Three
Kit stared at his arm, scissors in hand, as the familiar dark liquid dripped onto the ground with a small sizzle. The blood tickled his skin as it flowed from the cuts, giving the boy a brief moment of calmness. Yet, if he was so calm, why was he still shaking?
As he waited for both the blood and his own emotions to still, he took in his surroundings. The woods near his house had always been his favorite place to escape to, especially late at night. It was quiet, peaceful, and there were never any intruders. It was as though the place had gone untouched and forgotten about for centuries. He sighed at the thought and closed his eyes, breathing in the damp air.
His eyes snapped open, however, when he heard a rustling noise and twigs cracking. He glanced around, expecting to see some small creature, and furrowed his brow when he was unsuccessful.
“Are you trying to kill yourself?”
Kit jumped and shouted in surprise when the feminine voice, accompanied by a long figure hanging upside down out of a tree, appeared out of nowhere.
He stared at her, unblinking, as he tried to catch his breath and calm his frantic heartbeat. She was dangling upside-down, knees hooked around a branch, her incredibly long white hair swaying slightly with the wind. When he did not answer her, she dropped from the branch and landed soundlessly next to him.
​
“It is perfectly fine if you are,” she explained, “but I would rather you not do it here, in my woods.”
​
Before he could open his mouth to question her, she moved swiftly towards him and grabbed his injured arm.
​
Kit made a brief sound of protest, but she cut him off.
​
“Is this a trick of the lighting, or does your blood run black?” she inquired. “Furthermore, does that have anything to do with why your hair is blue?”
​
Shocked and uncomfortable, Kit pulled his arm away from her, holding it close to his body. He glared up at her, but the way she looked at him, with both sympathy and curiosity, made his expression soften. She gasped when he looked at her.
​
“Goodness, your eyes!” she exclaimed, beaming. “You are quite a fascinating creature.”
​
Her scrutiny of him made his skin crawl. He felt his cheeks burning and flicked his mismatched eyes away from her, towards the ground. The newfound attention was something Kit was incredibly unfamiliar with, and the awkwardness it made him feel quickly boiled back into irritation.
​
“Leave me alone,” he grumbled.
​
In response, the strange figure laughed. “Leave you alone? You are in my woods, child.”
​
She was still incredibly close to him and, once again, pulled his arm away from him to inspect it. This time, he did not fight her. Curiously, she produced a long bit of torn fabric and began dressing his cuts with it.
​
“That’s not going to--”
​
Kit didn’t need to finish his explanation before the blood soaking the bandages began to burn through it. The strange girl’s eyes widened in amazement as she murmured excitedly to herself.
​
“You may call me Vivianna,” she explained, suddenly. “I have to say, you have intrigued me. Please, can you tell me about yourself? Why would someone as interesting as you be trying to off themselves in my woods?”
​
Mouth open in disbelief, Kit finally stood up so that he was above Vivianna.
​
“I wasn’t trying to kill myself!” he finally found himself shouting. “And who are you?”
​
“I told you, my name is Viv--”
​
“No,” it was Kit’s turn to interrupt her. “I mean, who do you think you are? You appear out of nowhere, couldn’t you see I was busy?”
​
“You were hurting,”
​
“I was hurting!” his eyes felt hot, his vision was blurring. There was no way he was going to cry in front of a stranger. “Why couldn’t you let me hurt alone? I don’t need anyone--” his voice wavered and caught on itself, cutting his thought short.
​
“You don’t need anyone?” repeated Vivianna, her head cocked slightly to the left.
​
“That’s not what I--” feeling strangely defeated, Kit crouched back to the ground and shouted into his hands.
“Why are you here? Why are you pretending to care about me?”
​
“I care about you,” she said.
​
“You just met me!”
​
Vivianna narrowed her eyes and smiled.
​
“I just met you,” she observed.
​
Kit pulled his hands away from his face and watched them shake. He felt the hot tears overflowing and falling down his face. He was gravely aware of the burning pain that was pulsating on his arm. He felt the bandages beginning to loosen enough to where they fell from their places. Yet, strangest of all was when he felt Vivianna reach out and pull him close to her in a tight hug. He didn’t fight back, but remained balled up in her embrace, sobbing softly, until his blood ran red again.
​
​
--
​
​
“Did you get mugged?”
​
Isaac stood still in the middle of the pathway, staring incredulously at Thomas. Despite the nature of his question, he did not look all too worried about his well-being.
​
“What?” he responded, watching Thomas pace around him as if he was in a rush and disapproved of Isaac halting. He took the hint and continued walking before finishing his thought. “Why do you think I got mugged?”
​
“Well, you just said you lost your wallet and you look like that,” explained Thomas, gesturing towards Isaac’s face.
​
Isaac swatted Thomas’s hand away.
​
“That’s unrelated.”
​
With a shrug and a sideways glance, Thomas dropped the accusation, but was still giving him a skeptical look. He hadn’t asked the question genuinely and, unbeknownst to Isaac, knew exactly where the missing wallet was. His assumption was that Isaac would have led on more about why, in fact, his face was decorated in small cuts and bruises, and why he had a black eye fully in bloom. It hadn’t been that long since the two had seen each other, and Thomas was nearly positive Isaac had not appeared so beaten up in the café the previous day.
​
“Just so you know, last night was rough for me, too,” observed Thomas, giving a scrupulous glance towards Isaac.
​
“Yeah, looks like it,” was his retort, dripping with sarcasm.
​
Thomas was caught between deciding whether or not he wanted to laugh or roll his eyes at the response. He opted for neither as they spotted the small house, strangely secluded from the rest of the town off one of the back roads. Thomas could hear the surrounding woods shuffling in the wind and breathed in the nearby lake. It was a nice area, he thought, and was suddenly unhappy with his own apartment’s location in the more bustling, urban area of the town.
​
As the two approached the porch, they were greeted by Iris, a burst of positive energy as she flung open the front door. The second she saw Isaac, however, she tilted her head to the side.
​
“Are you okay?” she asked, wincing empathetically.
​
With a dismissive wave, Isaac reassured her he was fine, and she quickly returned to her chipper self as she ushered the two inside. The warm smell of sage and pine clung to the air inside, and several dozen plants decorated the interior, some spiraling down from the ceiling and others sprouting up by the windowsills.
​
Isaac was looking around curiously, resting his eyes every once in a while on a sigil or crystal. Since Thomas had known what to expect, he found himself stretching peacefully, feeling relaxed in such a magical space. Iris appeared to be pleased with both of their reactions to her space and waited a moment longer for Isaac to become familiarized with the atmosphere.
​
“You’ve got such a nice house,” Isaac considered, still looking around.
​
Iris beamed at the compliment, whereas Thomas scowled at what he perceived to be an empty observation. They followed Iris into the kitchen. Ifrit was sitting at the counter, a string of fairy lights swirling above the cabinets behind him. He glanced up from his books. Thomas thought he saw a twinkle in his eye, but it could have just as easily been a reflection of the lights.
​
“Hey, Thomas,” Ifrit mumbled casually.
​
Thomas waved back and could see Iris become incredibly still.
​
“Wait,” she began, “you two already met?”
​
Though he did not verbally respond, the way Ifrit’s expressionless face continued to stare at Thomas was apparently enough to answer Iris’s question. Her eyes were flickering back and forth between the two of them. Ifrit raised his coffee mug to his mouth, potentially to stifle a grin, and looked back down at the notes in front of him.
​
“Unbelievable!” exclaimed Iris, after some time. “Did you already run into Isaac, too?”
​
As if he hadn’t noticed their other guest, Ifrit tilted his head curiously and his gaze shifted to Isaac, wherein he immediately flinched.
​
“Is that the angel?” asked Ifrit, looking back at Iris.
​
“Half-angel,” Isaac corrected, quietly, though he knew it didn’t matter much to them.
​
“Does he always look like that?”
​
Iris shook her head while Thomas nodded.
​
“Jesus Christ,” groaned Isaac, “I get it, I have a black eye.”
​
The topic of Isaac’s bruised appearance instantly reminded Thomas of the jacket and scarf Iris had found. He excitedly asked about the items and was pointed in the right direction, finding them neatly folded on the table. He hurried over.
​
“What happened, then?” Ifrit asked, finally bringing his attention back to Isaac as he looked him up and down.
​
“I was trying to be social,” he responded. “Clearly, a bad call on my end.”
​
“And yet you’re doing it again,” Ifrit pointed out.
​
Isaac sighed, his hands held out with their palms up. “And yet, I’m doing it again,” he repeated.
​
For just an instant, the corner of Ifrit’s mouth twitched upward.
​
Meanwhile, Thomas swore loudly when he realized the jacket pockets were empty, causing all three of them to jump and look at him. He looked back at their concerned faces, innocently, as if he didn’t even realize he had shouted.
​
“I, uh,” stammered Thomas, assuming they wanted some kind of explanation, “just really missed my scarf.” He nodded, trying to sell his performance as he teared up. “I truly thought I was never going to see it again. I’m so relieved.”
​
Ignoring Thomas’s contrived reunion with his missing scarf, Ifrit wordlessly stood up and made his way over to Isaac. He gently put Isaac’s hand in his own and flipped it over to examine his palm. Ifrit immediately grimaced at the sight, making Isaac shift uncomfortably in place.
​
“You poor thing,” he murmured quietly, inspecting the lines of his palm carefully.
​
Instinctively, Isaac pulled his hand back and looked at it apprehensively, as though he would be able to discern what Ifrit had seen. The action caught Ifrit off guard. He shot concerned eyes towards the boy in front of him. Thomas perked up, interested in seeing how easily Ifrit made Isaac uncomfortable.
​
“You’re the only one?” asked Ifrit, though it sounded as though he already knew the answer.
​
“Yes.”
​
Ifrit was looking up and to the left, mulling something over as he idly fidgeted with the collar of his own shirt.
​
“I might be able to find another one of you,” he mused, still looking off into space.
​
“Really?” both Iris and Isaac asked at the same time. Thomas was still listening attentively, but he did everything in his power to appear otherwise.
​
With a nod, Ifrit moved his restless hand and scratched the back of his neck. “I believe so,” he elaborated. “At the very least, I’ve heard whispers of another kid with angel blood. I can look into that. It’s a somewhat reliable source, I suppose, but I’m not quite sure if it’s another one of the Nephilim or something more removed. I suspect the latter.”
​
“When were you going to tell me about this?” Iris pouted.
​
“Now,” responded her brother.
​
“Who’s your source?” chimed in Thomas.
​
Ifrit’s intense gaze fell on him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
​
Growing more somber by the minute, Isaac finally dropped his hand back down by his side.
​
“I severely doubt it,” he murmured. “If I wasn’t the only one, they wouldn’t be so fixated on me.”
​
“Who’s they?” inquired Ifrit, raising an eyebrow. He looked to Iris, and upon seeing she was just as confused, tagged on, “Is he always this cryptic?”
​
Isaac shook his head, annoyed, but didn’t elaborate.
​
“Did they give you that black eye?” asked Thomas, clearly jesting, and smiled when he saw Isaac’s eyes shooting daggers at him.
​
“Laugh all you want,” the Nephilim mocked. “But all this,” he gestured to his face, “will be entirely gone by tomorrow.”
​
“Dear, I promise you,” remarked Ifrit as he headed back to his seat and busied himself in his notebook. He scrawled something illegible on the open page. “That mug of yours is the least of your worries right now.”
​
“That’s the least comforting thing anyone has ever told me, thanks.”
​
--
​
Sam sleepily watched the clock ticking as she leaned on the counter in front of her. The smell of coffee all around wasn’t enough to perk her up and she sighed. Lazily, she tilted her head towards her coworker.
​
“God, I can’t wait to leave,” she grumbled.
​
“You just got here,” responded the coworker.
​
Sam watched her quietly as she collected her belongings and punched out.
​
“Easy for you to say,” Sam responded. “You get to leave now.”
​
The other girl rolled her eyes. “That’s not really a response to what I just said.”
​
The bell jingled as she slipped out the door, giving a sly grin back at Sam before she disappeared. Sam stuck out her tongue before rousing herself to get some work done.
​
A few minutes later, the bell jingled again, making Sam cringe internally as she practiced her customer-service face. After a moment or two, she looked towards the door to greet whoever came in.
​
“Hi! Welcome to--”
​
She blinked, caught off guard by the figure standing silently in the doorframe. He looked more like a hulking ghost than a person, and something about the way he looked at her made her visibly shiver. She frowned, irritated at this stranger daring to make her feel uncomfortable.
​
“Can I help you?” she asked curtly.
​
“In a way, yes,” responded the stranger.
​
For some reason, the fact that he actually spoke to her was even more unnerving. She half expected him to just disappear as silently as he appeared, as though he were some apparition.
​
“I work here now, I suppose. Unfortunately, I am unsure of my duties.”
​
Sam furrowed her brow, but then recalled that she was, in fact, expected to train some poor new soul today. The recognition lit up her face and dissolved some of her discomfort. She looked him up and down. He looked like he was in the wrong century, entirely black and white, with an unearthly stillness to him. Every nerve in her body told her not to get closer to him, and yet, she pushed down the worry with mild annoyance.
​
“Right. What was your name again? Caiden, or something?”
​
“Cain,” he corrected, still standing at the door.
​
“Cain,” she repeated dubiously, mostly to herself. “Of course.”
​
Another moment of awkward silence made Sam exhale sharply.
​
“Well, c’mon then,” she said, gesturing towards the counter. “I’ll show you around.”
​
​
​
When Cain had originally approached her, his intimidating height became even more apparent. Yet, the longer he remained in her presence, the less she found herself frightened by him and the more she became curious. He was expressionless, quiet, and still, but had a strange calming effect the longer they remained together. He also proved to be incredibly clever, easily memorizing everything she had told him. Admittedly, she was relieved that she wouldn’t have another incompetent, annoying coworker. Even when they had a customer come in, Sam found herself overjoyed by how frightened everyone seemed to be of this incredibly polite-sounding specter of a barista.
​
Before she knew it, several hours had gone by, and she rejoiced in how close freedom was approaching. The sun was about to make its descent. She looked outside to see the clouds beginning to shift colors and was acutely aware of Cain’s heavy gaze still resting on her.
​
Turning around, she looked back at him. He blinked.
​
“Is there anything else I should be doing, Samantha?” he inquired.
​
Sam shook her head and shrugged. “Not really.”
​
She shifted and leaned back on the counter with a satisfied grin. Unsure, Cain looked to the side before awkwardly mimicking her, leaning back and resting his hands on the counter behind him. The movement made her notice that his hands had white gloves on them that tucked into the long sleeves on his arms. She cocked her head.
​
“Can I ask you something?”
​
“Of course, you may ask me anything,” he responded.
​
“Why do you look like that?”
​
It wasn’t phrased very eloquently, she realized, but Cain’s appearance had been on her mind since he arrived. He was, after all, so ghostly pale that she didn’t even realize he was wearing stark white gloves. Yet, when she noticed that her question had only yielded silence, she continued.
​
“I mean, you’re wearing gloves, which is kinda weird.”
​
Cain raised one of his gloved hands to inspect it, but she could not get a read on how he was feeling since his marble visage never seemed to change.
​
“I injured my hands, I suppose,” he mused, speaking as though he wasn’t sure of his own answer. “It would be inappropriate for me to show you them at this time. They are rather ghastly-looking, I have been told.”
​
She joined him in staring at his raised hand. “I don’t get grossed out easily, you know.”
​
Silence, again. She changed the subject.
​
“Did you dye your hair like that?” she asked.
​
Cain’s hair was a fluffy mess of black with a large section sprouting an impressive length of white roots. It was, if he had dyed it, a strange stylistic choice on his end.
​
“No,” he responded, this time looking directly at her.
​
The way he had spoken had implied he had more to say. It was as though he were about to elaborate, but he never did. Sam figured he decided against it, and found that she might have been prying too much. She shrugged and closed her eyes.
​
“Hey man,” she started, “it’s whatever, I’m just trying to make conversation.”
​
She looked back outside, the boredom evident on her face. Cain shifted where he stood.
​
“I apologize if I am being rude,” he said, more quietly than he had been speaking previously.
​
“You’re not rude, you’re just weird.”
​
She heard him swallow nervously. It was the most emotion he had shown all day, causing her to glance back at him with a somewhat concerned expression. Despite how anxious he had originally made her feel, his large dark puppy eyes were incredibly disarming. The tired circles underneath only emphasized them. Feeling soft, she looked back out at the reddening sky.
​
“It’s fine, dude,” she offered. “All of my friends are weird.”
​
Cain perked up a bit.
​
“It’s probably about time to start closing,” she realized as she glanced at the clock. Her voice gave away her excitement.
​
​
​
Closing the café with Cain proved to be quick and enjoyable, just as Sam had expected. He also served as a wonderful scarecrow when it came to late customers who tried to come in after hours. His presence behind the see-through door had scared away most people near their building, she had noticed. She couldn’t blame them, but laughed at herself at how calm and comforting his presence had become to her.
​
When they had finished everything, Sam thanked Cain and dismissed him to lock everything up. He slunk away, disappearing quickly into the inky darkness outside. For a moment, she stared at the door, contemplating the day, before snapping back into reality. Grabbing her belongings, she snuck out and locked the door behind her. Unfortunately, the outside world was not as quiet as it had been in the café.
​
Almost immediately, Sam started hearing what sounded like angry drunk shouts from across the parking lot. She rolled her eyes at what she assumed were frat boys wandering the town, but before she could take another step, the shouts made her freeze in place.
​
“Sam! I know it’s you, dumb hoe.”
​
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, she thought, tensing as she put her hands to her face and rubbed her temples.
​
“You’re working at a place like this and you’re too good for me?” he shouted, clearly slurring his words.
​
She didn’t totally recognize him in the dark, but assumed he must have been some spurned self-righteous asshole that frequented the bars. More annoyed than anything, she tried to ignore him, confident she could knock him into a coma if he got too close to her. When other voices started chiming in, however, she quickened her pace, cursing how often these guys couldn’t handle rejection.
​
“Sam! Come here! Where are you going?”
​
He was so loud, and so close to her now. She stopped in her tracks to look at him, the dim street lights illuminating his vaguely familiar visage. She didn’t remember his name, but thought it was something like Ethan or Ian. Her heart was beating fast, but she was more pissed off than anything.
​
“Fuck off, asshole. Leave me alone,” she barked at him, balling her hand into a fist. “I swear to God, if you get any closer to me I’m going to--”
​
His exaggerated laughing cut her off. He repeated back her threat in a mocking voice, earning some chatter and snickers from the unseen support behind him. He threw some more insults at her, swearing incessantly, and she felt the rage boiling.
​
A solid right hook shut him up for a moment, and he hobbled over before regaining his balance and staring at her in disbelief, a trickle of blood dripping from his nose. More hoots and laughs came from the guys behind him, though they had become more quiet now, no doubt waiting for Ethan’s response.
​
“Stupid fucking--”
​
“Go away,” she repeated, her words slow and deliberate.
​
They were all quiet now, Ian staring at her like a deer in headlights, before snapping back into even more aggression. He started yelling at her, so loud that her ears were buzzing, unsure of what he was even saying. All she knew was she could take him, but his approaching backup made her heartbeat quicken and her breath catch in her throat. Her car was still too far to comfortably escape, and while the café door was much closer, the thought of her fumbling to unlock it, get inside, and lock the door behind her again would rely on her being faster than she thought she was. If something could distract them just for a moment--
​
THWACK!
​
Sam flinched and recoiled away from them as a coffee mug, seemingly from nowhere, soared past her and smacked Ian directly in the head, knocking him to the ground. He groaned in agony. Without question, she took advantage of the confusion and quickly ran back towards the café, slipping in and locking the door, only to find that the boys hadn’t moved. They were just standing there, in the dimly lit parking lot, looking around for the assailant. One of them had crouched down, helping her antagonizer, who was barely conscious.
​
Startled, Sam noticed a new figure standing among the drunk guys. He was unmistakable. Cain had apparently hung around nearby after he had initially left the building. When they noticed him, they started shouting and threatening him, though the one helping Ian was trying to move him out of the way. Cain, with his back to Sam, was somewhat obscuring the commotion, making it hard to see what was really taking place. The three of them were definitely arguing, and there was a glint of something metallic in one of their hands. Sam nervously looked away, grabbing for her phone and wondering if she should call someone. She heard a few more shouts and a clatter of metal on the pavement. There was a brief and unnerving silence before a sickening snap, followed by a pained shriek that made Sam whip her head back to look outside. To her relief, Cain was still standing in the same exact spot, and after a few more aggressive and panicked words, the attackers disappeared into the night. Cain turned back towards the door, cocking his head, seeing Sam shaking and wide eyed.
​
It wasn’t hard to notice the growing red stain on Cain’s white shirt. Horrified, Sam opened the door and called for him to come inside. She flicked on the lights and grabbed some nearby towels, but was confused when he didn’t seem too distressed. Instead, he casually made his way towards her, taking his time.
​
Closer now, she could see the impressive gash on his upper arm. She could also make out the trail of blood he had been dripping along the way.
​
“Holy shit, Cain, you need to go to the hospital,” she observed, running shaky hands through her hair as she tried to calm down.
​
He raised a subtle eyebrow at her, but remained wordless as he sat down, back against the wall, and rolled up his torn sleeve. He looked around, searching for something. Realizing that they had a first aid kit in the back, Sam quickly grabbed it and returned, kneeling down by Cain. She opened the kit, but Cain held up a dismissive hand. He peered inside, intrigued by its contents. He picked out a few of the items, including, to Sam’s dismay, suture thread and a curved needle.
​
Without any hesitation, and despite Sam’s quiet protests, Cain threaded the needle and began closing the gash in his arm. Sam stiffened and looked away, but not before noting that he didn’t so much as flinch when the needle pierced his skin.
​
“I did not perceive you as being squeamish,” he remarked. “You told me you did not get ‘grossed out’ easily, did you not?”
​
Sam looked back at him, bewildered at what might have been the first joke he had ever told her. He had already finished stitching his wound up and had taken to cleaning it with the alcohol and cotton pads from the kit. Her eyes trailed down from his cut, following the blood that had leaked onto the floor.
​
“Jesus,” she found herself saying, “this is such a mess…”
​
Cain tilted his head and looked around at the blood he had tracked into the store with him.
​
“I apologize, truly,” he said quietly, sounding honestly embarrassed. “I will clean this up.”
​
“Like hell you will,” she laughed, though it was a humorless sound. “You’re staying right there, don’t move. I've got this.”
​
Cain hesitated, but didn’t protest. He relaxed, slumping backwards and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He exhaled a slow breath. Sam grabbed a bucket of warm water and the rags she had previously prepared to stop the bleeding and started scrubbing at the sticky mess on the floor.
​
“I don’t even know if this is what you’re supposed to do,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “Are you okay, by the way? Like, you seem like you knew what you were doing, but--”
​
“Yes, I am perfectly fine,” Cain insisted, his eyes still shut. He sounded tired. “You worry too much, it is endearing, but I am numb.”
​
Sam froze and looked at him incredulously.
​
“Isn’t that like, a really bad sign?” she asked.
​
Instead of outright responding to her question, Cain began removing his gloves, which were absolutely soaked with blood. He dropped them to the floor with a wet sound that made Sam's skin crawl. Initially, she thought his hands were dark with blood, too, but stifled a gasp when she realized that it wasn’t blood-- his hands and wrists were pitch black. The flesh looked like charcoal; it looked utterly lifeless. The fact that his hands were still moving in that condition made her stomach turn. He rolled up his sleeves, exposing more of the same. Sam saw the discoloration took up half of his forearm on either side before fading with a grey gradient to his normal skin color.
​
Noticing her staring at him in awe, he gave a weary smile at her. She suspecting he was trying to reassure her, but it did not work.
​
“You misunderstand me. My arms are insensitive either way,” he corrected. “With or without a knife wound.”
---
​
​
“Finally,” yawned Thomas after the door shut behind Isaac.
​
Isaac was the first to leave. He had been lamenting about his lost wallet and was insistent on finding it, but Thomas figured it was simply a half-hearted excuse to be alone. Either way, he, Iris, and Ifrit were all silently relieved that he had left, eager to discuss some more sensitive topics.
​
Thomas threw himself onto their couch, stretching before putting his hands behind his head. Ifrit stared at him silently. He winked back.
​
“Come on, what do you think?” Thomas asked, closing his eyes. “Don’t hold back, I hate him too, you can just say it.”
​
Iris gasped. “Thomas! You can’t say that!” she scolded him. “Isaac is a wonderful guy, I don’t know what makes you dislike him so much.”
​
“He’s kind of pretentious,” murmured Ifrit.
​
With eyes wide, Iris stared in disbelief at her brother. She caught his subtle smirk and rolled her eyes. “You two are the worst.”
​
“She doesn’t mean it,” said Ifrit.
​
Thomas nodded. “I know.”
​
“I mean it,” she protested.
​
“Rissy, he’s a nice kid, but he’s more trouble than he’s worth,” Ifrit explained.
​
“Rissy,” repeated Thomas to nobody in particular.
​
“Why are you talking about Isaac like he’s a pet?” Iris asked, clearly irritated.
​
Ifrit sighed and looked at her, exhausted. “What do you want me to say?” he asked. “Nephilim are rare, it’s a very interesting friend you have there; a great find. But I’m keeping my distance from him, he’s going to go through an awful lot and I’d hate to get caught up in it.”
Iris cocked her head. “You saw something?”
​
Thomas perked up, suddenly interested in the conversation. Ifrit sipped his coffee, ignoring the question.
​
“Frit? What did you see?”
​
“Frit,” repeated Thomas, grinning.
​
Ifrit shot him a threatening look.
​
“That kid is a delicacy to vampires,” Ifrit explained. “And I don’t know exactly what is going to happen, but I have a good guess based on that fact alone.”
​
“Can we help him?” asked Iris, looking at her brother with such sad eyes that he nearly choked on the old coffee he was drinking.
​
“Rissy, come on…” he pleaded. He looked at Thomas, and then back to Iris, lowering his voice. “Can we talk about this later?”
​
“Dad says you can’t keep the stray, Iris, let it go,” Thomas chimed in.
​
Iris’s sadness boiled quickly into rage. She looked at Thomas, seething, and he swallowed hard. In a huff, she stormed off to what he presumed was her room and slammed the door. Ifrit, who had watched her leave, now turned his attention back to Thomas. He had the ghost of a smile on his face.
​
“Nice one.”
​
--
​
It was too quiet without Jonathan. Isaac felt incredibly uncomfortable and somewhat empty at his absence, despite the fact that he would be back soon. He found himself staring at his bedroom ceiling, laying in his bed without the slightest thought of actually going to sleep. Curiously, he placed his hand over his eye and pressed lightly to see if it still hurt. There was a dull ache, but not one that was too worrisome.
​
He closed his eyes and quietly repeated to himself, “It’ll be gone by tomorrow.”
​
“That’s a relief,” replied Eden, who was now sitting on the bed with him.
​
Isaac jolted up and gathered his feet closer to him, watching the intruder carefully, unsure of whether or not she was really there.
With bated breath, he watched her fidget with something in her hand before producing his lost wallet and tossing it half-heartedly between the two of them. Isaac stared at it, but didn’t move. His stillness was clearly boring Eden and she rolled her eyes.
​
“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you,” she exclaimed, incredibly annoyed at his frightened reaction to her.
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Strangely enough, he did relax.
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“What do you want, Eden?” he asked, trying to sound stern, but apparently amusing Eden as he spoke.
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She grinned and leaned forward from where she sat, closing the distance between them as she rested on her hands. He stared at her and swallowed hard. The familiar smell of strawberries surrounded him.
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“You,” she purred, but then pulled back and laughed quietly to herself. “But that’s obvious.” Her head tilted to the side. “What do you want? That’s what I would like to know.”
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Isaac furrowed his brow and looked off to the side.
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“You don’t even know,” she mused. “But that’s okay, I figured as much, and I came here with a proposal of sorts.”
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The boy still wasn’t looking at her, but she knew she had his attention in the way his body stiffened.
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“I’m stronger than you are, you know,” she said, noting how motionless he was. “I could make your life a living hell. And yet,” she paused thoughtfully for a moment. “I don’t.”
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She spoke as if she was questioning herself. Isaac gave a short laugh. She looked at him somberly.
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“I mean, it could be a lot worse,” she explained dryly.
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“What do you want, Eden?” repeated Isaac, feeling threatened by her presence once more.
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The vampire softened and smiled. It truly looked innocent.
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“I told you.”
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There was a pause as they made eye contact, tension heavy in the air. Eden broke it when she relaxed and shifted to a more comfortable position. Apparently, she was satisfied with how uncomfortable she could made him.
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“It could be a lot worse,” she repeated, “but I think it could be a lot better, too.” Here, she frowned. “I don’t think you should be so frightened every time you see me, Isaac. We can have a mutually beneficial relationship.”
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Isaac rolled his eyes. “You can’t benefit me, Eden, you’re the biggest problem I have in my life.”
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Eden recoiled at his words. He doubted her performance.
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“Do you know how much I’ve been protecting you already?” she hissed.
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Confused and somewhat startled by her sudden shift in emotion, Isaac just stared blankly at Eden. Noticing he was uncomfortable, she regained her composure.
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“A lot. You have to trust me on this.”
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He narrowed his eyes.
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Eden looked to the side and continued. “I’ll ask for permission from now on, okay?”
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She almost looked bashful, but Isaac knew better. He leaned back and crossed his arms.
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“Okay, fair enough, and you’re never going to get permission.” He tilted his head, no doubt mocking her own movements. “Obviously.”
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“I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt.” Eden grinned suddenly. “I’ll be gentle, Isaac.”
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He cringed.
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“I’ve been protecting Jonathan too, you know,” she said, her tone of annoyance suddenly back. The way she said his brother's name was full of venom. “And anyone else you want. You said it yourself, I’m your only problem.” Eden smiled, but this time it was not innocent. “Why do you think that is?” Her expression darkened again. “I think you owe me something for that. I don’t think it’s too much to ask.”
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Isaac could feel himself relenting to her, yet again. He released the breath he had been holding and hung his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair.
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Eden’s sternness was back as she murmured, “The only choice in this matter that you have is whether or not you’re going to accept how things are and stop fighting me.” She shifted closer to him again. “Wouldn’t you like to actually sleep at night?” she purred, reaching out a hand to delicately touch his face. “Someday you’re going to realize you’re mine anyway, the way everyone else already knows you are.”
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The blatant annoyance on Isaac’s face was thrilling to Eden. He exhaled sharply and slipped off his bed, standing up to look at her.
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“Whatever, whatever…” he mumbled to himself, pacing, before freezing in place and looking at her once more. “All I have to deal with is you?”
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Eden grinned and nodded. She looked so small, curled up on his bed.
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Isaac pushed his hands to his face for a moment before dropping them back to his side.
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“Can you please do me a favor, though?”
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The girl beamed. “Anything for you, dear.”
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“Please,” he spoke slowly and directly. “Please stop telling people you’re my girlfriend.”