing, yelling, "I'm so sorry, Robbie!"

I silently pray he forgives me when the leg connects with his left temple. I also hope I haven't killed him. Oh, the irony. How do I destroy one without harming the other?

"Michelangelo!" Pounding on the attic door, Kaleb shouts for my holed up boyfriend.

Over the creaking of steps, I hear him call out, "Is it safe?"

"Not for long," I affirm.

I took the demon in Robbie's body down, but it's not out. Moving restlessly at my feet, it is quickly regaining its senses by the minute. Adjusting to sensations in areas I'm sure it never had in its original form.

Clicking, the lock on the attic door slides open. Cautiously, Michelangelo steps into the hall eyeing the scene apprehensively. He knows, but it doesn't sit well with him. I can see it in his colorless face and wide eyes.

If we keep our relationship intact after this it'll be a miracle. How many couples have overcome the inconceivable terrors of dealing with demons and murder attempts? I seriously doubt many, if any.

"Help me get him up the attic stairs, before he fully comes to," Kaleb instructs, bear-hugging Robbie from behind, keeping my brother's arms pressed to his sides. Faltering, Michelangelo obliges, lifting Robbie's legs with a look of pure disgust on his face. Struggling to get him up before he has a chance to fight back, they are through the doorway and out of sight. A loud thump and rustling has me racing to the foot of the stairs.

"We're fine. Find something to barricade the door." Kaleb projects from the attic.

"And rope, in the kitchen," Michelangelo shouts.

Talyn and I leap down the stairs to the kitchen, two steps at a time. I locate the rope under the kitchen sink while Talyn searches for nails and a hammer in Michelangelo's big red toolbox. We decide the kitchen table will be a perfect fit to cover the door. Sticking the nails in her pocket, hammer through a loop in her jeans, she lifts up an end. Winding the rope around my arm, I lift the other. Maneuvering the large table proves to be more difficult than we imagined, the heavy wood has to lay on its side going up to the second floor.

Michelangelo is waiting at the top of the staircase for us. His eyes focus on everything but my own.

"Hurry up girls. I don't think we have much time." He takes Talyn's place.

"How is Kaleb holding him on his own?" I ask, surprised he's left them alone.

"We used our belts to hold him against a support beam." Sweat beads at his brow, stray drops slide down to collect along his collarbone. Soaked with sweat, his shirt clings to his muscular chest. He's so strong, my man.

I hope still my man.

"Oh." I concentrate on not falling. The table seems heavier with every step.

"Right here is fine, I'll take that rope." Michelangelo unwinds the thick twine. Leaning in, he places a sweaty kiss on my forehead. "I can't ever prove how sorry I am." Turning on his heels, he keeps his head down as he bolts up to the attic.

Creeping up behind me Talyn wraps her arm around my shoulders, she whispers, "Love is still in the air, even in moments of despair."

She is such a dork and I love her for it.

A guttural growl can be heard from the attic. Talyn's arm tightens around me. We hear Kaleb's voice, his words inaudible. In lieu of assisting the boys in the attic, I opt to stay with Talyn. I need a clear mind to figure out what we were supposed to do next, seeing Robbie in his current un-Robbie state will ruin it for me. He is either my brother or the demon, my brain won't allow both.

Thumping from above prevents us from standing in silence. Thoughts swarming, time fading, only twenty-four hours ago life seemed perfect. All that I love now at risk, over a world I didn't know was real.

This just doesn't seem possible. When I turned eight monsters and fairy tales ceased to exist in my mind. I no longer believed in the fantasy of childish tales. In less than a day, recent events leave me questioning all childhood stories. What else is real? Do I really want to know?

Nope. All I want is to make it through today.

Bounding down the creaky steps, Michelangelo and Kaleb greet us at the foot with unease. Head still down, Michelangelo drags his feet over to stand next to me. He looks like a child who broke his mommy's favorite vase. Kaleb pushes the door shut behind them, leaning against it, mindful of the hole in the center. No one knows what to say. Removing her arm from my shoulders, Talyn leans into the table, tapping her fingers on the dark wood surface. She taps louder after a moment, snapping the three of us collectively out of our daze.

"Did you find nails? Let's put the table up ASAP, I need to call Jerry and tell him I won't be in tonight," Kaleb mumbles, taking the nails and hammer from Talyn.

Together, we lift the table in place. Talyn found nails that were far too short to penetrate the thick wood. Michelangelo goes to the garage to find others.

"What's keeping him quiet?" I lift my chin toward the table covered door.

"Duct tape." Kaleb smiles sheepishly. He loves some duct tape.

Kaleb, Talyn, and I hold the table in place while Michelangelo nails it to the door frame. The massive table blocks the entire door. A twinge of pain in my heart for Robbie leaves my hand patting the table gently, my ear placed against it. Afraid for him, I want to sit by his side and be a comforting sister. My life, as well as his, depends on me staying away from him for the time being though.
Chapter Six

Gathered in Michelangelo's masculine living room, I'm cuddled with Talyn on the dark chocolate leather sofa. Around us the matching leather recliner and cherry wood furniture fill the cramped room, darkening it as well. The maple colored wood planks that make up the floor offer no more contrast to break up the dreary space.

Michelangelo uneasily paces back and forth in front of a large bay-view window adorned with heavy burgundy and black striped curtains while Kaleb calls his boss, Jerry, in the kitchen. Both Talyn and Michelangelo will have to phone their jobs in the morning, I'll have to notify Robbie's office. Exactly why I love working for myself, freelance photography allows me to make my own schedule, nothing holding me back. After all this, I'm beginning to wonder if that is a good thing.

The quandary now facing us is what step do we take next. How long do we have to postpone our normal lives? That is, if we can have normal lives again after this. I don't know if they'll want to hang out with me ever again once this mess dies down. For all I know I'll be spending the rest of my days alone, fighting demons until I can somehow close a hole I have no clue how to find.

Yay.

Exhausting an audible groan, Kaleb enters the small living room. "I say we get some rest and map out a game plan in the morning."

"First we have to contact Father Joshua Brownstone, in Maine. Gabriela said he specializes in exorcism, he can help us," I inform them. I didn't think I was actually going to have to get a hold of him until now. Geez.

"She's the angel, right? Why doesn't she help us?" Talyn asks, yawning loudly.

"They can't interfere. She received some sort of special permission to offer me my life back in exchange for aiding them." We wouldn't be sitting here if they were able to involve themselves.

"I don't get it, she's an angel. I thought they're supposed to be there for us. Aren't they?" she presses. "I mean, what else are they there for?"

"Angels protect us from what we aren't able to see. Like the demons, but once a demon steps over to our side, the angels are forbidden to intervene unless absolutely necessary."

"Demon possessed people are running amuck, murdering innocent women. Not necessary enough for them, huh? To be honest, I'm afraid to know how extreme it has to get in order for them to step in." Michelangelo rubs his temples with his palms.

"Apparently, it gets much worse before they involve themselves," I tell them. "Gabriela did say there were wars against the demons. I'm not sure the specifics, but I believe that's how she lost her eye. I guess being an angel is hazardous, nothing like the innocent follies from children's books we read growing up. But we can debate all this later, when there's more time. Can I call this priest now or what?"

"It's nine at night. Will good ol' Father Brownstone be up this late? And more importantly, is he willing to take the first flight out in the morning?" Kaleb says, pointedly.

"I hardly know her, but I'm sure Gabriela would never mislead me. I mean, she did bring me back.

Give me your phone. We need to get in touch with him fast." Holding out my open palm to Kaleb I impatiently open and close my fingers, motioning for him to hand it over.

"You're right, you don't know her at all, Clare. Besides, she didn't have time to at least give you his phone number?" Talyn shakes her head disapprovingly.

Ignoring her, palms sweating, I dial 411, answering the live operator. "Um, Maine." I look to my friends, shrugging. She didn't specify a city. "Father Joshua Brownstone or just Joshua Brownstone." Wiping my free hand on the thigh of my jeans, I then motion for a pen and paper. "Both please...Yes, thank you." I hang up, staring at the screen.

"Why didn't you write it down?" Michelangelo's inquiring glare moves from me to the pen and loose paper in my lap.

"They can text the information to Kaleb's phone, address and phone number." Gotta love cell phones.

"There was more than one listing for Joshua Brownstone?" he prods.

Before I can answer him, the text message notification dings. I highlight the first number, hitting the call button with determination. Fingers crossed we get him on the first try.

"Hello," answers a mature male with a thick New England accent.

"Father Joshua Brownstone?"

"No young lady, he's unlisted. Is this an emergency?"

I groan. Not him. "Yes, a huge, astronomical emergency. By any chance, do you know him?" I sound distant, even to me. My voice little more than a tiny squeak.

"Call the church, that's where he'll be." He repeats the phone number to me twice, making sure I have it.

"Thank you," I whisper sincerely.

With a chuckle he replies, "Don't thank me. Thank my son. He'll save you from the monsters. It's what he was born for. I'll pray for you, young lady." The call ends.

Phone to my ear, I stare blankly at the number I scribbled onto the loose paper. In my eighteen years of life, I've never given a second thought to demons or possession. The fact that such instances occurred has eluded me. I didn't believe in possession, let alone the existence of demons. To think someone dedicates their life to saving people from them completely blows my mind.

"Clara, what did he say?" Michelangelo reaches for my limp hand. I let him take it and he beings to rub soft circles over each knuckle with his thumb.

"The first Joshua Brownstone is Father Joshua Brownstone's father." I let Michelangelo hold my hand while I dial the new number, willing Father Brownstone to pick up.

"Saint Alexander's, this is Sandra Bishop, how may I help you?" A soft spoken woman with a less aggressive New England accent answers.

"Um, hi, is Father Brownstone there?" I pray he is.

"Yes, dear, may I ask who is calling?" she asks sweetly.

"Clara Kenneth from Jacksonville, North Carolina."

"Hold on the line, I'll go get him for you." Footsteps pad lightly away on her end.

Inquisitive as always, Talyn whispers, "If his dad is still alive, how old do you think he is? I pictured a man in his fifties, he could be..."

I miss the rest of Talyn's train of thought when a husky voice in the same New England accent picks up the line. "Father Brownstone speaking."

"Yes, this is Clara Kenneth, you were recommended to me by a, um, friend." Citing an angel as my source—not the smartest opener, man of the cloth or not.

"You're in need of an exorcism?" he asks, his interest piqued.

"Yes, well, not me...my brother. We might need your help with a few others though, too." My voice trails off, I'm asking too much of this one man. If he agrees, he has no idea what he's getting into. The possessed people he normally deals with do not look like my brother. Or do they?

"Describe his symptoms, in detail. Please, don't leave anything out."

"His eyes are completely gray, I mean, they look like large, smooth stones stuck in his eye sockets. The skin around his eyes is bluish-gray, and I'm not sure, but I think his teeth are sharper. Oh, and he's killed." I pause to appraise my friends' faces, they give nothing away. "And he keeps trying to kill. We have him subdued at the moment." I decide to leave out the part about Robbie killing me. The room seems to collectively sigh with relief.

"I see." Shuffling against the phone on his end, I hear muffled speaking. He covers the phone to talk with someone. I tap my foot against the hardwood floor, waiting. All eyes are on me.

"My services are required. Based on what you have told me your brother is in fact possessed. I will need your location and a contact number. After I have booked my flight, I will call you back with the arrival time. Please send transportation from the airport, a cab costs far too much and as you can imagine, we priests make very little." A hint of humor hangs in his last words.

I tell him Michelangelo's address, giving Kaleb's cell phone number since mine remains somewhere in the upstairs of my house. Conveying the conversation to everyone, Talyn offers to pick up Father Brownstone, pointing out that the boys staying behind would be safest. I think curiosity about the priest is eating at her. We decide it best to sleep in shifts through the night. Talyn lucked out, and she earns a full night of sleep by volunteering to get Father Brownstone.

Ringing interrupts our meeting of the minds, as lacking as it is. The church's number lights on the screen. I answer, "Hello."

"Yes, Clara? My flight will arrive at Wilmington ILM Airport at six o'clock, have you designated my ride?"

"My friend Talyn will be there," I inform him.

"Wonderful, I look forward to meeting you and ridding your brother of his demon." We say our goodbyes in an urgent monotone way, like a true business arrangement.

Banking on Father Brownstone's help, my brother's life depends on this working out. I begin to recall the horrifying stories of exorcisms gone wrong, stories I thought were made up by movie writers to instill a fear in the audience. Once a nonbeliever to such notions, I now see the threats an exorcism poise. We face physical harm, psychological harm, or worse: both. The greatest risk...death. I keep reminding myself that Gabriela knew what she was doing when she named Father Brownstone as the priest for the job.

Our shifts last two hours a piece, allowing us four hours sleep each. Kaleb has first shift, propping a chair against the table covered door. Using an eReader app on his phone, he occupies his time with reading a sci-fi novel.

Talyn, Michelangelo, and I drag a mattress and blankets into the old hallway. Laying the queen mattress flat as it can be, its sides curl against the walls, squished in the small space. The hallway, wider than the ones in newer homes, just fits three of us snug on the mattress. Michelangelo urges me and Talyn to sleep on the mattress without him, choosing the floor next to where Kaleb sits for added guard.

Laying here, next to an obnoxiously snoring Talyn, my brain is riddled with worry for Robbie. Other than the light thumping coming from the attic, Robbie hasn't made much noise. How can I be sure my brother still resides within himself? If in fact he does, is he going to be the same brother I've always had? If the demon taking over his body doesn't change him, the exorcism might. I drift off to sleep on the thought of my Robbie morphing into something unrecognizable.

A strong hand on my shoulder shakes me awake, yanking me from a frightening dream. Sunlight peeks through a layered burgundy curtain hung at the only window in the hall. Rubbing my eyes to adjust, I shudder at the reminder of my nightmare. The large hand caresses my face, drifting up into my hair. Smiling, I tilt my head up. Michelangelo hovers above me, returning my smile with a hint of exhaustion in his eyes.

"Time for my shift?" I rub my eyes groggily.

"It's a little after six, I took your shift so you could sleep. Get up, Talyn's at the airport and Kaleb made breakfast." His smile wanes.

"You what?" I shoot upright with back aching ferocity. "Are you nuts? You're going to get yourself killed!"

"I'll be fine. I'm trying to make up for how I acted yesterday—let me. You mean the world to me and I love you more than words will ever convey. I acted like a dick and ran like a wimp, I know it. I was confused and scared. I didn't know what else to do. If it takes me until the end of time, I will make it up to you. Kaleb and Talyn are your true friends. They stuck it out when things got rough. I should've done the same, instead of letting my stubborn logic get the better of me." He cups my face in his strong hands. I close my eyes, relishing in the warmth.

"I understand. Had I been in your shoes I would've done the same. The mess you walked in on, then Robbie coming here, you're doing better than you think. This is an unimaginable, surreal situation we've been thrust into. I forgive all three of you for doubting me." Laying my hands over his, I meet his gaze.

"That's adorable and all, but breakfast is getting cold." Kaleb winks at us from the top step. "I mean, you can heat it up when you're finished, if you need more time."

"Shut your face, Kaleb, we'll be right down." I throw a pillow at him, falling a few feet short. He laughs as he bolts down the stairs.

"Let's go." Michelangelo holds out a hand to pull me up.

The attic door catches my eye as I rise on my tired legs. They removed the table at some point. Leaning toward the door, I listen for a second...I don't hear Robbie. Heart jumping, my throat wants to close, leaving me gasping.

"Robbie's fine, we fed him," Michelangelo claims. On cue, thumping resumes above us.

My stomach lets out a howl. Consuming only three sandwiches yesterday has made it angry with me. Michelangelo tries to hide a boyish chuckle, nudging me to the staircase. Half way down, the delicious aroma of cinnamon and buttery syrup perks me up. Jumping the remaining five steps, I close in on my target, French toast.

"Hello, buttery goodness," I sigh.

"Good morning to you too, sugar," Kaleb ribs.

Michelangelo groans, setting plates at the high counter for us. Usually he'd comment back, but all joking aside, we woke up different people than we were yesterday. A whole new day rose with new adventure and great responsibility. We're grasping with life or death in our hands, a morbid and fascinating quandary. The opportunity to save innocent people from evil beings? Well, this is the makings of a fairy tale. Maybe a bit less princessey and loads more gory than a fairy tale, but the idea's there.

We sit in the overly stainless steel filled kitchen, stuffing our faces as we await our mysterious exorcist. The boys discuss the day ahead as I drift off in thought, recalling my vivid nightmare from last night.
It was all a Dream

The dream was so vivid, so real. I've never been so sure of a dream before. They exist, all of them. I'm certain.

Drenched in blood, I ran through the carnage. Dark figures swarmed the ominously clouded sky, dropping down close to the blackened earth to pluck up the few who survived, dragging them screaming into the unknown. Dodging shadows and indescribable creatures, I quickened my pace. I could feel it behind me. At my heels, a large entity pursued me. It didn't make a sound, but I knew it was there. Passing a man torn completely in half, my stomach twisted. What the hell is this? My legs burned, a cramp forming in my side. Determined, I kept running.

In my hand a stone the size of my palm that glowed a pearlescent ivory. I tried to drop it, but my fingers wouldn't release their grip. Unable to stop to inspect the stone, I turned my focus on losing whatever was chasing me. If I turned to see it, I risked throwing myself off balance and tripping. I hated myself for not exercising.

In the distance, a familiar voice called my name. Someone I knew. There must be sanctuary. Hearing my name sent my heart soaring, adrenaline pumped harder than before. The pain in my legs subsided. Stronger than I had ever been, I pushed myself. Closer, the voice belonged to a man. Shrill screaming and thunderous roars around me kept the voice indistinguishable.

An ancient cathedral-like building towered above the massacre, ahead of me. Missing and eroded brick exposed one side of the first floor. From the second floor, a person hung out a single window, arms flailing. A man, he was trying to tell me something important. Still too far to hear him, I whimpered in frustration, then mentally reprimanded myself for it. Pain sliced through my left calve, it caused me to waver a bit, but I regained footing. Thick fluid dripped down to my heel, I knew I was bleeding. On my right, a dilapidated abandoned building with four windows intact on the ground floor. Using the windows and my peripheral vision, I caught a glimpse of the monster following me. Close to seven feet tall, skinny, with black and gray scaly skin. Long sharp fingers swiped at my back. From the side its eyes and mouth were concealed, it didn't have a nose that I could see.

Only ten feet from the entrance to the cathedral, the ground melted away at my feet. I fell, swallowed into the earth. Falling endlessly, in complete darkness, the space felt like it was shrinking. A burning sent close to sulfur filled my nostrils, sending me into a sneezing fit. The source of the smell grew nearer.

Stomach in my throat, body stiff, I tried to get into a comfortable landing position. Assuming I'd survive it. Reaching outward, I remembered the stone in my hand, feeling like it belonged there. The light, now dim, was glowing orange. Holding it close to my face, I could see a dark cloud inside the stone, swirling like a tiny tornado. Attempts at prying my fingers open using my opposite hand failed. Discouraged, I rubbed the stone against my jeans. The contact caused friction. Immediately ablaze, the light blinded me. Blinking to readjust my eyes, something caught me mid-fall. Armored arms cradled me like a bride, holding me close to a cold a metal breastplate. Instead of falling, we rose into the deconstructed world above.

I began to fight it, but then I saw him. Obviously male, his mouth and glorious emerald eyes the only facial features visible. A dented metal Spartan style helmet hid rest of my savior's face. Enormous obsidian wings protruded from his back, reflecting the grays of the sky. Breathing heavily, he flew to the second floor window of the cathedral. Setting me on my feet, he leaned against the window, spreading his wings to shield us.

Amazed the crumbling first floor supported the second I stared in awe at the group waiting there. Three more winged people stood before me. Two men and a girl— she had to be in her teens—all in battle armor. Taking a knee, the men bowed their helmeted heads to us. Staring at the glowing stone in my hand, the girl remained standing defiantly. One of the men closest to the girl grabbed her hand, forcing her down into the same position. Pressing his hand to the back of her helmet, he bowed her head. Thinking they bowed to my savior, I turned to face him. He too took a knee, stretching his wings as far as they would reach to cover the window.

Confused, I spoke, "Why are you bowing?"

No answer, they continued to bow. Explosions outside finally brought them to their sandal wrapped feet. Lowering his wings, my savior stepped aside. Racing to the window, the other three fought for a view.

Another earth shattering blow shook the cathedral, sending me face first to the gray-brown brick floor. Collapsing the wall opposing us, more trembles rocked the old building. The same arms scooped me up, taking flight through the recently opened wall. In a blaze of speed, dark and colorful figures collided before us. Blood rained down from the heavens.

Grunting, my savior dropped me thirty feet to the ground. Landing on my side, I felt the crack of ribs. Choking on the debris from the impact, my lungs stung with each inhale. A shadow covered me, made more ominous by the floating dirt. I rolled to my other side, propping my weight on one arm. Clawed feet dug into the ground next to my head. Rolling my eyes up, I knew my time had come.
Chapter Eight

The solid oak door swings open, thudding against the wall of the foyer. Talyn would normally yell a silly greeting, but considering the current circumstances, I'm not sure how often we will get to continue our in goofiness. We have to at least attempt to keep even a bit of normalcy. We have to.

The rest of us meet our guest in the entry way, one of the boys on either side of me. I am more than happy to meet Father Brownstone. Ready to forget that chilling nightmare, I welcome a distraction.

Talyn waits just inside the door, a carry on rolling suitcase by her leg. Her brow furrowed, she avoids looking any of us in the eye. Peering out the door, she nervously taps her foot, keeping her face blank.

Through the open space bounds a man in his mid-to-late twenties wearing a clean gray suit, a wry smile set on his clean-shaven face. Looking much younger than I had assumed, Father Brownstone carries two large suitcases with ease, placing them with the one by Talyn. His short cut dirty blond hair gleams, reflecting the morning sun shining into the entry way. Standing a few inches taller than me, he holds his hand out to Kaleb introducing himself.

"Good morning, I'm Father Brownstone." His voice is huskier than on the phone, with the same New England accent.

"Morning, I'm Kaleb, a friend of Clara's."

"Ah, and you must be Clara." He turns his attention to me, smiling. It doesn't quite reach his gray eyes.

"Yes, I'm so glad you came, Father Brownstone," I say, returning an empty smile of my own.

He nods, looking to Michelangelo. "And you are?"

"Michelangelo, Clara's boyfriend, and this— is my house." Michelangelo points to the floor to accentuate the fact.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Michelangelo. You have a beautiful home." Father Brownstone spins in place at a snail's pace, surveying his surroundings. "Where are you keeping your brother?"

"In the attic." I point up, guilt visible on my face.

Not missing a beat, he collects his bags. "Please show me, so I can get set up."

One of the big suitcases contains Father Brownstone's exorcism kit. It consists of vials of holy water, several crucifixes in varying sizes, two bibles, and a folder full of papers. Under the kit lay one large white cotton sheet, a thick black vinyl sheet, and leather restraints. He unzips the suitcase at the door leading to the attic. After a quick inventory, he decides to meet Robbie before setting up.

Tied to a support beam, Robbie's sat unmoving, staring hatefully at Father Brownstone. We have a better look at his eyes in the lit attic. It appears as though the pupils have dilated over his irises, lightening to a gray and extending close to the edge of his eye lids. The rest of his eye, the little we're able to see, is blood red like a subconjunctival hemorrhage has erupted in each. Father Brownstone carefully steps forward. Robbie's lips peel back in a snarl, revealing exactly what I thought I'd seen before, sharper teeth. How the hell did that happen?

"Yes, I'll need to get started right away," Father Brownstone announces. "In the event of a normal inquiry I would have required a full medical evaluation, mental and physical. In this case I'm going to bypass normal procedures. You brother is obviously under demonic possession and I must work as quickly as possible before his mind is lost forever." He's almost confident in his words. I detect just a hint of uncertainty.

Insisting on carrying the suitcase himself, he warns us not to come up under any circumstances. He alone must perform the exorcism. Any living body in the room would be subject to harm. We then sign liability waivers accepting the possible outcomes and diminishing any responsibility from Father Brownstone.

The four of us place chairs from the dining room against the wall opposite the attic door. Sitting nervously, we await the unexpected. Michelangelo drapes an arm around my shoulders, holding me to him. Talyn's legs a jitter with anticipation, she attempts to stop them by pushing down on her knees which causes her entire upper body to bounce along. I would have laughed any other time. Kaleb, the only one of us not sitting, is pacing in front of the door. Father Brownstone used the black vinyl that turned out to be several sheets, to conceal the hole in the door.

Over the next hour and ten minutes, we listen to moaning, chanting, and pounding against the support beams that cause the attic to shake with great force.

A feminine scream rattles me to my bones. Michelangelo catches hold of me before I hit the door. A spark of blue illumination peeking under the door startles me into letting him pull me back to my seat. Lasting only a few seconds, it disappears as quickly as it lit up.

Moments later, footsteps pad their way down to us. Father Brownstone pushes the door open ajar, waving for us to follow him up. Without waiting he takes to the stairs again.

Slumped against the beam, now untied, Robbie mumbles to himself. My heart sinks. What if it damaged him? I run to his side, dropping painfully to my knees on the skinny side of a wood plank next to him, gripping his face between my hands, forcing him to see me. Squeezing his eyes shut, tears trail down his face, soaking my hands.

"I'm so sorry. So sorry," he mumbles. "I remember everything."

Eyes wide, my hands fall to my lap.

Oh no, he's broken. I will never have my happy-go-lucky brother again. The memory of the acts that demon made him commit will live with him forever.

I shed tears for the brother I lost and for the new brother in his place. He doesn't deserve this, no one does. The anger slowly builds up inside me. I refuse to let this be the end. He will come out stronger, we will turn this around. Determined, I smack him across his face.

"Robbie, get up. I forgive you. It wasn't you who did that to me. There are more out there and they're doing the same to other innocent people. We have to help them, do you understand?" I want to hug him after the smack, but it would weaken the effectiveness.

"No, I don't understand. How are you alive? I-the monster inside me killed you...and Candice. It didn't understand how you were alive either. I felt what it felt, heard its thoughts." He hurls, emptying his stomach onto insulation and support beams. Chunks of crimson and black goo sink into the pink puff. Nose running and sobbing hard, he wipes his mouth on his tattered and stained purple cotton tee. "Is Candice alive, too?"

I shake my head solemnly. "No, she isn't. It's only me, and I'm alive because of you, Robbie. An angel gave me my life back under the arrangement that I stop the demons. The monster possessing you was a demon. It's a long story now, but trust me, you are the reason I'm alive." I console him from a distance, away from the spreading pile of puke.

"I'd like to hear this story," Father Brownstone requests.

Nodding, I go into detail the events of the previous day, up to the call to our exorcist. I make it point to assure Robbie of his strength to fight back.

Bewildered, with a hand stroking his smooth chin, Father Brownstone shakes his head from left to right in a carefully controlled motion.

Robbie believes the second I start speaking, a weak smile playing on his lips. He knows because he lived it, too.

"She said I was strong?" he asks.

"Yup, strongest they've ever seen." I smile whole heartedly at him.

He beams, running a mangled hand through his sweat soaked hair. I could see him, the brother I've always known in his smile. Ecstatic, I plow into him, hugging him like I might not see him again, which did almost happen.

"Glad to have you back, bro." Talyn hugs him from behind, extending her arms to wrap around me.

The boys echo our sentiments, making it a group hug, avoiding Robbie's puke on the boards nearby. Everyone joyous for the time being, knowing what hangs over our heads. None of us wants to let go, we stay in each others arms until Father Brownstone clears his throat.

"If what you say is true, we need to get you to a church immediately," he says, with a hint of doubt in his words.

"Weren't you listening? We don't have time to go to a church. People need our help." I look quizzically at him.

Balancing on the crossing planks, we all face him. Something is definitely off about him, I can't put my finger on it. He's changed in the few hours since he entered Michelangelo's home. The once calm priest seems to be a statue of crawling nerves now.

"The blue light, where is it?" Talyn ponders, searching the exorcism kit for it. "I want to see it."

"It's not a physical light source," Father Brownstone informs her.

"Then where does it come from?" Michelangelo interrogates, suddenly angry, maybe more frustrated. "Light doesn't just appear out of nowhere."

"I'm not sure. To be honest, in all the years I've performed exorcisms, that's the first time it's happened," he replies, nervously rubbing his palms on his suit pants.

"What does that mean?" Robbie asks, slightly terrified.

"It means either this was his first real exorcism or he has special gifts of his own that he's just now discovering." Michelangelo raises a brow at the thought, any anger in his voice gone.

"Or both," Kaleb chimes in.

"Or it means I'm real messed up," Robbie blurts out. His eyes dart back and forth between us.

"I'm banking on one of the first two, Robbie," Michelangelo assures him with a firm squeeze to Robbie's shoulder.

Appraising Father Brownstone for a minute, we can't decide what to make of him. A well dressed young exorcism priest, he comes off kind and well natured, not at all like a man dedicated to fighting evil beings for a lifetime. What fate has befallen this man? Is this the reason Gabriela gave me his name, to also help him find his way?

"Nonsense, I'm perfectly fine, nothing's changed," Father Brownstone tries to convince himself as well as the rest of us.

"Father Brow..."

Raising his hand, he cuts me off, "Please, call me Joshua."

Pausing, I've never known a priest well enough to call one by his first name." Weirded out, I continued, "Joshua, will you help us with all the possessed?"

"My calling requires me to." He scratches his head, brow furrowed. "Are they all in the same condition?"

"I think so," I reply, though not sure. How am I supposed to know?

Joshua agreed to exorcise the Possessed for us. Organizing a game plan happened to be a little more perplexing than I thought. For one, we have no way of tracking said possessed. When we figure out where they are, trapping them in an unnoticeable fashion is pretty much impossible.

Like we would settle any disagreement or decision, we vote, and it doesn't quite go my way. Talyn stands as my lonely back-up against the boys. My useless plan, crushed, instantly forgotten as we scour the internet for the location in which each victim resided. Kaleb uses the internet on his phone to look up the news reports for the first victim. Easily, we decide to work our way from the bottom, up. Locating the other possessed poses to be a daunting task, might as well start at the beginning.

Police reported one victim in Brunswick County, two in New Hanover, and one more in Pender, in that order. They would have reported two in Onslow, had I remained dead. I brush off the pattern as coincidence. What proof do I have otherwise?

Sitting once again in Michelangelo's living room, Joshua calls friends at his church, making the details scarce. They make arrangements with a hotel for us in Brunswick County, allotting us three days and two nights stay.

Going into a sword fight with a stick...yea, we're going to get slaughtered.

Preparations are required. Joshua re-packs his kit while everyone else contacts their places of employment.

"The firm can't afford to give me extra time off right now. They gave me tomorrow, and then I must get back." Michelangelo glides in, tossing his phone from one hand to the other nervously. "Thankfully, Thursday and Friday will be a breeze and you'll get me for the entire weekend."

"I have a week, all my vacation time for the year." Kaleb fakes a sad face, poking out his bottom lip. "I expect you guys to make it up to me this summer."

"We all deserve a vacation when this is over," Michelangelo laughs at him.

"Two days! All they gave me was two stinking days!" Talyn stomps in dramatically. "I work so hard and they repay me with two days."

"Well, you did also have today off, Tal," I attempt to explain to her.

"It doesn't matter when the fate of the world lies on us!" she shouts, surprising everyone with her outburst.

"I'm pretty sure it's only the fate of North Carolina in direct effect at the moment." I laugh at her enthusiasm, stopping short when I realize I have no idea where there may be demons. Talyn might be right, they could be everywhere.

"Same thing," she pouts, unknowing of the thoughts running through my mind.

"Let's not count out the possibility that the rest of the planet has been infested. Now, what about you, Clara, how much time off do you have?" Joshua squints his eyes at me and it reminds me of a child trying to look into the sun. Why is he looking at me like that? Because I died and I'm not supposed to be here? Because that's how I've been feeling today.

"I have a bar mitzvah to photograph next weekend, I'm free until then."

"I'm going to quit my job," Robbie announces, shocking apparently just me. "Do you think I can go back to mediocre living after all I've been through? I can't pretend that didn't happen. You guys don't know what that creature thought, what ran through its mind every second. The atrocities it dreamed into my brain. My brain!"

Honestly, I don't have it in me to blame him for feeling like he does. He wants what he wants and I can't even pretend to imagine what he's experienced. I only know what I had been subjected to, not that I remember it all, and I want something more, too.

Assuring me he'll sort his life out after we emancipate the possessed, he strides into the dining room to make the call to resign from his nursing position at Onslow Memorial Hospital.

"Tomorrow will be last day for all five of us to work together, it is crucial we use this time constructively." Joshua retrieves a small legal pad from his carry-on bag.

An hour and a half later, with our game plan mapped, we designate drivers. Michelangelo will drive his black Denali SUV. Joshua requires the spare space for his kit and backup supplies. Kaleb is going to ride with them, eager to talk Joshua's ear off. Robbie and I are piling into Talyn's car, neither of us in the mental position to drive.
Chapter Nine

The two hour long drive to Brunswick County consists of short stops for lunch and to top off the gas. In Talyn's car, we pass the time blasting our favorite tunes and singing obnoxiously along. Robbie needs the escape, he definitely looks worse for the wear, even after a shower and full stomach. His hands are bandaged, wrapped in gauze from finger to wrist. My brother refuses to go to the hospital. He says he wants to come along, but pain in his eyes betrays him. So, no one speaks the entire ride, we sing, we act silly, all the while we avoid discussing the inevitable.

Talyn slows to a stop across the street from the first victim's house behind Michelangelo. I told Kaleb I didn't want any more names, from here on out they were Victim One, Two, and so on. Personifying these poor souls by addressing them by their names, as people with families and futures would only make it more difficult for me. The less I know the better and I already know far too much.

My plan to avenge their deaths as well as my own takes precedence over all else, not to mention poor Robbie. Oh, my poor, poor brother. I hope I can make things better for him.

Victim One lived in a small, single floor cookie cutter house. White siding with pink shutters, it reminds me of a doll house. Victim One lived in her cute little house alone according to reports, she has no living relatives. A light on in the house, contradicts that fact. We know the house has remained vacant in the few months since Victim One's murder, people have been afraid to move in according to Kaleb's research. Shadows pass the front bay-view window, more than one. Either trespassers or the possessed have returned to the scene of their first crime. I count four or five shadows, we're in serious trouble if there are that many possessed here. Walking fluidly about, they appear to be normal enough movements. The boys aren't convinced though, the lights of Michelangelo's vehicle flip on and they pull quickly away from the curb, Talyn copies.

Picking up her phone, I dial Michelangelo's cell number, Kaleb answers. "There are people inside. We're going to circle the block and park further down the street."

"Ok, who do you think they are?" I ask him.

"Not sure. Don't worry, just keep behind us," he hurries off the phone.

"What did they say?" Robbie leans between the seats, the swollen lump, on the left side of his face from where I hit him, shows signs of bruising, his wrecked hands, bandaged neatly, grip the back of the seats.

I repeat Kaleb's words, stopping when I notice a black SUV with dark tinted windows angled in front of the house.

"Talyn, do you see that? Isn't that the same Suburban from Candice's house yesterday?"

"The one Zelda got in? Yea, I think that's the same car." She inadvertently turns the wheel the same time she turns her head, swerving toward the SUV. Immediately correcting and pulling to a stop, she exhales a long drawn whistle. "I'm so sorry, guys. Are you OK?"

I open my mouth to scold her but her phone rings, silencing the thought. I hit the answer button hastily, closely watching Michelangelo's brake lights in front of us. Kaleb and Joshua can be heard in the background.

"We're fine, Michelangelo." I exhale any agitation I felt toward Talyn.

"What the hell is Talyn doing, trying to get us noticed? She'd better hope those people in the house didn't hear or see us. She's going to get us all killed!"

"We saw the same Suburban from yesterday." I hurriedly change the subject. He speaks the truth, I can't argue about it.

"What Suburban?" I watch the three of them look over their seats.

Right, Michelangelo left before the SUV/Zelda arrival.

"Ask Kaleb." I hit end, not feeling much like explaining.

Michelangelo's Denali lurches forward, Talyn close on its bumper. Utilizing the mirror on the flipside of the visor, I survey the Suburban and Victim One's house, losing sight when we turn the corner to round the block. Flipping the visor up I slump in the seat the seat-belt nearly choking me in the process

Zelda and her crew are in the house quite possibly searching for the same clues we are. We absolutely cannot let them get to the possessed before we do. We park along the same side of the road as the Suburban, a few houses down. Most the neighbors' vehicles aren't home, probably working their normal nine-to-five jobs. With the boys on speaker phone, we wait for Zelda's bunch to leave.

Talyn questions Joshua while the rest of us listen in, intrigued by his answers. Every topic from his choice to become a priest to his age and sex life comes up. Kaleb just doesn't grasp the concept of vowing a life of celibacy. Always the ladies man, he has a difficult time imagining the refusal to bed one. We learn through Kaleb's brief interrogation that Joshua has never been sexually intimate with a woman. At twenty-five years old, he has gotten as far as kissing a girl while in high school, just one. He explains when he turned seventeen, he received his calling.

"I can't explain how I knew. It was more a feeling," he says softly, almost inaudibly. "While my friends were off drinking and partying, I felt drawn to the church. At night, I would wake in a cold sweat to a heavenly voice calling my name. During the day, the voice came as a distant whisper, but still it called to me."

"You never thought you might be schizophrenic?" Talyn interrupts rudely.

"Not once, the overwhelming physical pull was enough proof for me. When you receive your calling, you must accept it. Otherwise your place in this world is a waste. You're not living up to your full potential. Missing a calling will lead to a life of resentment and to constantly questioning whether or not you made the right decisions. I have no regrets in life. In fact, my life is precisely where it should be.

Attending college in Italy, where my interest in exorcism grew, I had never felt so accepted. When I sat in on my first exorcism, I knew my path had been chosen for me. Imagine knowing how to save a life and the ability you have to do so. My instructors said my talents were far too great not to utilize, sending me where they saw fit. Traveling from the Far East to Washington D.C., my choice has taken me around the world." His voice now carries an elated joy through the receiver. I wonder if it also carries to his eyes and wish we were all in the same vehicle so I can see for myself.

"What about a wife and kids?" Michelangelo challenges. I can sense he doesn't believe that Joshua hasn't once thought of a having a family.

"Well, I'd be lying if I said I'm not attracted to women. My spiritual obligations supersede that though. Children are a true gift from above, but I don't want any of my own." Now I know that sentiment doesn't reach his eyes.

"Is that them?" Joshua brings our attention to the house, successfully diverting the conversation away from himself.

"Yea, it's Zelda again. And I'm pretty sure they just saw us." I slump down as much more as physically possible, to no avail.

"Who's the suit coming over here?" Michelangelo is unable to hide the panic in his voice.

"Relax, act natural," Kaleb calms.

The man in an expensive suit with a simple black tie, wearing dark Ray Ban shades to conceal his eyes, walks past Michelangelo's Denali directly to the passenger side of Talyn's car, where I'm sitting. I slide upright, back straight. He motions for me to roll down the window. I oblige.

"Excuse me ma'am, you're little assembly is being painfully obvious about watching us. Ms. Zelda claims to know you and wishes to meet with you. If you don't mind following us to our hotel, we can get this all sorted out." He nods robotically to Talyn and Robbie.

"Uh, sure." I nod in return.

Turning on his heels he walks briskly away without another word, not even his name. Climbing into the driver's seat of the tinted Suburban, he drives ahead slowly.

"Did you hear that?" I ask the boys, who happen to still be on speakerphone.

"Yea, I don't like it," Michelangelo grunts, clearly aggravated. He puts the Denali in drive, taking off after Zelda's mystery group, with us behind.

Another twenty minutes of driving has left me with a sore butt and cramped legs. I'm overly relieved when we arrive at a not so modest looking hotel. I take my sweet time getting out of the car. Bending and stretching all the kinks free, I purposefully make a little scene of it. Talyn playfully shoves me, gesturing with a tilt of her head to the main entrance where everyone stands watching me with annoyed amusement. The new me hasn't got a care in the world for what they think.

Inside, we fit into two separate elevators comfortably. Zelda and her friends ride in one, us in another. We need a special code to get to their floor. The elevators open up to a main foyer with a decorative glass round table in the center. A gold painted ceramic bowl of white roses sits delicately upon the table. Other than the one piece of furniture, the foyer is empty but for a set of white double doors across from the elevators. I realize her lot has reserved the penthouse suite on the top floor of the hotel, quite private.

We'd only seen penthouse suites in movies and on TV. Extravagant and too pricey for my taste, the main room boasts gold, pearls, and satins of every shade. Mirrors too large for actual decor hang uselessly around the room. A small two seated sitting area overlooks a grand window looking out over the city. The open kitchen and dining area could have been copied right out of an interior design catalog. I'm unable to get a better look around because Zelda's muscle leads us straight through to another part of the suite.

Overstuffed white couches circle an oblong glass coffee table in the separate sitting room, where we are ushered. On the walls hang too many replica paintings of all the great artists, I spot two Monet's in particular that stand out. Zelda's gaze remains locked on me as I find a seat between Robbie and Michelangelo. A genuine smile from her welcomes us. The four men behind her aren't so quick to greet us. The suit kept on his shades the entire way through the building, hand clasped on opposite wrist at his waist. In casual button up shirts and slacks, the others wait patiently on Zelda.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Clara," Zelda addresses me directly by name. "I apologize for the barbarians behind me," she winks. "They're new to our world."

She turns to face the silent men. "Will you please leave us? I'd like to speak with our guests privately. Except Christian, you stay." She shoos the men away, having the man she called Christian close the double doors behind them.

"Detective Christian Gravels, I'd like you to meet Clara Kenneth." For a second time she surprises me by knowing my surname.

"Hi, this is my brother Robert, my boyfriend Michelangelo, and my friends Talyn and Kaleb. We also have...Joshua here with us." I motion to them like a Price is Right girl.

"Nice to meet you all, Zelda has stressed to me your importance to our case." He sits next to Zelda on the white couch across from ours, close but not too close.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand how you know me," I say honestly.

"Sweetheart, I speak to spirits. I know all about you," Zelda smiles warmly.

"That's a croc." Talyn calls it. "Who's the suit? He probably did a background check on us when you spotted us watching you from the window."

"You were watching us?" Christian's eyes widen, turning to Zelda for an explanation.

"Of course they were," Zelda states simply. "The suit you refer to is FBI Agent Ethan Roland, don't mind him, he's seen almost as much as I have in his life, if not more. He should know better, but he continues to play stupid. You'll learn soon enough what he is. And Christian here, he's spiritually attuned. Isn't that right, Christian?"

He shifts next to her uncomfortably. "Yes, that's right. I've ignored it my whole life, then Zelda comes into the picture knocking down all my walls like a miniature wrecking ball."

"So you really know? You know the truth?" I question, desperately wanting another living being to confirm I'm not crazy.

"Admittedly, I don't know the details. Spirits come and go, passing along bits and pieces as they exit this world." She leans in, hovering above the coffee table, lowering her voice to scarcely a whisper. Her gray, almost white curls brushing the glass. "I know these murders are at the hands of demons. Possessed humans are used as killing toys to get their dirty work done. You were a victim, that I know."

Christian gasps, shaking his head wildly. Zelda pats his khaki-ed knee to assure him all the while her eyes are glued to me. She smirks wickedly, cogs turning in her head, a scheme forming. Somehow, I know I play a pivotal role in her plot. It seems as though I'm the lead role in my own twisted movie.

"What else do you know?" Robbie queries hesitantly. He doesn't want anyone knowing what he has been subjected to.

"Shh, we don't want the unbelievers to hear," she points a frail crooked finger to the double doors. Keeping her voice hushed, she tilts her head toward Joshua, "Do you feel my energy, Father Brownstone?"

Shocked to the bone, Joshua's eyes reflect his readiness to jump out of his skin. "How do you know who I am?" he whispers hoarsely. "What exactly am I feeling?"

Clasping his hands together to keep from trembling, he searches her wise eyes for the answers. His mouth moves inaudibly, mostly from nervousness I assume.

"Oh I know all about you, Father. I just don't know what you are." She cocks her head, appraising him. "You're new to me. I haven't seen your kind before."

"What the hell does that mean?" Kaleb butts in loudly. "What he is?"

Collectively we shush him, Zelda continues, "Father Brownstone, you deal in exorcism, correct?" He nods more uncomfortably, a stiff movement of his neck.

"How long have you been drawn to evil?"

As one, we turn to Joshua. Drawn not to the church, but to the evil surrounding it? Not possible, is it? None of us knows for sure, and I'm positive Joshua had been unaware of the slight chance he's not what he thinks.

"I-I'm not," Joshua stammers, beginning to question himself. "Why are you doing this to me?" He holds his shaking hands out to her, palms up.

"You're doing this to yourself by fighting it, Father. Calm down," Zelda instructs gently. "We can discuss you're issues with your body another time in private."

He slowly allows his hands to rest on his knees, drawing in several uneven breaths. His face flustered, he shakes his head, redirecting his attention to me. Lowering his gaze when our eyes come in contact, he focuses on the perfect clarity of the coffee table.

"Well, you're an asset to this investigation, young lady." Zelda speaks at me, leaving Joshua lost in what she has revealed to him. "If we work together, I can track the demons by way of insider information and you can extinguish them. We must be discreet of course."

A few seconds of intense thought brings me to reality. She has a way to find the possessed for us, making our job that much easier. I breathe a sigh of relief, who knows how long we would have taken on our own. I peer at Joshua, sitting in one of the two single chairs in the room, Talyn beside him in the other. We need his help, without him all of us will wind up dead.

"Joshua, are you in?" I ask, almost pleading with my eyes.

Avoiding my gaze, he wipes his hands on his clean suit pants, brushing away invisible lint. "I don't have a choice. This is what I am meant for."

"What do we do next?" I ask Zelda. Joshua is going to require a little more time to adjust to whatever he's feeling.

"I tell you where the demon wreaking havoc in this vicinity is, then you and your lovely band of misfits destroy it."
Chapter Ten

My friends, the priest, and I load into Michelangelo's Denali, Christian tagging along at Zelda's request. We leave Talyn's car behind at the hotel, the way she drives, we'll get away safer if we're all together. I mean, we do want to survive this ordeal.

The vague directions Zelda gave to me led six miles south of their hotel, to an abandoned development construction zone. A vile stink hangs in the dusty air, seeping through the open windows. Choking on the cloud of debris, we instinctively roll them up, using our shirts to cover our faces from the nose down, filtering the smell. Talyn keeps a small bottle of perfume in her purse. She floods the vehicle with it, making matters worse. Eyes watering, the tropical floral scent stings horribly.

Crumbling pavement crunches under the pressure of the SUV, drowned out by continuous coughing. On either side of us stands warehouses several stories high. Broken and missing window panes reveal eerie shadows gliding throughout the buildings. Through the front windshield, a thick cloud of dust obscures what lie ahead.

"Where do we look?" Robbie faces Christian, assuming he knows since Zelda sent him.

"Don't look at me." Christian shrugs, ducking his head to look out the windows.

A crash of broken glass yanks our attention to a small trailer to the left. The standard construct boasts a wall sized tattered canvas sign of which the only remaining intact words "Construction Co." dangle along the dirt. Where a porch once led to the main entrance, a pile of charred lumber sits arranged in a circle. Not one window left unbroken, the inside, from what we could see, has been gutted. A rainbow of graffiti decorates the area near the front door.

Homeless people have always been known to seek out abandoned buildings for refuge. The sight before us isn't much of a surprise. In fact, we expect to see more transients in the area. Signs of habitation lead me to believe someone has to be close by. Maybe said person saw the possessed we're looking for.

Michelangelo rounds the trailer, deciding to inspect from safely inside the Denali first. I spot nothing unusual to note, an average depiction of the struggling economy. Parking close to the blacked wood, Michelangelo motions for us to quietly step out. Opening his door an increment at a time, he slides his way off the seat. Understated as usual, Talyn throws the door next to her open, and leaps off the seat to cause a crunching thump when she hits the ground. Michelangelo rolls his eyes, shushing her with a finger to his lips. The rest of our little gang follows his approach, getting out silently.

Within the trailer, a male grunts aggressively, reminding me of a gorilla at the zoo. I jump back, bumping into Christian who hasn't moved since exiting the vehicle.

Joshua takes a wide step closer to one of the broken windows. I want to scream stop, but he appears too confident. Another guttural growl and my hands ball into fists at my sides. Fight or flight. My life has changed so drastically in the past twenty-four hours. So much new knowledge has been revealed to me. I will be fighting for everything I've learned.

Joshua waves us closer. Talyn and Robbie steady themselves by a still open door to Michelangelo's SUV.

"Hello? I am Father Joshua Brownstone, I have a few acquaintances with me. If you are in danger we can help." Joshua projects through the window. His husky voice in that deep New England accent is very appealing. I can easily see women becoming attracted to him. Those poor fools.

Shuffling inside, followed by a banging of metal on metal, causes Kaleb to jump animatedly like a marionette doll. A mangled hand, covered in crimson sludge, reaches out the window. The creepy, raspy voice it belongs to remaining hidden in the shadows. Freshly missing three fingers, the hand retains jagged bite marks that trail along the arm where flesh has been torn away. Wiggling a remaining thumb and index finger. The hand convulses.

"You go away. I bet yer the folks that brought that monster here, ain't ya?" A struggled voice shouts out from within the beat-down trailer. "Is this a joke to ya? He looked like an innocent boy, now he's about killing these people. Damn near took my arm off, the creature did. Ya get out of here and ya take that thing wit ya!"

"Sir, we can help rid you of the monster, but that hand needs to be examined by a medical professional," Joshua responds calmly with an authority worthy of a priest. I have underestimated him by a long shot.

"Nope, ain't no way. Get rid of that thing first, then I'll let ya check on it. The heathen is terrorizing the women folk in the main building behind here. Now git!" The hoarse man screams, withdrawing deeper into the shadows.

"I assume he's talking about that one, right?" I point to the six story complex standing menacingly over the trailer.

"I don't hear women screaming." Kaleb backs slowly to the Denali, keeping his eyes on our target.

I agree with him, no screaming.

Quickly hopping into the Denali, we speed to the entrance of the dilapidated building. The brakes screech to a halt, sending most of us crashing forward into the backs of seats. Throwing it in park, Michelangelo jumps out this time, running to the supports of once glass doors. On his heels, we stop short of the broken shards and listen. Not a sound. Considering the building's size, we'd never hear a soft noise. Incomplete, the building lacks most interior doors and has exposed framework. All the windows have been smashed out. I expect to hear a scream through the vast emptiness.

Each of us takes turns shouting down the corridors, searching for some sign of life. Walking the endless halls, peering into countless rooms, we don't find any signs of human habitation, until we reach the fifth floor.

Starting in the middle of one of the halls, a blood trail stains the exposed plywood. Fresh, soaking through the wood underlay, it smears a path further down the hall and into several rooms. More blood than what my bed has absorbed covers the walls and floors. Closer, I recognize the stink of death, rotten flesh, and emptied bowels.

The boys try to keep Talyn and me behind them, but I force my way to the head of the group, right next to Joshua. Talyn, taking the initiative to be braver, keeps in pace directly behind me. The room closest to the beginning trail of blood sits empty with an old sleeping bag balled in the corner. Across from the empty room is another story.

The large office with a near panoramic view of the dusty construction site, houses the remains of a family. Joshua sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes water instantly. I use my body to block off the doorway, bumping Talyn back with my rear. They don't even attempt to fight for a view. Smart of them. Laying face down on the floor, two feet from Joshua, the father rests peacefully after his attempt to save his wife and kids. Damn economy. I assume they were recently homeless. Four sleeping bags and boxes of canned food surround the bodies.

Before covered with blood, the family's clothes were in perfect condition. Both husband and wife wore their wedding rings. She lay slumped in the corner with a small bit of jewelry still on, sentimental. Two children, both under kindergarten age, huddled in their mother's limp arms. The possessed managed to tear out all of their throats and leave them in the same position, or at least propped them this way.

"Your brother killed like this?" Joshua asks, New England accent strained hoarsely.

"No, I told you what Robbie did."

Overhearing,Robbie butts in. "Please don't repeat it."

Christian clears his throat. "Who killed what?"

Ignoring him, Joshua continues, "I remember. The angel, she requested me, by name? She knows who I am, what I do?" Joshua watches me from the corner of his cool brown eye with tear stained cheeks.

I try not to look at him. "She didn't request, she ordered me to find you."

"Ah, I see."

"Am I the only one who hears that?" Talyn's voice no more than a squeak brings to her side.

We listen collectively for a moment, hearing nothing. I seek Michelangelo who only lifts his chin toward the end of the corridor. Brushing past him, I inch my way down the hall. He reaches for my hand, but doesn't stop me. He lets me lead him forward. With him at my side, I avoid checking in the other rooms. I want no one else to see what the possessed were capable of.

Pausing abruptly, I squeeze his hand. I hear it, a crunching, slurping of hunger. He returns my squeeze, letting me know he hears it, too. His hand is too hot in mine. Sweat is collecting between our palms.

"What is that?" Kaleb shouts in a hushed voice to us from behind. They must hear the same sound.

"Something's eating," Joshua answers for us.

A figure lurks around the corner leading into the stairwell at the end of the hall. Dragging its feet, it slinks our way. Cracks of light shine into the windows and through the open doorways, revealing the blood soaked possessed. He stands about my height, that's all I make out over the gore covering him.

"Run. Run now," Joshua orders in a tone almost normal laced with just a hint of hysteria.

"We have to stop him." I step closer to the possessed. We're less than ten feet apart.

"No! I can feel it, Clara. That thing is frustrated and enraged that it hasn't found the fallen yet. The demon has been randomly killing humans to make itself feel better. Now that it's seen you, you're in danger, it thinks you're her. Run, Clara, just run!" Joshua screams. His words trail his bolting feet pounding at the exposed wood floor, away from me, away from the possessed.

Unable to think of a better plan on the spot, I allow Michelangelo to drag me down to the opposite end. Behind us, I hear footsteps thudding against the unfinished wood floor. It likes the chase. Matching Michelangelo's pace, we round the corner to the stairwell we took up to this floor. The rest of our group made it to the platform below us.

I want so badly to turn around, to see the face of the innocent teenage-boy taken over by the demon. It would not only cost me my life, but Michelangelo's, too. A risk I refuse to take. Michelangelo on the other hand sneaks a peek as we fly down the last few steps to the platform with the others.

His mistake.

Losing his footing, he tumbles forward, pulling me with him. Michelangelo has enough time to wrap his arms around me to cushion the fall onto the cold cement. My head slams into his chest. Through it, the echo of his head smacking against the floor of the platform reverberates in my ear. The life shattering thud drops my heart into my stomach. Before I get the chance to check on him, the boy-demon lands on my back with a painful wallop.

Nails strong enough to rip inches into flesh dig into my shoulders. Lifting me off Michelangelo, it throws me up the steel reinforced concrete stairs with more strength than the boy's body could have had on his own. Landing on the last few steps to the next platform, the impact knocked the breath out of me. Gasping I attempt to pull myself up to the flat surface as the boy-demon lashes out at my friends every time they come at him, preventing them from reaching me. Inside him, the demon's strength seems to grow. I can't sit idly by while they're being attacked.

Talyn wails, swinging her arms wildly. Her fists connect with Joshua's head a few times, but never the demon-boy. Joshua stands with his arms spread wide, shielding her from harm. Robbie, to my surprise has positioned himself to the left of the priest, his fists up, ready to fight. Nearest the platform edge leading down, Kaleb repeatedly tries to grab the boy, earning a slash to his torso each try. A pool of blood spreads out from Michelangelo's head, a curtain of crimson, almost touching their shoes. Christian hovers over him, protecting his injured head from any further blows.

Gathering my senses, I jump from the top of the platform, toppling over the demon-boy. I straddle his back, fighting to keep him down. Using the hammer fist technique I learned from watching so many mixed martial arts fights on TV, I pound into the back of the boy's head. Inside I feel a pang of guilt for hurting him, he has no control over what the demon forces him do.

"Clara move!" Kaleb shouts, lifting me off the boy's back, taking my place.

From his pocket, Joshua removes four black leather restraints. Handing Robbie two, he places them around the boy's wrists, while Kaleb holds his arms behind his back. Robbie uses the two in his hands to adhere the boy's ankles together, his bandaged fingers fumbling over the straps. Robbie's face is stern, his brow set to determined, a bravery I haven't seen from him in a long time. Working together, with Christian on one side, they lift the struggling boy. Talyn, staring at my blood stained jeans, presses hard against the wall as though she could meld into it, edging her way over to me and out of their way.

Dropping to my knees at Michelangelo's side, I search for a pulse. Faint, but there. The gaps between when his chest rises and falls are too far apart for me. Sliding my hand along the back of his head, I feel for the impact wound.

"Don't touch it," Joshua warns.

Resting my hand on his forehead, I watch halfheartedly as the guys take our boy-demon down the stairs. Talyn sits at my side, hugging me around the waist. I hold on to Michelangelo's hand with my free one, squeezing it repeatedly, willing him to come to.

His life can't end like this, it's not fair.

Kaleb and Robbie return to carry Michelangelo down. Joshua retrieved his kit and had begun on the boy on the first floor, Christian remained behind to observe. Placing Michelangelo in the room across from where Joshua is performing the exorcism, Robbie sets out for clean wrappings. Kaleb remains with me and Talyn. He starts to ask if I needed anything, but I glare at him. Michelangelo needs. What I need Kaleb can't give me.

"He'll live. I've seen people survive worse injuries." Kaleb's effort to soothe my fear only makes it worse.

"I know he will," I snap angrily. No one needs to pacify me right now.

The familiar blue light casts across to our room. Joshua has completed the exorcism. Instead of Robbie, Joshua brings a clean sheet from his kit, explaining Robbie is sitting with the distraught boy. I think it fitting. Robbie knows better than any of us what the boy had faced. Thankful he decided to come with us, I keep my smile for my brother internal, Michelangelo has to recover from this injury before I smile visibly again.

"That was quick," I comment halfheartedly.

Joshua's brows twists in confusion, he gives a small nod after he thinks about it. We stepped back, giving Joshua space to unfold the sheet. He kneels by Michelangelo's head, lifting it slightly above the floor. Placing his hand over the wound, he applies pressure. I doubt any of us could have predicted the result of such contact. Even Joshua himself is shocked beyond belief. The same blue light illuminates under Michelangelo's head, presumably from Joshua's palm. Through squinted eyes, I witness my muscular boyfriend's body convulse violently, tendons and nerves contracting and releasing. A hoarse cry escapes Talyn's lips, her arms wrap tightly around me. Eyes wide, Joshua is able to place a steadying hand on Michelangelo's chest to keep him down. Slowly the light dims, bringing forth a startled man and bewildered priest.

"What happened?" Michelangelo shoots upright, fully alert of his surroundings. His face, slightly ashen, the only visible sign, aside from the blood, that there had been trauma.

"I don't know. It-it closed when I touched it, your wound is gone." Joshua relaxes back on his heels, staring down at his hands in concern.

"What?" I went to Michelangelo, grabbing his head, feeling through the sticky tangles. "Not a scratch!" I exclaim happily, hugging him with the force of a bear.

"We need to see Zelda," Kaleb voices uneasily. I'd forgotten he was here.

"No, I'm fine. It must be residual energy from the demon I exorcised," Joshua claims, unconvincingly.

"You've never done this before? Saved a life, I mean, or healed an injury?" I query expectantly.

Joshua hunches his back, ready to ball up and breakdown. He opens his mouth, just a breath comes out. "Once."

"Once? Once, you what?" Talyn cries, her face scrunched with terror. She's about to lose it, the human mind can only handle so much. I'm surprised I've lasted this long.

Sighing, Joshua straightens a bit. "On my fifth birthday my dad bought me a German shepherd puppy, I named him Zeus. A few weeks after I got him, Zeus was hit by a car. Whimpering on the street in front my house, I found him alone, clinging to life. An incredibly insensitive, reckless person hit him and drove off. They didn't even check his collar or move him out of the street. Crying, I used a towel and my Radio Flyer wagon to transport him to my clubhouse in the backyard, where I cared for him. All afternoon I sat by him, whispering encouraging words.

"My mom called us in for dinner when the sun had begun to set. I panicked, laying my hands on Zeus's side, telling him to get up. How it happened, I can't remember, but next thing I know, he sat up and started running to the house. My mom said he must have found a dead animal and rolled on it, as an excuse for the blood. I knew better though, but kept it to myself."

"Oh no," I whisper aloud. That's not normal.

"I thought you said Robbie's exorcism happened to be the first time you saw the blue light." Kaleb raises his brow.

"Honestly, I don't remember seeing it back then. I'm twenty-five, I can't remember everything that occurred when I was five and the details of that day are especially hazy," he explains reluctantly.

"You're not just an exorcism priest, Joshua," Michelangelo tells him, as we help him to his feet.

"Aside from the dire need of a serious shower, you look perfectly fine," Joshua examines him, patting his shoulder. He manages a weak smile, failing to hide his horror.

"We will see Zelda later," I announce. "She can explain this, don't worry."

Successfully diverting the attention away from himself once again, Joshua points out that we have a newly freed human to deal with. We follow him to the room across the hall where we find Robbie in deep discussion with our teenage rescue. They're huddled together in the center of the little room. The boy bobs his head at Robbie's words, urging him to continue. My wonderful brother notices our presence, jumping to his feet.

"Michelangelo, you're OK!" Robbie shouts, running over to hug him. "How did you recover?"

"A miracle," Michelangelo said, glancing at Joshua whose gaze is at his feet.

"You guys better explain later," Robbie whispers in his ear. When he pulls back a sly smile plays across his lips.

I glimpse around the room counting heads and I notice our detective has disappeared. "Where is Christian?"

"He watched me perform the exorcism, afterwards he said he needed some time to clear his head, he went for a walk." Joshua waves in the general direction he thinks Christian may have gone.

"Are you going to introduce us to your friend?" Talyn jumps at the opportunity to meet the kid.

"Oh, you remember Zachary Smith. Zack, this is my sister, Clara and her boyfriend, Michelangelo." I reach out to shake his hand, but he only stares off in return, avoiding eye contact. "These are our friends Talyn and Kaleb." They receive the same non-acknowledgment. "And you met Father Joshua Brownstone."

"I'm so sorry for attacking you, Robbie explained that you know it wasn't me, but it won't stop me from being sorry." Zack mimics Joshua, his lashed pointed down over blushed cheeks.

Standing an inch shorter than me, Zack gives off a childish charm. His shaggy raven locks fall in his eyes, hiding them until he tosses his head, flipping them back, only to have them fall in place again. I peg him at about fourteen, as he doesn't appear to have grown into himself yet. His gore stained black and white striped hoodie has seen better days, the Converse sneakers he on his feet have torn and expose dirty socks. Joshua must've cleaned him up a bit. His face is no longer covered in blood. I suppose Zack's parents had to be missing him, he did disappear months ago.

"You should contact your parents, Zack. They must be worried sick," I urge him.

"I don't think they care, Clare," Robbie rests his arm around Zack's shoulders.

Zack told us his life story, how it began several years ago when his mom married a recovering alcoholic named Richard. In the beginning everything seemed perfect, Richard had eight years sobriety under his belt and his mom brought them all together. Then Richard lost his job as a landscaper, caving in their joyous little world. Both his mom and stepdad began drinking heavily. Gradually they neglected Zack, diving deeper into their depression and substance abuse. Drinking led to prescription meds, which eventually led to cocaine. Towards the end, his mom began prostituting herself to support their addiction. Their lovely home turned into a destitute drug haven for the local addicts. The day Zack turned sixteen his stepdad tried to offer him as payment for drugs to a human trafficking ring. Deciding it best to save himself and leave, he packed the necessities and left to live on the streets. He'd only been on the streets a month before the demon possessed him.

"Why didn't you stay with friends?" Talyn inquires, obviously concerned.

"They stopped hanging out with me because of my parents," he replies sadly. His eyes become as big as saucers before the tears spill over.

"What about your dad?" she continues.

"He left before I was born. I don't know him or how to go about finding him. I don't even know his name."

"Zack can stick with us until I have finished my duties exorcising all the demons. After I have finished, if he chooses, I will take him up north to my church." Joshua extends his long arm to Zack, offering him his hand, friendship, and a new life, all in one.

"I dunno, Robbie told me what you're all doing. That's way too important to have me fumbling along, messing things up." Zack shoves his scraped fists in to the pockets of his disgusting hoodie.

"Trust me, bud, this one isn't going to let you say no." Kaleb lovingly pats my head.

I agree, he needs us and I find the idea of him going with Joshua brilliant. The consensus is the same. It will be a long process but I'm sure Joshua will be able to expedite the paperwork.

On cue, my stomach reminds us we haven't eaten dinner yet. Nice.

We come across Christian walking near the entrance of the construction zone, befuddled and agitated. He's unable make sense of the demonic possession and later exorcism he's witnessed.

Christian returned that to Zelda's aid, he said he'd be in contact. I won't miss him, he didn't help much. Why Zelda keeps him around, I'll never understand. He finally put a face behind the murders, but it's not making him feel any better. He doesn't actually have anyone to arrest for the crimes. An innocent teenager, not yet an adult, slaughtered a girl and a family he never knew, for reasons he couldn't grasp. How was Christian going to explain that to his superiors? Answer: He can't.

Zack actually remembers killing three young women. Robbie committed two, one had been me but the police are unaware of my death. Unfortunately, other possessed are responsible for the last two. Possibly one final possessed to find, then we can return to some semblance of our normal lives. This can be done without the use of our yellow-bellied detective.

Zelda has agreed to meet us for dinner in the restaurant located on the first floor of the hotel she has booked. Disclosing the location of our last possessed to free, she warns us to be extra careful with this one. Refusing to tell us more about Joshua's abilities, Zelda states she will gladly speak to him alone when he feels ready. She does say what we've already figured out, that our secret weapon has proved to be our saving grace, our one and only priest. Joshua blushes and glances down to his lap at our praise the entire night.

I can tell the knowledge of his special abilities is growing on him, making him comfortable in his own skin. It helps that we accept Joshua as is, weird blue light and all. No need to hide or change for us weirdos.

Zack fits into our group perfectly, getting our silly jokes, comfortable with our constant highs and lows. I want a normal life for him when this ends, he deserves that much. I know the church will provide the best environment for him. Joshua warmed to the idea of having a possible apprentice, though how useful he will be is still up in the air.

After dinner, Zelda pulls me aside to speak privately. She grasps my forearm for balance as we walk down the hall toward the set of elevators. I hadn't noticed she has such a difficult time walking before. A pace so slow, every step would've been five for me. Maybe her old bones are finally feeling the wear from the recent events Zelda has become immersed in.

"You know, Zack was a good boy before the demon got in him, and before those parents of his ruined his life. I want to tell you something you should know. She's dead now, his mother, died of a heroin overdose not too long ago, maybe two weeks. That boy isn't long for this world either, Clara."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see. There's something not right about him. He was a good boy. Be careful, dear, I don't want you getting hurt in all this. Don't mention his mother's death to him. I don't know what it might do to his current state of mind. Do you understand?" Her grip on my arm tightens but not enough to hurt, just an emphasis of the danger.

"Not at all. How do you know about his mom?" I know she's a medium, but what she's telling me isn't making any sense.

"She passed by on her way out of this world. Nasty woman. She had one thing on her mind: 'Can I get my fix?' Not an ounce of remorse for her past and her wrong doings. That woman didn't have a single thought about Zack. She'll be deeply disappointed where she's headed." Zelda smiles wickedly for a moment, quickly wiping the grin off her face.

"That figures. What about Zack? He's been exorcised. What's wrong with him?" We stop short of a set of elevator doors. I press the up arrow for Zelda.

"Oh, honey. I don't know everything. All I can tell you is that he's off. But don't you go trying to investigate further. Go to your friends, relax. Celebrate this small victory." With that she waddles into the open elevator, entering the code for the penthouse. "Have a goodnight." The doors hiss shut and I watch the numbers above the door increase as the car silently glides up to the top floor.

As I head back to meet up with my friends, I find it difficult to discern what she had said. I can understand not telling him about his mother. But something off about Zack? Maybe, but how off is he? And he's not long for this world. What does that even mean? I guess I'll have to wait to find out.
Chapter Eleven

Waking with a renewed vigor, I spoil myself with a long hot shower. Ecstatic to have found and successfully saved the first of the possessed, my friends and I went to bed with full bellies and confident determination. We're one step closer to ending this nightmare.

After my shower I return to bed to enjoy Michelangelo fast asleep, his back a mountain of taught muscle, rising and falling peacefully. I almost lost him yesterday. Honestly, if he had died, I don't know what I would've done. Grateful to Joshua for unintentionally saving him, I know the safety net is going to expire soon. None of us are immune to death, and Joshua does have a life outside of this deranged moment in time. Risking Michelangelo, my friends, and my brother isn't worth it. Knowing they'll refuse to let me move forward alone, I force the thought to the back of my mind, dreamily watching the handsome man laying before me.

A knock at the door stirs Michelangelo. Shifting in the bed, his eyes follow me as I answer it. I cracked the door open, greeting Talyn and Robbie. She has effectively covered his bruises with make-up, the color is a perfect blend. His hands are still bandaged. The missing nails will take considerable time growing back, if they ever do. They inform me of the breakfast plans and write down our requests, leaving to pick up everyone's orders.

"I feel like a new man today," Michelangelo sighs sleepily, stretching as he slides out of bed. "That Joshua is magic, I'm telling you."

He rubs his hands along the back of his head, elongating the line of his well toned naked upper body. Grabbing a pair of faded jeans from the top of his bag, his slips them on over his midnight purple boxer briefs. His movements seem different, more fluid, and graceful.

"I agree with you, there is definitely some sort of magic in Joshua." I don't let him leave my sight as he moves about the room. I visually gobble up the hotness that is my boyfriend, so yummy.

We meet in Joshua's room. He had somehow acquired the largest suite. Over breakfast we discuss our layout for the day, choosing to leave Zack in the next hotel once we check in, giving the poor guy more time to recuperate, we have no use for him until then. Michelangelo returns to work tomorrow and Talyn the day after, Zack will have to take their place then. Joshua calls the church to make arrangements for us in the next county as we stuff our faces with delicious fresh fruits, eggs, and bacon. He mentions Zack while on the phone which apparently causes quite a frenzy of excitement there. They welcome a new addition with open arms, especially under his specific circumstances.

Joshua leaves ahead of us to check out while we haul our bags down to the main lobby. Bright eyed, bushy tailed Zack practically skips down the hall in a pair of Robbie's jeans with Kaleb's oversized gray Nike pullover hoodie. The kid is practically swimming in the borrowed clothes. Talyn and I plan to take him shopping before he leaves for Maine, a whole new wardrobe for a whole new life.

Packed and roaring to go, we load into the Denali, our next stop: Pender County. Talyn squishes into the back with the four other boys, I sit comfortably up front with Michelangelo. Full of anticipation, we head off in search of what we hope is our final possessed. Zelda said this person will be more difficult to find, the spirits revealed to her that he moves mostly at night and his actions are erratic and unlike my brother or Zack. How much more erratic than possessed can he be though?

Both physically and emotionally, Michelangelo is different. Unable to put my finger on it, I focus on the positives. Our relationship feels stronger even though something inside him has changed. Outwardly, he appears to be healthy as an ox, or whatever the saying is. And he didn't die, that is most important. But then again, I feel different too. Something inside of me is changing. I'm afraid to tell anyone, even Talyn. What if it's something bad, demonic even? No, I'll tell them when I'm ready; once I'm sure it isn't a concern.

Half way to our destination, we make the usual stop for lunch and to fill up the gas. A tiny diner up the road from the gas station greets us with the scent of freshly baked pastries. The outside of the diner gives the illusion of a quaint old fashioned family home with its white washed siding and pale blue shudders. A hand painted sign done in black on white painted sheet metal is the only tell that it's even a diner. Inside the quaint place is more a modern day theme. Definitely does not match the outside. The tables and booths could all be in an Apple Bee's. Along the walls hang contemporary art and blown up newspaper clippings of local events. The light fixtures are simple hanging domes that could be viewed as both retro and modern.

Glass cases line the cash register, filled with mouth watering pastries. I buy a box of them for the trip and keep one that looks like a mini strawberry cheese Danish to the side for after lunch. As always, Talyn can't wait, she stuffs her face. She eats three pastries before ordering lunch, way too fast for me to tell what they were.

With effort, our group squeezes snugly into a corner booth with the hope that those of us in the middle won't need to use the restroom soon. Loading up on ridiculous amounts of calories, we joke and laugh merrily. Yesterday had gone so well, we're expecting the same of today. Zack hints at going with us, but Joshua firmly explains to him it isn't the right time. He just rescued the boy. He isn't going to risk his life so soon.

"You kids just passing through?" The gray-haired server asks as she refills our drinks.

"Yes, we're heading to the next county over." Kaleb smiles sweetly at her, in the most charming way he knows how.

Her smile falters. "Where?"

"Burgaw, ma'am." Joshua answers her.

"Well, you just stay indoors when the sun sets, you hear me? Some strange things have been happening up that way." She tugs a faded pink handkerchief from her apron pocket, using it to pat her brow nervously.

"Strange things, what do you mean?" Michelangelo prods. Just as the rest of us, he doesn't like where this might be going.

"Oh, you know, probably just some teenage heathens up to no good. Don't fret over it, but do keep inside at night." Her hand trembles as she tucks away the handkerchief, smile back on her face not quite reaching her eyes.

"Thank you ma'am, we'll be sure to do that. We'd like the check now, if you don't mind." Michelangelo's smile does reach his eyes. Despite what the server has said, he is in a genuinely pleasant mood.

Lowering his voice while she retrieves the check, Kaleb murmurs, "She knows more than she's saying. If word has reached down here, it must be pretty bad in Burgaw."

The rest of us see it the same way, and we know we have to leave, now.

Kaleb insists on covering our lunch bill which Joshua insists on reimbursing. The two continue their back and forth on the way out to the Denali. Robbie elbows Kaleb, giving him a sly smirk. He gives in reluctantly, letting our friendly priest give him the money.

Using Michelangelo's phone, I Google search recent news reports for Burgaw, coming up empty handed. Whatever is happening in that small town, no one wants it to get out. The woman at the diner knew, maybe she has family there, a word of mouth thing.

Conveying my concerns to everyone, I need their input. Minds race to work, we have a larger problem than we first imagined. The level of danger flew up monumentally. If an entire town knows something is terribly wrong, why haven't they notified anyone? It's not like Burgaw is a big town, word would have traveled fast.

The Denali rides smoothly to the center of town. There is an unusually low amount of traffic for the afternoon hour. Cars are out, but we don't see people walking anywhere. Sun shining brightly in the sky, it has to be in the eighty's today. Late-May, there's fantastic weather and no one out enjoying it? Nope, this isn't normal for any town.

"I know the kids are in school, but what about moms walking their infants and toddlers in strollers, or people walking their dogs?" Talyn searches each open window for a sign of life other than the occasional passing car.

I cringe at the mention of strollers. They always bring back the memory of her death. I imagine my mom walking me on a day like this, going to the park or on a play date with the child of one of her friends.

Life's not fair.

Michelangelo senses my grief, taking my hand in his as he drives. I thank him by kissing the back of his hand, giving it a quick squeeze before cradling it in my lap.

"I can see people through the windows of shops, they have to leave at some point," Zack says pointedly, staring into the local drug store.

"This has weird sci-fi movie written all over it," Talyn states, uneasily leaning into Kaleb to observe the storefronts we pass by.

Driving about the town for some time, we find it to be very odd and disconcerting. The afternoon passes, schools let out. The kids walk straight home, not to the park. There were a few who goof off for a few minutes before adults step onto their porches, yelling at them to get home. This beautiful little town sits haunted by terrors of the night.

Burgaw has one hotel, more a bed and breakfast than anything. The church booked rooms there, but Joshua has chosen to cancel our reservations. He prefers to stay further outside the town after the server's behavior at the diner and what we ourselves have observed during our trip through the town. We drive a half hour to Wilmington, to the closest hotel near Burgaw.

"She said stay in at night, so I propose that's when we head back," Kaleb suggests the obvious when we pull up to the hotel.

"I'm going to need a nap," Talyn announces, exhaling an exaggerated yawn.

Joshua, Zack, Robbie, and Kaleb room together, while Talyn shares a room with me and Michelangelo. She sprawls out on the sleeper sofa on the opposite end of the large suite, urging us to take the queen size bed.

"Wake me for dinner, please," she requests sleepily.

"Of course, Tal. Sweet dreams." I blow her a kiss. She giggles like a child until I hear her snoring softly.

"I think we should nap, too," Michelangelo whispers huskily in my ear. He scoops me up bridal style, dropping me lightly onto the bed. I kick off my shoes and scramble under the sheets. Removing his shirt and sneakers, he keeps his jeans on, climbing in next to me.

"This is nice," I admit, wallowing in the warmth of his body next to mine.

"Clara, I love you more than anything the heavens could create. I'll never let you down again, anything you say, I'll believe it." Twisting a lock of my hair around his finger, he places what feels like a hundred kisses on my forehead. "Let's get away when this is over, just you and me. Anywhere you want to go, we're there. What do you say?"

"That sounds like the best idea I've ever heard in my life." Snuggling into the heat of his chest, I fall deeply asleep in the comfort of his muscular arms.

Yanked out of bed, I hit the floor hard. A knot forms in my back where I landed. My ears are ringing, I swear someone is shouting but from where I lay on the floor all I see is the ceiling. Leaning up, I rub my eyes with both hands to clear away the sleep.

"Clara, get up!" Talyn shouts, almost from a distance, though she's standing a few feet away.

Joshua steps into my line of sight, kneeling onto the bed next to my head. Robbie and Kaleb rushed around him to the other side, close to the window. Talyn shifts her gaze bewilderedly back and forth between me and the bed, unable to decide which to attend to.

Rolling over to my stomach, I carefully push myself up, stretching when I stand to loosen the knot in my back. The tug of something tight inside me almost causes me to keel over. My stomach feels weird, my chest feels empty.

Talyn reaches for my shoulder, ushering me back to where she originally stood. From here I get a full view of what all the commotion was about. Immediately my hearing returns, the noise that follows makes me wish it hadn't.

On the bed the healthy man I fell asleep next to is shaking in a fit of violent seizures, his eyes have rolled to the back of his head, white liquid oozing from his mouth. Kaleb has his big hands holding down Michelangelo's shoulders, Robbie straddling his legs. Joshua shakes his head almost as violently as my boyfriend convulses, gripping his own hair with both hands, he doesn't know what to do. Freeing one hand, then the other, he reaches into Michelangelo's mouth to hold down his tongue, preventing him from choking on it. The contact ignites the blue light, illuminating directly from Joshua's palm. Michelangelo's body jerks, his back arching upward, knocking Kaleb to the side and Robbie to the floor. Flopping limply back onto the bed, his body goes still, too still.

"What the hell happened?" I choke out. What the hell is going on? I want to scream, to jump onto the bed.

I'm too scared.

"I don't know. I woke up to a loud crash and saw Michelangelo doing...that." She points with a hesitant pause to the bed, referring to what just happened. "I was afraid he would hit you by accident, his arms were flailing like crazy. I pulled you off the bed and ran to get the guys." She sobs apologetically.

"Joshua, is he OK?" I barely form the words.

"I don't know, honest, I just don't know. This is all new to me." He leans in to check Michelangelo's vitals.

"This didn't happen to your dog when you saved him?" Robbie asks, rubbing his palms together quickly as though he's cold.

"No, Zeus lived to the happy old age of eighteen. He didn't have one health issue after that day," he replies solemnly.

Kaleb walks to the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth and towel. Sitting on the bed, he wipes Michelangelo clean with the gentlest of touches, lifting his chin to get the gunk off his neck. Using the towel he dries him, lifting his head, with the most care, to lay the dry towel over the mess on the bed and replacing his pillow with the one I slept on.

I want to cry, to curl up in the fetal position and bawl my eyes out. Instead, I crawl back into bed with Michelangelo, laying my head on his bare chest. His heart beat steady, breathing even, I want so badly to wake him up, but I can wait.

"What are we going to do?" Kaleb asks Joshua over my head. "Should we take him to a hospital?"

"Yes...no, I don't know. A hospital won't help him, this is because of me. I think. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore." Joshua's tone hardens. "I need to speak with Zelda, don't call anyone until I get back, unless it happens again. She's waiting for my call. Everyone should stay here until I get back."

"You're going to meet with her? Are you ready for that?" Talyn questions worriedly.

"We don't have a choice anymore. Whatever's wrong with me, I need to know how to control it," he snaps at her unintentionally. Realizing his mistake, he turns hastily on his heels, hurrying out of the room.

We have to trust him. As much as I want to take Michelangelo to a hospital I know what is happening to him can't be fixed by traditional medicine. So I will wait, and pray.

A few minutes after Joshua's departure, Zack knocks on the door. We purposefully neglect to fill him in on the event he had missed. He was already concerned with Joshua's abrupt departure, adding to his stress might reverse his progress.

After several orders of food from room service we've learned all about Zack and his life before the possession. Before his life had gone awry he was a popular sixteen old with a girlfriend. He graduated high school early—at the same time we did— with a perfect 4.0 GPA. Throughout high school he wound up taking care of his mom and step-dad leaving him without plans for college. He said Joshua spoke with him about what his interests were in reference to school. They talked about enrolling him in a community college in Maine. Zack's eyes light up with hope when he speaks about the new future he's been offered.

Elsewhere

Christian drove Zelda to the hotel in Wilmington for her meeting with Joshua. Still unsure of what he witnessed the day before, he isn't ready to see the priest again so soon. What he destroyed in that room felt wrong, end of the world wrong. Christian's ridged posture and cold demeanor are not lost on Joshua.

"Hello Father Brownstone, so glad you called," Zelda cheerfully greets, arms extended to embrace him. "You remember Detective Christian Gravels."

"Yes, I remember. Thank you for coming so soon, I appreciate it." Joshua takes her hand in his, leading her to the dining hall of the hotel. Christian remains outside, leaning fretfully against his gold Impala.

A maitre d' dressed in black suit pants and a clean white dress shirt complete with black bow tie seats them in gold painted high back chairs, close to an extravagant stage. The hotel converts the dining hall into a ballroom for weddings and reserved parties. In the center of the three-story pearl-white painted ceiling, the most exquisite crystal chandelier hangs effortlessly as though it's floating in thin air. Enormous, glittering in the soft light, it's a piece straight out of a fairy tale castle.

"Lovely room, isn't it?" Zelda surveys the mostly empty dining area.

"Yes, perfect for a wedding," Joshua agrees almost dreamily. Why did he say that? He'll never get married. He doesn't even want to marry. Or does he? What on earth provoked him to mention a wedding?

The bouncy blonde server delivers tall slender glasses of water to the table, politely telling them to wave her over if they need anything else. She winks at Joshua then she swings her pony tail and prances to another table.

Laughing, Zelda says, "Time is precious, sweet priest. What would you like to know?"

"I have this...this power. I can't control it, what do I do? I save and I harm. What is wrong with me?" He grudgingly goes in to detail of the events of the day before.

"There is nothing wrong with you, you're special. I've heard about beings like you, but you're the first I've met. The specific name for your kind is unknown to the people in my circle. Spirits call you by different names though." Her mouth forms a tight crescent. "They say you are the magic man, the devil, a witch, death himself, the bringer of death, to name a few. I don't think the spirits are far off in their deductions. In my personal opinion, you're an extraordinarily powerful warlock, but what do I know?" She allows her words to sink in with him.

"Such things don't exist." A look of disgust crosses Joshua's face.

"Oh, and demons do? How else do you explain what you do?"

"I'm a trained exorcism priest, a man of the cloth," he retorts angrily.

Leaning across the table, she whispers harshly to him, "You were born of magic, Father. You only became a man of the cloth later in life. What you do links not to priesthood but to the hidden side of the world. There are many things hidden among us that mortals are protected from. I suggest you tune into reality rather quickly, you ignorant man."

"Just tell me what I have to do." He gives in, time is running out and he knows he's the key to resolving whatever is haunting the earth.

Zelda withdrawals a palm size black leather-bound book from her oversized purple sequined purse. She explains in a hushed tone that a local witch left her the book and several enchanted tools in her will when she passed. Heavy and compact, the book bonds to Joshua the moment it's in his hands. This book was always meant to be his. The leather, once worn and pliable when she handed it to him, becomes sturdy and solid at his touch. He slides open the strap, flipping through the unreal book. Browned pages turn a creamy ivory as his fingers trace the edges, each page fills with colorful drawings and intricate diagrams, each labeled with a description or list of some sort.

"Incredible," Zelda exhales in disbelief.

"Is he dying?" Joshua questions, his eyes never leaving the open page in his hands.

"You mean Clara's boyfriend? No, it's not his time, yet. Give him this, make sure he takes it with food or his body will reject it." She hands him a vial with dried, olive color leaves.

"All of them?"

"Yes, they're only olive leaves, your best remedy to heal the man. All the leaves with dinner will heal him," she insists. "You fed him too much magic when you healed his wound, one could say he overdosed. These will absorb the residual magic and repel it from his system."

"Oh," he replies, ashamed of himself for not knowing how to utilize his gifts. "Olive leaves, could it be so simple?"

"Not always, young man."

Reassuring him everything will be fine in time, Zelda orders tea for the two of them. She proceeds to explain her knowledge of what she refers to as "the arts". They speak briefly of his family history and physical gifts.

As far as he knows, he is the only one in his family with such powers. His mother and father appear perfectly normal. Is he wrong? Are there quirks his parents have that he's overlooked, any unusual instances that caused him to question his own sanity growing up?

He only remembers the lonely experiences, ones that seemed so silly back then. A time when he wasn't able to reach the cookie jar his mom placed on top the kitchen cabinets; he closed his eyes tightly, wishing he could reach it, when he opened them, the jar sat at his feet on the floor. He always figured his mom had pulled it down for him when his eyes were closed, but he recalls finding her sitting outside on the back porch, knitting that day.

Countless other small mishaps he thinks of come flooding back in vivid detail. Each feels more meaningful now, like he should have known he was different all along. A warlock? No. He is something far too different to be defined in such simple fantasy labels, not that they were truly fantasy any longer.

They talk of future projects and experiments they would like to work on together. Zelda reminds him to call her in any event he needs guidance. She knows little of what he is, but she'll do her best to help.

Joshua leaves Zelda in the dining room and heads back to his new found friends with a vial of leaves, an unexplainable book, and more unanswered questions, self doubt toying with his emotions in the worst ways.

Back at the Room

I'm unable to lift my head from Michelangelo's chest, facing the room with a perfect view of everyone. His breathing remains steady, though he hasn't stirred much since the incident. No tears. I will be strong for him. Not that my hidden wound will let me do anything else.

This change in me is taking it's sweet time. One moment I'm sad and afraid, the next I'm annoyed and furious. All the while my invisible wound making itself known.

Kaleb, Talyn, and Zack play card games on the shiny dark-lacquered coffee table near the sleeper sofa, Robbie napping on the floor next to them. Since Zack still shows signs of post-exorcism depression, no one asks how Michelangelo is doing. Through their constant glances and frequent fidgeting with random furnishings, I can see Talyn and Kaleb are dying to ask.

Michelangelo's heart skips a beat in response to the knock at the door. I shoot upright, baffled. A knock has affected him, not the outbursts from Talyn when she was losing in one of the card games. Kaleb opens the door, stepping aside to allow Joshua in.

Joshua rushes to the bedside, sitting close to the edge, furthest away from my man as he can sit yet still be on the bed. He has Kaleb order room service for Michelangelo, a full dinner. In his hand a palm size vial with some type of plant.

"Clara, please wake him," Joshua says softly.

Robbie stirs, his eyes spring open at the abrupt silence. Before I know it he's on the bed at my side, patting my back encouragingly. I oblige, attempting to wake him. I shake Michelangelo gently at first. Then, when light shaking doesn't wake him, I shove all my weight down onto his shoulders, pushing him deep into the bed. My insides tighten, he's not moving. Yelling in his face not caring if anyone else in the hotel can hear me, I smack him hard.

His eyelids flutter open, so childlike, as if waking from a sweet slumber.

"Michelangelo?" I tense. Please be ok. His eyes are no longer the amazing shade of bottomless ocean blue I love. They have turned a golden honey color.

"What have I done? I'm so stupid. I shouldn't touch anyone." Joshua murmurs. He's clearly distraught by the obvious change.

With an intense gaze, Michelangelo focuses on me. "Clara, what is going on? I can't move my legs!"

Commotion at the door, Talyn and Kaleb clamor over something near the entrance. I sit on my knees, unable to speak. My eyes can't focus on any one person. My focus darts back and forth between Joshua and Michelangelo.

Talyn hands a tray of food to Joshua, informing us that we've had a noise complaint from another guest. He accepts the tray, apologizing for his behavior towards her earlier which earns him a quick hug.

"Feed him this, mix it well with his food and make sure he eats it all." He holds the vial out to me between his thumb and index finger.

"This is?" I twist off the lid, examining the dried leaves.

"Olive leaves. They will rid the extra magic I accidentally pumped into him." He looks to Michelangelo's chest solemnly.

"Will you sit me up first, I feel weird. My body is buzzing."

Lifting him under his arms, Joshua leans him against the oak headboard while I crunch the leaves into fine pieces to mix in the mashed potatoes Kaleb ordered. I don't know how well they will mix with the steak.

He devours the entire meal, with help at first, half way through he's able to feed himself. When he finishes he's regained full function of his body, jogging around the room to test his mobility.

"Hey, I don't blame you. I thank you, Joshua, you saved my life." He plops down next to the weary priest on the bed, reaching out to rest his arm around his shoulders.

"Twice," Talyn chimes in. "He stopped you from choking on your tongue."

"When?"

"You had a... an episode. While you were sleeping, it was bad," she tells him, her voice close to a whisper.

"I want to know what happened." He grabs hold of my wrist, pleading with his eyes. I tell him everything I saw, Talyn fills in the rest. The corners of his mouth turn down so much, he looks like a caricature of himself. Incredulously he shakes his head, looking to Joshua for answers.

"I'm so sorry, Michelangelo. I just visited with Zelda. She said I overdosed you on my power. The olive leaves are from her."

This is the first Zack has heard of the incident. His sobs drown out any other sound in the room. All eyes turn to him, his skin ashen, and eyes bloodshot. Hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles white from straining.

"Zack, it's ok. Michelangelo will be fine, look, Joshua found some medicinal leaves." Kaleb gestures to the bed.

"Why are...you...hiding...things...from...me?" Zack chokes out between gasps for air. Face reddening, he shudders convulsively.

"I should have told you before I left. It seems I have many mistakes to atone for, my deepest apologies." Joshua hangs his head in shame.

"Look at me! I'm alive, that's what matters. I don't blame you, Joshua, I never would. You're a good man, you made an innocent mistake saving my life. A little overdose on magic? The price I gladly pay to be here talking to you all," Michelangelo laughs wearily. "A choice between life or death. Life, please."

"No...one...told...me," Zack whines. "What about me? What's going to happen to me?"

My insides are twisting. I'm getting agitated.

"We wanted to protect you, but I think I speak for us all when I say, we're sorry. All we were doing was suppressing you," Kaleb says kindly.

Robbie exhales restlessly beside me. He's growing as tired of the whining as I am.

"I'm so sorry, Zack. I should have had more confidence in you." Joshua rises to his feet with his arms open.

"I'm an adult now...I can handle the truth." Regaining his breath, he walks sluggishly into Joshua's embrace.

Well, as long as we're being honest.

"You're mom is dead," I blurt out. My hands snap to my mouth, but it's too late.

"What?" Zack's swollen eyes peer over Joshua's shoulder to me. His brow twisted questioningly.

I go to my quiet place inside when the clamor erupts around me.
Chapter Twelve

No one speaks to me during the ride back to Burgaw, my mistake worse than any of Joshua's, I guess. I know it was the wrong time, but my emotions don't agree. I felt compelled to tell Zack, right that moment, laying everything on the table. He said he could handle the truth. Kaleb really laid into me, he said I should've known better. I did. Joshua refused to look in my direction. Ouch. Talyn cried, telling me what a monster I am. True. Michelangelo just shook his head in disappointment which always seems to hurt the worse. Robbie, the only one on my side, said nothing, avoiding further confrontation. Me? I feel apathetic. Once it was out, it was out. At first, part of me wished to take it back, but then the phantom scar that runs through my torso up to my throat pulsed. A wave of energy eclipsed the sympathy. I don't feel bad for him anymore. I've become emotionally detached, running away to inner peace.

Zack took the news rather well, he cried less than a half an hour in Joshua's arms. Talyn remained back at the hotel with him, coddling him like a child. Her maternal instinct kicked it. I didn't think she had one. For one proclaiming to be such a man, he sure did revert into a little boy. Joshua told him they would find her grave first thing in the morning to pay their respects. That seemed to calm him.

The sun has set, giving rise to a white half moon. So many lights in the town are already out at eight in the evening. Every other street lamp glows a hazy yellow-orange, the rest have been shattered, assumingly by the mystery vandals the town doesn't admit they claim to have. Eerily, the glow casts deceiving shadows across the pavement. I expect one to jump at us as we ride over them. This place is completely deserted at night compared to during the day when a few brave going outdoors. It freaks me out more than the abandoned development we found Zack in. I expected to be disturbed there. Not here though, people are supposed to be thriving here, this area supports life. Under the shade of night it's just the haunted little town with an evil little secret.

"This is creepy," I shiver.

"Yea," Kaleb mutters in agreement.

Noting the absence of animal life, I see nothing in the trees or scurrying under vehicles. Not an animal roams in the night here.

Circling the town, Michelangelo weaves in and out of parking lots and neighborhoods, covering all the ground that can be tracked by driving. We'll have to search the smaller areas on foot. On many storefront windows and posted on trees, missing person signs have been taped or stapled. I have to remind myself to grab a few before we leave.

My own duality fights within, I want to be the hero, loved and loving. I also don't care. The confliction eats at my soul, nibbling away at the old to drill in the new. Does not caring mean strength? Or does it mean I now have an evil counterpart I live blissfully unaware of? And what is with my invisible scar? Why is it suddenly giving me trouble?

"From here we walk," Michelangelo announces.

I survey the surroundings, oblivious we had stopped.

"Take this." Kaleb hands me a heavy duty flashlight, like the ones police officers carry.

"Stick together," Michelangelo commands, glaring at me as he says it.

So I might go rogue, I can't help it.

Joshua takes the lead with me at his back, Kaleb, Robbie, and Michelangelo bring up the rear. We walk for over an hour, my feet are throbbing. I snatch up missing person flyers as we pass them, holding twenty missing faces in my grasp. Kaleb growls at me disapprovingly. If I don't grab them now I'll probably forget. I stick my tongue out at him, earning the slightest of smiles.

Joshua freezes in place. "Do you smell that?"

If I hadn't been looking over the flyers I would have stopped in time. I bump into his back, knocking him face first off the curb. Robbie giggles unexpectedly.

"Sorry, Josh."

He dusts off his clothes, the only non-suit outfit he owns, a pair of khaki pants with a navy blue short-sleeve button up. It reminds me of a prep school boy on casual day. Gravel stuck to his cheek, I brush it off for him with the soft swipe of my fingers.

"Pay attention, do you have a death wish?" Michelangelo wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him. "We're all supposed to make it out of this alive," he whispers in my ear.

"Something's burning," Kaleb sniffs the air like a bloodhound.

"That's what I was trying to tell you." Joshua raises his head to sniff.

I would laugh if Michelangelo's hand isn't covering my mouth, stifling me. He sees the humor in what they're doing, his restraint is just better than mine. Robbie's not so much. I kick him in the shin to prevent him from snickering.

"I can see smoke." Michelangelo peels his fingers from my mouth to point to the left of us. As he said, beyond the rooftop of the drug store, a brownish-black smoke rises, soiling the beautiful coal blue sky. I don't know exactly how we all know this is the sign we've been looking for, but my phantom scar is tugging at me extra hard.

We bolt back to the SUV. The pain in my feet all but disappears when the adrenaline kicks in. I find myself actually able to keep up with the boys, sliding into the front passenger seat and clicking in my seat-belt before them.

Michelangelo drives like a bat out of hell, swerving over the curb to reach the source of the smoke, a fire raging viciously in the woods. He slams on the brakes, throwing the Denali in park. He's running toward the fire before I get myself unbuckled, Kaleb hot on his trail. I meet Joshua at the rear of the Denali, grabbing an end of his kit so we can carry it side by side. Robbie has chosen to sit in the vehicle, waiting for us. I see the fear in his eyes and don't question him.

The smell of burning flesh adds to a long line of new scents for me. The smell in the bottomless hole in the earth from my dream seemed just as real. I remember it clearly as I inhale the mixture of odors from the fire ahead.

Michelangelo and Kaleb stand twenty feet back from the clearing. In the center, an unruly fire melts the skin off a pile of bodies. Close to the flames, a bearded man gouges out the eyes of an elderly woman, popping them into his mouth like cherries. She was already dead, bearing the same life ending wound as they all do, as I had. The man, our possessed, heaves the body into the flames. His head lifts agonizingly slow, eyes piercing mine. Either the possessed are getting smarter or this demon is special. We are royally screwed both ways.

○ ○ ○

On the sleeper sofa, Zack sleeps with his head in Talyn's lap, his body jerks restlessly every few minutes. She assumes his dreams are troubling him. Stroking his hair, she admires the young man before her, seething at the information so hastily thrown at him. She's unable to understand Clara's reasoning. There had to be a better way of telling him his mom has passed away.

Talyn remembers a time when Clara was the cowering kind and she had been the one who braved the difficulties of becoming a young adult. Only a few years passed since then and they both have taken a complete one-eighty. Talyn has become the coward, a position she never imagined herself in. She was fearless. No, not so much anymore. Now Clara has assumed her role, she faces dilemmas the likes of which Talyn will never come close to comprehending, yet she continues on, harsher a person than before.

A single silent tear slides down her cheek, falling into the hair of the budding man in her lap. How can life go on after such tragic events? These deaths must be avenged, but it won't bring them back. She used to think of death as final, the end to all ends. No longer does she peg it as such. Clara came back, angels exist, and demons haunt the world. Sitting in a hotel room comfortingly holding someone she just met, Talyn questions everything she thought she knew about this life and beyond.

Watching the sleeping teen only two years younger than her, Talyn thought about what she was like at sixteen. Her hopes and dreams, the antics she would get into. Her current situation doesn't have a place in her grand scheme of life. Talyn is willing to bet Zack's plans didn't include being homeless and possessed either.

What is she going to do? She can barely take care of herself, let alone a sixteen year old. At eighteen she hoped to be starting her freshman year of college to put a few degrees under her belt, not still serving tables at the same restaurant she started with when she was sixteen.

Her head pounding, she overwhelms herself with worry. Their lives are in danger, if she were to die in the next few days she'd regret not fulfilling her dreams. Talyn has become another mindless cog in the machine of budding young adults of middle-class America. In her mind she doesn't live up to any expectations. Instead she has fallen into a monotonous routine and got too comfortable, forgetting all her goals. The way the days are progressing, she might never get the chance to change her future. Racking her brain for answers, she mentally closes once open doors, shutting down, falling slowly into an inevitable depression.

Zack twitches beside her. Shaking her head in pity, Talyn tucks the blanket around his shoulders and leans back onto propped pillows. Closing her eyes, she drifts off into an irritable sleep.

○ ○ ○

Drawn to the monster before me, I drop the end of Joshua's kit from my grip. He says something, but the roar of the flames and the crackle of burning human remains drown him out. The dead lay still within a blaze, mouths gaped open, their silent screams tear through my ear drums. My head pounds from the ringing their screams cause. These souls refuse to rest in peace.

This demon, guised as a man in his forties, wipes the blood from his mouth, smearing the red fluid into the man's bushy beard. It senses me, swinging its host's body around to fully face me. His eyes are the same devouring empty abyss I've come to expect in the possessed.

I recognize this man from the flyers I'd picked up. I ruffle through them quickly, glancing up at the possessed every few pages. Ryan Jefferson, forty-three, devoted husband, family man, reward for information leading up to his location and safe return, one-hundred thousand dollars. The picture shows him clean shaven, a church going man, last seen a little over a month ago. More information than I wanted to know.

Enveloped in the stench of death and smoke, I imagine Hell smelling similar.

"Hello, angel," the possessed says calmly, in the man's human voice.

"I'm no angel."

Crouched, he creeps closer, using both his hands and feet to move. Stopping three feet too close, he inhales a deep breath, relishing in the smell. Smiling cruelly, the gray orbs where human eyes should be sparkle in delight.

"Oh, it's you angel. I can smell the heavens on you, so pure and light. Don't try to lie when the evidence is in you."

"I'm really not the angel, you idiot!" I shout. I feel the boys tensed to move behind me.

Closer, he comes right up to my chest. I freeze, not in fear, but anticipation. I want to know what about me makes them think I'm an angel. Still hunching, he sniffs at my torso. I release my grip on the flyers, they flutter across the grass. Clenching my hands into fists, I'm ready to hit him with all I have.

"You're a terrible liar, angel. You stink of them, little liar. I bet your heart is delicious. I can't wait to taste it." The demon unhinges the man's jaw, opening his mouth wider than humanly possible.

I punch him between the eyes. Hard.

Stunned, the possessed didn't see it coming. I feel sorry for the man I punched. He's going have a black eye in the morning.

"Stupid little bitch," the demon growls. "I'll keep you alive just to watch me kill these humans you've become so attached to. Don't worry, I'll make it slow."

Michelangelo throws a sheet from Joshua's kit over him before he's able to follow through with his threat. Kaleb and Joshua tackle the flailing possessed to the ground. The demon within growls incessantly, like no animal I've ever heard, snapping through the sheet.

"I'll kill you, angel!"

Choking the possessed with his large hands, Michelangelo yells incoherently at him. I have to pry him away and remind him a real man can feel the pain.

"Put out the fire!" Joshua shouts.

We aren't prepared for a fire and the town's people obviously don't plan on helping us. We scramble the area for anything to extinguish the flames.

"How did it start this?" I cough, waving the smoke away from my face. I don't see gasoline or matches or ignition source. Does it have the ability to start a fire this big on friction alone?

The man beneath the sheet screams, not the demon, the man. Flame engulfed hands burn through the white cotton. It started the fire with its own power, bursting from his palms in an excruciating blaze. The sheet disappears, swallowed in the flash. We have our answer.

Joshua, Kaleb, and I circle the man on fire. There is no way of saving him. This demon refuses to give up its host. It's stronger and more intelligent than the ones before. I think it also has something to do with how Joshua exorcises the demons. He performs other than ordinary exorcisms, if that's even possible. This one is aware of its fate and has taken matters into its own...hands?

Doomed from the moment he was possessed, the poor man never stood a chance. He screams hoarsely, writhing in the flames. I'm sure the demon is letting him feel every bit of heat. His clothing strips away shortly after the sheet, his skin melting way to muscle and fat which sizzles like bacon in a frying pan. I cringe. No more bacon for me. I refuse to look away, forcing myself to take in every gruesome detail.

Whimpering in the distance alerts me to Robbie. He stands in the empty grassy space between the SUV and us. Head in his hands he peeks at the scene through his fingers. I know he's seen too much. I'll be strong enough for the both of us.

His last gasp for breath takes the fires with him into death. They are alive and wild just moments before, the heat causing sweat to drip from my brow. Wherever the demon went, it took the flame along. Smoke and ash floats about, further corrupting the beautiful night sky. The man, Ryan Jefferson, lay a charred mess, barely a body. He is more a big piece of twisted jerky. More food I'll have to avoid. I'm sure if we touched him the remaining body will crumble, blending with the earth.

The pile of people no longer exists, five or so stacked sloppily upon on another. In their place, a dusty heap of their ashes, mixed disrespectfully amongst each other with the dirt beneath. The winds pick up, stirring the blackened ash into the air. I use my shirt as a filter, no inhaling human remains for me, the boys quickly copy. Clinging to my hair and face, these tiny pieces of the dead call to me.

My spine tingles, causing an unconscious shake of my body. My phantom wound throbs like the beat of a Congo drum.

"What do we do about this?" Robbie asks between sobs, I didn't hear him approach.

"They deserve peace," I reply carefully. "Their families deserve peace."

Joshua paces in circles around us, his hand on his chin thoughtfully, though we all know what he needs to do. He needs to call Zelda. She has a team of some-what professionals on hand to deal with such occurrences. Plus, if anyone has seen us, we require a clean up and back-up. Evidence of our presence has to be all over the place.

From his end, we can tell Zelda will be on her way shortly, more than happy to be involved. Of course her team is in tow, all of the men we met in her suite, plus a female detective. I don't worry so much about the other guys. FBI Agent Roland is the one who bothers me. I hope he'll understand our predicament and not judge and execute before hearing us out.
Chapter Thirteen

Zelda arrives in the same Suburban we'd first seen her in, Agent Roland driving. He steps out in haste, opening the driver's side passenger door, assisting Zelda to her feet. He's dressed in an expensive black suit, tailored perfectly to his athletic figure. I don't think he's old enough to be a seasoned FBI Agent. He can't be older than twenty-five. His brown hair is lighter at his temples. The presence he commands is strong, dominating. Dark green eyes pierce you with an interrogating intensity.

The other men of Zelda's crew pile out in their various forms of casual wear, meeting at the rear of the SUV. An unmarked windowless white work van parks close behind them. A petite woman in casual attire steps down from the driver's seat. She doesn't look thrilled to be here. Her blonde hair angled, just below her ears, a cut I'm nowhere near brave enough to try. She follows the Hispanic detective, Consuelos, like a lost puppy, an angry lost puppy.

"How unfortunate for the poor soul," Zelda says quietly. "The demon in him was too strong a force to reckon with. They say it's getting worse, the hole. Bigger, more monstrous, and stronger are pushing their way through." She shakes her head, white curls falling from the colorful scarf she wrapped them in.

"Who says?" Joshua asks.

"The spirits, those monsters have even them spooked. Thank you for calling me, I know you lacked other options but I'm still grateful you didn't waste time contacting me." Her eyes light up, she reaches a wrinkled hand to Joshua.

"Thank you for coming and getting here so soon." He pushes her hand away and embraces her like she's his own grandmother.

Christian greets us with a hesitant smile, glancing over our shoulders to the charred earth where the one body still lays. He ushers us to the back of the van, with its doors open wide. Inside a fully functioning mobile lab lines the cab, packed with advanced kits and space age technologies, some of which I haven't yet seen depicted in movies. Zelda's men are removing said bags as we approach, opening and laying out the contents in the grass beside the van.

"You kids like to make a mess, don't you?" Agent Roland sits in an anchored swivel chair in the back of the van. He spins to look at us, smiling sincerely, with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"It's wonderful to see you again, too." I return his smile, mine not sincere.

"This is Detective Sasha Wilt, she recently returned to the team after a much needed day off." Agent Roland lifts his head in the direction of the little blonde woman. I try to read between the lines of what he might mean by "much needed day off".

"Hi, call me Sasha, or Wilt, either one will be fine."

We make our introductions to yet another member of Zelda's crew, I wonder how many more there might be. Counting Sasha and Zelda, there are six of them. We outnumber them—with two of ours back at the hotel— by one including Zack, so we are pretty much even because I don't count him.

Apparently Zelda has turned her group into believers, as they take notes of our explanation, they question nothing. Their expressions hardly change. I want to ask what changed since we last saw them, but bite my tongue. Another time. Zelda sees my puzzlement, winking in exchange.

Devastated, Joshua steps away from the commotion to place calls to his church and his father. I'm unable to discern what he tells them, he faces away from the crowd. I don't know how many lives, if any, Joshua has lost during one of his exorcisms. Not now, but when things calm down I want to ask him. In his present state, his emotions are too fragile, I worry he might breakdown.

Michelangelo and Kaleb are beyond happy, for them life can start again. They follow the detectives around, observing without touching. The fact that so many human lives have met their end today completely eludes them. I can see in their eyes a sense of accomplishment. Circling the crime scene, they pass a grim faced Robbie. He doesn't notice them, hands in his pockets, he hunches, keeping his gaze away from the burnt remnants. Feigning a smile at the detectives walking by him, I witness the despair and weariness he feels.

My heart may have been torn from my chest, but has returned anew. It beats like any other heart, keeps me going. The renewed heart feels emotions differently than before. It gives me better control of myself. My change, delayed a day, has come on in full force. Yesterday, my heart raced at the thought of danger, my body worked against me in times of distress. Today, my reactions have differed, my heart a weapon. A gift, my phantom scar reminds me of how different I've become.

Agent Roland dishes out orders, the team complies quickly and efficiently. Pictures are taken, areas marked off, ashes scooped up. Numerous samples lifted from the secluded sections.

Sasha stomps around the van with obvious contempt, glaring at anyone who cares to look her way. The smart boots she wears leave small pointed prints in the dirt. Her blonde hair bobs lively, she tucks it behind her ears, but it's too short, falling into her face again.

"So, Sasha," I approach her, "do you always get stuck with a bunch of dudes?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she snaps.

"I didn't mean anything by it, sorry. I just figured it would be tough being the only woman working around a bunch of men all the time, must be hard to be seen as an equal. Geez, you shouldn't snap at people when they're trying to make conversation with you."

"Yea? Well, you shouldn't assume everyone wants to talk to you."

She has some nerve.

I write Sasha off as an ignorant bitch in the brief moment we speak. No other words in the English dictionary describe her better. It'll take a lot for her to make it back onto my good side.

"Sasha, use some manners when speaking to Miss Kenneth." Agent Roland sticks up for me.

"Whatever," she mumbles under her breath.

"Detective Wilt!" He decides to go formal.

"Yes, sir!" she shouts at him, the hurt in her eyes barely noticeable but there.

Agent Roland shoots her a stern look, though his eyes are gentle. They definitely have some kind of history and I find myself intrigued. Has an intimate relationship gone awry? Is this a show for us, but behind closed doors they continue an ongoing tryst? Imagining them together in that way isn't easy. In my eyes they are polar opposites from what little I actually know about them. Maybe they have more in common than I know.

"Miss Ke..." Agent Roland begins, but Zelda stops him mid-word, his mouth hanging open with her delicate wrinkled fingers across his lips.

"Please call her Clara, Agent Roland. This case has gone beyond the use of formality."

I lean into Zelda to convey my gratitude. I hate being called "Miss". She laces her silk draped arm through mine, clasping my wrist with her opposite hand. I like her a little more every day.

The mobile lab compiles the evidence neatly and accordingly. There is a small refrigerator tucked between heavy equipment. Inside, a multitude of samples safely wait processing. Flat touch screen monitors align the interior. Charts, confidentially scrambled data, and email messages are being sent simultaneously. In the stationary chairs sit Agent Roland, Det. Consuelos, and another detective. I assume the van is FBI issue. I don't think local detectives have access to equipment so advanced and expensive. How do these guys know how to use it?

They move like pros within the confines of the van, filing, labeling, and typing. I guess it can't be far off from what they're used to. Zelda or Christian can give me details later if I press them to know more.

"Interested in the mechanics of Roland's lab?" Det. Consuelos motions for me to climb into the van. I remember all the stories my dad used to tell Robbie and me when we were little, about getting into vans with strangers. I wonder if a detective in an FBI van counts, smiling to myself as I grab his hand, allowing him to pull more than I try. He is much stronger than he appears.

Kaleb eyes me with a disgusted glare from around one of the doors. Someone is being a jelly-belly. I know he wants to be invited in. I let him stew, giving him the finger discreetly behind my back. From the chuckles of Robbie and Michelangelo I figure it wasn't as discreet as I thought. I add to my mental "To Do List" learning to be more ninja-like when I give someone the finger.

Marcus, as he insists on being called, points out various doodads and whatnots I pretend to understand. Honestly, I thought I knew a little about CSI style labs and computers from watching so many TV shows. Turns out, I know nothing.

Detective Colton Williams is propped in the last chair. He proudly displays a framed photo of his wife and kids, a son about five and daughter close to ten. Their mother, a striking woman, has her arms lovingly wrapped around them. They smile like the happiest family in the world, with their matching blond tresses and coordinating cowboy-style outfits. Smiling for him, a reminder of what wait at home.

A twinge of pain stabs through my chest for the mother I lost, and my dad, who missed out on photos like this. It dissipates in an instant, my phantom wound swallowing it, removing the feeling from my being.

"You alright there, darlin'?" Det. Williams asks sweetly. "Looked like something sad crossed your face just now." His brow furrows, but the photo catches his attention once more. One look at his happy family and I am all but forgotten.

"I'm fine. I just need a good dinner. It's been a rough past few days." I smile at him.

"You're right. I think we could all use dinner and a few drinks after this nightmare." He laughs broadly, wrinkles appearing in the corners of his hazel eyes, sweat soaked blond hair messily matted to his head. In his early thirties, this man has found and held dearest his missing piece. If only we could all be so lucky.

"The FBI loaned you guys this van?" I wonder if they know what for.

"Nah, this is Agent Roland's personal van. He says this case is classified, so we work directly under him now. All I know is you don't question the Feds." He winks at me, stealing another glance at his photo. "I do know something...otherworldly is going on and I'm proud to be involved."

He has no idea. Good for him, no sense in scaring the family man to death with the truth. If I had kids and knew what I know now, I'd lock them up to keep them safe. I get the feeling he'd do the same.

Zelda's...well, Agent Roland's team gathers and cleans up all they can, repacking the van. Agent Roland places several calls to classified people, securing authority to inform the people of this town they are safe to once again go out at night. He neglects to tell us what the story is, but I know it has to be elaborate and believable.

We make plans to meet for dinner and drinks in Wilmington, Zelda and Det. Williams opted out, choosing to retire to their homes for the night. Joshua also turns in for the night at the hotel to keep Zack company since he isn't up to hanging out with more strangers. Talyn came in his place, more than excited to get out of the boring hotel room. The rooms are paid for the night so we take advantage. Kaleb orders the meals for me and Talyn. We are all underage still so we can't drink with everyone else.

A celebration for a victory won. Smiles on every face, yet I still feel incomplete. Throbbing dully, my phantom scar speaks to me through pain. I ignore it, job done.
Chapter Fourteen

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Birds sang, ringing in the spring, celebrating new life and new beginnings. Children, in their brightly embellished clothing, laughed and ran between people in the streets, hands full of candy and ice pops. Parents chasing their kids with joyful smiles, apologizing to each person one of their children bumped into. The promising day held the smell of street vendor food, fresh grown flowers, and the clean air of a new season.

Cement scorched at her feet, leaving a blackened trail in her wake. Pedestrians gawked as she passed by the storefronts in downtown Wilmington's historic district, none noticing the damaged sidewalk. Her hair, the color of spring daffodils, glistened in the sunlight, flowing flawlessly mid-back. Passersby noted her eyes changing color between the contrasts of sunlight and shadows. They shined a beautiful and strange grassy green in the light, but once shadow covered her, the iris seemed to disappear into the pupil, turning them black as coal. Frightening and beautiful, that was her, in a knee length, dark pink sundress hugging her curves dangerously, accentuating in all the right areas. The thin straps lay gently against her pale skin. White sky-high wedge heels tied to big fabric bows at her ankles.

The city, always alive, turned as one to watch this lone woman walk nonchalantly down their streets, never seeing the ominous trail she burned into their lives. They went about their day, oblivious to the oncoming terror this beautiful person brought with her.

Walking with purpose, she rounded corners, mentally mapping her route every step. She carried no purse, held no belongings at all. Her dress contained no pockets. Where ever she was going, she didn't require such possessions, everything she needed would be waiting for her. The mystery woman disappeared into the crowd, a wicked smile playing across her lips.
Chapter Fifteen

Two months later

Talyn and I began taking kick boxing classes together shortly after Joshua and Zack departed for Maine. We wake every morning, with great effort on her part, at dawn to jog a few miles, incorporating some aspect of cardio into our daily routines. She thrives in kick boxing, tiring of the early morning jogs. As long as I've known her she's never been a morning person. Add the stress of returning to work and continuing a hectic schedule, she becomes downright hostile at sunrise. I don't mind, I like the company on my jogs.

Normalcy returned to our lives, well, as close to normal as we can manage. I've accepted more work to occupy my time, working out and hanging with those closest to me to fill the extra hours in my days. Idle moments make me over anxious.

Robbie did break up with James when we returned home. He plans to use his savings to travel the world, finding his place in life. He feels as lost as I am. Unlike me, he put up walls, wandering about the days, going through the motions. If we go out, he participates but his mind remains elsewhere. His hair has grown out and his appearance fallen below his usual upkeep. I think his desires to find himself are the best thing for him. I've even considered tagging along for a month or so, the house gives me chills when I'm left alone, not from fear, from something other.

Robbie kept his room, he cleaned it and we replaced some furnishings and the carpets of every bedroom. I switched rooms with the office, losing a personal bathroom, gaining a peaceful night's sleep. My bed and its fittings replaced by Michelangelo, black and purple, he knows me so well.

I made Robbie and Talyn help me repaint the walls in every room. I wanted a new look to my renewed life, not to remove any memory of the past. That, I know will remain with us until the end of our lives.

Michelangelo and I are stronger than ever. Our love for each other impedes all else. He moved in with us and brought warmth to my nights. I'm alone during the days if Robbie isn't home, which I don't like, but hope to get over soon. Kaleb plans to open a bookstore with Michelangelo. I told them it won't be easy to compete with the larger chains. They want to take a chance and I'm not getting in their way.

We keep in contact with Joshua and Zack, speaking weekly. Zack enrolled in community college for the fall. He made an abundance of new friends through the church, hanging out with them often. He mentioned a girl or two to Robbie and I know it's only a matter of time before we hear about a girlfriend. As often as I speak to him, there still isn't the care in my heart for him as I have for Joshua and my loved ones. I don't understand why.

Joshua makes use of idle time as I do, busying himself with extra work around the church and community. He doesn't mention any new exorcisms to us. I don't think he's performed any since the last debacle. I haven't asked him all that I want to yet, he needs a little more emotional recovery time.

We fell back into the monotone pace of life. I can't pin it just on Robbie. I guess we all kind of go about the motions. How are we supposed to pretend we haven't been through a nightmare together and survived? Least not me, how can I pretend I haven't been brutally torn open, made a trip to the afterlife and returned? Truth? I can't.

○○○

After a few weeks of boredom and repetitive living, Kaleb has begun to hear strange stories about creatures lurking in the dark during his late night shifts. Patrons describe rapidly moving shadows, shifting figures concealed in the blackness of night. He chalks it up to a few drinks too many and drunken visions, even when fewer people come in for drinks every night, until Joshua calls Michelangelo one seemingly average afternoon.

Meeting at our house, we gather in our freshly painted light cornflower blue living room. I bought a new solid glass-top coffee table, it's huge. The dark metal frame adds a sophisticated modern air to the room. Talyn and I pushed back the couches to fit it in, my chair edges into the entryway. It still looks nice, cozy.

Michelangelo relays the stories Joshua and Zack are hearing in Maine, they sound eerily similar to Kaleb's bar tales. Details match down to the moving shadows. In Maine, the added spontaneous bursting of streetlights tops the oddities we've heard. Zack and the friends he's made stopped going out alone at night. More people attend church, Joshua and his fellow priests listen to quadruple the normal amount of confessions.

We all think the same, this isn't coincidence. If people aren't dying, what can we do though? Joshua would have mentioned hearing about new possessed. Could these instances possibly be more demons?

Talyn begins to cry uncontrollably, believing the end of the world is upon us. I know it's something strange, but we haven't heard from Zelda or Agent Roland. I personally haven't been contacted by Gabriela, not that I expect to hear from her ever again. How are we supposed to know? The hole, have the angels filled it? Had they not it would explain new demons.

Joshua will come down if the reports continue to escalate. Zack will of course remain behind. It makes sense because he really isn't of any use to us. The kid also has no interest in pursuing further in our ventures.

The days following that night are a waiting game, every phone call or text message sets us on edge, expecting to hear Joshua is on the next flight in. We prepare, mentally and physically, refusing to be caught off guard when we know what is coming this time.

Nights grow longer, the sun sets earlier than I've ever known it to. I thought it was just me and I was making more of it than need be, but everyone noticed it, it became top priority on the news. Four o'clock the sun touches the horizon, too close to disappearing for the day. Within minutes it is lighting another side of the world.

The event is unexplainable. A meteorologist Kaleb once dated has been called in to one of the local news channels to give her take, she says nothing new. Every field gives their opinion, local astronomers, geologists, and geophysicists all repeat the same answer, they just don't know.

Then a call comes, one I didn't truly think would come. Agent Roland contacts me, on my house phone. The sun has reached its highest point for the day, and I am all alone.

I hold the receiver against my ear, holding my breath, of all people I didn't want to hear from, he is numero uno.

"Clara?"

"Yup," I answer simply.

"We need to meet, I'm in town, be at Zelda's tonight at seven." He hangs up before hearing my excuses not to come. I should have known better anyway, he is with the FBI; he knows my plans and will make me show up on time, no matter what I say.

Robbie and Michelangelo won't be home for hours. I send them a group text explaining the call. Robbie replies with a simple "OK". Michelangelo is worried, but I assure him that if it were serious Agent Roland wouldn't be wasting time to tell me. He reluctantly agrees.

Seven o'clock rolls around and I find myself sitting in my car, alone, in Zelda's driveway. I made the executive decision not to tell Talyn or call Joshua, I figure there is no sense alarming them if it's an innocent meeting to catch up. Agent Roland also failed to mention them, so I think that means it's ok.

Zelda stands at the front door hastily waving for me to come inside.

I step out of my 2003 Mazda Protégé, she is aged but faithful and I love her, soon she'll be replaced. We have a garage I plan to keep her in after her retirement.

There is an unusual chill in the late spring evening. I rub my bare arms as I walk up the path to Zelda's front door. She holds the door open for me, allowing me inside. I take two steps into the room before she turns me around and hugs me tightly. She smells of incense and magic, if magic has a smell. Zelda, in all her colorful gypsy garb in its finest, gives me one last squeeze before releasing me. Her garments flow and move lively as she leads me to the kitchen. She must own a lifetime supply of her multicolored outfits, each has a different pattern or color hue.

Agent Roland and Christian are waiting in the kitchen, each holding a steaming coffee mug. Christian nods in acknowledgment. He doesn't come closer to me. Agent Roland sets his mug on the counter and extends his hand.

"I'm glad I didn't have to come get you," he smiles warmly. I think he means it.

"Yea, I figured I'd be considerate and save you the time." I shake his hand, noting the cold feel of his skin, though he had a hot mug of coffee in his hand only moments before.

He laughs a shockingly jolly sound. Pointing to the fresh pot of coffee on the counter, he asks, "Would you like a cup or something else to drink before we begin?"

"Water, please." It's only polite and I have a feeling I might need it.

Agent Roland moves about the kitchen as if it is his own, Zelda vanished shortly after letting me in. He knows where the cups are kept and fills one with water from the fridge. I accept it, thanking him and take a seat at the kitchenette. We are robots, mechanically moving through the conversation until it's time to get down to business.

"You know that I work for the FBI, correct?"

Finally, he's getting to the point of me being here.

"Yes, I am well aware."

"Are you aware that there is more than one FBI?" he asks, leaning across the table with one brow raised.

"Um, no, you mean a branch in another country?" I ask. My suspicions about him rise.

"No. I am with both the Federal Bureau of Investigation and...the Fallen Bureau of Integration." He stares at me intensely, gauging my reaction.

"Ok, what does that mean?" I'm beginning to get an idea, but clarity always helps these days.

"Which one?" He smiles slyly, knowing which I meant. So now he wants to give me a hard time?

"Spit it out, Roland."

"I can see you're in no mood to joke, I'll fill you in then. The Fallen Bureau of Integration assists fallen angels in adjusting to mortal life. Angels don't fall every day. They don't even fall every ten years, so we, the few of us with the FBI, assume other positions and live rather mundane lives until we're needed.

To become an agent with the bureau one has to have either been touched by an angel and is aware of the fact or was an angel at one time." His smile is no longer pleasant, causing me to shift uncomfortably in my seat.

"Which led to your current position?"

"Fallen," he says ashamedly, his gaze lowers to the glass of water he'd poured for me.

"How?"

He exhales and clears his throat. "As you can imagine, angels live extended lives, each life very much like one of your own. We love, laugh, eat, drink, feeling all emotions you feel. The main difference is acting upon said emotions. Angels are free to feel however they please, as long as it doesn't disrupt our nature. When an angel kills, it is in war against demon-kind. Any other time and the angel faces our council to determine means of punishment, which range from being cast out as a fallen, to exile to the Otherworld. Greed and envy as well as many other crimes are also punishable offenses if acted upon.

"Many of your kind believe fallen angels become demons or are evil which is not the case. Demons are their own cast altogether, not all are monstrous in appearance. Some have similar features as you and I, leading to the misconception that they are fallen angels.

"Each angel is an individual, capable of great power, but not immune to temptation. Most angels have the moral restraint to control themselves. It's actually very rare for an angel to fall, let alone choose to fall as the missing fallen has. I fell sixty years ago. Hard to believe, right?"

I nod, enthralled, desperate to hear more.

"A fallen angel ages very slowly, we'll die eventually, but it will be drawn out so we cannot truly enjoy mortal life. If one falls in love, they'd have to watch their love grow old and die, never able to prevent their eventual demise. Imagine it, it'd be impossible, they'd notice you were barely aging and who can so easily come to terms with that?

"As an angel, I was a true warrior, always prepared for the front lines of battle. I executed orders and questioned no one. My superiors could count on me, anytime, anyplace. Until my brother Eli died, brutally killed during the early stages of the Wars. I wept for him as I mercilessly slayed countless demons. I wept for the loss to myself and to his family; he had a wife and a young son. I was fuming with myself, that I didn't protect him. Excuse me a moment, please." Abruptly he rises, taking three wide steps to the sink where he runs the cold water from the faucet over his hands, splashing it on his face.

While he'd been telling me his story, I was unable to look him in the eyes. I spun the glass of water in my hands, watching it ripple and settle, focusing on the small details of the colored glass so I wouldn't have to see his face.

I watch him now, hands on either side of the sink, hunched over the drain. I think he might be ill, but he turns and comes back to the table, his face hardened.

"They called my brother a traitor after he died." He plops himself into the chair. "They claimed to have evidence. A maggot of an angel, Herrold, told everyone that Eli had made a deal with a powerful demon temptress before he was killed. Herrold wouldn't say what deal had been made. Only that he had seen it go down with his own eyes.

"I held my tongue for too long, I snapped, beating Herrold so close to death that the council nearly tried me for murder. I stood before the council, listening to them berate me and talk of how my brother and I disgraced our kind. I screamed at the elder angels, told them Herrold spoke lies. Their answers were simple, he had proof to his accusations, and I had none, nothing but my word. That should have been enough, given my record. I begged to see the proof, to bring the truth to light before they cast me out. But they refused, and I didn't even get the chance to see my brother's family before they sent me here. I wanted to make things right. I know deep down in my heart of hearts that he didn't do what they accuse him of. They place hatred on a dead angel who is unable to defend himself. One day, I'll find a way to avenge his honor.

"Over the years, I've found ways to contact my fellow brethren. Gabriela—you've met her, Clara— is a dear friend of mine. She established the FBI roughly forty-six years ago, recruiting the few fallen angels alive at the time. There were five of us back then, including me. One has since passed away, it was the end of her time here, and her final death had come. Between the time the FBI was constructed and the present, two angels have fallen, Maya, our missing fallen and Nathaniel. Anya, Vale, Isaac, and I were the only fallen angels left on earth until Nathaniel fell, eleven years back. Anya and Vale are located with our FBI branch in South America. They both live with partners who have accepted what they are. Isaac is also with both FBI's as I am. He's located in California to balance out both ends of this country. Nathaniel lives secluded somewhere north, Canada maybe. He doesn't keep contact with us."

"Why not?" I don't meant to interrupt, but I can't help but wonder aloud.

"He cannot accept what we are now, I guess he would rather be alone than with those of his own kind." Roland shrugs, I only notice because the shadow he cast on the table top did so.

"Oh." I don't know what else to say.

"We do travel the world when our positions require us to, but there are beings in the other countries that control specific regions, in attempts to keep peace, we give them their space. The USA, being so culture combined, was left without due to power struggles. You'll learn more about that when the time comes.

"Maya, though, has yet to be located. She was supposed to contact me upon arrival to earth; I don't know what prevented her from doing so." Agent Roland stops speaking for a minute. I glance up to find him staring at me. His eyes soften, his brow furrowed questioningly. Is he waiting for me to say something?

"I don't get it, if you're a fallen angel, why aren't the demons after you or your friends? Your hearts beat the same angel blood," I state.

"Once we've officially become fallen, we're mortal, we only age slower. A fallen angel will live about three human lives, so between two-hundred to three-hundred years. We use makeup and hair dyes to change our appearance, giving the illusion that we're younger or older, much like your kind does. The power that makes us angels dissipates each year we're fallen, making our hearts less desirable to demons. The first five years are prime for those monsters.

"The angel's guard was at its strongest when Isaac fell, twenty-three years before I did. They had no problem keeping demons out during the time I fell. So many years of the Wars has weakened the system, Maya fell at the worst possible time. The hole torn by her fall is the most extreme to ever exist. It will be a miracle if it's fixed within the next ten years." The look in his eyes says it all...we are doomed.

"So you're saying there's nothing we can do and we should give up now." I make it a statement rather than a question.

"What? Hell no, I'm saying we fight." He puts emphasis on "we" and I know he has a plan.

"I'm in, what do we do?" I smile the brightest smile I can manage. This is what I've waited for. My heart beats steadily in my chest, my phantom scar humming silently.

"Gabriela touched you, saved you. Do you know what that means?" he asks all too eagerly.

"No, but I assume it makes me special. How the hell did you know I met her?"

"Zelda informed me of your...accident, and damn right it makes you special. Are you familiar with the Nephilim?" He reaches across the table to push the glass of water closer to me. My mouth is feeling a little dry.

"Wait, how did Zelda know?"

"How does she learn anything she knows?" He's got me there. "Now, what do you know of the Nephilim?"

"Like the tales of Goliath and Hercules?" I ask after gulping down the entire glass of water.

"Yes, something like that, but you're not Nephilim. Nephilim are the children of angel and human, you're close though. You're blood has mixed with that of an angel, as close to one as you can without having been born one, another kind of hybrid," he explains.

"I don't understand where you're going with this. I am, but I'm not? Tell me what I can do. I'm literally on the edge of my seat." I'm not lying.

"Clara, you're going to," he hesitates, "live for a long time, maybe a hundred more years, maybe more."

I gasp. I'll outlive everyone I love by thirty to forty years.

"But you've also gained strength, and you're immune system is far better than mine, you'll heal faster. Other than that, I don't know. I've never personally known anyone in your condition. We'll have to speak with Gabriela." Agent Roland scratches his head.

"Ok, so let's talk to her."

"It's not that easy," he grumbles.

Agent Roland explains the difficulties of contacting an angel, it could take months and there is no guarantee we'll reach a particular angel. From what he says, he is the only one that has ever figured out how to. After an angel falls, all means of communication are severed.

I sulk, sinking into the hard wood seat. How am I supposed to figure myself out without talking to an informed angel? Gabriela has really left me in a pickle.

"The change of daylight hours and the shadow figures at night are directly related to the arrival of demons. The earth is swarmed with them. Daylight is a weakness to these lesser demons, the strongest of their kind can walk in the sun with no repercussions. So you know where the majority of higher beasts currently reside." He shakes his head, grunting. He proceeds describe the various casts of demons and their powers.

"If our nights are longer then it's opposite for the other side of the world. How bad is it?" I'm processing a lot lately. It's taking me a little longer to put two and two together.

"Very bad," he answers grimly. "Word hasn't reached the states because it can't. People overseas don't realize what's happening to them. They're under glamour or possessed, completely oblivious or trapped within themselves."

I make a few calls, placed a few texts to get everyone to Zelda's house. Michelangelo called Joshua, who said he'd take a morning flight out. We're calling in the troops for an emergency meeting.

Talyn steps into Zelda's kitchen a haggard, angry mess. She hasn't slept well at night since the stories of night creatures surfaced, so I've been letting her crash at our place.

"Hey Tal," I say in a mock-cheerful tone.

"How many calls and meetings do we have to go through before we can end this mess?" she growls, at no one in particular.

"I know how you feel," Christian says to her, holding out a fresh mug of coffee. He didn't make a sound the entire time Agent Roland spoke. I forgot he was even in the room. I wonder how much he already knew and what was new to him.

Talyn snatches the mug from his grip, spilling some in the process. She snarls at Christian to clean it up, only her choice of words aren't very nice.

Kaleb and Michelangelo arrive together, I'm glad they're getting along so well. After Joshua returned to Maine with Zack, these two became best buds.

Robbie, fashionably late as usual, though he hasn't been very fashionable lately, walks into the crowded kitchen with a confident stride. Proudly flaunting stylish new clothes and a fresh haircut, he is almost himself again.

"Robbie, man, I like the look," Kaleb whistles.

"Yea Robbie, what's changed?" Talyn dribbles coffee from her mouth in surprise.

"The call. I thought I'd be forever stuck in this mediocre routine. I don't know how you guys could pretend to be normal after all we've been through. I hoped this call would come." He glides to the table, stopping in front of me with a spin to show off his new duds.

"Totally gorgeous, Robbie, Are you hitting up the clubs or sitting to talk with us?" I rib.

"I'm ready to feel right again, sis."

"My sentiments exactly, bro."

Agent Roland introduces Sasha into the room. She is the only person he called. Astonished by his choice, I thought he would've called Det. Consuelos or Det. Williams. Curious. Both men were there in Burgaw and appeared to be more involved in the "investigation". He's the fallen angel, whatever he feels best I guess.

We convene in the tight quarters of Zelda's kitchen. The boys figure when Joshua arrives in the morning we'll fill him in on the discussion. Then I got a bright idea.

"Michelangelo, call Joshua and put him on speaker phone," I instruct.

Joshua loves the idea, more than happy to be included in any way. He waits wordlessly for the conversation to pick up. I hear him sighing anxiously through the speaker.

Sash keeps her eyes on the floor, looking up when Agent Roland speaks to her. They have an unusual relationship and I can't be sure there isn't more to it. Maybe that's why he called her. They have a personal thing going on. A sexual tryst maybe?

A chair is brought in from the living room for Zelda. She sits quietly next to me, hands in her lap, an eager smile plastered on her face. She is just as happy to be included, and her knowledge on all things otherworldly counts greatly.

I lean back in my chair, observing the motley group around me. How the hell are we going to rid the world of demons? A handful of mortal humans, a fallen angel, a clairvoyant medium, an exorcist, and me, whatever I am now. Will we make it through another ordeal without losing someone? I'm not sure I want to take the risk.

To my surprise, Christian iterated what Agent Roland told me, all but the personal part. He seems to know a few details that weren't brought up, mentioning the demons passing through were making the hole big enough for the bigger and more dangerous. It's only a matter of time before something truly nasty squeezes through.

"Our top priority is finding the missing fallen angel before the demons. If we fail...all humanity will be lost," Agent Roland stresses. "She is the key."

"You couldn't find her on your own, how do you expect us to?" Kaleb's point well made.

"That was before we had Clara, she's a tracker because an angel brought her back to life. Once she learns how to open her soul, the angel blood in her system will be drawn to other angels, including fallen."

Funny how Agent Roland failed to mention that before.

All eyes are on me, waiting for me to do something special. I want to maybe do a mock ritualistic dance around the room, faking a trance-like state. Instead I shrug, nodding to Agent Roland to continue. No sense in wasting time. Besides, I need to know this information.

"She has no idea how to access that part of her, yet. All angels can sense each other. Older fallen angels can be sensed but are not drawn to others. We lose that ability over time." Agent Roland lowers his head in shame. I catch him stealing a glance at Sasha, whose face is a frozen mixture of disgust and intrigue.

"Tell me how, show me." I push out of my chair with my arms open to him.

"I don't know how, or I would've taught you. You're blocking it, I think. Listen, I was born with it, that's all I know." He rubs the dark stubble growing on his jaw line.

"Angels are born?" Talyn gasps. "I thought they were created."

"Both," he answers simply.

Interesting. I want so badly to know more. But as my life usually goes, I'll have to find time to learn later. I should be writing all my questions on paper.

"Clara, why don't you try to open yourself up, dear?" Zelda speaks in her sweet grandma-like voice.

I try. I haven't the faintest idea what I'm supposed to be doing. I wish for Gabriela's guidance, knowing she'll never be able to help. Focusing on my hidden wound, I concentrate on the blood flowing through my veins. I feel the smooth liquid travel beneath and through my phantom scar. It throbs painfully. My eyes closed, I let the angel blood take over. The soothing circulation calms my soul. I sense it like a separate entity inside me, clouding my mind with enchanted endorphins. The emotions terrify me. My heart feels like a rope has been tied around it, an invisible tug pulling it out.

Two hands grip my shoulders, my eyes snap open. Agent Roland and I stand within inches of each other. His rough hands are holding me back.

"You found me," he smiles uneasily. "Can you do that with your eyes open?"

"I can try."

"Clara, that was creepy," Kaleb murmurs. "You moved like a zombie."

The room mumbles and grunts in agreement.

"Get over it, guys," I roll my eyes.

"Try it again, Clara," Michelangelo encourages.

Keeping my eyes open proves to be a struggle. The kitchen has too many distractions. Using the coffee pot as my focal point, I dive into my soul again, finding it easier to locate this time, snuggled next to my heart. The feeling is less scary. The pull, forceful in its strength, yanks my heart almost out of my chest. It doesn't hurt, only my wound does. I know my heart isn't really in danger.

Agent Roland once again holds me at a distance and I don't remember how I got here, even with my eyes open. One second I'm four feet away, the next, he's restraining me from running into him.

"It will get easier and you'll become more coherent with practice." His smile grows, in his eyes, a sparkle that wasn't there before. I've done it. Agent Roland is proud of me and in my attempts, I've brought him hope. "Now we use that."
Chapter Sixteen

Robbie picked up Joshua from the airport at ten, while our newly reformed group packs for a lengthy trip, including any hiking and camping gear. Heading out west, to the mountains, we are going to be prepared this time.

Agent Roland brought his white van in lieu of the FBI issued Suburban. Half the equipment has been removed to make room for tents and gear. Sasha sits in the front passenger seat of the van, reading a solid color, title-less book she doesn't seem very interested in.

I stayed up all night honing my newly found skill, using Agent Roland, much to Sasha's discontent. He hadn't lied, it did become easier. We practiced rooms apart and then buildings apart. I found him every time. My movements turned fluid, less zombie, fully aware of my surroundings while giving myself in to the pull.

Closing off the sensor that draws me to Agent Roland took a few hours. For an older fallen angel, he puts out a substantial amount of energy. I worry how a newer fallen will affect me.

"If somehow, we get separated, you will be able to find me," he shouts as he climbs into his van.

"True, but you can't find me. That's what cell phones are for," I laugh. He hears me, shaking his head with a smile.

Sasha doesn't like me any more since the last time we saw each other, shooting me a nasty snarl, her upper lip curled back. No sweat off my back. I don't get why we needed her, but if Agent Roland feels she needs to be here, there must be a good reason.

"Hey, Sash," I call to her from our front porch.

"Hi," she says back, face still buried in the book.

"Relax, Clara," Michelangelo warns, hiding a smirk.

Joshua brought far too many bags than I thought the airlines would allow. I count nine in all, four of the big suitcases like his kit and five smaller carry-on duffel bags.

"Private jet, courtesy of a friend," Joshua explains.

We load into Michelangelo's Denali, minus Zelda who remained home to update us on world news. I hop up front with Michelangelo. Talyn and Kaleb sit in the middle row, with Robbie, Christian, and Joshua in the far back.

Agent Roland and Sasha follow us in his van, all our gear in tow. I turn in my seat to watch them interact. Talyn joins me in scoping out the duo, commenting on how they steal glances at one another.

"She's a bitch, why would he want to be with her?" she wonders aloud.

"He sees something we don't. Besides, she's totally into him," Kaleb elbows her. "Maybe she's playing hard to get."

"They're both into each other, and they're both too shy and self conscious to make a move," Christian interjects.

"How do you know? You have been around them more than we have, c'mon, dish the dirt," Talyn interrogates the young detective.

My phone rings, Agent Roland's number flashes on the screen. I glance back to the van, his lips tight, he stares daggers in our direction. Sasha is looking at him closely, examining his face.

"Hey, what's up?" I answer nonchalantly, watching his expression soften as he speaks.

"Change in plans. I just got off the phone with Zelda. She's received word that an inauspicious new day-walking demon is on the loose...a humanoid one. This is bad news. The older, more dangerous demons tend to look as we do. If it smells angel on you, I don't know if we can prevent the thing from tearing you apart for your heart." His face grows tired, aging several years in a matter of seconds. From this distance, I catch the glisten of tears forming in his eyes.

"So, I avoid it, easy enough." I think I sound tough, but that may be my stubbornness showing.

"That's not all. Zelda and her contacts believe this demon is behind two recent murders. Don't ask. You know it's the manner of death that has them sure." He appears to be very uncomfortable. How many demons like this has he come face to face with?

"We have to stop that thing," I reply coolly.

"I knew you'd say that," he laughs. His face doesn't match the reaction, remaining solemn. "We have to go to Carteret County."

After going over my conversation with Agent Roland and a little convincing, Michelangelo turns the Denali around. Morehead City, here we come.

Inquiries into Agent Roland's personal life stopped the second I answered his call. All focus directed toward how we're going to stop a hugely powerful evil being.

Joshua calls ahead to a church in a nearby town he's visited in the past. He requests we stop there on our way so he might pick up a few items. We agree to, not bothering to ask what items he requires. We'll take a detour for anything he needs. Myself, I'd personally rather not know.

The hour long drive to Morehead City is a non-communicative one. The radio has been on, blasting the local news. Four women dead, thought to be in connection with the previous unsolved murders from a few months back. Two more bodies than Zelda originally reported. This demon isn't playing around.

One body found in Jones County and three where we're headed, Carteret. Same descriptions, innocent women, girls close to my age and similar appearance, robbed of life before it could truly begin.

Michelangelo drives stiffly. I can see the wheels in his head in motion. He's looking for a way to keep me from going. His body slumps in defeat after five minutes, knowing there will be no persuasions otherwise. Reaching over, he grabs my hand possessively, holding on to me the entire drive.

Kaleb and the other boys nap. No one wakes them when we pull into the church parking lot. Talyn leans against the window, observing the building. She snaps a picture of it with her phone, locks it, and tilts her head back against the seat with her eyes shut.

The church looks like any other I've seen. A classic sandstone face with a tall steeple, topped with a weathered steel crucifix. Saints dance across the stained glass windows high above the entrance. Curving to the left, the building extends into a recently built wing. The clean stone doesn't quite match that of the older half. In the windows of the extension hang children's drawings. Two heavy wood doors lead inside the main church, plastered with event flyers.

Joshua, Michelangelo, and I go inside. Agent Roland and Sasha lean with their backs against the side of the van facing the church. Sasha's arms crossed, pouting. He makes no attempts to soothe her.

"My old friend," a priest close to Zelda's age greets Joshua. They hug whole heartedly, patting each other on the back.

Inside the church, the style remains classic. Stained glass windows in a brilliance of colors, illustrated with scenes of more saints. Dark crimson velvet covered cushions lay on solid wood pews, lined in generic rows facing the altar area which is out of place. An unusual coloring and arrangement of silken black, gold, and ivory fabric hangs on the altar itself and surrounding chairs. On the floor encompassing the altar, lay heavy ivory cloth, spread to cover every inch of carpeted space.

"What's that about?" I point to the area, asking no one in particular.

"Father Brownstone announced he would be stopping by. A visit from him warrants great measures to accommodate him in any way," the ancient priest admits.

I'm not sure how exorcisms are performed in churches, especially on altars. Why would he require beautiful cloth? Church business is more complicated than I know.

Joshua has us sit in the first row of pews to wait for him while he gathers his materials. I use the opportunity to examine the set up in the altar area, careful not to touch. Every detail of the church made as expected but the altar. It's really an eyesore.

"They respect Joshua. After all he's done for us, you wouldn't make his stay special under normal circumstances?" Michelangelo steps up beside me, surveying the silk layered chairs.

I would. Joshua deserves more than anyone can give him. He saved my brother, Michelangelo, and Zack. Without him, we never would have made it this far. He forever has my gratitude. Once this is finally over, I plan on throwing him a nice intimate party, bake a cake, maybe invite a few people from his church, the least I can do.

Joshua bursts through a set of wide double doors, alone, a large black duffel bag in each hand. From the way he carries them I can tell they are heavy. He lugs the bags down the center aisle where Michelangelo retrieves one from him, noting its weight. We walk to the entrance door without anyone saying goodbye or wishing us on our way. So strange.

Agent Roland opens the back doors of his van to load the bags, but Joshua refuses to let them out of his sight, cramming them into the back of the Denali.

"Lunch?" Michelangelo calls back to our fallen angel, who readily agrees to stopping for a bite.

"Yes, please!" Talyn exclaims loudly, waking the boys.

The fast food drive-thru saves us time. Eating on the drive, our mouths full, the noise of chewing and slurping fills the vehicle. I watch Agent Roland and Sasha eat their meals through the back windshield. She picks through her salad, barely taking more than a few bites. He devours two large double cheeseburgers while steering with one hand.

"You can give them privacy anytime now," Robbie scolds.

I turn to face the front, shoving a handful of fries in my mouth. Curiosity is eating at me, I will find out the status of their relationship. I slide my phone out of my pocket and call him to ask which city we should head to first, hoping to steer the conversation in a more personal direction.

"The last victim lived about twenty minutes away. Tell Michelangelo to take the next exit." I do. He was about to call me to tell me that, but I beat him to it.

"Did Sasha have enough to eat? We can stop again if not," I pry. Fries fly at my head from behind. I look over my shoulder to find Robbie and Kaleb hurling them at me, mouthing for me to shut up. It's going to take more than fries.

"She'll be fine." I hear Sasha's voice. "We'll meet you in the neighborhood, there's a stop we need to make." He gives me the address of Victim Ten and hangs up abruptly.

Michelangelo asks why Agent Roland's van pulls into the gas station we passed. He sees them in the rear view mirror. I let him know they're meeting us there, he leaves it at that.

The streets are packed, unlike Burgaw when we first encountered it, life resumes as normal here. Children playing tag in their yards, adults washing their cars, walking leashed dogs.

The house, covered in crime scene tape, is secluded from the others in lack of activity. Hours before, the body of a young woman had been found there. Crime scene investigators, detectives, uniformed officers, and the FBI had filled the home then, searching for clues, retrieving evidence that will lead them nowhere.

Dog walkers cross the street to avoid stepping on the sidewalk in front of it. People want nothing to do with the house. Neighbors sit on their porches, pointing and speaking in what I assume are hushed voices. Kids gawk from the safety of their own yards, returning to their games when the adults scold them.

Michelangelo circles the block, parking on the next street over. I call Agent Roland to let him know where we are. The call goes straight to voicemail. I leave a message and sink into the seat, not in the mood to be stuck in the Denali all day.

Neighbors greet one another with welcome smiles, kids ride past us on skateboards and bikes. I observe all their happy faces, oblivious people.

Robbie points out the gangly teens with a Slip 'N Slide, reminiscing about those carefree days. I hope they checked the grass before laying it down. Rocks are a hidden enemy to sliders. Robbie laughs remembering all too clearly the many rocks that ruined our fun. Talyn and Kaleb join him, recalling all the pranks they played on me involving a Slip 'N Slide. Suffice to say, I didn't laugh when it happened.

Joshua and Christian are having a quiet conversation in the back. I attempt to listen in, but everyone else is too loud. Their faces serious, I want to know what they're talking about. Michelangelo pats my knee, warning me not to make myself so obvious.

The white, nondescript van parks behind us. I don't know when, I was too busy trying to read Joshua and Christian's lips in the visor mirror.

"Get out, let's go for a walk," Agent Roland slaps the hood of the Denali. Funny, we've become so familiar in the oddest ways, yet I still can't picture myself calling him by any other name. Now, knowing his story, I feel more compelled to keep "Agent" before his name. A man such as himself deserves a title.

In an hour and a half, we canvas the neighborhood for suspicious, out of the ordinary people. One woman catches my eye, she turns out to be a reclusive hoarder, in front of her house, pruning the rose vines away from her hundreds of lawn ornaments. This development obviously doesn't have a homeowner's association.

Less than two hours until sunset, our efforts turn up no leads to where our day-walker is hiding. Night demons will own these streets seconds after the sun disappears over the horizon. Anyone with a will to live is wise enough to keep indoors a night. Time for us to turn in for the evening.

Retreating to our hotel, our meals ordered, we relax. I find solace in Michelangelo's arms while we wait for our pizza to arrive, snuggling in for a nice evening, free of the nuisance of demons.

After a forty-five minute wait, the pizza is awful. The pepperoni is too greasy and under cooked. They slide right off the pizza. The cheese overcooked and crunchy, they aren't using quality ingredients. I choke down a slice and a half because I'm hungry. Joshua chose a hotel without room service and other restaurants don't deliver to hotels, so I sulk, still hungry. Michelangelo doesn't care much for the pizza either, Talyn, on the other hand, finishes an entire pie by herself. Her taste buds are wacky. The other boys ate it, no problem.

An hour later I lay sprawled across the queen bed, my stomach craving sustenance. I debate whether to ask to go out to eat or to demand. Mouth still sour from the pizza, I'll tell them I'm going and give them the option to tag along.

"I'm going to take a drive, find something else to eat," I begin, "you're free to join me, if you want to brave it."

They all look at me like I grew another head. Probably should've grabbed Michelangelo's keys first.

Arguing ensues and I couldn't care less. I want food, anything but that sorry excuse for pizza. I edge to the door, multiple bodies and arms blocking my route. Shouldering and elbowing, I push through the commotion to the door, without keys. Once they realize they aren't going to stop me, my persistence wins. Sasha, Talyn, and Christian stay behind while the rest of us leave in search of decent food.

"I hope a measly cheeseburger is worth our lives," Robbie complains as we walked to the Denali through the brightly lit parking lot.

"We'll see," Kaleb mutters.

"Neither of you had to come. I would've been just fine by myself."

Only two fast food drive-thru joints are open, not because it's late, because it's dark. I pick the least likely to make me sick. I like fast food, in moderation, once a month is enough. The red and white building is illuminated by white exterior lighting. The parking lot has new light posts installed, fresh cement poured around their bases.

An ancient intercom projects static and a perky girl's voice. At the window the doe eyed teen extends her hand for our money in exchange giving us our food. She plasters the biggest "I can't believe I'm here tonight, but the customers are watching" smile on her face.

"Thank you," Michelangelo smiles in return, hoping to improve her night with a little kindness.

"You're welcome, you guys better hurry home if you don't want to become monster food." Her smile doesn't waver. I'm not sure if she's joking or completely serious.

Michelangelo pulls away from the window without another word, her face is too disturbing to bother saying anything. He hands me the bag, turning onto the main road back to our hotel. I start handing everyone their orders, when Joshua points out a man in trouble.

On the left side of the road, across the opposing lane of traffic, a man in his forties walks in the grass, between the asphalt and a spook-filled wooded area. Hands carrying plastic grocery bags, he watches his feet, not the eyes watching him from between the skinny trees.

"We have to stop," Joshua urges.

Michelangelo speeds up to the light ahead. For a moment I think he's going straight to the hotel, but he throws on the turn signal, the ominous click like the tick of a clock, counting down the man's life. To my surprise he hits a u-turn, racing to where we just saw the man walking. I reach across him to put on the high beams, anything to keep the demons back.

The lone man turns around to the blinding lights, shielding his eyes with a bag gripped hand. To our dismay, he steps aside, into the shadows to get out of the direct glare of the lights.

"No!" I scream, door half open.

Long puss-colored tentacles reach out, snatching the man around his waist. Both tentacles and man vanish into the concealment of the trees.

I hit the ground running, the boys' footfall close behind me. My brain isn't thinking about my safety, adrenaline pumps through me, enhancing the angel blood. Saving this man I'd never met matters more than my own life. I burst past the trees into a clearing the size of a baseball diamond. What I come face to face with causes my body to freeze in place.

Ten or so heinous creatures tear the unmet man to pieces, pulling on him from all angles until he explodes in a shower of organs and bodily fluids. Many mouths of horrendous shape, size, and multitude, lap at the increments of human splashed about the dirt. A particularly nightmarish monster chomps through another's head to taste a bit of human, its scaled body, slimy with blood. Its head boasts rock-like spikes, a strip of the man's flesh impaled on one of the gnarly points.

One of the boys loses his pizza beside me. Another gags like he's about to do the same. My phantom scar will have none of that. It draws me to the biggest nasty. I fight not to follow it.

"Take this, Clara." Joshua takes my wrist in his hand, placing the hilt of a dagger in my palm. The blade is so polished I can see my own refection in it in the moonlight. "I picked up angel blades at the church. They're the only thing known to kill demons not in a host."

"How did you get these?" Agent Roland removes one from Joshua's bag, weighing it in his hand. "I haven't seen one of these in so long. How on earth did humans get a hold of angel weaponry?"

"No time, boys!" I interrupt. The gang of demons has noticed us, slithering and staggering in our direction. Talons, claws, tentacles, and nonhuman fingers greedily outstretched, reaching for flesh to take hold of.

"Go for their necks, remove the heads!" Agent Roland barks as he charges the demons head on, no fear.

"Stick by me," Michelangelo demands, stepping ahead of me.

The night demons are fast, dark blurs of motion rushing past, through, and around us. Robbie and Joshua wield a dagger in each hand, excitedly following Kaleb toward a group of lumpy creatures. Agent Roland springs into the battle, stabbing and slicing his way through nasties that shouldn't exist.

Robbie still has his bearings. He turns away from them, fighting his way to the larger monsters. Kaleb and Joshua are knocked to the ground in seconds. A three foot tall demon with crumbling skin that resembles dirt sits on Joshua's chest, leaning down to hover nose to...holes in face. Its drool runs like a faucet onto his face as he tries to knock it off. Lying on his back next to Joshua, Kaleb struggles with a bony demon his height. Neither swinging the knives in their hands, too busy holding the demons back.

Michelangelo swipes at every shadowy movement. He's successfully killed a humpback, double mouthed demon, moving on to save Kaleb. Joshua is struggling to his feet, ready for more, the demon that was on him nowhere in sight.

Taking the chance I'd been waiting for, I sneak off to where Agent Roland and Robbie fight side by side against two enormous elephantine creatures, minus the trunks. They are the only nasties I've seen with similar appearances, beady eyes centered on their faces, mouths filled with shark-like teeth spread across the entire width of their jaws. They balance on tree trunk legs, and their big bellies jiggle when they raise their arms above their heads, bringing down their fists like giant hammers against the ground. Luckily for the boys, they are able to move out of the way in time. I run in from the side to stab one of the elephant demons in its blind spot while their arms are still lowered. I almost make it, too.

My face smashes into the earth, I literally eat dirt. On my stomach with something overly slimy on my back, I reach the circumference around me for my dagger. I dropped it when I fell.

Gurgling in my ear sends my phantom scar buzzing. I was already on edge, but this invisible wound in me amps it up a thousand times over. The monster continues to make horrific, wet slurring noises and I realize it's trying to speak to me. Rocking against the dirt, I try to flip the demon off of me, my t-shirt rising up in the process. I feel the sting of cold metal to my stomach. The knife is under me.

Pudgy, wet fingers dig into my shoulders, moist breath heating my ear and cheek. Gurgling, a cough, and I swear the word "angel" spews from its mouth.

"I'm not the fallen angel!" I scream, furious at the ignorance of monsters. Sliding my hand under myself, I cut my palm gripping the dagger.

The weight lifts off my back. I take the advantage and roll over. Standing at my feet, a demon with melted, drippy, red skin, posed to strike. It drops down on me in a rain of foul fluid. I thrust the blade hilt deep into what I assume is its chest.

Sound halts, my ears are ringing. Warm melted clumps of the creature oozes over my hands, sliding in chunks down my arms. Its legs, or some resemblance of legs, pin my lower body to the ground. Falling apart in splats on my face, its own face disassembles before my eyes. The smell is so strong I gag. Continuing to try to communicate with me, I just want it to shut up and die.

Sound returns with a boom, startling me to my purpose. This thing has to get off me. Twisting the blade a full turn horizontally, I pull the knife to the side, dragging it through the thing's chest. It turns to the side with the blade, falling to the earth with a splattering squish.

I am covered head to toe, in whatever dripped from the demon. It'll take more than a scalding shower to rid the stench. Propping myself onto my elbows, I have the perfect view of Agent Roland finishing off the last of the demons. In one swipe he slices the head clean off the thing.

"Clara, what the hell is that?" Michelangelo tears off his shirt, wiping my face with it.

"Demon goop, it's all good. Let's get out of here before more start to show their ugly faces." I let him help me to my feet, shaking off excess fluid.

The Denali is a warm welcome to the terrors we've just faced. Michelangelo is going to need to get it detailed, though. Blood, dirt, and other questionable materials cling to our clothing. The hotel will call the police on us if we walk through their lobby. Joshua once again calls the church we visited earlier. They tell him we are free to stay there for the night. I text Talyn to get our stuff ready and for them to meet us in the parking lot.

Robbie injured his foot in the fight, a demon bit through his sneaker. He thinks a ligament may be damaged. Michelangelo offers to take him to a hospital, but he declines, insisting on getting the others and hurrying to the church.

Sticking to the well lit roads, we arrive at the church to be greeted by the priest and two parishioners. No one asks about our appearances or injuries. They carry our bags inside and arrange cots for us to sleep on in one of the Sunday school rooms.

The church lacks a shower, but it does have a quaint little kitchen. One of the parishioners connected a garden hose to the kitchen faucet, leading it to the nearby bathroom for us to wash off. The bathroom has a white ceramic tile floor with a drain in the center. Does the drain make cleaning easier or do they need to hose this bathroom down often?

Washing in the cramped bathroom has me feeling dirtier than I look. Freezing water with little pressure splashes against my filthy skin. Scrubbing until my skin is sore, I can't get the smell off me. My hair crunches under the cool stream from the hose, my shampoo won't break the barrier of dried demon goop. Apricot body scrub finally frees my locks after three rinses.

Robbie bolts/hobbles quickly for the bathroom the second I pull up a seat at one of the many rows of folding tables in the dining hall. One of the parishioners is a physician, she instructed him to keep his foot clean and he might be able to keep off infection.

The boys filled everyone in on our run in while I cleaned up, so Talyn is in hysterics when I get to them. She cowers from touch, huddled in the fetal position under a table, my best friend unhinging before our eyes.

Rubbing my hands along the cold table, I retrace the night's events in my head. This is not how the day was supposed to pan out, we're set behind by days. Demons are really pissing me off.

"How was the water?" Agent Roland stares at me from across the table, his hair darkened by what can only be demon blood.

"Frigid and like standing under a kitchen sink," I reply exasperatedly, brushing wet strands of hair back from my face with my fingers.

He laughs hoarsely, shaking his head. Agent Roland is handling our predicament better than the rest of us. Who can blame him for making light of the situation? He's lived and fought the demons longer than any of us have even been alive. This man, this fallen angel, has been robbed of a loved one and cast out among his own kind. He deserves the chance to avenge the wrongs committed against him. And one day I will stand beside him, help him succeed.

An exhausted Michelangelo naps in a dirty heap, across a row of chairs he pulled out. It looks very uncomfortable, but I know how worn out the fight had made him.

"He'll recover," Agent Roland comforts. "We'll all recover."

Sasha watches us converse from the entrance of the dining hall. Her arms crossed, she averts her eyes when anyone glances in her direction.

"Agent Roland..."I begin.

"Stop that, Ethan or Roland. Drop the 'Agent', please."

"I'm sorry, it seemed right to be formal with you. I'll try to stop, I promise." I smile, forgetting what I wanted to ask him.

"Thank you," he says, turning his attention to Sasha. "You don't have to pout over there all night."

"Whatever," she smirks, joining him at the table.

Talyn's whimpers under the next row of tables sound like a hurt puppy. I can't stand to watch her cry, knowing there is nothing I can do to relieve her fears. Looking for Kaleb will keep me away from her. He disappeared shortly after we arrived at the church.

Wandering past the bathroom, where I hear Robbie scrubbing away profusely, I search the empty rooms for Kaleb. Taking my time, I sluggishly open one door after another to keep me far from Talyn's cries.

Heading around the corner down the hall, I spot Kaleb, having to quicken my pace to catch up with him. He doesn't hear me call his name. If he has, he's ignoring me.

"Robbie's almost finished cleaning up. You can have the next go if you get there while everyone else is preoccupied," I say when I reach him.

"That's alright, I can wait." He keeps walking.

"Ok. You know, you can talk to me about whatever's bothering you. I mean, we are best friends, you, me, and Talyn. So dish it, boy."

He stops abruptly, turning on his heels to face me. "I feel useless, Clara, powerless. You saw those demons tonight. They were like nothing I've ever seen. I fought, but to what end? We can't defeat them alone. What the hell are we going to do?"

He's right. I don't have a good answer for him. What the hell are we going to do?

"Roland's on our side, so is Joshua. There's something magical about them. And now we have angel weapons." How did Joshua get a hold of them anyway?

"Roland? Oh, yea, we have a fallen angel and a magician priest who specializes in exorcisms. Great." He's denigrating them, making them less than they are which wasn't fair.

"You know they're more than that, Kaleb. They're special, and they're our friends. Grow up. The world is changing and you're not the only one in it. I'm going to fight my ass off, no matter the outcome. At least I'll know I tried. Where the hell will you be when everything comes crumbling down? Here? Home with your tail tucked between your legs? Whatever you decide, don't you dare degrade our friends, the people who are standing by us in the worst of times." I stalk off in a huff. He has me so angry, if I have to look at his face any longer, I'll probably hit him.
Chapter Seventeen

We wake late, just before noon. Our friendly hosts have prepared for us a simple breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast with orange juice. We eat quickly mumbling with full mouths, all in agreement that we've wasted a good chunk of our daylight.

Agent Roland and Kaleb load the vehicles. Our original plan to head for the mountains is in full effect. The night before proved we have no business wasting time searching for a demon that has the ability walk in the day. Locating the fallen angel, Maya, is our priority.

A half hour passes and they still haven't returned from loading our stuff, I grow worried with each passing minute, voicing my concerns to Michelangelo and Joshua. They chalk it up to the boys talking too much. I figure they're right, but my phantom scar disagrees. Talyn's blood curdling scream confirms my fear, resonating from the entrance of the church. I take off running without considering the consequences of not alerting the rest of our group.

Several feet from the entrance, Talyn hunches in on herself, hugging her knees. She rocks back and forth, whimpering. Her back to me, I follow her line of sight to the ghastly discovery.

Standing near the vehicles her gorgeous blonde hair falls in messy waves past her shoulders, a snarl the only imperfection on her flawless face. Wearing a dark pink sundress and dirty white heels, her feet are planted stiffly in place. One pale hand grips Kaleb by the throat, a foot above the ground. Agent Roland isn't anywhere in view.

"Shit," Michelangelo breathes next to me. He must've seen me running.

Shit is right, we just found our murderous demon and she is dangerously beautiful, I would never have suspected her of anything other than being a high-end shopper. Between our vehicles, the demon, a statuesque woman with looks to kill is not what I expected.

"Hello, angel, surprised I found you?" The golden haired demon hisses.

I open my mouth to tell her I'm not the fallen angel, but my voice won't work. Instead a raspy, choked gasp passes my lips.

"You love these things, angel?" She smiles wickedly. "Stupid, they're merely useless emotional attachments, set to hold you down. They'll cause you nothing but pain. I can fix that for you, take away the pain." She takes a wide step closer, her grip on Kaleb unwavering. His struggle weakens.

Michelangelo grabs my arm, trying to pull me back into the church. I resist, turning to face him. "Please, get Talyn inside, and tell Joshua to get his ass out here," I instruct through clenched teeth. He obliges reluctantly, releasing my arm. Lifting Talyn like a frightened child, he carries her inside, returning a minute later with Joshua. My eyes haven't left the lady-demon while I wait for them.

The doors to the church slam shut, a lock thrown into place with a loud click. We are alone. Sasha, Robbie, Christian, and Talyn are all locked inside with the church people.

"What is this treat you've brought me, angel?" The demon coos, licking her lips at Joshua. "I haven't seen one of your kind in many a millennia."

"My kind? What am I? Tell me what you know." Joshua's voice is strong, demanding.

"You really don't know?" she cackles. "Aww, poor little monster."

Monster? Not Joshua, he is anything but. Whatever she thinks he is, she is completely wrong.

"No, I don't know. Enlighten me."

"Shh, in time. You and I will play later," she winks. "Finish off this angel with me and you'll find out sooner than later."

I tear my gaze away from her to see Joshua's reaction. His mouth agape, he trembles. He doesn't want to hurt me, but something inside him is thinking the contrary.

"No, let my friends go!" he yells, catching her off guard. She drops Kaleb, his body thudding limply against the ground. She allows him to drag himself up the steps to us when he regains his strength.

"You, too? What is with the both of you and this unnatural obsession with humans?" Her face twists in disgust, she spits at Kaleb's feet.

The overwhelming urge to punch her comes over me. She kills for power, blatantly hurts my friends before my eyes, and disrespects us for humor. This demon is the epitome of a psychotic bitch.

"Where is Agent Roland?" I push.

"Clara, please don't," Michelangelo pleads.

"Where?" I repeat.

"You should listen to the boy, angel. He cares for you a great deal, the little idiot. Besides, there's no reason to fuss over an old fallen, shortly you'll all be dead." She disappears in the blink of an eye.

A forced gush of wind flips Agent Roland's van, revealing his lifeless body on the other side. His face tilted away from me. From here I can't tell if he is dead or alive. The demon appears once again, standing over him.

"Listen, she's not the fallen angel. We don't know where the fallen is." Michelangelo attempts to convince the sultry demon.

"Lies! Who are you trying to fool, mortal heathen? I can smell it in her veins, her heart beats angel blood."

"Who are you, demon? You're strong enough, you don't need her heart," Joshua shouts.

Appearing atop the overturned van, she throws her head back, laughing wildly. "I am Leila, you stupid wannabe. You should know who I am and fear should course through you at the mention of my name. Learn what you are, imbecile!"

I've had enough of the name calling, my phantom scar screams at me. She needs to be sent back to Hell or where ever demons come from.

Michelangelo calls out, "Clara, don't..."

It's too late. I hit the top of the side laying van with my shoulder, causing it to waiver. My shoulder numb, I hit it again and again, her breath in my ear stopping me cold in my tracks.

"Angel, this short time with humans has made you incredibly dense. I'm bigger, badder, and faster than you, now that you've fallen. No worries, though. I will end your suffering." She yanks my head back with a fistful of my hair. I reach behind me with both hands to pry her off, to no avail.

Joshua seizes the opportunity to run to Agent Roland. In my periphery I spot him tending to the old fallen angel. Good.

I hear Michelangelo swinging at the lady-demon, connecting each hit, causing no damage. She acts like he isn't there, seductively placing her hand at the top of my low-rise jeans, covering my bellybutton with her overheated palm.

"What is this?" she whispers against my neck. "I feel a strangeness in you." Her hand glides up my stomach, hovering for too long over my breast.

"Clara!" Michelangelo continues to fight. His yelling abruptly halts when she reaches the skin above my heart.

"You're tainted, angel," she breathes heavily into my ear. "This," she caresses over the invisible line of my phantom scar, "is new to me." She nibbles on my earlobe, sharp teeth nicking the skin. I know it bleeds. She begins sucking the damaged skin.

I don't feel her pull away. My cheek is suddenly against the cool van, my body in a dent perfectly formed to my shape in the side of it. She must have picked me up and slammed me into it. I don't remember a thing.

Coughing above me, she crouches on the belly of the now upside down van. "Disgusting! Your blood is rotten. Did your monster friend do this to you?"

Again, she refers to Joshua as a monster. She may have lived thousands of years before us, but her ignorance shows more than any intelligence in her evil mind. She knows nothing of Joshua.

I feel no pain, only numbness subsiding. My hands on either side of me, I push off the van. My phantom scar burns, wanting to tell me something.

Joshua and Agent Roland's body are gone. I peer over my shoulder to the church, that's when she hits me a second time. Straddling me with my back to the ground, she prepares to claw at my chest.

Time slows. I watch every twitch in her face, witness each sharp claw protract from beneath humanoid nails. The seconds stretch on, yet, when I move my fingers, they react in real time. Taking advantage, I strike, putting all my kickboxing lessons to use. My right fist connects with her cheek, my left, with her nose. Time catches up and I've hit her at least ten times. Her claws retract, hands falling to her sides, and she's off me, gone just like that.

"Clara! Are you alright? You moved so fast, it was a blur of motion," Joshua comments. He assists me to my feet, though, I hardly need it.

"Where's Michelangelo?" I see Agent Roland on the steps, recuperating, Kaleb next to him.

When he ran to Agent Roland, Joshua missed Michelangelo fighting at Leila's back. He was gone by the time Joshua got Agent Roland to the steps with Kaleb, who is resting on his stomach on the landing.

"I'm sorry, Clara," Kaleb says sadly.

"Me, too, I'm not as strong as I once was, I forget that. I recognized Leila and instead of calling for back-up, I tried to fight her alone." Agent Roland hangs his head in defeat.

"How do you know her?" Joshua brings up the question we all wonder.

"She's a nightmare of a temptress. All angels, young and old, know of her. Instructors warn our kind of her from birth, from creation. Her beauty and charms, hundreds of millennia ago, caused many an angel to fall. The moment their feet touched the earth, she killed them, eating their hearts. Of course, that was before the guard had been set up. Angels have learned since then, taking great measures to avoid her and her kind." He kicks a tiny pebble down the steps.

"Yes, those were glorious days." Leila never left, she heard every word. "Thank the latest fallen of your kind for making a hole big enough for me to squeeze this figure through. I will relive those days and you will help me by locating the fallen angel." She steps around the corner of the church, fifteen feet from us. "I know she isn't the angel. I don't know what atrocity you've created." She directs her anger toward Joshua. Does she truly believe he could have created me?

"Where is my boyfriend?" I demand.

"Boyfriend? I told the two of you, your attachment to humans is unnatural." She snaps her fingers. Two figures emerge from around the corner, Michelangelo and...Zack.

"Zack," Joshua reaches to him. "Zack, you can't trust her!"

"Foolish monster, he's always been mine."

Zack has Michelangelo's arms restrained behind his back. A ripped cloth covers his mouth, tied tight at the back of his head. His eyes scream, "NO!"

"Zacky here had two demons inside him, you succeeded in removing one. The second was a tiny tracker, undetectable to you. My little baby let me know exactly where it was. When I found it in sweet Zack here, I had no problem retrieving information from him." She rubs Zack's head, running her fingers lovingly through his hair. His eyes are his own, but blank, staring straight ahead at nothing.

"Bitch," Kaleb snarls.

"Yes, I am. Thank you."

I hurl myself at her, sending her flying. Dropping to my knees on top of her, I press my thumbs into her dazzling eyes. She screams a shrill, eardrum popping sound. I dig deeper.

She throws me off, with great effort. I land on my butt with a painful thump. Blood drips down my arms where she scratched at me and her own blood collects with it from my hands to my elbows. I prepare to go at her once more, but she's gone. Zack left alone, staring in a trance in the same place he'd been standing.

"Clara, baby, are you hurt?" Michelangelo kneels beside me, unrestrained, looking me over, appraising the damage. Joshua tosses the cloth he removed from Michelangelo's mouth to the ground, shaking Zack in an attempt to bring him to.

I feel fine, a little numb. The scratches have already begun healing, I'm better than fine. I hug Michelangelo, pulling him to the ground with me. He laughs in my ear, kissing my cheek.

"What have you done?" Leila screams. "How can you be faster than me? I never saw you move." She clasps her hands over her eyes. "I'm not healing, my eyes aren't coming back!"

"Good, bitch. I hope it kills you." I get to my feet. "If not, you're still ruined. Angels and men won't fall for a deformed demon." I spit at her feet as she did to Kaleb.

"You're going to regret that, monster bait!" Leila charges me, arms extended, revealing the bloody hollows where her gorgeous eyes once were.

I plant my feet, prepared to strike.

Darkness engulfs the world, three hours earlier than the recent four o'clock sunsets.

Thankfully, the church has automatic floodlights, installed with motion sensors. They kick on in seconds. But by then, we have more than Leila to contend with.

Shadows swirl on the outskirts of the light, waiting patiently for someone to fall into to them. Hunched creatures lurk near the dark sides of the vehicles, rocking them, testing their weight.

The boys form a line on either side of me. We lack weapons and strength, but we have plenty of courage.

"The one I weary of is the female creature. Her blood is spoiled and she's abnormal. Watch out for her, children, she's quick. Look what she did to mommy's beautiful eyes." She shows the shadow demons. "I will feed her to you." The crowd in the dark cheers in various gurgles and howls.

"Come get me then," I taunt.

"You're children can't help you in the light," Michelangelo adds bravely.

"Well, I'm going to have to do something about that then," she retorts. The floodlight on the left side of the church explodes in a crackling pop.

I spend too long watching the hideous creatures fill the new void Leila has created. She removes a chunk of flesh from my arm, running her claws across Joshua's face as she does.

"Wait my orders to rip them limb from limb," she orders Zack forward.

"No, Zack, it's us. We're your friends," Joshua reminds him. The cuts on his face are already healing, almost as fast as mine.

Gray, liquid clouds fill Zack's eyes, his lip curls, teeth sharpen to threatening points. I wait for his eyes to turn back, but like the other possessed, they stay gray.

I lose Leila. She disappears like an apparition. Her voice rings all around us, making it difficult to pinpoint her exact location. Michelangelo falls down at her hand. She drags him close to the edge of light. I kick her into the shadows, allowing Michelangelo the chance to get up. She shoots out of the blackness, biting and tearing at our skin.

Michelangelo kicks her feet out from under her. She falls to her back with a screech. The right side floodlight bursts. We are down to a single triangle of light in front of the building. I swear I hear Robbie and Sasha arguing with people inside the church. I'm so glad they are all safe indoors.

Retrieving all our gear in the vehicles proves to be a challenge. One of us has to reach them. The floodlight touches the doors facing us, enough light to get inside without being harmed through the shadows. That will be as far as we can go. Leila will destroy our last bit of light the second we make it to a vehicle. I don't know what prevents her from extinguishing it now. She wants a fair fight? Nah, she's toying with us, because she's sick enough to enjoy it.

Leila mentioned my speed more than once. I might make it, but it means leaving the boys susceptible to her. What I need is a good distraction.

Zipping circles around us, knocking us about like cat toys, and scratching posts. Leila's laugh echoes in the dark. I have to concentrate on a strategy, unable to fight back. The one time I'm unable to multitask. I accept every hit while devising a plan in my head. Blood trickles down each wound, only moments before my skin stitches itself together.

Joshua seems to be the only one healing at the rate I am. Michelangelo, Kaleb, and Agent Roland are stumbling messes of tattered clothing and blood. Cuts, bites, and gouges cover their faces and bodies.

I take another blow to the face, noticing Zack in the same spot, crouched, prepared to leap at Leila's command. She hasn't yet begun to fight. Just as I thought, she is toying with us.

"Joshua," I reach for him. A crash of colorful glass rains down on us. Turns out I don't need him, the stained glass above the doors has been shattered, a metal candelabra lay three inches from Kaleb.

Leila doesn't miss a beat, climbing the face of the church like a lizard-woman. She crawls up to the hole where the lovely window once was. I'm not sticking around to witness her reach the opening. I book it to the van. Agent Roland takes my queue, racing for the Denali.

Leila used me to dent the passenger door in when she tasted my blood. After several attempts it finally opens. I don't risk the back doors since they are too close to the edge of light. Matters worse, the van is upside down, everything scattered. I crawl through the mini door leading to the back. Bags are designated to weapons and flashlights after last night's run in. I flip on the interior lights to find the bags I want. Outside, the Denali door shuts. I know Agent Roland retrieved Joshua's kits.

Screams come from within the church, both male and female, Talyn's the loudest. Banging and crashing follows the screams. They're fighting back. Good.

The door to the van opens. Something has joined me, causing the van to rock. I slip a knife out of one of the bags, spinning to yield it at the intruder.

"You don't want to do that, I'm on your side," Agent Roland grins humorlessly. "Hurry, hand me that bag."

Kaleb and Michelangelo pound on the doors of the church. They're stuck outside unable to save anyone. The screams lessen. We have no way to know what's happening inside. I call the boys over to load them up. Flashlights won't kill anything, but they will keep demons directly in front of us at bay. Plus, when she knocks out the last floodlight we're going to need them to see. These and the knives are all we have. The knives, daggers of sorts, once belonged to angels. Apparently they were forged to destroy demons, though we never got the chance to hear the full story.

"Bad idea," Leila growls from the ledge of the broken window. "Bring me their hearts!"

Zack bounds for us on all fours with big cat-like grace. Lips peeled back, revealing razor sharp teeth, he tackles Kaleb. One of us would have kicked him off...if the light was still on. Blackness engulfs our small band of misfits once again, the sound of a thousand creepy crawlies closing in on us. I fumble to turn my flashlight on, swinging it wildly to give us safe space. The boys already have theirs pointed outward into the dark. We form a tight circle around Kaleb and Zack.

Zack's mouth clamps down on Kaleb's forearm, gnawing through the muscle, going for the crunch of bone. Kaleb's eyes roll to the back of his head, he is on the brink of passing out. I kick Zack in the head, he wavers but doesn't release. I kick again, knocking him off, not without costing Kaleb a mouthful of flesh. Joshua kneels on Zack's chest, dousing him in holy water.

A puke green claw strikes out from the dark, bringing Michelangelo to his knees. I shine my flashlight at it, withering the one eyed demon back into the shadows. Attacked from all angles, with one man down, our options are grim.

Hairs part from my scalp as I'm yanked to the ground. I land roughly on my upper back. Leila glares down upon me through her bloody eye sockets, dragging me by the hair.

"Your blood is foul, but your heart will heal me, monster," she salivates.

I throw the flashlight toward the boys. It's of no use against her. She hasn't noticed the dagger. I grip the hilt, swiping it at her thigh, the blade sinks deep. She snarls, swinging me by the hair, she tosses me against the van with enough force to flip it on its side.

Without the angel blood pumping through me, the impact would've been paralyzing. Numbness in my lower body is once again subsiding, I still can't stand yet. The knife flew out of my grip when I hit the van. I have no idea where it landed.

Leila straddles me, caressing my face. Too weak to fight her, I take it, hoping to heal before she kills me. One palm on my face, she uses her free fingers to trace down my throat, following the invisible scar tissue to my heart.

"What experiments has your creator done to you, monster? This line I feel, what is it?" She walks her fingers over my phantom scar, resting them to the side, over my heart.

"Go to hell," I spit out.

"Well, I don't have to know, just curious." Leila presses her claws above my heart, breaking skin. An engine revs, the Denali's headlights suddenly wash over us in a cleansing glow. Leila pays it no mind, digging deeper into my chest.

Someone tackles her, freeing me. My legs weak, but moving, I crawl to the edge of the van to see who saved me. An unarmed Michelangelo sits on Leila, pressing into her face with his fingers, two feet away from them my dagger shines under the light of the SUV. She struggles fiercely beneath him. He doesn't have much time.

I hop down from the overturned van, my legs buckle from under me. Righting myself against the scraped roof of the van, I dive for the blade, collapsing with it in my grasp. I heal fast, just not fast enough. I peer up from beneath my tangled locks to see that the tables have turned. Michelangelo is under Leila as she pries through the skin of his chest, peeling the muscle back, ribs crack.

Dagger in hand, I lunge for her throat, slicing open her trachea. Blood, too thick to be human, oozes from her wound. Still she moves, gurgling incoherently. I stab her multiple times, until her head is nearly severed. I remove the blade when her body stops twitching, dropping it to the ground beside me.

Throwing myself onto Michelangelo, I nuzzle my face into his neck. I was too slow. His chest lay open to the elements, exposing his insides, a small puncture to his heart furiously pumping out all his lifeblood. An ambulance will never make it in time. I whisper a thousand apologies, kissing his face with each word spoken. He holds me gently, not because he's being careful, but because it's all he's able to manage.

"I love you, Clara. I'd do it a million times over." He pulls my face into his, exhaling his last breath of life into our kiss.
Chapter Eighteen

Joshua exorcises the sleeper demon from Zack, leaving him unconscious to tend to Kaleb. He's also unconscious from the wound Zack inflicted upon him, he's bleeding profusely. Joshua covers his arm with a white foaming liquid from his kit, patching him up.

I remain within the safety of light cast by the headlights, nearest Michelangelo's lifeless body. Leila's mangled figure lay just in the shadows, close to us. Several night demons have begun to feast on her body, many more join them. Savages.

I tuck my arms under Michelangelo's and begin to drag his body to the Denali. I want him far away from the creatures, even if he is already dead. I couldn't save him in life, but I can still save the shell of him. I wish for the ability to cry for him, but my phantom scar is preventing me. It throbs, tugging back the tears each time they threaten to spill over. Tightening in my throat, the invisible wound inside me is keeping me from falling apart.

Agent Roland lifts Michelangelo effortlessly, carrying his body into the church. The Denali's headlights shine a trail directly to the doors. Someone moved his vehicle to face the steps. Kaleb, Zack, and Joshua are no longer on the stairs. They have all gone into the church.

Sasha's figure blocks the doorway of the narthex. She covers my dead love's body in a black silk sheet. I snap at her for touching him. She backs away, retreating elsewhere within the building.

"Clara, I'm so sorry," Talyn cries.

I stalk past everyone's remorseful faces, following Agent Roland through the nave of the church, thinking of how I'm supposed to explain Michelangelo's death to his parents, his brother, my dad. I can barely get my heart to fathom the finality of it all.

Roland fabricates a story to explain Michelangelo's death. We were camping and a yet to be identified animal attacked him. Hearing the recount from a seasoned FBI agent adds mounds of credibility to the tale. It's sad to know that's how easy it is to make a lie believable.

Calls go out to family and friends, all devastated by the loss. Every call I place, I hear the robotic tone in my voice. I don't sound anything like a grieving girlfriend. Maybe it will pass as shock.

○ ○ ○

I pick up Michelangelo's parents from the airport the evening following his death. They flew in from Charlotte to make funeral arrangements. Many of their relatives are buried in a cemetery in Wilmington, that's where they plan to lay Michelangelo's body to rest. What they don't know, is that he told me he wanted to be cremated. After the possessions he'd witnessed, Michelangelo was afraid a dead body would be susceptible to demons. I don't believe that's the case, though. In my opinion, a body requires animation, life to be possessed. But what do I know?

They greet me at the airport with warm, sad embraces. The ride to my house is uncomfortable to say the least. Michelangelo's mom, Adele Ricci, sobs in the front passenger seat, muffling the noise with a pink cloth handkerchief. The bangs of her gray-free natural black mane sweep over her brow line hiding permanent forehead creases and her thin brows. His dad, Bruno, stares out the window, dark sunglasses concealing his eyes. His black hair graying at the temples, Michelangelo had inherited the same brute masculinity Mr. Ricci carries.

I chauffeur Adele and Bruno to the funeral home to make preparations, to the cemetery to ensure the plot has been dug, and to the church where Michelangelo was baptized when he was an infant. And I'll drive them to any other destination that requires their attention.

"Thank you, Clara, for all you've done," Adele says sincerely, when we put our feet up in my living room. I'm the one who got their son killed, all I can do now is let them sleep in my home and drive them around to arrange his funeral. Somehow, I don't think that quite makes up for it.

"You're welcome, it's the least I can do," I lie. I'm not really in the mood to return their gratitude with false sentiment, but I have to. What am I going to do, tell them the truth? They won't be able to handle it let alone, believe me.

"Clara, you were with our son, our Michelangelo," Bruno chokes, "in the time before his death. What did he say? How was he? Did he die in pain?" The sunglasses glued to his face don't stop the tears from escaping beneath the dark shades.

I hesitate, what do I say to that?

"No, no pain, I think he was in shock. He told me that he loved me and..." I can't breathe. His death is finally hitting me. My phantom wound only holds back so much, I cry, for the first time in months, the pain in my chest about to tear through the thick invisible scar tissue. Clutching the skin above my heart, I collapse into Bruno's arms. Adele lays her head on my shoulder, crying into my hair, hugging me from behind.

How horrible a person am I? Embraced between two people who should hate me as I hate the demons, the parents of my dead love. I fall into the warmth. Bouncing inside my body, crashing into organs and muscle, all my emotions fight to escape, trapped behind the wound no one will ever see. I let it hold me in place, let the emotions crawl back to where they belong, locked away.

"I'm ok, it's just too much to take right now," I explain, stepping to the side, away from the comfort they provide. "These past three days have been torture. I think I'll go to bed early, rest for the emotional plunge I know I'll feel tomorrow. Have a good night." I climb the stairs to my room for another sleepless night.

○ ○ ○

In the weeks following Michelangelo's funeral, I felt nothing but emptiness. With my emotions secured inside, I was unable to express how I should have felt. Emptiness wiped away all feeling, causing me to hide from myself, hide from the truth. What point is there to life, if that life no longer has meaning?

Kaleb started staying with me and Robbie. He wants to be alone less than we do. I thought Kaleb staying with us would bring us back together in a way, force normalcy to return. It didn't work that way, he is just as broken as we are. The three of us live in the depressing prison known as our house, without Michelangelo or Talyn.

Talyn was taken into custody by the state, the week following the funeral. Reportedly, she had a breakdown while at the grocery store. With cart full of cat food, infant diapers, and bottled water, she plowed through the aisles, knocking over displays and people in the process. All while crying and babbling incoherently. Talyn doesn't own a cat, or know anyone with a baby.

She was quickly apprehended by the police, but then placed in a facility for "mental exhaustion". Robbie and I visit her once a week since the state admitted her. She seems to be doing well. Though, I'm not sure how she behaves when we aren't there. Kaleb refuses to see her. He's battling his own issues. Our weekly visits to Empty Valley Institute are winding down and we are finding it difficult to explain to Talyn.

"Hey, Tal, how's your week been?" I hug her with my face buried in her hair. She smells sterile, like a hospital. They won't let her use quality shampoo or conditioner.

"Great," she beams. "I'm glad you guys made it today, I almost thought you weren't coming."

"Of course we came, we miss you."

"Yea, we miss you," Robbie echoes, pulling her close. "Ugh, can we convince them to give you nice soap?" He wrinkles his nose.

She laughs. I miss her more. "No, they don't trust us with that stuff. I can deal though." She lowers her voice. "Whatever keeps me safe."

"Yea, Tal, whatever keeps you safe," I repeat, brushing her hair back with my fingers. She doesn't look like my Talyn. Her hair, due to lack of product, has lost its shine and bounce, hanging in dry, gangly strands stuck to her head. Dark circles and bags formed under her eyes, aging her ten years. Her skin too, is dry and in desperate need of moisturizer. There is no life in her once vibrant brown eyes. They stare blankly at me, not fully seeing me.

"Has your mom come to visit you?" I ask. Her dad nearly disowned her when she was admitted here, her mom kept contact, though I don't know how often.

"Yesterday, she said it was going to be her last visit for a while. My dad doesn't want her to see me like this." She gestures around her.

We stroll outside, in the garden area, finding a seat at a cement table and benches. People in white pants and tops, like the set Talyn wears, wander about the grounds. Doctors and nurses observe their behavior from the stairs and through windows. She doesn't belong here.

"I'm sorry, Tal, that's not fair. I hate to say it, but we have something similar to tell you." I search her eyes for my Talyn, for the best friend I've grown up with. She isn't home. "Next week will be our last visit, but just for a little while. We have to find the fallen angel, remember? Our mission isn't complete."

"I know," she sighs. "That stupid fallen has ruined my life. Find her, Clara. Find her for me, for Michelangelo. End this, forever."

"I promise you, I will." I cross my heart with my finger, like we used to, when she was well. If my emotions weren't so tightly under lock and key, I'd probably have broken down.

"Do you want to see my room?" She jumps up, changing the subject.

"Sure. Robbie?" I turn to my brother.

"You bet, Tal," he replies sadly.

Talyn shares a room with another girl our age. We've never had the chance to meet her. She's meeting with her own visitors, elsewhere on the grounds.

The plain white room houses two twin beds, both with the same thin white cotton blankets and hospital pillows. Each girl has her own dresser. Talyn's is decorated with pictures of her family and of us, in colorful foam frames. On her side of the room, hangs drawings she's done while here. Talyn really wasted her talent on serving, she is an incredible artist.

Robbie comes across a drawing of me that she did from memory. My heart winces. I know that I would have cried, if I my phantom scar allowed it. They don't give her colored pencils, only plain gray number twos. She works wonders with them, her brilliance explodes onto paper.

"That one is Joshua. He really is handsome, isn't he?" Talyn points to a drawing above Robbie's head.

"He's smoking hot for a priest," Robbie agrees, smiling warmly at her. She doesn't return the warmth in hers, not intentionally on her part.

"Yea, he's a good looking man." I look at the drawing, absorbing the detail she put into it. There is no mistaking it, she drew Joshua.

"Talyn, how much longer, do you think you'll be here?" Robbie asks aloud. I raise my brow at his bluntness.

"Until Clara gets rid of the demons," she winks impishly.

I whisper loudly, "Are you faking being sick?"

"No, I couldn't if I tried." Tears cloud her eyes. "I know that's the only way I'll get better, Clara. I'm going crazy in here, but if I were out there..." she points out the barred window. "I wouldn't survive. My brain can't handle it anymore, my heart can't handle it." She fights back the tears, straightening her shoulders to stand upright. "Kill them all, Clara."

"People are putting too much stock in me," I tell Robbie on the drive home. "I don't have any magic about me to fight off demons alone. I have rapid healing and will likely live longer, big whoop."

"You're fast, Clara. We didn't even see you move when you attacked Leila. I saw a blur of color. You're stronger, too, and the only one who can track fallen angels." He props his elbow on the door, turning to look at me, nibbling on his thumb.

"How will that protect you or Kaleb? If I could hone in on what I can do, we might have a chance." I pull to a stop at a red light. Tightening my grip, I tap my fore head on the steering wheel, frustrated at the trials and tribulations in my life.

"I don't know," Robbie admits.

"Robbie," I peer at him. The light turns green, I accelerate forward. "My nightmares, I think they might be premonitions. Almost like giving me clues or insight into the future."

"That's messed up. I've heard some of those nightmares. If that's the case, we might as well give up now." My brother rakes a shaking hand through his hair. He believes me.

"I'm almost certain they're a warning. The future will turn out that way if we can't stop it now." I park in our driveway, behind Michelangelo's Denali. He'd paid it off last year, and his parents wanted me to keep it. I obliged, I had it thoroughly cleaned but can't bring myself to drive his vehicle, not yet anyway.

I skip the steps up to my room and plop onto my bed, falling into a restless sleep.

I dream of Talyn, locked away forever. Her hair torn from her scalp in clumps, self inflicted gouges in her cheeks. My Talyn is a distant past to this nutbag.

She screams, a hollow sound, echoing through the world in my head. Outside the confines of the mental health facility, under a sky of crimson fire, the earth crumbles away. Monstrosities claw their way up from the dirt and ash. People in white attire, like Talyn wore, are dragged down into the cracks formed by the emerging beasts. Ear curdling screams seem to last forever, growing distant until the noise stops completely.

I look back to Talyn, her face a mutilated, permanent scream. Her eyes call to me, beg me to end her suffering. I have to look away, but not for long. I turn around to see Michelangelo behind her. She doesn't know he's there. He appears different, something about him is off. I want to hug him, my invisible wound instructs me otherwise. His strong hands grip either side of Talyn's head and...a snap. He breaks her neck, kills her instantly.

I wake to the warm sun shining on my face. My recent nightmare all but forgotten, I sit up in my bed, observing the odd normality of my room. The blinds have been raised. I oversee the perfect view of children running across the street. Robbie must have opened my curtains to wake me.

"Another nightmare?" Robbie steps out of my closet, startling me.

"One, about Talyn. Michelangelo was in it, too." Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I spot a dress in his hands.

"Don't want to hear it. Wear this." He tosses the yellow, knee length crochet lined dress onto my bed.

"For what?" I ask skeptically, not in the mood for games.

"Dad wants to see us, you know, our father. He's worried, especially about you, so put on a happy face. We're going to his house." He throws a pair of tan gladiator sandals on the floor next to me.

"Fine," I sigh. "I'll meet you downstairs in twenty minutes." Kicking him out of my room, I dress in the outfit he'd picked. Not a bad choice of dress, but I'm not looking forward to seeing my dad.

Martin Kenneth is the last person I want to see. A law abiding man, Dad follows the curfew laws and installed floodlights like everyone else. As long as I keep my distance, I won't lead demons to him, night or day. Being the only parent we have left, I worry about him every day. To keep my mind off of demons hurting my dad, I avoid him altogether, having not seen him since Michelangelo's funeral.

"Took you long enough," Robbie fakes a whine.

"Yea, a whole nineteen minutes," I laugh.

Robbie drives, it's been a while and he missed speeding. Dad always told him his lead foot was going to get him killed. What would good ol' Martin think of us tangling with demons?

"Do you honestly think this is a good idea? I mean, what if we lead a day walker right to him?" Images of Leila flash to the forefront of my mind.

"Clara, Dad will be fine, you know him." Robbie pats my arm reassuringly, swerving over the line in doing so.

"Not while driving! Eyes on the road or I'm telling Dad," I joke. He does need to pay attention to driving, though. He laughs, focusing on our route. We talk about nothing the whole way, right until he parks behind Dad's Lexus.

"Took you two forever." Martin Kenneth is a bear of a man with a hefty appetite, a jolly grizzly as some would say, with a thick graying beard and a hat like Indiana Jones atop his balding head. He stood on the porch, huge grin on his face.

"Hey Dad," we call out simultaneously.

"There's my boy." Dad wraps his arms around Robbie, lifting him a foot off the ground. My brother is gasping and coughing when he finally sets him down. "And my little girl." I receive a gentle, princess hug.

"Dad, you gonna give me that Lexus soon?" Robbie ribs.

"He still got that lead foot?" Dad turns to me, I nod sheepishly. "Never," he laughs heartily.

"Gee, thanks Clara."

"No, problem," I giggle.

Dad's house hasn't changed a bit since Mom died. It looks the same as it had when we grew up here. He hires a weekly cleaning service to dust and scrub what he can't. Vacuuming, mopping, and dishes he has no problems with.

Rascal, our beyond his years family Golden Retriever, greets us in the entryway. His tail wags like a puppy, although his legs move like he has arthritis. At fourteen years old poor Rascal is nearly blind and his hearing falls below fifty percent.

"Rascal!" Robbie tackles the old dog. I'd forgotten how much he loves that dog.

I lean down to rub Rascals belly when Robbie flips him over, stepping over them to get to the living room. My favorite olive colored recliner is calling my tush.

"How've you been, princess?" Dad plops himself onto the worn leather sofa.

"Ok, I guess. I mean, it's just so difficult, Dad. You know, coping. How did you deal with Mom's death?" How my dad gets me talking like this, I'll never know. I've barely spoken to anyone about Michelangelo's passing and I've never asked him that question about my mom before. I'm not certain if I really want to know the answer.

"There's no getting used to losing the love of your life, sweetheart. I sure didn't." My dad never moved on after Mom died. He dated maybe two women, but neither relationship lasted long. Now he lives alone, in a house built for a family, with a dog that doesn't have many years left in him.

"I loved him, but I don't know if he was the love of my life. Would I feel it? Is there a way to know?" Can I feel it? My emotions are out of wack. It's a possibility that Michelangelo was the love of my life and my phantom scar has shielded the emotions from me.

"You would know. Michelangelo was a great man, I would've been proud to welcome him into the family. Was he the love of your life? I don't know. Your heart's the only one that can tell you that." Dad kicks up his right foot, easing it onto the warped wooden coffee table, his bad knee must be acting up.

"Yea...I think my heart is a little blocked up right now." Unbeknownst to him, every emotion inside me is blocked.

"That's alright, Clara, take your time. Remember, I live thirty minutes away, whenever you need me."

"I know, Dad." Glad my feelings are locked away, I would've cried like a baby in my daddy's arms. I also keep the notion of demons running the streets to myself, along with all the other events that would make a grown man breakdown.

Rascal bounds into the living room, as fast as a dog his age is able, Robbie close behind him. Out of breath, he takes a seat close to Dad. "Clara didn't eat breakfast. Let's start the grill and make her some lunch." He puts his arm around Dad's neck.

The back door slides shut. I peek out the kitchen window to see them prepping the food near the grill. While they grill, I wander around my childhood home. The walls of the entire first floor are all a dark teal, my mom's favorite color. Old pictures of my mom hang alongside our yearly school photos on the walls. The only family photo of the four of us, taken months before Mom died, is replicated throughout the house.

People say I look like her. I've always seen myself as kind of pretty, but my mom, she was beautiful. Her hair was always fashionably cut and styled. Smiling in every picture like she was the happiest woman in the world, she radiated love. I wish I had more time with her, gotten a chance know her.

"She was so beautiful." I didn't hear Robbie come in. Wiping his hands on a rag, he gazes lovingly at one of the photos. "I miss her."

"I had two years with her, I hardly remember enough to miss." I do miss her, though and I'm angry that a horribly careless person took her from me too soon. My phantom scar can't stop that.

"I know." He picks under his nails, swinging his body around to leave. "Dad's setting up the table out back. C'mon, let's eat and enjoy the time we have with him."

Time with Dad passes by so quickly. I don't realize it until we're already saying our goodbyes. My mind is stuck on the conversation between Dad and me in the living room, the talk about love and "the one". Michelangelo's face popped to the forefront of my mind throughout lunch. Was he the one I was meant to be with?

Robbie and I babbled through several talks on the drive home, though if someone asks me now what they were about I won't recall a word of them. Too many sour notes in the song of life for me in these past few months, the lows outweigh the highs by a long shot. Unless it is of importance to me, I forget all else.

By the time we get home the sun is quickly setting, people are off the streets, floodlights buzz on. Kaleb has turned on every light inside our house and out, so the whole place glows brightly.

"Hey, how was the visit?" Kaleb greets us anxiously at the door.

"A blast." Robbie pats him on the shoulder. "Next time you should join."

"Yea, next time. What about you Clara? How was your visit with Martin?"

"Enlightening and puzzling all at once." I shrug thoughtfully at him.

"You want to talk about it?" he asks, looking to Robbie for confirmation. Robbie smirks back.

"Maybe later, I'm just going to take a nap." I leap up the stairs, two at a time, shouldering my bedroom door open, I collapse onto my bed. I don't bother shutting the door. One of the boys will be up to drag me down for dinner later.

Taking a nap isn't exactly what I would call this. Lying wide awake on my comfy bed, in my brightly lit room, I stare up at the ceiling, reflecting on the day. Then I reflect on my nightmare from the night before.

Worry for my dad and Talyn should have been what I thought about. It isn't. I rattle my brain, trying to make heads or tails of the nightmare. All the while, I'm unable get Michelangelo's face out of my mind. He was there in my dreams, but why? Because he was "the one"? It doesn't feel like so, then again, I don't feel much of anything lately.

I wish for a normal life, a simple life. Of all people, why me? I've never done anything remotely special in my entire existence before this.

Michelangelo is gone, dead. I'll never touch his face again. Talyn is gone, depending on her recovering sanity. I might never have my old friend back. What the hell am I going to do?

Empty Valley Institute for the Mentally Ill

The stark white room in which she resides seems to close in on her. Her roommate, Diana, sleeps heavily in her bed, three feet from Talyn's. She watches Diana sleeping peacefully, wishing for the same, but finding the darkness of the backs of her eyelids too frightening. Her eyes wide, Talyn watches her room shrink, knowing it is all in her mind.

Talyn, well aware of the deterioration of her appearance, presses the call button on the remote adhered to her nightstand, notifying the female orderly of her condition. Within minutes the stout young orderly brings a small paper cup of pills and a clear plastic cup of water. Sitting up lazily to accept the medicine and water, Talyn downs both, opening her mouth wide and lifting her tongue to prove she swallowed the pills. The gentle orderly smiles at her warmly, tucking the blanket around her shoulders before wishing her sweet dreams.

Feeling drowsy from the unknown medication given to her, Talyn rolls out of bed once again, walking unsteadily to the mesh-lined window. She has been unwillingly drawn to the window, unable to stop herself. The world outside is far too dark to make out at night. In the glass, she observes her distorted face. Eyes hanging too low, sinking in to present a skull-like shape. Her mouth twists, one side curled up as if to smile, the other pulled down, stretching to touch her chin. The shrunken nose on her face can't possibly be her own. Once beautiful brown hair sticks like black straw against her forehead. A shift of shadows beyond her reflection commands her attention. For the briefest of moments she thinks it's just her imagination. Only after careful scrutiny does she recognize the being. A scream tears from her throat, and then blackness consumes her thoughts.
Chapter Nineteen

Nightmares took over any dreams I had, months ago. I know they won't get any better for some time, I expect to sleep restlessly for as long as I live. Each night brings new terrors and unanswered questions. I'm beginning to think some of my nightmares are lessons to be learned or of the future I might live. Kaleb told me they were just that, nightmares, nothing more. One by one, after every horror filled night, I'm finding it hard to believe that.

This night is like every other, night demons patrolling the streets, a star-free black sky. Some nights we're lucky to see the moon, not often though.

I lay alone in the bed Michelangelo purchased for me, wrapped in the comforter he knew I'd like. He'll never sleep next to me again. I'll never have his arms to cradle me at night. It sucks. This house doesn't feel like home anymore. I don't feel like a normal human being. Why us? Why has this fate targeted us, of all the people in the world? It just isn't fair.

Sleep overtakes me sooner than usual, my dreams telling the same macabre stories. This one is different, though.

A white light blinks from across the vast desert of bodies, human and demon. I race to it, in dream time, making it there in seconds

There, hovering over a pile of bodies the size of a small house, Gabriela smiles at me. "Hello, Clara, it's so good to see you again."

"This is a nightmare, that's all I have now. Why are you here?" I demand.

"Clara, I don't want you to give up. Michelangelo died for you, he's happy he did so."

"No, he wouldn't be happy," I correct her. "He didn't want to leave me! Get out of my head!"

"He wanted you to live. Giving his life for yours was a simple decision for him. Please believe me, it saddens him that his time with you had to be short lived, but he is happy."

"Why are you lying to me? You're not supposed to be in contact with anyone not angel." Wake up, wake up, wake up!

"You are dreaming, and I am here. It is the only way I'm able to get around the rules, through your dream." She waves her arms over the destruction, clearing the land. Green grass grows where bodies once laid, the sky, black in the beginning of my nightmare, turns bright blue.

"I want to see Michelangelo then."

She hesitates, the sky falters with her, a flash of black corrupting the blue. "I'm sorry, that's not possible."

"You're lying, get out of my nightmare."

"He's moved on, Clara. To the other place we angels don't go, he is in his afterlife. You must accept that and go on with your life. I can do no more." Her left eye wells, a single tear trickles down her flawless cheek.

"Why are you here?" Maybe I believe her.

"I wanted to speak to you again, to encourage you and tell you how proud you've made me. Please, don't ever give up. I watch you whenever I can, but it isn't enough, I had to talk to you." The left side of her face glistens with freshly shed tears.

"Why do you care? The first, and only time we ever met, was after I died. Where is Michelangelo?" I'm intentionally being cruel. She doesn't have a reason to lie to me.

"I can't tell you, I wish I could. Only know that Michelangelo is in a good place, and you needn't drown in your sorrows, you have much to do. I'm watching and I love you. Good luck."

I wake in a sweaty tangle of comforter and sheets, my head throbs and my phantom scar hums lightly over the swelling of my heart. Gabriela contacted me, and I was a bitch to her. Too selfish and wrapped in my personal woes to listen to her in my dream, I understand now. She tried to tell me Michelangelo made it to the other side. That he willingly died for me.

Sluggishly I head for the hall bathroom. The new wood floor cold from the air conditioning Robbie insisted on keeping at polar bear comfort. I tiptoe over it. Grabbing a towel from the cabinet, I hop in the shower to wash the shame from my body.

Gabriela found me in my nightmare. She wanted to talk to me, to see me. Am I that important? Did she need me that much? I wish I would've listened and asked her better questions. I want to punch myself in the face.

"Clara, is everything ok? It's three in the morning, what are you doing taking a shower?" Kaleb pounds on the bathroom door.

"I'm fine, had a nightmare. Be out in a minute!" I call to him.

Both Kaleb and Robbie are waiting outside the door when I emerge from the bathroom wrapped in a deep purple towel. Robbie is slouched lazily against the wall opposite the door with Kaleb right beside him. He must've woken my brother with his shouting and banging on the door.

"What's going on, guys?" I ask nonchalantly, heading directly for my room.

"You have nightmares every night. Why did this one make you need to shower this damn early in the morning?" Kaleb has a point. I usually lay in bed until sunrise after a bad dream.

"Gabriela came to me," I say calmly with my back to them.

"She what? Why didn't you wake us?" Robbie smacks the floor with his palm causing an echo down the hall.

"I don't know, I needed a shower," I attempt to convince them it isn't a big deal.

"You're lying. What happened? What did she say?" Kaleb is in my room before I know it with Robbie on his trail. "Spit it out, Clara. You know something new, now tell us."

"Ok." I climb into my bed, pulling the comforter over my exposed legs, tightening the top of the towel. "She told me Michelangelo made it to the other side. That he died for me and he was happy to."

"Well we knew he died for you, but it's good to know he's crossed over. Is that all?" Kaleb relaxes down on the end of my bed.

"What do you mean is that all? That's huge to me!" I reach out to slap him, thinking better of it and lowering my hand. "No, that's not all. Gabriela said she's been watching, when she can. I've made her proud and she loves me. She told me to not give up. I was a bitch to her, made her cry." I hang my head in further shame. It's worse saying it aloud. My phantom scar throbs dully.

"You made an angel cry? Are you insane?" Robbie throws himself onto the bed next to me. "Is she angry with you now?"

"No, I think I disappointed her. I feel horrible, I don't know why I acted that way, honest."

"It will wash over soon. She's an angel, she'll forgive you." Kaleb places his hand on my shoulder reassuringly, but it feels weird. "Get back to bed. I'll make breakfast in the morning."

Sleep doesn't find me for a few hours. I lay awake waiting to hear from her again, wanting to correct my behavior towards her. She doesn't visit again, another night I wish I could cry, but I fall asleep wallowing in shame.

Robbie nearly kicks my bedroom door in when the sun has risen, startling me awake. "Clara, get up! It's all over the news!"

Groggy from staying up most night, it takes a few tries before something coherent comes out of my mouth. "What's on the news?"

"Empty Valley Institute, where Talyn is, the whole place is on lock-down. Top secret stuff, too. They aren't releasing any statements as to why no one is allowed in or out."

I shoot straight up in my bed, feeling instantly light-headed. "That can't be good. How long has it been on lock-down?" I'm out of bed and rummaging through my drawers for something to wear, still just barely in my purple towel.

"Clara, they're not going to let you anywhere near that place. Get dressed and meet us downstairs, maybe the news will have an update any minute." He shrugs his shoulders as he heads for the door. "None of us is ever going to catch a break, huh?"

"Probably not ever again," I reply solemnly, throwing on a pair of black panties with a matching sports bra, red cotton shorts and a white t-shirt. I don't need to dress nice for the living room.

The white haired reporter claims that the government has mandated the lock-down early this morning. Their reasons are unclear, but they don't have to tell us either way. The young reporter is standing outside the gates of the institution, where an angry group has rallied. I assume they are friends and families of the staff and patients inside. She begins to read from a sheet of paper handed to her from just off screen, her voice trembles and her hands shake. A megaphone blares, interrupting her, a line of men in riot gear burst through the gate to push the crowd back, including the reporter and her crew. She doesn't get to finish reading the paper. I caught the very beginning, but it isn't enough to make out what the entirety would've said. I need to know what is written on that paper, from the way it spooked her, it has to be important.

"Let it go, Clara. We have enough to deal with right now. At least Talyn is safe inside. You know there isn't anything we can do but call Roland." Kaleb keeps his voice calm, but his eyes are wild. He wants to go after Talyn as much as I do. He has better restraint than me, too.

"Why didn't I think of that?" I really should've figured Agent Roland would know something. Robbie tosses me the house phone and I find Agent Roland's number on the caller id.

"Yes, I know," he answers without a formal greeting.

"You know, about Empty Valley?" I ask. Of course he knows.

"She'll be ok, we have people in there with her, and they've been there all along."

"What? Why didn't you mention this before? Who is with her?" If he doesn't answer quickly I'm going to explode with questions.

"It was for her safety, it wasn't imperative that you know. I tried to keep the worry off your shoulders. It was a precaution I'm glad I made."

"You sound so sure of yourself. You could've told me. To make up for it, you can tell me what's going on now though." He is going to spill it, whether he wants to or not.

Agent Roland sighs heavily into the phone. "I don't know how it got in, but a demon made its way past security."

Genuinely shocked, I sit with my mouth agape, unmoving. A demon is locked inside a secure institute with the barely there Talyn. Of all people, she would be the one to come across it, I'm sure of it. "What can we do?"

"Nothing. I told you we have people inside. The lock-down is just a precaution. I promise the demon will be found shortly and all will be safe."

"Why don't I believe that?"

"Clara, please. I know you want to help, so do I. But the situation is under control, no one will harm Talyn."

"How do we know she hasn't already been harmed?" I'm so certain it had gotten to her and my mind won't rest until I can confirm her safety.

"I will have her call you tonight, be by the phone. See you soon." He hangs up abruptly. I think I struck a nerve not holding faith in his word.

After retelling the boys everything Agent Roland said, I feel the weight of the world pull down my shoulders. Exhausted, I take a long nap on the couch, waiting for Talyn to call. For the first time, I have a daymare.

Running through the halls of Empty Valley Institute, the floors suck the soles of my sneakers down, like tar. Frantically, I search each dark room for Talyn, finding I'm alone at every turn. Slowing my pace I look to what should be sterile white tiled floors, instead seeing the gooey substance that restrains my steps...blood. Two inches of it layers the tile, covering the entire wing that I can see. I didn't notice it before, but after realizing it's blood, the foul stench hits me hard. The smack and squish of my sneakers against the coagulated blood makes my stomach queasy. I continue running, Talyn is still somewhere in the institute.

Arms outstretched in front of me, palms facing forward, I push through a heavy set of doors to what I recognize as the rec room. The large space is bathed in shadows, every corner darker than the last. The corners hold some kind of life, moving within the concealment of the dark. The faint light from two windows on the outer wall streams in parallel lines across the mucky tile keeping the shadows at bay. Only an inch of blood in this room, I can almost see the shapes of the tiles beneath the layer.

Patting my pants pockets and rubbing down the length of my thighs, I search for a weapon, some sort of protection. I have nothing. Utterly defenseless against the creepy crawlies in the shadows, I sidestep to a second set of double doors to my right. A familiar voice from the dark startles me. I freeze within a cast of light.

"Don't go, Clara."

"Michelangelo?" I spin in place, looking for the source of the voice I love.

"Don't go. Find the fallen."

"Don't go where? I don't understand."

"Find the fallen. Just find the fallen."

"Is that really you? Show yourself. Please, show yourself," I beg. The voice of Michelangelo doesn't answer.

I scream. "Michelangelo!"

Still, no answer.

Tears almost reach the ducts, my hands tremble violently. Is it all a trick? Has Michelangelo really contacted me? Or does a demon want to break me for fun?

Something made of metal crashes against the double doors I'm trudging toward. I jump back, my heel stepping onto the line dividing the light and dark. Razor sharp teeth bite through my sneaker. I kick my leg back into the safety of the light. My blood drips down from my wound, mixing with the already covered floor.

Debating whether I should continue on or head back the way I came from, I pace within the light, dangerously skirting the edge. Michelangelo, if that was truly him, said not to go. Where? Deciding he had to have meant not to continue through the doors ahead, I back to the doors I'd come through. The light just covers part of one door. I have to be careful not to touch the other parts of the doors.

Once through the doors I breathe a sigh of relief. The tiles are clean, polished and white. Windows on the left wall reveal a cloudless afternoon sky. Life resumes behind each door, normal, pleasant life. At the furthest end of the hall I spot her through a small window in the door. Talyn smiles at me, waving for me to come to her.

My sneakers squeak against the fresh tile, I inspect them to find they are still covered in blood, including my own from the yet to heal wound on my heel. Ignoring the awful noise, I go to Talyn.

She appears to be in better spirits than when I'd seen her last. Her skin and hair are in desperate need of help, but she looks almost happy. The bags under her eyes have grown darker and have sunken deeper than before. I smile as I approach the door. She returns the smile, but there is something off about her face. I can't pinpoint what exactly is wrong. Her entire face is definitely wrong. When she smiles her eyes tilt inward, the brows above forming menacing arches. Her smile stretches too wide, the corners reaching close to her ears. The teeth, oh the teeth, they are not the right shape or color. Instead of the white, braces-straight smile I've known for so long, these teeth are brownish-yellow and jaggedly uneven. I would turn and run but I'm too happy to see her alive.

A cell phone begins to ring with a familiar ringtone, a Linkin Park song, one of Robbie's favorites. Stopping within arm's length from the door, I spin on my heels, focusing on the location of the ringing. It halts abruptly mid-ring, someone has answered it.

"Clara, get up, it's for you."

"Robbie?" I turn my head expecting to see my brother. I'm all alone in the hall.

"Yes, it's me, weirdo. Get up, Roland's on the phone."

A bony hand shakes my shoulder and I'm pulled from the hall and from the daymare completely. Once awake I'm able to fully accept Talyn's appearance for what it was...not her.

"Thank you so much." I reach up and pull Robbie down onto the couch with me into a rough hug.

"Clara, are you ok?" He tugs back, gripping my shoulders. "Whatever it is, explain after you talk to Roland." He presents me with his cell phone. I nod, holding it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Clara, I have good news and bad news." Agent Roland sounds exhausted.

"I want all the news, good and bad."

"The good news is she's safe. The bad news is you can't speak with her. Talyn had an incident last night, hours before the lock down. She was placed in a solitary medical wing." He pauses a long moment. "She's in no condition to speak with anyone. In fact, she isn't speaking at all."

"What the hell are you talking about, Roland? Get to the point, what the hell happened to her?"

"From what I've gathered, she was unable to sleep. She called the night orderly who gave her a sleep aid. After the orderly left, Talyn was alone with a sleeping roommate. Apparently her condition worsened and she screamed, waking her roommate before she fell unconscious." He stops talking as though he has been cut off mid discussion.

"What are you leaving out?" My blood boiling, all I need was an excuse to fly off the chain.

"Her roommate believes she saw something outside the window, something close. I had my people check, they found nothing. And Talyn's physical appearance is somehow worse than yesterday." He coughs into the phone. "What's important is that she's safe. Empty Valley will release a statement in a few hours reopening its doors, and I assure you that security will be beefed up from here on out."

"So we can see her later today?" I have a feeling what the answer will be, but I must ask anyway.

"No, she can't have visitors for some time, at least not until she's well enough. I don't think you could handle seeing her anyway. Clara, she's safe, trust me. Don't do anything irrational."

"I won't. I know you have things under control, I can't help but worry. You can't fault me for being a concerned friend." I attempt to hide the disappointment in my voice. I want to see Talyn for myself, just to be sure. My nerves are on edge. The line of my scar tightens.

"I have to prepare for our trip, Clara. Please promise me you will stay out of danger," he mumbles wearily.

"I promise. Give Sasha my regards. We'll be ready."

"Yea," he laughs nervously. "I'll see you soon."

Agent Roland gave us a month and a half after Michelangelo's funeral to recover. We still have to find Maya, the missing fallen angel, before demons do. I'll never forget. Now that I think about it, a month and a half was far too long to not be looking. Ridding the world of demons is still number one on my priority list. No one deserves to die as Michelangelo had, I will do everything in my power to end the suffering caused by the unwanted monsters.

We are down to half a day, and then Roland is going to pick us up in the morning to start our journey over. Talyn will still be healing, the facility isn't letting her out on her own until they see fit. That's for the best, she needs a break from the real world and I don't have the slightest inkling as to what she saw outside that window that frightened her so badly.

I'll be spending the rest of the day packing and cleaning. Packing took twenty minutes, so most the day I'll spend cleaning. At three o'clock I realize I haven't eaten all day. Kaleb made pancakes for breakfast as he said he would, but I didn't have an appetite. I'm still not hungry. Knowing that has to be wrong, I head to the kitchen. My body requires sustenance to keep going. I need to be at my healthiest for the trek ahead.

Forcing myself to eat a sliced apple along with a peanut butter and banana sandwich, I chug down a glass of 2% milk. The boys are off doing their own thing. Neither of them joins me in the kitchen. I relish the time alone during last hour of light. Since I'm eating by myself, I can take my time to enjoy my sandwich. Although I'm not hungry, I can eat, my stomach allows me to. I clean up my mess and sneak into the living room to watch a little brain-mushing TV before I finish cleaning.

Anchors on the news are completely unconvincing, at least to me. I can tell they're hiding their true feelings. These people are terrified and know so much more than they let on. I wonder how many might actually be possessed and how many are aware the demons exist. At the least, I count two anchors on every channel that have that look of other in their eyes.

They all have their own excuses for what has been happening in the darkness of night. Some claim serial killers, some say it's animal attacks, one even claims it has to do with the state of the economy and people are just up and abandoning lives they can no longer afford. What a croc.

After flipping through all gazillion channels, I decide not to watch TV. I don't like what I see anyway. Grabbing the mop and a bucket from under the sink, I start mopping the kitchen floor, continuing my endless day of cleaning.
Chapter Twenty

Agent Roland parks on the curb in front of our house, in the heavily tinted black Suburban we'd first seen him in. His van had been thoroughly destroyed in fight with Leila and it doesn't look like he plans on getting it replaced anytime soon. It's for the better though, his SUV will get us out and about in privacy without the chance of being stopped by the cops.

The nights have grown more dangerous, curfews are in effect nationwide. Depending on the state, you have to be indoors as early as four o'clock, when the sunsets, to as late as seven o'clock. After the allotted times if people step outside their homes they are subject to a fine or worse, the worse obviously being mauled to death by a demon. After those times an officer of the law will stop you and either give you a verbal warning or the punishment required in that state. Drivers caught out past curfew are immediately pulled over and searched by the new police force thrown together. Consisting of seasoned officers who volunteered for the position, these teams patrol the fourteen hour nights in brightly lit Hummers. So few actually volunteered, each Hummer often has only one or two officers a night. The specially designed vehicles have spotlights mounted on every inch of the roof as well as the rear and sides. They are virtual suns on wheels.

Agent Roland helps load our bags into the trunk. We have substantially less than before, mostly due to the absence of Christian and our favorite priest. Joshua isn't meeting us for another week. He took Zack back to Maine with him, where the boy died of complications from the last exorcism performed on him. Joshua mourned the loss, we didn't. I think we were too busy with Michelangelo's death to pay Zack's any mind. Or maybe we didn't care either way. Kaleb will always have a reminder of the damage the possessed Zack caused him, the skin graphed concave in his arm from the vicious bite. Suffice to say, none of us attended his funeral, Joshua understood.

Christian became a part of the local night police. He has his own hummer and partner. Last we talked to him he was happy to be helping the community and has no interest in traveling with us.

Kaleb, Robbie, and I slide into the back seat of the SUV, greeting Sasha who sits quietly up front with Agent Roland. They finally came out with their relationship, they are officially a couple, as we suspected all along. Michelangelo's death must have made them realize their own mortality and the briefness of life, that love should be claimed as soon as it's felt or risk losing it unrequited. She knows who he is, what he is, how long he'll live, and she accepts him. I may not see eye to eye with Sasha all the time, but I'm happy for them both.

Taking refuge in a campsite near the mountains, we ward off demons with a perimeter of floodlights we mounted high in the trees. They are the only sources of light powered by a gas generator with battery backup. We can't risk losing them, seeing as they are the only lights keeping the night demons at a comfortable distance.

Each tent is lit with clusters of battery operated led lights. On our person, we wear strings of clear battery operated Christmas lights and carry no less than four flashlights a piece in the evening.

Joshua meets us with what I count as a year's supply of batteries. With the closest town an hour away, we can get away with searching for the fallen for as long as required. He's also brought along his handy dandy exorcism kits with multiple supplies of holy water in jugs.

Upon his arrival, Joshua reveals that he will not be returning to the church when our work is complete. He has taken a sabbatical from his position which is not unreasonable. Considering all he's been through and learned, I'm surprised he's kept it together so well. I thought for sure after Zack's death he might fall apart.

Agent Roland pulls Joshua aside and they speak privately for quite a while. I figure of all people, Agent Roland can relate to him the most. I don't live Joshua's life. There is nothing magical or supernatural about me or Robbie. Kaleb has lived as plainly as we have. Sasha, well, same with her as far as I know.

Joshua slips a small black book from his back pocket, handing it to Agent Roland who turns it over in his hands before opening it. Whatever is written inside has his full attention. Joshua shifts his weight back and forth between each leg nervously. The book isn't as exciting to him. I want to see it for myself, but I know if they didn't include me, it isn't my business. Maybe if I wait patiently they'll show me eventually. Right.

After their talk, Agent Roland and Kaleb show Joshua around our camp. Nothing extravagant, but we've made it comfortable. Three large tents that even a seven foot man can stand in and a utility shed made of sheet metal circles a fire pit with log seating. We brought the shed with us to house the generator. At night it's our savior, so we protect it from the elements as best we can in these circumstances.

Close to the edge of our camp, Agent Roland's Suburban is parked with its headlights facing outward into the woods. In the case we need a quick getaway the lights will help and we can all pile in through the back. We keep most our back up supplies in the SUV, like I said, safe from the elements.

During daylight hours I use my angelic pull, attempting to sense the fallen, Maya. So far I've had no luck. Agent Roland made the executive decision that we will move camp if I'm unable to find her within a month. We will become nomads to the wood.

Searching for the fallen and resisting the draw to Agent Roland is exhausting, each day I have to eat and drink more and more food and water just to sustain energy. No one warned me of such effects. In their defense they probably weren't aware, but that doesn't make me feel any better.

"Guess what's for dinner," Sasha shouts. "C'mon Clara, get up and guess!"

I crawl out of the tent I share with Robbie. Agent Roland and I spent seven hours hiking through the woods in search of Maya. When we got back to camp I passed out fully dressed in my tent. I barely had an hour of sleep though. Sasha is right to wake me, I desperately desire food.

"Ugh, hot dogs again?" I ask groggily, wiping the crust from my tired eyes.

"Nope, can't you smell it?"

I pause, tilting my head back I inhale the warm air. "Steak? We're actually having steak?" My stomach growls loudly at the mention of the meat.

"Yup, Joshua and Robbie brought some back from town. I made potatoes and corn on the cob to go with it." Sasha smiles brightly.

"You're amazing, definitely my new favorite person," I tell her, drooling over the scent of seasoned steak.

She giggles, taking my arm and walking me to the fire. Sasha has really grown on me in the past few weeks. I suspect Agent Roland has something to do with that.

The boys are already sitting around the fire, anxiously waiting for me. Each has an empty plate in his hands. Robbie is almost bouncing off the log in anticipation. We all missed steak.

Sasha serves us, Joshua says grace, and we dig in greedily. After dining on canned foods and meats for weeks, steak is a more than welcome surprise. We don't talk, just gobbling down the deliciousness, savoring every juicy bite until it's gone. I try to make mine last. I know instant disappointment is bound to set in the second my plate is cleared.

The sun quickly descends over the horizon, our spot lights buzzed on immediately. We finished our dinner by the light of the campfire in the halo of our perimeter. Each took turns going back to our tents to illuminate them. We live on the minimums and very carefully out in the wild.

"So, Roland," I begin when our plates were cleaned and we once again circled the fire, "tell us what else is real out there." I nodded my head toward the darkness surrounding our camp.

"Besides the demon-kind you mean?" he confirmed. Sasha glances up at him from curled in the nook of his arm. She's curious, too.

"You know it."

"Well, what did you have in mind?" He gently squeezes Sasha, placing a light kiss on her forehead.

"Vampires?"

"The closest things to vampires are cannibals. Of course they're just completely mortal and disturbed human beings. Not all of them drink the blood, but they all eat the flesh. I don't know why, it's not like they get something out of it. Yes, the basic nutrients as they would other meats, but as to why humans, my people have never figured it out." He peeks down at Sasha who nudges him to continue. Roland looks to me for more questions.

"So, that's it? No vampires. I'm not going to lie, I'm a little disappointed," I admit.

"Yea, vampires are sexy," Robbie smirks. I know which movie vamps he's thinking of.

Sasha laughs. "I'm disappointed, too. Vampires are exciting."

"More so than me?" Roland pulls away from her enough to feign a sad face.

"Never." Digging her fingers into his shirt, she brings him close again.

"Ok," I change the subject to another inquiry. "Lycanthropes, what about them?"

"They do, but not like you think. The cursed are a group created by the mating of animal demons with humans thousands of years ago. The result was hybrid offspring with an irreversible curse."

"They change into animals at every full moon?" Robbie asked.

"Not like the movies portray. Each cursed is born animal and live animal. One week before the full moon they take human form. For seven days they look and act as you and I. The night of the full moon they change back into animal form. During the week of human form the cursed can transmit their problem...sexually." Roland's face flushes, he won't make eye contact with any of us.

I gasp. "You mean an STD? They can pass their curse through sex?"

"Only in their human form, but they're unable to reproduce that way. They can procreate as much as they like in their animal state. Cuts and bites are a myth. The only way for a human to contract it is through sex with a cursed."

"But there are wolves and all other animals?" Kaleb had been quiet until the mention of STDs. His voice came out a panicked whoosh of heavy breath.

"Yes, many other animals. Unless they're in human form, you will never see them. Of course you'll never know what they are in human for either. They are very secluded and careful about what they are."

Kaleb grunts, rubbing his temples. "I've slept with a lot of girls. I mean one night stands, the whole shebang. I'm ashamed to say, I wasn't always safe. Damn, I'm never going to sleep with another girl the week before a full moon."

"And you're always going to protect yourself from now on, right? What the hell were you thinking not using condoms? You could have caught anything or even gotten a girl pregnant!" I can't believe his stupidity. I knew he'd been around, but no protection? Just plain moronic.

"Hell yea. I feel so lucky, you have no idea. Don't look at me like that either. I've been tested. There probably isn't a test for the curse though, is there? You just change at the full moon, for the rest of your life."

Roland nods at him. "You're incredibly fortunate."

We sit around the blazing fire in silence for a few minutes, absorbing the new information. I mostly think about what life would've been like had Kaleb contracted the curse, or any of us for that matter.

"Witches," I interrupt the quiet when it pops into my head. "Zelda mentioned magical beings, so witches have to be real."

"Yes, I believe they go by other names. Those are your words for them. Many magical beings actually created themselves by way of other magic and the black arts. The story is very complicated, it would be best if they told you themselves. I can tell you that their creation was a huge accomplishment in history." Roland shifts uneasily, glancing quickly in Joshua's direction. I'm sure I'm the only one who witnessed the action.

Joshua rubs his palms together as though it's cold, though it has to be at least eighty-degrees out and we're around a fire. He isn't looking at Roland but to the dirt clumped at his feet. The pile was new. He must have been shifting his feet around creating the pile while we were talking.

"Wow, created themselves. You lost me there Roland. When we finally find Maya, you're going to have to introduce me to one of those magical beings." I raise my brows at the thought. "Yes, you definitely have to."

"I will do my best, but I must warn you, many of them are extremely dangerous. If you absolutely have to meet with one, I insist on being present."

I figured he'd say that.

"Yes, sir!" I salute with a smile.

"What else, Ethan?" Sasha asks softly. "What else is real?"

"Faeries, you know, the Fae?" Joshua leans in, the fire casting a creepy shadow across his face.

"What like fairy fairies?" Robbie chuckles. "Little flying people?"

"No, genius. F-a-e-r-i-e-s, not f-a-i-r-i-e-s," Kaleb smacks him on the back of his neck.

"Ow, how would you know?"

Roland intercedes, speaking to Joshua. "I'm surprised you brought them up. Humans are always talking about them and claiming to have made contact. I swear you people dream up the damnedest illusions. You know the Fae as extra-terrestrials, as they aren't from this planet."

"Man, I keep thinking I want to know more, but the more I hear the more uneasy you're making me." Kaleb wipe his palms down his shorts. "I thought the cursed sounded bad. Now you're going to tell me that little gray men are real, too?"

Roland laughs then, a deep, pleased rumble of sound. "The Fae manipulate their biology. They make you see whatever your mind will accept. No one knows their true form. Well, no humans know their true form. If you've come across one, you wouldn't know the difference to what they made you see and what they truly were."

"Man, not another one of those. I might just be done with women completely after tonight's little chat," Kaleb groans.

Collectively we relish in Kaleb's distraught attitude, it feel good to laugh together. I find myself actually enjoying the time we spend learning about all the other beings of the world, and universe.

"Anything else you want to tell me about before I go to bed and attempt to forget all the girls I've been intimate with." Kaleb rubs his tired eyes wearily with one hand.

"Oh plenty more, some you haven't even heard of." Roland's gaze meets Kaleb's eyes with a serious intensity. "I'll let you meet them one day, maybe it'll strike a nerve with you and help you live a little more safely."

"I don't want to come in contact with anything else. Give me some time after all this dies down then introduce me to the nice ones, ok? You know, the kind that won't hurt me." I can see Kaleb's frustration exhausting him.

"I think it would be smart to let you see them all. Let's call it a life lesson. Some of these guys you don't want hanging around for longer than necessary. Trust me, you'll see. Now, I say we wrap it up for the night and get some sleep before we head out in the morning."

The last part was for me. I'm the only one who has to be up early to look for Maya. We said our goodnights as we do every evening and sought out our tents for the usual uncomfortable night's rest.
Chapter Twenty-one

The air in my tent is thick and I'm beginning to feel claustrophobic. I slip out of my sleeping bag, kicking my way out to reveal my sweat beaded legs. The navy blue shorts I slept in clung to my thighs and butt, giving me a killer wedgie.

Gladly escaping the heat engulfed tent, I emerge from the unzipped flaps running directly into a pissed off Sasha. Her arms crossed in front of her chest, she leans her weight onto one leg, impatiently tapping the flip-flopped foot of the other.

"Good morning, Sasha. How'd you sleep?" I assume maybe being nice to her might make my morning go smoother. The sun has only just risen and already my day isn't starting out well.

"Where is Ethan?"

"You share a tent with him, sweetie. It's not my problem where Roland is."

"His name is Ethan, and it's your fault we're here in the first place!" She takes a step toward me, hands balled at her sides, body tense.

"None of this is my fault. Do you really think I wanted this nightmare to happen? Yea, ok, I asked demons to not only kill me but several other innocent girls. Oh wait, I begged for my brother to become possessed. Right. I wanted Michelangelo to die right before my eyes. Watching all my loved ones in constant danger and involved in daily life threatening harm makes me happy. Really, Sasha?"

Her body relaxes. For a cop, a detective at that, she either isn't very good at her job or her obsession with Roland is clouding her better judgment.

"I'm sorry. I know it isn't your fault. I don't know what's wrong with me lately. I guess I'm just another jealous girlfriend," she giggles nervously.

"Who's a jealous girlfriend?" Roland appears behind her with an armload of firewood.

"Oh, me. Where have you been?" She spins on her heels to face him.

"Gathering firewood like I told you I would last night. Why don't you help me set up a fire and start breakfast." He shoots me an apologetic glance.

"Ok. Sorry again, Clara." Sasha turns in a circle to wave to me before taking off behind Roland.

"That's a hell of a wake up, huh?" Kaleb unzips the tent he shares with Joshua, stepping out in a pair of gray fitted boxer briefs and nothing else. He catches my puzzled stare. "Yea, it's hot in there," he chuckles, covering himself with his hands and ducking back into the tent. He emerges once again in a pair of red and black basketball shorts still without a shirt, his muscular chest and sculpted abs layered in a thin coat of sweat.

"Nice, Kaleb, trying to be an underwear model?"

"Nah, I told you, it's hot as hell out." He smirks. "Do I look like an underwear model?"

"Please, you look like you're trying too hard," I joke.

"Can't help how I was made." He pats his stomach. "You going out hunting again this morning?"

"Yea, I have to."

"Let me know if you want company, I know Roland isn't that much fun to be around all day long."

"I'll let you know after we eat, I'm starving."

Both Robbie and Joshua join us for breakfast without shirts. A trend was forming due to the heat. Robbie is a little thin, but Joshua obviously works out. Roland is the only male with his shirt still on.

"Can you be dressed and ready in ten minutes?" Roland asks, finishing his plate.

"Sure. Kaleb's going to join us today. Is that ok?"

Roland nods and give Sasha a look I take to mean "you're not allowed along". Too bad for her, I know it's killing her not to be included.

"I can be ready in five." Kaleb jogs off to his tent.

Sasha pouts at the edge of the camp, watching us disappear into the woods. Kaleb, Roland, and I hike west to an area we have yet to cover. I open myself to finding the fallen, casting my sense out as far as I can reach. Kaleb carries our sustenance packs and water. He didn't realize volunteering to come along also meant volunteering to be our mule for the day. He put on a sleeveless football t-shirt with khaki cargo shorts. We each wear our own version of hiking boots. I learned the first day that sneakers definitely don't work the same. I have on cutoff jean shorts and a sunny yellow floral tank top. Roland decided full length jeans and a military green t-shirt would be fine in the heat. The most casual outfits he ever wears are when we hike.

We walk for hours in the blistering heat, stopping often to rest and drink water. Every other day I came up empty in my efforts. Today I felt a ping in my chest when we stop for lunch. A burning pull tugs my phantom scar sharply to the left. My entire body swings in the direction of the pull. Far, far out in the distance, I sense the fallen. My legs start moving without my control. Before I know it I'm in a full on sprint.

Within hours darkness will consume the world, we have to get back to the campsite before then. Their footfalls behind me, Roland and Kaleb shout words at me that in the moment I don't understand. All my concentration is on finding the fallen angel all the demons are after. With my new found power I draw from my soul, pressing outward, reaching for another source of energy.

Fate is on my shoulders and I'm racing against time. I have to save my friends and my loved ones. I have to avenge the death of my boyfriend. I have to make my angel proud.

About the author

Christina Byus resides in North Carolina with her two rambunctious sons, and a feisty Pomeranian named Misa. In the free time not spent with her family or writing, she enjoys painting and sewing, selling her pieces at the local farmer's market.

