I park outside my grandma's condo and turn off the engine. With a yawn, I reach over to the passenger seat and grab the black bag of what Grams calls her 'herbal remedies'. Sure, she says it's for her arthritis and glaucoma, but these days her pot consumption is about half medicinal and half recreational.

Grams has never really been the milk-and-cookies type. She was a real rebel in her early years; she partied, did drugs, and fooled around. When she found out she was pregnant with my dad, she had no clue what his father's name was. Oops!

She cut back on the partying in favor of being a single mom, but she's never really lost that wild streak. My dad says she and I are two of a kind in that way.

I knock and after a moment she opens the door with a smile. She has always been slim and fair-skinned, but over the years her frame has grown a bit too lean and her skin a little paler. She's wearing thick-rimmed tortoiseshell glasses and a lavender muumuu dress. Her pure-white hair is covered in a pink floral head wrap that matches her bright pink lipstick. It's a look that most people could never pull off, but it suits her perfectly.

"Oh thank goodness, now there's a beautiful sight!" she exclaims, ushering me inside and grabbing the bag from my hands as the door closes behind me.

"Wow, Grams. Feeling the love," I say with a chuckle.

She shakes her head at me and waves a dismissive hand in my direction.

"Don't be silly honey, of course I love you, but I can't roll you up and smoke you, now can I?"

She unpacks the bag, setting the contents on the kitchen counter and looking them over.

"Thank you for picking these up for me," she says.

I give her a hug and she gives me a loving pat on the back.

"No problem Grams. Sorry it took a while; the guy at the dispensary was convinced my id was fake."

"Well, that's because you have that smooth little baby face. Your father was the same way—couldn't even grow a beard till he was in his 30s. You'll appreciate it when you're 50 and people think you've had work done."

She shuffles over to her favorite armchair and sits down, gesturing for me to take a seat on the couch.

"Do I really want people thinking that, though?"

"Who doesn't want to look young and make everyone jealous without even having to pay for it? I know I wouldn't mind a bit of that youthful glow."

She pulls out a piece of rolling paper and lays it flat on the side table. She fills it with a small amount of marijuana and rolls it into a joint, licking the ends of the paper to seal it.

It's probably not the kind of grandparent-grandchild interaction they write children's books about, but Grams has always been very uniquely herself.

"How are you doing, Samantha?" she asks.

"I'm good, actually."

"Good! How's the necromancy?"

I narrow my eyes for a moment trying to understand her question.

"Narcolepsy?" I ask.

"Yes, yes. Is there a difference?"

"Necromancy means bringing dead people back to life, Grams. I have Narcolepsy."

She takes a deep hit from her joint and slowly breathes out the smoke.

"Well, fuck, dear—you know what I mean."

"It's okay. I'm getting more sleep lately."

There's so much I'm not saying, but I wouldn't even know where to begin. Knowing Grams, if I told her there's a demon protecting my dreams, she wouldn't bat an eyelid. If anything she'd probably just encourage me to use protection or go on a rant about why men can't be trusted—demon or not.

"Good to hear it." She settles into her chair, holding her joint off to the side. "You still dancing?"

"Yep. Made good money the last few nights. At this rate, I only need to dance a few nights a week."

"Oh to be young and beautiful and making your own money," she teases with a smile. "Just remember that feeling, darling, the next time some man comes along and offers to solve all your problems."

I laugh and shake my head.

"No need to worry about that, Grams. The last thing I need is a man in my life."

It's true: I've had enough boyfriend drama in the last year to last me a lifetime. And the only man I'm truly interested isn't a man at all, but a demon—one who comes with the same baggage as the last one.

"Oh no," she says, setting her joint in the ashtray beside her. "Don't go around saying things like that. That's the quickest way to get yourself entangled. They come for you when you least expect it!"

"You talk about men like they're predators."

She huffs and picks up the joint again, taking another puff.

"They aren't predators, no, but they're tricky little bastards. I just want you to protect your heart."

I don't need to protect my heart if I never let anyone in.

"I'll be fine."

"Samantha, six months ago you showed up on my doorstep crying and shaking and told me you were moving to Port Charlotte and needed a place to stay. You know I'm not one to pry, so I've let it be, but I know man troubles when I see 'em."

"I-" I try to respond, but she interrupts.

"Just remember that you're golden, and never let a man tarnish your shine."

*****

My mind is hazy as I rub my eyes with my arm and turn to check the time on my phone.

8:00 pm.

Shit.

After visiting with Grams, I came back home around 5 and crashed. I was exhausted and in desperate need of a nap, but I didn't expect to sleep for so long. Between the narcolepsy and working nights, my circadian rhythms have totally gone to hell.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and press my feet into the carpet.

"Miss me?" a familiar voice calls from the shadows.

No.

My head whips around, but I don't see Victor anywhere.

No. He can't be back.

In a flash, Victor appears on top of me, pinning my wrists against the bed as I thrash and kick.

"It's not a dream, sweetheart. I found you. You had to know I would find you eventually."

I scream as loud as I can but it doesn't seem to have an effect.

Can anyone even hear me?

"Get off of me!"

His cruel laugh sends a chill down my spine.

This can't be happening.

My mind is overwhelmed, too flooded with panic and fear to evaluate my options. Instead, I do the only thing I can think to do.

"Kiieeerraann!!" I scream. "Help me!!!"

The room shakes, ripples spread from its center like shockwaves, distorting the image around them.

"Fuck!" I hear Kieran curse as he stumbles into view, nearly falling over as if he had been thrown into the room. "Sammy girl, are you okay?"

He huffs and puffs as he runs up to my bed. I feel tears run down my cheeks and I choke back a sob.

"It-" I look around, but there's no sight of Victor anywhere. "It was Vic, he was... he was here, I swear."

He kneels on the bed and wraps his arms around me, pulling my head into his chest.

"It's just a dream, this time," he says. "It's..."

He pauses and pulls away.

"What?" I ask.

"Sorry, I'm working right now. Give me one sec."

He disappears and I blink several times, trying to understand what's happening. After a few seconds, he reappears with a concerned look on his face.

"I don't understand," I say, looking around the room. My hands are still shaking.

"You just had a nightmare, doll." He grasps my hand between his palms. "It's not always real. I'm sure that trauma fucked your head up good."

"It was Vic."

"I saw." His head hangs low as he rubs my hand.

"You could see it even though it was a dream?"

"Yeah. I got rid of it though. Sorry it took me so long. I didn't expect you to be sleeping right now."

"I took a nap." I say, rubbing my face with my free hand. "I needed to."

"Needed to?"

"I'm uh... narcoleptic. Sometimes I get a sleep attack and I just have to sleep. There's no fighting it."

He tilts his head and his brow furrows.

"Narcoleptic? That's the thing where you fall asleep in public places, right?"

"No. I mean, that's what people think it is, but that's not how it works."

"How does it work?" His expression softens.

"So, some people with narcolepsy have cataplexy, which means they lose muscle control and sometimes collapse—that's why people think they just fall asleep, but they don't. They're awake the whole time."

Kieran shivers and shakes his head.

"That sounds hideous. Do you have that?"

"Not me, no. I'm just always tired and sleep doesn't really help. Sometimes I have sleep attacks, which is basically like all the tiredness you've ever felt hitting you all at once. It's really hard to fight it, and if I do it usually gives me a major headache and I can barely function."

"Shit. So you're always tired and your ex is an Incubus taking full advantage of it."

"Lucky me." I sigh and rub my face.

"I won't let him fuck with you again."

"How did you actually show up if you weren't asleep just now? Could you hear me when I called your name?"

"Um... sort of. I've been keeping tabs on you in the back of my mind. Just in case."

I nod, not sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, I'm glad that he's here. On the other, I just got out of a relationship with someone who 'kept tabs on' me and that went bad really fast.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"It's about quarter to seven."

I sigh. Now that the fear has subsided, it's replaced by embarrassment.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your night."

"You're never an interruption, Sam," he says as he brushes his fingers lightly across my cheek. "You're the main attraction."

◆

A/N: Hey friends! Just a little note to say that I'll be at Wattcon in Los Angeles this Saturday for those of you who might want to say hello. If you're going to be there, don't hesitate to come chat! I have light purple hair right now, so I'm easy to spot and I'd love to meet you all!