I sat by the fireplace, patiently waiting for ten o'clock. The flames danced mockingly, stubbornly refusing to give up my brother until the appointed time.

My father sat beside me, the fire reflected in his frustrated eyes. This was how we spent every other Sunday night at ten. Waiting for my brother to return from the pit of Hell.

It was desperation that made our lives like this, desperation and the foolish teenage decisions of my parents.

My dad had needed drug money, and a nonexistent firstborn seemed like a fair trade to save his skin. The witch agreed as long as Jonathan attended her boarding school for firstborns.

The problems arose when my mother summoned a demon, who demanded a life in exchange for the ones she wanted him to take. She also promised her firstborn, which turned out to be the same child promised to a witch.

A flash in the flames drew our attention forward as Jonathan emerged from the fireplace, perfectly unsinged but weary.

"Jonathan!" I exclaimed. "You came back!"

He coughed, and offered a weak smile. "Of course I did."

Our father smiled back, suddenly looking as tired as his son. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. The bracelet worked perfectly, as always." Jonathan removed the band from his wrist as the last of its protective magic fizzled out. My dad had invented the force field jewelry to guard Jonathan against virtually anything he may encounter in Hell, but couldn't get it to last any longer than 48 hours. Luckily, that was all he needed.

Dad took the bracelet and hurried off upstairs to recharge it, leaving Jonathan and me alone.

"How's Ragnarok? Still as cute as ever?" I asked, remembering the baby chimera Jonathan had befriended on his visits.

"He's fine." My brother answered curtly before sighing deeply. "But I'm tired."

I pursed my lips accusingly. "You're always tired."

Jonathan narrowed his bloodshot eyes. "How about you literally go to Hell for two days and see how much sleep you get?! And on top of that, I've got school work to catch up on, so- leave me alone!" He stormed up to his room and locked the door with some spell I couldn't break. At his special boarding school, he got to learn magic.

Only a few weeks ago, specifically starting November 25 at 6:01pm, he wasn't nearly this snippy. Maybe it was the stress of school and midterms, but Jonathan was a stellar student and was given extra time because of his 'situation'.

'Situation.' I thought, trudging up the stairs. I paused at my brother's door, poised to knock, but my hand dropped. 'Situation.' It wasn't his fault that he was always tired or had to leave us twice a month. Heading to my own room, I closed the door and pulled a shoebox from closet.

Inside, were eight rocks- the real reason my brother was tired. A flood of memories washed over me as I reflected.

August 24th, the first day we got the box. I was two, my brother five, and Mommy had just been sentenced to twenty-five years in prison. The rocks, one added every year, were a clever way my Dad could teach us to count up until Mommy came back.

We were supposed to present them to her when she was released. But there were only eight rocks in the box. She only lasted eight years.

Cradling the smallest of the rocks, a smooth black pebble, I remembered the darkness of the Gothic era dress laying in the casket. The tattoos crawling up her arms were marks that could supposedly call those evil spirits to earth, but I never believed it. Never, until one of them began to glow ghostly blue and a chimera sprang forth.

That was the first and last time I saw Armageddon. But Jonathan meets with him every other weekend.

I slammed the lid closed in a rush of anger, then watched as I spotted it with tears. Why? Why did she give up? Why couldn't she have waited to see us again? Why did the demon appear at the funeral? Why did he have to take my brother away? Why wasn't it enough for my mother to die? Why didn't my father have the courage to confront the demonic shape-shifting chimera and demand to end the visits?

Tears burned their way down my cheeks, and I gasped in understanding. This was my father's frustration. This was the frustration of being human; having no powers to combat the infinite injustices committed against us every day.

God, I wanted magic. I needed magic.

But right now, I needed Jonathan. Tired or not, he was my brother and he would help me no matter what.

Nearly blind in my own emotions, I threw myself against the door and cried my brother's name in anguish.

He opened it in a panic and I fell into his arms and sobbed. "I want Mom!" I exclaimed. "Where is she? Where is my mother?!"

Jonathan was quick to quiet me, smoothing my hair as I gradually composed myself. In retrospect, it was a good thing Dad was in the virtually soundproof basement and his husband (a marriage of convenience) was out doing something.

"Mackenzie, Mackenzie, you're okay. I'm here." He whispered to the nappy hazelnut strands. "I'm here for you."

After a shaky breath, I muster the courage to let go and faced him bashfully. "Mommy Rocks." Came my vague explanation, knowing he would understand.

Jonathan nodded silently, his arm still protectively around me.

I scrubbed the tears from my face as he passed me a box of tissues. Quite suddenly, I realized I was inside my brother's room, having only seen snippets in the past through cracked doors. And my brother's room was quite strange indeed.

Blank papers, connected by red strings on thumbtacks, covered the walls as though they were important. A shelf of neatly organized books and folders sat in the corner, next to a large desk with a few tomes and a black binder on it.

"Jonathan?" I began cautiously, taking particular interest in the unique wall 'décor'. "Can you tell me a story? An adventure story?"

He understood the euphemism and obliged. "You want to hear about my weekend?" At my nod, he stood and set a bucket on the floor underneath the fire alarm. "Okay. But what happens in this room, stays in this room."

"Of course."

"Here's some magic then." Jonathan pronounced a very long word, first producing an orb of water then manipulating it with every syllable. The finished product was a dome of ice encasing the fire alarm. "Don't want to set it off and cause a panic." He smirked before going over to the first paper on the wall with one of the candles. Jonathan held the flame up to the page, igniting it.

I stared, first in shock, then in wonder as the heat revealed a hyper realistic drawing of a baby chimera. The flame sizzled along the red string and exposed more and more drawings depicting some element or scene from the visits.

"Therapy." Jonathan said by way of explanation. "But on the visits, I don't really do anything too interesting. I tell Ragnarok to shapeshift into something or someone and then he holds that form for as long as he can. Now, he's up to several hours as long as he doesn't do anything very extraneous but I'm sure Armageddon punishing him with death for 'breaking character' has something to do with it. That said, it's not permanent!" Jonathan hurriedly clarified. "Armageddon kills and then- recreates, I guess- Ragnarok. That ability further solidifies my theory that Ragnarok is actually a clone, but I digress."

I shifted closer to him, fighting to keep the envy out of my voice. "Tell me about your magic boarding school."

Jonathan gave a short laugh. "There's not too much to tell. I mean it is still school, but, as far as schools go, it's fairly nice. It's fun to learn magic, but I'm not very good."

"Well, you seem pretty good to me." I said, indicating the frozen alarm. Jonathan stood to undo the spell as his drawings faded away. "I wish I could do magic." I continued rather sadly. "Even though my friends can't do magic either, they at least are something interesting. I'm just a human."

"And why is that such a bad thing?" He asked. "Being human is being neutral. Being human is being able to do anything because no one has predetermined what you are going to become. Being human is being free."

"When did you become a poet?" I asked, laughing. Although what he said was true.

"There is something else I didn't tell you." He paused, looking around as my interest piqued. Secrets were fun. "And you cannot tell Dad or Vince. At all. Ever. Not even hinting at it or suggesting it might be a possibility. No one, especially those two, are to know-"

"I get it!" I snapped, then continued on a more serious note. "My lips are sealed. Go ahead."

After another sweep of the room, Jonathan spilled. "Ragnarok himself seems rather interested in my bracelet, but that is kind of unlike him. Armageddon keeps talking about Ragnarok's 'final exam in two weeks' and how he 'won't like it, but it needs to be done'. I- I think the demon is going to try to get rid of the bracelet that protects me so Ragnarok can injure or maybe even kill me."

I blinked, silent for a moment. "Are- are you sure? I mean, a final exam could mean a lot of things."

My brother pressed his fingers together like he does when he's stressed. "You don't know those chimeras like I do, Mackenzie. They train themselves to do evil. To kill, to deceive. I mean," Jonathan chuckled hopelessly in exasperation, "Armageddon kills Ragnarok like it's second nature! They're ruthless, abusive, and cruel! So, honestly, this is not far-fetched at all."

"Regrettably." I added. If Jonathan suspected he would die on the next visit, who was I to tell him he was wrong? "But, why can't we tell Dad or Vince?"

Jonathan groaned. "Because! You know Dad! He's been wanting to find some way to get me out of these visits since they began, and yet here we are. If we tell him, it will only add to his frustration because Lord knows he's not ever be brave enough to face a demon."

"Well, cut him slack, Jonathan!" I exclaimed, suddenly defensive of my father. "When you have a psychopath who thinks she can control evil spirits for a wife, you're bound not to trust them, but that doesn't mean you'll go storm Hell guns blazing!! Jonathan, you know this more than I, they're demons!"

Jonathan sighed through gritted teeth, then slammed a fist onto the desk. "COWARDS!! Cowards, both of them!" His voice broke as he slumped into a chair. "I'm going to die. Mackenzie, this is it. I am going to die because I have cowards for guardians..."

"Not yet." I reminded him, wrapping my arms around him shaking body. "We have two weeks to save you."

"Two weeks." He sputtered through tears. "Two weeks to live."

I remained with Jonathan until he had calmed down, at which point he said he wanted to be alone. I obliged heavyheartedly, and tried in vain to get some rest myself.

Betraying my promise of secrecy was out of the question, but at the same time, something had to be done. Obviously, he could just not go, but then the demons would probably come looking for him or worse. I preferred to save my brother without causing demons to rise up and destroy the world.

If he went, there was a chance I could save him if I could follow him. But the portal worked like a turnstile; one person at a time. Unless I could get into Hell another way. There was probably more than one way into Hell, but I'd imagine the underworld is a large place. I would most definitely get lost, or eaten or something, before I could get to him.

Something had to be done, but for the life of me that was as far as I could get.

Unless... someone else could get farther.

Jonathan only said I couldn't tell Dad or Vince so I could ask my friends what they could come up with.

I rolled to the other side of the bed.

No, no, Mackenzie. It's best not to worry them or myself. Jonathan had a whole two weeks! And if it turned out to be nothing, our anxiety would be in vain. It was best to try to forget it for now and wait and see.

The next morning arrived all too fast, but I dragged myself out bed anyway. On my way to the bathroom, I noticed a note on Jonathan's closed door:

To Dad, Vince, Mackenzie, and whomever else it may concern,

DO NOT DISTURB!! I am studying and need peace and quiet to concentrate. I can conjure myself anything I would need, so don't bother asking. Thank you in advance.

-Jonathan

Doubtful, I pressed an ear to the door, smirking as a heard gentle snores. He deserved a long rest, especially considering the added weight of the Secret.

'No, Mackenzie.' I scolded myself. 'You will neither expose the Secret nor dwell on it.'

But as fourteen days turned to seven and then one, the Secret burned hotter and hotter in my mind. The only respite I got was one locked glance with my brother just before he crawled into the fireplace.

For the entire weekend, I was virtually in my own Hell on earth, and ironically I found comfort in that comparison; I was sharing in my brother's pain.

Sunday night. 10:01 pm. My brother is not with us and the flames mock me more than ever before.

10:05 pm. My father has begun to worry, but my mind is already hurling itself toward that dreadful thought.

10:10 pm. Vince has been assigned stare-at-the-fireplace-until-Jonathan-appears duty while my father dials his boarding school with shaking fingers. I am outside, openly weeping though still in view of the fireplace.

This is my fault. This is my fault. I caused my brother to d- di-... No! I refuse to believe my brother, Jonathan Hartfield-Divola has perished where I cannot reach him! He has disappeared. Yes. And I caused it. I caused my brother to disappear.

But that means I can cause him to reappear!

Franticly, I gripped my phone and called my friends. My hands could not move fast enough, but by some miracle of God all of them answered.

"Everyone meet me at Minty's! Emergency meeting!"

Taylor answered, remarkably calm. "No, we're all at the Segal's house. But I'm glad you called, we were-"

"No time!" I nearly shouted. Great that they were together; the reason did not matter at the moment. "I'll be there in ten."

Hanging up, I bursting into the dining room. "I'll be back- when I'm back. I- can't explain now!" I exclaiming to Dad and Vince without stopping my way to the door. "Call if trouble!!"

I sprinted to my next door neighbor's house, again thanking God she was home. If there was one person I could count on at any moment...

Less than two minutes later, I was speeding down the road on the back of a hot pink motorcycle with a pink-haired girl.

I'm coming, Jonathan. I'm coming.