Lucie

Vinny went back to his own house, and oddly enough, I was feeling rather lonely—even if it wasn't his dwelling in particular, my house felt empty without him in it. The hallways seemed vacant and bleak, the rooms soundless, the windows shrouded in a darkness I knew was only my imagination, but nevertheless felt surreal. Perhaps it was an effect that even his revival hadn't taken away: the power to warp your reality, to see things and notice things other people didn't.

I passed the door to my bedroom, came to the one at the end of the hall. The doorknob was cold when my fingers brushed it, which made sense, as it hadn't been touched in ages.

It was Dempsey's bedroom.

I wasn't exactly sure why I was there, just knew that I couldn't fight the urge, couldn't stop my hands from tossing open the door, couldn't stop my feet from taking those few steps across the threshold.

I closed my eyes, took a long inhale. It felt wrong. It didn't smell like it used to: like his cologne, or that lavender air freshener that served as a futile attempt to cover up the musky scent of his dirty clothes. It smelled...sterile, like a distant and unfamiliar realm, worlds away from the Dempsey Monteith I'd known.

Not to mention, it was all too neat. I opened my eyes, surveyed the tucked-in sheets and comforter of his bed, the cleared desk, the perfectly hung posters. Dempsey's brilliant mind was too busy to focus on organizing everything. He'd always forget to do things like fold his clothes or fix his posters or dust his desk, but that was just because he was remembering the important things.

I sank to the floor, the carpet barren and scraped beneath my feet. I wanted to cry, but couldn't. I missed him at an insane amount, and seeing his room like this, his but not his, only twisted my grief more. I told myself I was over him, that even when I'd seen the light of Vinny's eyes flicker away, leaving Dempsey's own dead ones behind, I'd known he was already gone. I'd finished mourning a long time ago.

Some wounds took eternity to heal, however, and I had been lying to myself.

I knew my mother had touched it, trying to make herself feel better. A part of me was angry with her; Dempsey's items just weren't the kind of things you messed with. They liked to be left alone, not unlike him.

In my pocket, my phone buzzed.

Exhaling shakily, I pulled it out and glanced at the screen. The name Caprice flashed back at me, and startled, I picked up on around the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"Oh, thank goodness. Listen, is Lazarus with you?"

For Caprice, she sounded oddly urgent. Which either meant the situation was serious or she'd just ran out of Vodka. I couldn't be sure yet, but the goosebumps were already rising. "No...he just went home. Is everything okay?"

"You go to his house, make him pack what he needs—just what he needs—and then both of you need to get the heck out of here," Caprice ordered. Her voice was ragged, as if she were out of breath. "Go, now, before tomorrow gets here."

I got up, slipping out of Dempsey's room and into the hallway. Something told me this had nothing to do with Vodka. "Okay, what do you mean out of here? What the hell's going on?"

"Nick's moved up the date, Lucie," Caprice explained. "He's opening the demon world tomorrow. I've contacted the Order, but there's no telling if they'll be able to stop him before it's already open. Our best bet is to kill so many demons that the surviving ones don't want to stay. But—"

"So you want us to leave the city, is what you're saying?"

"Yes. Now go, already! You don't have a ton of time."

"Cian told you this, didn't he?" I asked, and the other line suddenly went very quiet. That was enough of an answer for me. I sighed before Caprice could say another word. "He somehow told you of Nick's plans, and made you promise to take care of Vinny and me. That's why you're telling us to leave—what is this? Some sort of dying wish?"

Caprice hesitated. "Well, in case you haven't noticed, there's no guarantee Cian's getting out of this alive, especially if Nick finds out that I knew about this. So, yeah, it kind of is his dying wish."

I had the sudden insatiable urge to punch something. I searched, but only found a wall, so instead I just bit down hard enough on my lip that the skin cracked. "He's an idiot if he thinks Vinny and I are just going to leave him behind."

"No, you guys are idiots if you don't. If you two don't live through this, and he dies, then his death will have been in vain. Is that what you want? He'll come back and haunt you. It won't be pretty."

"Don't make jokes about that kind of thing—"

"Jesus Christ!" There was the faintest noise of something sizzling. "I'm not arguing with you anymore. If you care even an ounce about that boy, then you are taking his brother and leaving. I'll keep you updated. Now go, Lucie. Do it for Cian."

"Caprice—"

It was no use; the click in my ear alerted me that she'd hung up. My heart pounded in my chest as I paced the hall, unsure of my next course of action. If Cian was in danger, the last thing I wanted was to leave him behind. Yet, this was what he wanted, and Caprice was right. If he died for us, but we died with him, what use would any of it be?

If you care even an ounce about that boy...

I cared more than ounce. I cared—I cared an infinite amount of ounces. If this was what he wanted, truly, then I had no other options.

I grabbed my backpack from the hall closet, tore my keys off the rack, and ran for the Subaru.

I threw open the door of the Hornes' house, not caring about the startled shriek Mrs. Horne gave as it slammed against the wall. I thundered up the stairs, shouting Vinny's name. I found him in his bedroom, rifled through his closet until I located a backpack. Chucking it at him, I ordered, "Pack. Now. We've gotta run."

His expression was the equivalent of a terrified child's. He looked at me, then down at the backpack crushed in his hands, then back up at me again. "Are you crazy? Run? Where?"

"Away," I said. I crossed the room to his dresser drawer, removed a few shirts and pants, etcetera, and tossed those at him too. He barely managed to catch them, and still, the stunned look on his face remained intact. "Just grab some things alright, and come with me."

"But—"

I stared at him. If I told him why we were leaving, he'd never budge. Vinny lived to protect his brother. So he couldn't know anything until we were far away—it was the only way. "Vince, if you trust me, then you'll do what I'm telling you to."

He swallowed. "This had better be good."

"Yes, we're going to Disney World," I taunted, "now hurry up, please.

Vinny's eyes lit up. "Wait, really?"

"No!"

He took the clothes I'd thrown at him and shoved them half-heartedly down in his bag. "Sorry for getting my hopes up," he muttered.

It was at least five agonizing minutes before Vinny had decided he was prepared enough. By then, his room had been ransacked, drawers half open, closet hangers twisted, desks haphazardly searched for trinkets of sentimental value. He even tore his old soccer jersey off the wall—his team had framed and signed it after he'd drowned—cracked its glass framing, and shoved the thing in his backpack. Finally, I managed to drag him from his bedroom and down the stairs.

Mrs. Horne was a sentry between us and the door. She stood with her arms crossed, her blond hair settled against her sun-spotted shoulders, her eyes glossed over with an ice that was unfamiliar to me. "Where do you think you're taking my son?"

"Somewhere safe," I said, still trying to hold on to my ambiguity. I fought to keep my tone respectful—as if she had any right to worry about him all of a sudden?

I cleared the stairs, trying to brush past her, but she stopped me, gripping my shoulder. Leveling her gaze on me, she said, "I've lost my husband, my eldest son, and now you're going to take Vincent from me as well? I just won't have it. No one else is taking anything from me anymore—"

"For God's sake, woman," I replied with a roll of my eyes, "Vinny's not your damn property. In case you haven't noticed, he's a living, breathing, man who can make his own decisions."

Mrs. Horne huffed, muttering a few incomprehensible words before bursting out, "I am his mother!"

"Oh? You practically—practically spit on his very name, tell him things were better when he was dead, and now you're going to act like a mother? What gives you the right, huh? You haven't been by his side, not like I have. I know both your sons better than you do. So don't try to act like I'm the one taking them from you," I countered. I glanced at Vinny, who looked too stricken to say a thing. Mrs. Horne's expression wasn't far from matching, her face now tomato red.

"You gave up on being their mother a long time ago," I said, "so forgive me for caring for them like you never did."

Silence wafted through the room, cold enough to freeze the air. I took Vinny's hand in my own, turned towards him. "We're going," I told him.

This time, she let me go.