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anybody is around. At least with Hart I don’t have to explain anything. He knows what I am. He knows what he is, and never the twain shall meet.
    He shrugs and shows me a knife in his hand. “Been busy.”
    That blade. I know that blade. I see it every time I close my eyes, or I did before. It has carvings on it. Pretty, wonderful carvings around the blade, which are all parts of symbols that flow around the knife, like a river with many branches.
    If it didn’t cut into me every night, I’d love it.
    But it should not be in the real world.
    Hart tilts the knife so that it glints in the soft lamplight from the one light in my room, a little white lamp with a purple shade and a pull string with a butterfly as a handle. I’ve had it since I was two. Aunt Willow gave it to me.
    “Yeah, probably not happy to see this again.”
    “Can’t say I am.” I can’t help it. I shudder back against my pillows and clench my fist in the comforter. It’s either that or take off through the closed window, in my pajamas, in the middle of daytime darkness, into God knows what…
    “It’s mine. Well, I mean it’s Seth’s. He gave it to me when I first got out of Hell. Sort of a welcome back to Earth present.”
    “That’s… nice.” I don’t know what else to say. It’s far from nice, and it’s from something I want in my house. It needs to be buried somewhere… preferable in Hart’s heart. I keep reminding myself that this nice and sweet guy, who looks just like Sam and acts like he did before he changed, isn’t real. Inside, he’s a demon. An evil thing who has tortured me for years, who has made me think I was crazy, who drove my aunt crazy…
    “Can you fix her?” I say before I think.
    Once the words are out and I see his confused expression, I want to take it back. No, I don’t want to take it back. It is a very valid question, but I don’t think it’s what we need to discuss now. Since I’ve woken up, my entire life has felt like one big run-on stream of consciousness. Everything is so jumbled, and I’d love for Hart to sit down and explain everything that’s happened in the last three days all at once. No more throwing things together to understand. Hart is keeping things from me. I know he is.
    Why?
    What had happened for him not to want to tell me? Why is the world black in the afternoon? What exactly happened to his brother?
    I don’t ask any of that. I just ask if he could fix her . There are so many hers in the world, that I’m assuming are in this possible Apocalyptic mess, but I know Hart understands who I’m talking about. Instead of admitting it like a man, his mouth twitches and his eyes turn hard, making the red glint brighter.
    “Who?”
    “You know who.”
    “I know we have a hell of a lot more things to worry about in the world besides her.” He wipes the knife with a rag, turning it from white to red. I smell the blood and my mouth waters.
    I hate myself for it.
    Hart obviously notices my reaction because he goes from anger to a big smirking jerk in less than two seconds flat. “You want it, don’t ya baby?” He sounds like a seventies’ porn star, not that I know what that exactly sounds like. Okay, maybe that one time…
    “Don’t change the subject.”
    “You did. Not me. You and your supersensitive demon blood bloodhound nose you got going. I’m surprised you haven’t smelled it before now.”
    “It’s not the smell.” It’s about seventy-five percent the truth. It’s not the smell, not really. I can smell the sweet scent of iron and awesomeness and, yeah, I want it. But it’s also the visual. The red dripping from the blade. The way it smears the white cloth.
    I want it.
    God help me, I want it, and, like I said, I hate myself for it.
    Last week, I wanted steaks and cheeseburgers. Hell, during my junior year in high school, I thought about becoming vegan for all of a day. Now this… now the blood, demon blood—it makes something inside me wake up.
    The room dims