It's the first peaceful morning I've had in a week. Midge doesn't wake me up with a weird mind reading spell or whatever. Jamie doesn't wake me up by licking me. Safiya doesn't wake me up by slamming a pillow down over my face and watching me squirm. Okay, the last one never happened, but let's just say I wouldn't be surprised if it does some day.

Anyway, I get up of my own accord, and let me tell you, it's actually heaven. It's Cinderella-level stuff. Birds are chirping, the sun's out, and I rise with a long stretch in which a lot of my joints pop. I check to make sure everything's in its socket, then swing my legs over and drowsily get to my feet.

My back and neck are a little sore from sleeping on the couch, and I rub the muscles there while I pad barefoot across the floor to the kitchen. The whole place is awash with pallid, morning sunlight, a calm butterscotch yellow—not the harsh afternoon kind of sunlight that burns your eyes out, but its softer, subtler cousin. Midge's cedar incense lingers in the air, and I roll my eyes, furiously making tea to get rid of the smell.

I fill two mugs and go down the hall, towards my bedroom. With the knuckle of one finger, I knock gently on the door. "Jamie?" I call. "You up?"

I don't get a reply, so I nudge the door open anyway. You know, just in case he's dead. I wouldn't want him to be dead. But just in case.

To my surprise, Jamie's up and out of bed, my comforter tossed back haphazardly. He's at my window sill, his small shoulders bent intently, like he's studying something.

"Jamie," I say again.

He remains facing the window. "It's bad, Grey."

"What's bad?"

"I don't know," he mutters. "Everything."

I definitely don't like that answer. Of course, it's common knowledge Jamie's pretty much uneasy about everything, but still, I don't like that answer. Frowning, I carefully trace my way across the floor, which isn't easy. It was already messy, what with the clothes and the half-open books strewn everywhere. When Midge came in, though, she made it worse. She left more than a few herbs here, their glass test tubes and cases littering every surface possible, and there's even a book of healing spells halfway under my bed. As I go to Jamie, I pick it up with a shake of my head. The only thing remotely neat about my room is my collection of DVDs on the wall beside my bed, probably because I don't let anyone touch it.

The book of spells is small enough to fit in my pocket, so I put it there, motioning for Jamie to scoot over. "Alright, let's quit with all the cryptic stuff. Give it to me straight."

He shoots me a concerned look, his wolf's eye unnaturally bright. "See for yourself," he says, and gestures down towards the street.

I follow his directions. The roads are full, but not with the usual morning rush. The roads are full of people, marching and shouting, signs held up above their heads. "Protestors?" I question, looking incredulously at Jamie. He's quivering like King Kong has decided to pay a visit to Atlanta. I don't get what the fuss is about. "It's not rare around here, you know. Protesting."

"Look more closely!" exclaims Jamie, making me jolt. A thin strand of pearly hair dips across his forehead; he moves it out of the way hastily. "It's not...it's just bad. It's bad."

Once again, he's creeping me out. I squint at him for a moment, but then do as he says, you know, just in case King Kong really is here and I missed him the first time somehow. Like it would be possible to miss a colossal ape swinging from a skyscraper, but I wouldn't put it past myself at this point. I'm no longer surprised by much.

Looking more closely, as Jamie said, does bring some odd, chilling details to my attention. First I notice the signs. They're not for feminism or against police brutality, any of the usual stuff. They read, Nonhumans must be stopped, Kill the wolves, Give Atlanta back to the humans, and that's just a few of them. The more I read them, the more I want to throw up.

It's not just protestors. They're all humans, and they're all against us.

I look at Jamie. Jamie looks at me.

"Shit," I say.

Jamie blinks, confused. "Shit?"

I rub my eyes. I'm a terrible role model, honestly. "No, no, just—don't repeat that."

"Oh," says Jamie with a frown. "Okay."

I take one more glance at the crowd, then grunt in annoyance and pivot on my heel, towards my closet. I'm throwing on a jacket and trying to fit my hair a bit when Jamie says, still dazed, "What are you doing?"

"I need to get to Midge," I answer, and though I've said her name countless times before, for some reason, this time I start blushing as soon as it's left my mouth. Thank God my back's to Jamie or I might actually die from the embarrassment of it all. "I need to talk to her."

"Can I come?"

I whirl. "Your wound—"

He tosses off his shirt and tears the bandages away with a clawed hand. Where once there was a gash the size of Texas and a whole ton of blood, too, is regular skin. Pale, frosty skin, but skin nonetheless. Jamie's beaming. "All healed," he announces proudly, his claws retracting as he places his hands on his hips. "Midge sped up the healing process a lot. So I wanna come. To thank her."

"Uh," I murmur, then groan. "Sure, I guess. But listen to me, alright? We've got to stay away from that crowd or they might murder us. So do what I say and stay close to me. I can't have you getting hurt again."

Jamie gives an enthusiastic nod, following me in what's practically a bound as I make my way towards the exit. "Promise," he says. "I promise!"

I've told him about the whole promising thing, but like I've said before, I'm not convinced he actually listens to me.

We take the apartment building's back entrance, out towards the dumpsters. The crowd of protesters is on the main street, so, logically, if we just don't go on the main street, we should get out alive. That's my plan, so that's what I do, leading Jamie past the back doors to restaurants and through alleyways and by the shifty drug-dealing spots. The air's laced with mold and cigarette smoke and old cheese, but I try to ignore it, taking my time as I speed walk across the gravel.

It's all going perfectly fine—alright, too fine—until Jamie and I take a turn down an alleyway that leaves us just a bit too visible. It doesn't look like there's an alternate route, so I just hiss at Jamie to stay in the shadows. I could just go abra cadabra and make myself see-through, sure, but that would leave Jamie here out in the open. For a second, I let myself regret taking him along.

The crowd of protesters and their warbled shouts are up ahead, streaming past the alleyway's mouth like a furious river. Just stay hidden. Just stay hidden and they won't even notice you. I've just got a few more feet until I can make a right turn, and land right in Midge's courtyard—

"Hey! You two!"

"Shit," I say again.

"Shit?" Jamie repeats, again.

I don't bother admonishing him this time.

I grab Jamie's arm and force him behind me as two protesters break from the crowd, walking through the alley as they approach us. My eyes get narrower the closer they get. They've both got the rich dad vibe, with their pressed dress shirts and slacks, the outline of an iPhone 102 or whatever in their pocket. One guy's got his hair slicked back with likely a whole bottle of gel, while the other one's entirely bald.

As they get closer, it also dawns on me that one of them has a knife.

I want to curse again. It takes everything in me not to.

It's alright. I just have to stay calm.

"You've any idea what your people have done to our city?" snaps the bald guy, taking a step towards us. Instinctively, I take one backwards.

Your people? So he's lumping us all into one boat? That's totally logical. "I don't want to cause any trouble, sir," I mutter. "I'm just...meeting a friend—"

"In an alleyway?" cuts in the bald guy's friend, Slicked Back Guy. "What are you meeting 'em for, huh? Planning how to kill another innocent human? Is that what it is?"

I roll my eyes. He's so beyond ignorant that I don't even have the energy to deal with him, but alas, I've got to. I can't turn and run; that'd be admitting defeat. But I can't kill him either, or it'd prove his stupid point.

I'm about to try my negotiating card again, but then Slicked Back Guy seizes me by the collar. Jamie lets out a squeal, and I just grit my teeth, wondering why my whole face is burning. No, really, it is, like someone's pressing a clothing iron against my cheek.

That's when I glance down, and see the crucifix necklace settled against the man's collarbone.

Oh, well that's just fine.

Did I say this was a peaceful morning? I take that back.

To my dismay, Bald Guy notices I'm burning up. He jostles his friend's shoulder and points at me. "Hey, would you look at that? Your cross is hurting him, Jack."

"Oh?" Slicked Back Guy taunts. "This one?"

I barely have a second to think Damn you, Bald Guy before Slicked Back Guy yanks his necklace free and presses it against my cheek. I'm unable to fight at least a stifled yell of discomfort, my chest heaving. It'd be nice if my demon half didn't include all the demon vulnerabilities, but I'm not that lucky.

"What are you, anyway? A vampire? Part of the clan that mass-murdered that gas station—"

"I'm not a vampire," I hiss, "and personally, I have no idea what happened at that gas station. It's one thing on my list of things to figure out. Right below 'The best way to beat your ass.'"

Slicked Back Guy laughs, but it's humorless. He grits his teeth at me, braiding the crucifix necklace between his knuckles before striking my jaw with a steady fist.

I fall to the ground with a groan, my vision exploding in white hot stars. There's a growl behind me, and I yelp, "Jamie! Don't! Just—I can handle this."

He can't change here. Not now. He'll kill these guys and he won't be on Earth much longer himself. I can't let that happen.

I roll onto my side, spitting blood onto the concrete. The two rich dads are laughing. "I thought they were supposed to be tougher than us," comments one. I'm not sure who, and I don't care, either.

I try to move, but my head's still spinning and Slicked Back Guy catches me by my shirt, pulling me back. He rolls me to face him, lifting another fist above his head. "Here's how it's going to go, alright?" he says. "You attacked me, just like all your friends have been doing. I was only defending myself."

I glower at him. "You bastard—"

His fist swings down, but I reach up swiftly and catch it. He seems stunned for a sliver of a second, but then he just chuckles and, with his free hand, plunges his knife into my chest.

I swear. I have had enough of all these people stabbing me!

Blood jerks up into my throat, thick and bitter. "How rude," I mutter, then vanish.

Both Jamie and the duo of rich dads let out a noise of surprise. Slicked Back Guy staggers back, his mouth half-open. "Where'd he go? He was just here, and now—"

I pull the knife from my chest, and throw it. As soon as it leaves my hand, it materializes, slicing a centimeter of slicked back hair from the guy's head before sticking in the alley wall.

I'm about to go in for a kick or punch of some sort, just to rattle the guy around a bit, but it appears I've done enough. Bald Guy makes a startled noise and bolts back out towards the street, and Slicked Back Guy isn't far behind him.

Jamie says, his voice small, "Grey?"

I reveal myself again, looking down at my still-bleeding wound in disdain. Jamie gasps audibly. "How'd you do that?" he demands.

"Good genes," I respond, already turning in the direction of the townhouses. "Now, I'd really like to get to Midge's. Especially if she's as good with healing as you say she is."