Lucie

"Is he ready yet?" I asked for approximately the five-thousandth time. Cian and I had been seated at the bottom of the Hornes' grand staircase for what felt like an hour now, checking our watches and impatiently tapping our toes. The sun was setting now, slumping down behind the trees, darkness slipping over the sky like a mask. "A shower. He said he was taking a shower. And he's a guy—you know, they aren't supposed to take this long."

At that comment, Cian's eyes slid to mine, an unasked question in the lift of his eyebrow. He smirked and checked his watch again. "If I know my brother at all," he muttered, "he's probably trying to talk himself out of it. But he can't, and he knows he can't. He's such an idiot."

I grunted, leaning my chin into my hands and beginning to nibble at my nails—which were already tiny nibs. "I agree."

"This isn't a bad decision, right?"

It was almost silent in the foyer, save for the air conditioning as it kicked in, the fleeting songs of birds beyond the front door. The lights were dim, the chandelier a dark monolith of overlapping glass, a shadow above our heads. Only the lamp on the dresser beneath the hall mirror was lit—a small circle of gold in a square of black. When I glanced at Cian, his eyes were just as dark, dimmed both by the shadows around him and by the apprehension twisted into his expression. He asked again, "We're not putting him in danger?"

I bit my lip, observing the outline of Cian's profile, an image I knew like the back of my own hand by now. Looking at him was like seeing myself, or at least everything I wanted to be, wanted to have. "He's a kid," I said, and saw Cian jolt a little, for a reason unknown to me. "I know it doesn't feel like it, but he's still so...young. He should be able to do everything the average youth can, don't you think?"

"He's not the average youth. The average youth hasn't been Casper the friendly ghost for two years."

I couldn't suppress a smile. Casper—Vinny hated that name more than he did his middle one, which is saying something. "I know you've been protecting him for as long as you can remember, but protecting him also means letting him go a little."

There was nothing but silence from Cian's direction. He'd changed nothing about himself for tonight—was still clothed in his faded pair of gray jeans and frayed black hoodie, the strings horribly uneven. His hair was mussed and untouched by gel, a brush, all of the above, and the laces of his shoes were strung with mud. That was Cian for you, though. He didn't care unless he was forced.

I was alright with that, as I was similar.

For a moment I just listened to him breathing; it was a peaceful noise, one I'd learned to meditate on and draw comfort from and fall asleep with. Then, as if he knew that it was going to tear my breath from my lungs, he turned. We had already been sitting close enough that our thighs were touching, so when he faced me, his nose was inches from my own, strands of hair centimeters away from my forehead, our lips just one quick decision from meeting. He gazed at me through the blond strokes of his eyelashes. "I hate that."

"What?"

"That you're always right," he clarified, smiling at me.

"Is it that I'm always right or you're just always really, really, wrong?"

The smile morphed into a smirk, an expression Cian's face was never far from. An expression stored in the back of my head at all times, accessed in daydreams or behind shut eyes. "Is there a difference?"

"I imagine there must be."

"Right again, muffin."

He chuckled, and I tasted his laughter on the tip of my tongue. He moved forward an inch, close enough that I thought a kiss was coming, but a voice separated us: "Do you guys even think about how weird this is for me?"

Vinny. Cian and I jolted, flying to separate ends of the stair we sat on and acting innocent. Vinny came marching down the steps, shaking his head. "My brother and my best friend spit-swapping. Look up 'third wheel' in the dictionary and you'll see my face."

I shot Vinny a withering look, getting to my feet and adjusting the fit of my blouse . "First it was mouth-mashing, now it's spit-swapping? Is there any chance of you using a normal phrase?"

"Is there any chance of you not doing things that require the use of a phrase?"

Cian and I both narrowed our eyes at him and sighed—all three of us knew the answer to that question. I cleared the last step of the stairs with a hop, turning back around and giving the smaller brother a once-over. He was dressed in a quarter-sleeve baseball tee and khakis, his new boat shoes polished to a shine, hair gelled neatly away from his eyes. He'd left behind his usual t-shirt and shorts, and I placed my hands to my hips, giving an approving smile. He looked clean, sharp, alive. Gone was the faded boy cowering in the corner, afraid of becoming a mere figment of one's imagination.

I said, "You look good."

Vinny lifted an eyebrow, skeptical. "Are you okay?"

He came down from the last step of the stairs, still giving me a dubious look as I straightened his shirt collar and fixed a few astray hairs. I could feel Cian watching from behind me, imagined his slight yet obvious grin. "Just because I compliment you doesn't mean I've lost my mind. I just think you look nice."

Vinny looked towards the door, away from me. "You're just saying that because I'm not wearing the swim trunks."

I shivered. The swim trunks. It was amazing how much I could hate one article of clothing, but I did, almost as much I hated Cian's moodiness or my dad's awful black bean burgers. "Eh," I answered with a shrug. "Maybe."

Cian cleared his throat; Vinny and I turned our gazes towards him. He was standing near the front door, car keys dangling from his fingers, an odd look in his eyes—as if he was both dreading and looking forward to the night ahead of us. I, too, felt the same set of conflicting emotions. I knew Vinny needed to mingle, so why did I have this aching feeling that something was wrong?

Cian's blue eyes remained dull, like a still life painting of the ocean without the chandelier's light. "Are we ready to go?" he asked, glancing at his younger brother, who shrugged.

As Vinny strolled past Cian and out to the Escalade, he said, "I don't have much of a choice."

Felix's house was in the inner city, a further distance from the bay than the Hornes' or even mine. It was a tall, slanting town house of red brick and dark green shutters, its ornate siding and entranceway showcasing its Gothic style. Cars were parked all down the street, which was mostly shrouded in darkness save for the lights from Felix's house and the flickering streetlight Cian parked next to. How the heck he got his giant SUV between a Mini Cooper and some other compacted nondescript sedan, I had no idea, but I guess parking a large car was just something you got accustomed to the more you did it.

With the engine dying and the key free of the ignition, Cian swiveled in the back seat, where Vinny had been seated quietly, letting his eyes wander out the window. "Are you sure about—"

"Cian, we're already here."

Cian's eyes dropped to the ground, and I didn't know why. As if he'd been expecting anything else from Vinny? The kid never backed down from anything, even if he knew it wouldn't be good for him in the end. Once he went in one direction, he never turned back. "Right," Cian murmured, then offered me a small grin. "Okay, muffin. Let's do this."

I briefly gripped his hand, rubbing my thumb over his calloused knuckles. I sighed and hopped out of the car, and the three of us made our way up the walk and to the front door. To my surprise, there was no music thudding from beyond the front door—what I'd expect of a high school party, had the only one I'd ever gone to not been made up in my head.

But no, the night was silent around us, the doorbell echoing as Vinny pressed his finger to it. We waited a while on the porch, shaking the less-than-warm breezes from our shoulders and exchanging nervous glances. This is okay. This is right. We'll be fine. "Vinny," I said suddenly, and he looked at me. "Just...don't be ghostly, alright? Don't do the wall thing or sit on things that aren't chairs because you don't think people will notice. You're not invisible anymore. People will notice."

He chuckled. "I know. I'll try my best."

Cian cut in: "Try your best? What's that supposed to mean— "

The door swung open, silencing all of us. Before us was a boy around my age, with ebony hair swept through his eyes of matching color, freckles dotting his cheeks. He was slender but muscular, fresh-looking in his graphic T-shirt and jeans. The strangest thing about him, however, was the way he was ogling Vinny as if he were the newest scientific discovery (which, in a way, he was). "You came."

Vinny was trembling. Behind his back where no one could see, I reached out and gripped his arm, as if I could somehow anchor him to the here and now. "I did," Vinny replied, then winced as if that hadn't been what he had wanted to say. Swallowing, he started again. "Look, Felix, I'm sorry about making you worry, or anything— "

"No, no, don't do that," Felix responded. He made brief eye contact with Cian, then settled on me. "It's not my business to know why you did it...who's your friend there?"

His whole tone changed when he asked; I rolled my eyes. "Just a friend," I muttered, "especially to you. Are you going to let us in, or what? It's humid as hell out here."

"Lucie," Cian said, but I ignored him.

Felix merely blinked at me, stepping aside in the door and permitting us entrance. "As you wish," he muttered, and I shoved Vinny in first, who glanced over his shoulder at me with a risen eyebrow. Cian followed after me, shutting the door behind all of us.

There was muffled noise coming from down the hall, the quiet drone of background music and mingling voices. As Vinny walked in front of me, his posture was rigid, neck and back straight, eyes darting from corner to corner, as if investigating every single aspect of his surroundings. I tried to act like his behavior didn't unnerve me, reassuring myself the further we got from the foyer. "The team's this way, Vince," Felix said as the narrow hallway began to open up. "They'll be happy to see you."

"Yeah," Vinny managed, but his voice sounded small. I glanced apprehensively at Cian, who just shrugged at me.

The hallway ended and we entered the kitchen—a compact space which a small island, a set of cupboards and cabinets, and a vintage refrigerator nearly filled. What took up the rest was the circle of boys around the island, making slice selections from a greasy pizza box and laughing as conversation washed around them. They all had svelte, athletic builds, hair that looked like they had spent a lot of time on, and T-shirts that advertised some sort of soccer tournament. As soon as Felix entered, one looked up, then all of them did, and that was when their gazes fell on Vinny.

There was silence.

Then, a chorus of shouts and cheers: "Hey, Vince is back!" "I told you he'd come, Felix!" "Where've you been, Horne?"

Vinny blanched, clearly taken aback. Cian came up behind him, setting a hand on his shoulder. "They're asking for you. Go on. Eat some pizza. Mingle."

When Vinny's eyes met with his older brother's, his expression was one of terror but he didn't have much time to protest before Felix yanked him into the swarm of his former soccer team, where he was attacked with shoulder and back pats, playful jokes, and subtle "I miss you's."

Cian and I were clearly out of place.

We left the kitchen, wandering over to the living room couch and seating ourselves there. It was plushy enough that it nearly swallowed me whole, but there was nowhere else available, really, and I needed to escape the mob of soccer players.

I stretched myself out, laying my feet in Cian's lap and my hands beneath my head. "So."

"So?"

"How's Caprice?"

"Since when do you care about how Caprice is?"

"Since you randomly visit her with the intent of keeping said visits a secret," I responded, and Cian gave a half-hearted chuckle, something in the undertone grim, as if there was something he wasn't saying. Cian acted like that a lot recently: distant and quiet, reserved. It was as if he was building himself an impenetrable wall, one Vinny nor I could ever get through.

I hated to admit it, but it scared me. What happened when that wall came up? Would I even know him anymore?

"Caprice is fine," answered Cian. "Caprice is just peachy. Probably frustrated about having a bunch more souls to deal with now that I'm out of the job, but peachy."

"Hmm," I murmured, looking away, toward the various family portraits hung on the wall of the living room. I squinted at the face of the little boy in the picture, trying to match the features to the Felix I'd met at the front door. It always enchanted me, how you could be so young and innocent, unaware of everything life—for some of us, death—would come to throw at you. No one knows the exact moment, but there's one day in everyone's life where you lose that innocence, watch it flit away like a handkerchief lost in the wind.

Cian's voice snapped me from my own head, peaceful yet jarring: "Hey...you're not still mad at me for that, are you?"

I sighed. I'd known he'd say something like that. He was Cian, after all, and leaving a subject alone once it had passed was not in his skillset. It was the last thing I wanted to talk about, to think about, but there was no sense in attempting to change the subject. I tapped his thighs with my heels, craning my neck back so I wouldn't have to look at him. "No, Cian. It's impossible to be mad at you because every time I look at your face—your annoyingly adorable face--I just wanna...do things angry people don't do. I'm just a little hurt. That's all."

"Hurt?"

I let my eyes flutter shut, gnawing at my bottom lip. "I guess I just thought you trusted me enough to come to me when you need help, but no, instead you go and keep secrets. It hurts me, Cian, that you have to hesitate to tell me these things—to tell your own brother these things."

He made a guttural noise in his throat, not quite a grunt or a scoff, but something close to it. "I burden you enough as it is. Did you ever stop to think that I didn't say anything because I was protecting you? Both of you? You guys know that you're beyond important to me. Everything I do is for your sake. For Vinny's sake."

"I don't need protecting," I said, not bitterly. "What I need is for you to stop hiding stuff. You don't want to burden me? Then don't burden me with worrying about what's happening with you."

I opened my eyes, and our gazes connected. His was solemn yet distracted, and mine was quietly fierce. I could tell by the look on his face—the furrowed eyebrows, the subtle frown—that he knew I was right. He knew he hadn't been doing the right thing, and he regretted it.

He exhaled, his posture loosening as if a rope had just been unwound. "Are you hungry? I'm sure there's some pizza those animals could spare."

"Come to think of it, yeah, I'm starving," I answered, hopping to my feet and starting back in the direction of the kitchen. Cian followed close behind me, a hand pressed gently to the small of my back. I tried to act like the feel of his fingers didn't make my breath hitch. Only my shirt was between his skin and mine, and it was tantalizing, just as everything else about him was. To think that, a few months ago, the mere thought of Cian Horne made me want to throw up in my mouth, confused me. It was astonishing how quickly my heart could change dispositions.

I singled out Felix, who looked to be fiddling with the thermostat. Vinny, still around the kitchen island, was a blond-tipped dot in the circle of jovial athletes; he glanced at Cian and me as we passed, and gave us a brisk grin. I was glad to return it.

"Hey, Felix," I muttered, snatching at his shirt sleeve. "Could you spare a slice or two? We count as guests, too, you know—"

Felix, however, didn't seem to be looking at me. His slouching shoulders suddenly straightened, face going blank, eyes widening to the size of saucers. His mouth zipped closed, not uttering a word. Taken aback, I cleared my throat and waved a hand in front of his face. No response. "Felix? Hey. Earth to soccer boy!"

"What's wrong with him?" Cian asked, snapping in his ears. He still stood there, unmoving, as if locked in another dimension. "It's almost like what happened to Vinny—"

Cian was cut off as Felix, in a burst of motion, shoved both of us back, then seized a kitchen knife from the counter beside him. My eyes broadened in horror as he tightened his grip on it, lifting it above his head and aiming.

The knife's keen blade was pointed right for Vinny's chest. "Vinny!" I screeched, just as Felix jerked his arm back and let fly.

Vinny, confused, moved away from the island to search for the source of my voice. "Lucie?" he replied, and a second later, the knife stuck in the wall next to him, its handle trembling.

As Vinny stared, terrified, at the knife that had missed him by centimeters, I collapsed to my knees in relief. I sent a million thankful prayers to the heavens, trying to calm my heartbeat. If Vinny had moved a second later, the knife would have stuck right in him. We would have watched him die. His precious second chance would have been extinguished.

Cian's hand grappled my arm. "Lucie, you might want to see this..."

The trembling timbre of his voice was what made me look up. My heartbeat sped ahead again: Felix was an immobile heap on the floor, hair spread out against the wood, expression slack and eyes shut. Seeping upward from his chest like a poisonous gas was a black steam-like substance that was all too familiar:

"A demon," I breathed. "No. Why?"

"It was possessing him," murmured Cian, as the entire room fell into silence. Vinny was on the floor now, back leaned against the wall, chest heaving. The rest of the soccer team was still. "But demons can only possess things if...if someone tells them to."

From the darkness of the hallway materialized a man I was beyond repulsed to see. He was slender and tall, with close-dropped dark hair and eyes an alluring emerald hidden behind rectangular glasses. A random freckle or two dotted his young face, the smile he gave us cynical and cruel. "Cian Horne and Lucie Monteith," said Nick, "nice to see you after such a time."

I swallowed. The last time I'd seen the fallen angel, he'd helped my brother try to turn me into one of his helpless minions. Vinny and Cian's timely arrival was the only reason I hadn't become one of the wretched Silhouettes.

Cian's shoulders were rigid, his hands fists. "Nick," he hissed, tone dark and threatening.

Nick's smile turned into a sneer. He gave a quick snap of his fingers, and the demon, having taken somewhat of a corporeal form, vanished into thin air. Dusting his hands, Nick said, "I'm disappointed, you know. It's been months and you haven't called or come to visit. What's that about? Busy mourning the brother you killed?" His eyes snapped to me.

"Dempsey was already gone," I replied, my chin held high. "And don't act like he was ever more than just a servant to you."

Nick cocked his head. "He was a comrade I was very sad to see go so soon, thank you. I didn't treat him like a monster, unlike you—"

"You bastard! You turned him into a monster—"

"Alright, that's enough," snapped Cian. He tugged me up to my feet, then gestured towards the unconscious Felix still slumped on the floor. "Any reason you've got your demons possessing people? Why are you trying to kill Vinny?"

I glimpsed over my shoulder at Vinny; sweat beaded on his forehead, his hands trembling. Why hadn't he stood up yet? My throat tightened.

"Please, I have no intention of hurting the runt. That was just my way of getting your attention. Well, did I succeed? Are you listening now?"

Cian was seething; his tongue burned. "The hell kind of joke is this—"

"Joke? Joke? Goodness me, you never take anything seriously, do you, Horne? Listen. I don't want to bother your brother or Miss Monteith there," Nick told Cian, then pointed a slender finger right at his chest. "Who I need to talk to is you, sir. Come, we can leave this place and talk somewhere outside. What do you say? Can I have a word?"

Cian opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, I stepped forward. "Not unless I come with him, you can't."

Nick narrowed his eyes at me as Cian shook his head, thrusting an arm before me. "Don't be stupid, Lucie. If it's me he wants to talk to, then fine. Just take Vinny home. I'll follow you."

I heaved an exasperated sigh, widening my eyes at him. "Cian! Are you serious?"

"Take him home," he muttered, "and wait for me there." With that, he shoved his hands in his pockets and preceded the fallen angel out the door. When both of them vanished outside the house, I was left standing at the entrance to the kitchen, my shoulders trembling and my head aching. He was an idiot, such an idiot. The fallen angel that had taken my brother away from me shows up after months, and he goes with him? Alone? How dumb, how selfish, could he be?

"He's going to get himself killed," I said to myself, then toured around the island to the wall where Vinny sat. Even if all I could think about was what Cian was up to, his little brother was a priority. He was shivering, his teeth chattering. I reached a hand down, yet all he did was look at it. "Are you okay, Vinny?"

He shook his head. "I can't feel...I can't feel my legs. They...they stopped working."

I furrowed my eyebrows at the pained expression on his face. "This is temporary, right?"

"It was yesterday."

"Then it'd better be tonight," I said, then hoisted him up. He leaned heavily against my side, legs dragging as I took a step, then another. The weight of him against me was difficult to support, but I wasn't going to leave him here. "Say goodbye to your soccer friends," I ordered.

"I think home is the best place for you right now."