Lucie

I was running on around four hours of sleep.

After getting home last night (or early in the morning, more like it), I hadn't been able to really fall asleep until three in the morning, as the gnawing feeling about Cian was still tearing its way through my heart's flesh. Vinny had told me that Cian was fine, and it's not that I didn't trust Vinny, it was just...I actually didn't know.

I stumbled down the stairs; Mom was in the kitchen, Dad likely already off to work at his office. I slid myself onto a barstool and sighed into my hands. Mom looked up at me from pouring cereal. Lately, since I'd recalled the accident, she'd been getting a little better, starting to ease back into her old routine of horrible jokes and goofy smiles. She was taking a lot less pain pills now, as if they made pills that eased a broken heart. "You off to school?"

I glanced at the clock, then nodded. "Soon enough."

Mom grunted in approval and handed me the bowl of cereal. She wandered into the living room, snatching up the remote (which someone, for some reason, had left on the kitchen island) as she went. Calling over her shoulder, she asked, "Want to tell me why you got in so late last night?"

My eyes darted away. "What? I don't know what you're talking about. I was in bed at nine o'clock like the perfect child I am."

"Don't lie to me, Lulu," replied my mother as she reappeared in the kitchen, her eyebrows risen towards her hairline. One hand was on her hip, the other dangling the television remote precariously from her fingers. "Not only did I hear you last night, but I can tell when you're tired. It better have been for a good reason. Now eat your cereal and get out of my house," she said, her lips turning up at the ends. She turned back to the droning newscaster echoing from the living room's direction. "Go get educated! Chase your dreams!"

"I'm leaving," I said with a roll of my eyes, and took my cereal bowl with me on the way to the car. It was best to get out before she decided to punish me after all.

As I was backing the Subaru down the driveway, watching the pink hues ascend over the clouds, my phone buzzed on the dash. Startled, I nearly spilled milk and Cinnamon Toast Crunch all over my shorts. Mentally scolding myself for not being more graceful, I sighed and reached for it, squinting at the caller ID.

Angel Boy

Cian was calling me? A smile couldn't help but grip my lips as I hit answer. "Your first phone call!" I exclaimed. "Well, Cian, how does it feel?"

"Uh," said a voice that was not Cian's, but his little brother's instead. It sounded so shaky, so fearful, that it twisted something inside of my chest. "Sorry, Lucie, it's not Cian speaking."

"Vinny?"

"Listen, I gotta talk fast. Electronic devices zap my energy and I don't have long before this thing falls through my hand. Basically, Cian's not okay"—he was momentarily cut off by a loud groan from the background, and a scream quickly muffled by something that could have been a pillow—"uh. Yeah. That's the demon venom in his system. Get over here now. We've got to do something. I don't know how much time he has left before the wound kills him."

"What—the wound? As in, like, the demon from last night? Oh God. Oh, Vinny, oh God."

"Please hurry, Lucie," Vinny said from the other line. Static was growing and growing, thundering in my ear. The groans I assumed were Cian's cut through the noise. "Please, because I don't know what to do."

"I'm coming," I said, revving the engine. School would have to wait.

"You're coming?" Vinny exhaled.

"Yeah, I'm on the way."

"Oh, thank the heavens," Vinny muttered. Then: "Crap. Crap." More static. "Okay. I'm slipping, I'm slipping. Alright. That's my cue—bye—"

The phone call ended abruptly. I silenced the dial tone and sped up. Cian, you idiot, I couldn't help thinking. What was it with him? Was he afraid to ask for help, afraid to admit that he wasn't always going to be fine? He was always talking about the mask his parents put on, the life of secrets they forced him to live. But, acting the way he was, was he not doing the exact same thing?

Oh God.

I didn't care. I didn't care. I just needed him to be okay.

I reached the Horne's house in under ten minutes and practically hurled myself from the Subaru. The front door was already open when I reached it; I stepped inside, glancing at the glass chandelier above me, the abstract paintings hanging on the walls.

Vinny was at the top of the staircase. He waved at me. "Sorry," he called. "I couldn't hold the phone any longer. Told you I had to talk fast."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, and climbed the staircase, falling into step beside him as we headed in the direction of Cian's bedroom, across the catwalk and into the narrow upstairs hallway. The coldness his presence brought chilled me to my bones, but I tried not to care. "Where is he? Has he gotten worse since last night?"

Vinny gestured at the door to Cian's bedroom; there was faint groaning coming from behind it, and the something in my chest twisted further, a knot beginning to furl itself against my lungs.

Vinny wiped hair from his face, looking at me from underneath his raised hand. Looking into his eyes then, clear from the strands of fair hair that usually hung in them, was like seeing a new person. This Vinny was young and plaintive, someone who only wanted to know their brother was going to live. He was a Vinny whose heart was both so large and so dependent. "See for yourself," he said gruffly.

I gripped the handle, turned it, and entered the room.

If you ignored the feeble figure curled in the mussed bed, Cian's bedroom was as quiet and peaceful as it always was, albeit messy. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, a soft background song, the wind lifting and dropping the curtains at the windows over and over again. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the pallid skin of Cian's bare back, sheeted in sweat.

I came to the bedside, and drew in a breath. Cian's back was covered in an ugly, dark rash, starting at the base of his spine and climbing up to his shoulders in a rather ornate and spiraling path, like the limbs of a malevolent tree. It was as if the many veins in his body had turned the same black-blue color, irritated red bumps dotting the outside of the rash's lines. I saw the tracks Cian's nails had left behind, some of the skin broken open and bleeding. "Cian," I breathed. "Why didn't you tell us?"

I glanced back at Vinny, who looked sick.

Cian's only reply for a while was an array of harsh, ragged breaths. He turned his head on the pillow, eyes shut, and exhaled, "Lucie? No. No, please. I'm..." His hand reached up, clawing up the sheets around him. He hissed through his teeth, moaning as if someone was peeling his skin off, layer by layer. It was a horrible noise, like someone's dying calls. I hastily wiped tears from my eyes, fought the growing terror inside of me. "I'm fine," he argued. "Please. Go to schoo—"

He cut off, hacked and coughed, hacked and coughed.

"Shut up," I said. "Cian, what do we do? Please, just tell us, alright? There has to be a way to get the venom out of you."

"No," hissed Cian. Somehow, despite the fact his tongue was barely allowing him words, his tone was still acidic. "Leave me alone."

"If we do that," Vinny argued, appearing next to me, "then you'll die. Is that what you want?"

For a long time, Cian said nothing, just exhaled and inhaled, exhaled and inhaled. Half of his face was smooshed against his sheets, wrinkling them underneath him. His eyes were closed; I noticed suddenly that he seemed to be very intent on keeping them that way. I tried to swallow down my anxiety, but it kept coming up, bitter as bile.

I reached out, easing myself down on the edge of his bed. I combed his sweaty hair back from his forehead; it was hanging over his eyelids in limp, moist strands of darkened gold. My hand brushed burning hot skin. Cian cringed, exhaled and inhaled, as if breathing was no longer automatic, but something he had to remind himself to do.

I looked up at Vinny.

"Lucie?" he said, and his voice was dense with sorrow. His eyes were as round as saucers. My heart felt like a gnarled beast imprisoned in my rib cage.

"Cian," I ordered, and he grimaced again, as if hearing my name in his mouth hurt him.

Nevertheless, a smile formed on his lips. "Go to school, muffin."

"Open your eyes."

The smile vanished.

His eyes opened.

They were not the blue I remembered. They were not the color of sapphire, of iris flowers, of a storm cloud over the ocean, and they were not gentle and respectful. They were not Cian's eyes.

They seemed to be the eyes of a demon, inky black soiling both the irises and the whites, milky white veins snaking like tributaries from the eyes' edges. They were not Cian's eyes, no; they were diseased, terrifying, sickening. I could no longer fight the tears. "Cian!" someone shouted, but I didn't know if it was me, or Vinny, or both.

He just said, "Death has caught up to me. I'm done fighting it."

He closed his eyes again. A single tear, black like dirtied water, slipped from them.

He hacked and coughed.

Inhale, exhale. One shaky breath after the other, another shudder of his bloodied shoulders.

"Caprice," I said.

Vinny's eyes peeled away from his ill brother. "Caprice?" he repeated. "The Caprice? What is she gonna do for us? She hates Cian's guts, remember? Gave him those bloody marks on his neck that time—"

"I don't care. I'm going to make her help us. She'll know what to do," I said, then tentatively mopped Cian's hair from his forehead. "Cian...you have her number, don't you? There has to be some other way to reach her than going straight to her nightclub.You've got to tell me."

His trembling fingers closed around my wrist, though he turned his face away from me. My pulse was so harsh in my veins that I was positive he could feel it. Please hold on, Cian. I can't lose you. Not yet. Not ever, I thought. "No," he said through his teeth. "Don't call Caprice, please, Lucie. You don't understand what she'll do to me, what they'll do to me."

"Whatever it is," I murmured, "it can't be worse than waiting for this demon crap to kill you. You're in pain, Cian. I know you don't want anyone to know, but nothing about dying is peaceful."

"She's right," Vinny added, then called: "Lucie. I found her business card."

I turned. He was leaned over Cian's desk, the rising sun's light passing right through him as if he were no more than a mirage. I came to his side, and he cast me a hopeful glance, dropping the card into my hand. I realized suddenly that that—that insignificant little hand-off—was the closest he'd ever get to making contact with me, with anyone ever again. "Her number's on it. You're persuasive, right?"

"Uh," I answered, punching in numbers. "I'll do my best."

As the phone rang in my ear, I knelt before Cian, eye to eye. He blinked one blackened eye at me, shut it again, and coughed. "You can't do this..."

"Oh, Cian, but I have to," I said, pressing a hand against his cheek, allowing myself a rueful grin. "My sad little angel, I have to."

The ringing ended. A female voice said in my ear: "Caprice Martinez. Who is this?"

Cian hacked, this time so violently that his shoulders shook. A glance at Vinny confirmed to me that he was watching him, seated against the bed's edge with his head in his hands. He looked awfully tired.

"Hi, Caprice. My name is Lucie; I'm a friend of Cian Horne's. You know him, don't you?"

A pause. Then: "The mortal angel? Yes—my little one. You must be 'the girl' he was talking about, huh?"

"W-What?" I swallowed. Cian moaned.

"I told him to be careful with you. Mankind and angels weren't made to mingle, sweetie."

"Cian's dying," I said, because that was what I called for, not for her advice column. "He was injured by a demon last night, and he's...he's dying. Please help us; we don't know what to do, or how much time he has left. I know I don't owe you anything, that Cian doesn't owe you anything, but...please," I implored.

Caprice sighed theatrically. She sounded both bored and reluctant. "Fine. I'm coming, but this will have to be quick. I have an appointment at ten."

My heart swelled in my chest. I looked at the slow-moving boy curled in the sheets, his dark rash and sickened eyes, the hacking cough that rattled his lungs every few moments. I looked at him and I prayed he'd be Cian again. "Thank you. I know he's just being stupid, but—"

"Trust me. The boy's yet to get smart. We'll see if he ever does."

The phone call ended.

Vinny asked as I dropped the phone to the comforter, "So?"

"So," I replied, glancing over my shoulder at him, "Caprice is headed here as we speak."

Cian's reply was a moan, but Vinny just collapsed to the floor, sitting on his knees. He hid his face in his hands. Speaking through his fingers, he thought aloud, "I really hope this was a good idea, Lucie."

I reached out, and Cian let me curl my fingers in his, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. "That makes two of us."