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and commit other petty crimes that are not worth mentioning. One night, we broke into an abandoned mental hospital. Real creepy shit. My friends and I took turns scaring the pants off of each other. It was fun.” A haunted look entered his eyes, wiping the happy trip down memory lane off his face. “Until the situation got out of hand.”
    I leaned forward, engrossed. “What happened?”
    “My friend brought a knife none of us knew about.”
    No story ends well when there is a knife involved, unless you’re a ninja. “Oh no,” I said.
    Daemon turned his fierce gaze on me. “Oh yeah. He thought it would be useful to have. Little did we know this mental hospital was a hang out spot for junkies. I was downstairs exploring when I heard a blood-curdling scream. The place was a maze so it took me awhile to find the source but when I did…” He trailed off, white as a bed sheet. “When I did, it was too late. A young woman was lying on the floor dead with my friend over her. Knife in hand. Supposedly, she bum rushed him when he came around a corner. The gaping wound in her neck said otherwise.” I instinctively ran my hand across my neck and winced. Eyes shut, Daemon leaned his head against the metal door. “When I tried to call the police, my friend knocked my phone out of my hands and said she was a no good junky. Spending a life behind bars wasn’t worth it. Her life didn’t mean anything.” Daemon hissed.
    “What a psychopath.”
    “And a traitor. Desperate, I rushed over to where the woman lay and ripped off my shirt. I pressed the material against the wound but it didn’t do any good. The knife had slit an artery. When I turned around to give my friend a piece of my mind, the Priest of Santeria stood in his place. He told me that there was no other choice but to give up my soul, or else I would spend the next 100 years in jail. I found out later my friend and the Priest orchestrated the whole thing. They killed an innocent woman to trick me into joining their enclave.”
    “Shit,” I breathed. After a short heady pause, I spoke. “So you really don’t have a soul?”
    Daemon, eyes still closed, shrugged. “Well I do, but it’s trapped in a jar like all the other zombies’ souls the voodoo priest stole. They are used as leverage. If we do his bidding, we might get our humanity back along with our freedom.”
    My heart reached out to Daemon in sympathy. I couldn’t imagine living a life I was tricked into with my own soul used as a dangling carrot. A strong urge to hug him washed over me.
    “Come here,” I whispered.
    Daemon’s eyelids snapped open. “What?”
    My arms widened, inviting him into an embrace that had an eighty percent chance of being awkward. Still, whenever I was upset, I wanted to be held and even though Daemon wasn’t human, I was guessing he wanted comfort. Daemon’s unflinching gaze roamed over my body. I squirmed under the scrutiny; a red-hot blush heated my cheeks.
    “You want me to hug you?” Daemon said slowly as if it was the world’s dumbest idea. “Just minutes ago you thought I wanted to kill you.”
    Humiliation churned in my stomach. I dropped my arms to my side and got to my feet. Remind me to never be nice to Daemon again. He was a class-A douche canoe and didn’t deserve my sympathy.
    “What can I say? Melodramatic stories get to me, but forget it. I’m leaving.”
    I attempted to step around his feet, however, his large stature was taking up a majority of the storage closet. Not to mention, his body was blocking the exit.
    “Don’t you want to know if I am still part of the enclave? Or if I am, why I haven’t hurt you?” Daemon’s questions tumbled over each other. “Or why the Priest of Santeria wants to kill….” I held up my hand, cutting him off.
    Information overload was about to result in my brain exploding. Of course I had thought of those questions plus a dozen more, but I needed a break.
    “Look, it seems like you haven’t talked about