Iris Bell

Iris loved nightclubs. So the fact that she was supposed to meet her informer in one was pretty great. She didn't have the best bargaining chip, but at least it was better than nothing. That probably should have been her motto in life. Didn't clean your room properly? It's better than nothing. Accidentally smashed your favorite mug? Well, it's better than nothing. Don't have any information or leads on a murder case that you probably shouldn't be investigating? Oh well, better than nothing. Oh, wait. Never mind. The truth was, she had nothing. So, what did she have to loose? Her life probably, but that was a problem for future Iris.

She tapped her foot as the bouncer to the club scanned her fake ID. The truth was, she wasn't exactly twenty one yet. Or even eighteen. But that wasn't important. What was important was she had to slip pass this guard to investigate a murder. A very important murder at that.

"Fine," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "You can go in. Hey, Mario! Yeah, you. Tell Tony I'm going on break." Iris eyed him warily as he stormed off. She quickly ducked inside the club and immediately headed towards the bar. She hated dancing, but boy did she love drinking. She loved drinking almost as much as she loved Oreos. But not quite. The smells and lights were harsh and glaring as she sat down at the bar. She was nearing a full moon, so her senses were all pretty much enhanced by ten. The usually appealing sound of techno pop was dialed up much to high, and she was sure she could smell every barf puddle in the room.

A black haired Other turned to her and smiled. She could tell he was a Demon because of his smell. They always reeked of fire and burning flesh.

"Can I help you?" he asked softly. Yep, this was the Demon.

"Sure you can help. I need the name of someone who might've gotten an extremely powerful weapon very recently. And I need it now."

"Whoa," Imariel said, putting his hands up in mock self-defense. "Slow down a second. You don't get anything until you give me something."

"I've got a Wraith who might be very interested to meet you," she said. The stupid ghost had been hanging around her crime scene. The Demon shook his head slowly.

"A Wraith?" he asked. "What would I want with a Wraith? I've had enough Wraiths to last me a lifetime. Now, if you had any other souls I might be interested. Preferably alive. Or avocados. Do you have any avocados?"

"No," Iris said, perplexed.

"What a shame," the Demon sighed. "I love avocados. Anyway, time's running out. If you have anything else to bargain with, you better speak up. I don't have all day."

"Sorry," Iris said. "Nothing else."

"Fine, then leave. I hate the smell of Weres. We're done here."

Iris sighed as she got up and walked around to the other side of the bar. There was no point in leaving. She didn't get what she came for so she might as well stay for the drinks.

"Get me a martini," she told the bartender. He nodded and hurried off. She found her attention being pulled over to the Demon again. He was talking to a brown haired girl, a Vampire by the smell of her. The girl was talking animatedly to Imariel, and gestured towards a white haired Vamp about five feet away. They seemed to be striking a deal of some sort, as the brunette grabbed her friend and shoved her into the Demon. Imariel took one look at her, and grabbed her head, kissing her violently. Her skin turned even paler as the life force was sucked out of her. Imariel finally dropped her to the ground, and continued drinking. Iris casually turned her head in his direction as she heard him whisper above all the noise and clatter.

"His name is Seymour King."

Satisfied, Iris sipped the martini that had appeared in front of her. So, Seymour. He'd be getting a visit from her soon enough. But not tonight. Tonight she would party. She caught the bartender's eye as she sipped her martini. He was cute. Muscular, but not too muscular. Sandy hair and sea green eyes. Yes, he would do nicely.

"Can I help you with anything else?" he asked her.

"You can give me your number," she said coyly. He smiled slightly.

"I might. What's your name?"

"Iris. What's yours?"

"Jacob. Here, let me see your napkin." He scribbled a phone number on it quickly and smiled at her again. "You know, my shift ends at 11:30. If you want, I could take you back to my place."

"Sounds great," Iris said. "You should probably go see your other customers."

"Nah," he scoffed. "None of them are as pleasing to look at." He winked at her, and passed her a shot of vodka. "On the House."

"You know, it's already 11:25. Don't you think you could end your shift a little bit early?"

"I think I can manage it," he said with a wry smile. He ducked out from under the counter as she slapped the money for the martini on the bar. She downed the shot in one gulp and followed him out of the bar. He walked her over to his tiny apartment and unlocked the door. She scanned the small kitchen, cramped living room, and tiny loft. He grabbed her arm and pulled her over to the crumbling window. She smiled as he placed his large hands around her hips. She had a new lead on the murderer, a great martini, and a hot guy that she was dancing with. Nothing could possibly go wrong. Right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Avacado Marissa

New Twitter Post from SexyAvacado: "Hitting up the clubs! Because when you're dead, why not kill yourself with social interaction too?"

There was nothing quite like going to the club. In Ava's experience, they were all too loud and close. She'd rather chop off her legs than to deal with another sloppy crowd of reckless drunks and miscreants that flooded the area like flies. They drank shit, ate shit, and flocked to it with grand smiles on their faces. They moved too fast, talking and finding themselves able to do anything. People just swayed their bodies and danced. They got too drunk and laughed too much or they didn't drink at all because the bar was too expensive and it was twenty bucks to get in and now they're unhappy and feeling awkward and getting hit on by men who have far too much confidence for their five-foot-six bodies.

That's why Ava avoided clubs. She hated them to begin with. They were never fun.

But going to the club with another person living inside you? With someone controlling her movements, deciding where and when she would move and talk? With someone who made her appear human, unlike her normal, slow and zombified self? That was something else entirely.

Perhaps it wasn't hatred, but she couldn't pretend that she actually enjoyed it. Ava had never opened herself up to another being. Aside from sex, which was thirty minutes of grunting and sweating and then a halfhearted kiss from Foster, who would always retreat back to his place the second it ended, her life was perfectly fine without another person in it. She'd never wanted to get close to another being.

"He's going to eat my soul if I go in there." Liam's face had bred terror, if a wraith could show anything like that. For someone who was supposed to be terrifying, he seemed more cute than anything. Ava wanted to be able to just walk away, but she'd had her own concerns about going in there. Imariel was her best guess as to finding the killer, but would he honestly trade with a zombie?

"Possess....me."

"Are...are you sure? I've only done it once, and it didn't really go too--"

"It's...the...easiest way...to get information."

"Why they sent us to get information from him is beyond me. If you're sure, Ava..."

When a soul is terrorfied that they're going to die, Ava has found that it's easier to just nod their head and offer up their body for a wraith with a questionable past than to listen to someone cry. It wasn't that out of the ordinary, she tried to convince herself. Liam would be inside her body, working with the team, and they'd go into a club to meet with a demon about the death of a prominent dragon prince.

You're...tak..ing.....up....so....m..uch.........space. Somehow, thinking got worse with Liam inside her. Do...you...know......where....Ima..riel....might be?

Liam responding was even weirder than him controlling her arms. Probably in the back, drinking something and doing demon things.

You...don't....know much....a..bout.....demons....do you?

If anyone in Chicago knew what the hell had happened to Dorian, Imariel would be the one.

Walking in was like drinking pure kerosene. She couldn't breathe--not that she truly needed to--and couldn't focus. Luckily, Liam drove her body like it was a porsche. They crossed through the door, Liam clutching her bag full of fruit and his damned teddy bear close to her chest. They were wearing a party outfit that Ava hadn't touched in years--it consisted of a bright red tube top, showing off the stitches across her shoulders and her weirdly colored belly button, a midnight black mini skirt that barely covered anything, and wedges that looked like they belonged in a museum. The purse itself was a bit too large for the outfit, bulky and black, but it had cute rhinestones and both the fruit she'd brought as an offering and the bear were hidden inside, safe from sight.

What can we offer him?

I...brought...fruit. Demons...enchanted by fruit...it was...origin..ally....used...to....summon...sex...demons.....a...tribute...to the...past.

That's all?

I...figured....you....would...bring more.

Liam huffed, stumbling through the club and making his way to the back. The dark atmosphere was struck by the flashing lights, the neon glowing and the smoke filling every corner of the room. Everything was hazy, too saturated and uneven, seeming to shift and grow. People laughed, the demons dancing with their arms held high and their bodies halfway off the floor. Little girls with wings fluttered around, passed between men at the backs of the bar.

This place is...disturbing. What the hell? This is why I hate clubs.

You're...a...wraith.

And?! I hate clubs. The last club I was in-- Liam tore away from his thought, leaving it unfinished in Ava's mind. It thudded about, waiting for an attachment, before it finally dissolved into the mess of words and feelings that existed within her.

Ava didn't want to know his intense, depressing backstory. Everyone had one. All she wanted was to get this done with, to get him out of her body, and to go back to Twitter, where the sloppy drunks only made stupid funny posts and the only people she couldn't stand were blocked with a simple click of a button. There, she could control things easily. Now, she couldn't even control herself. Liam moved every inch of her body, his lifeforce much stronger than hers could ever be. There was confidence in the way he moved, as though he'd done it his entire life. Death? Do...Are...wraiths....alive?

I'm not certain what you're asking.

Of course, Liam could hear her every thought. As though that wasn't creepy enough. Luckily, he seemed more focused on getting through the club without having a thousand and one bodies press up against them. It really was something--a male wraith and an enby zombie in the body of a perceived female in a famous demon club, looking to trade fruit for information about a killer. It wasn't the smartest plan out there, but Ava didn't come up with good plans. She came up with useful ones. Besides, if it really came down to it, she'd just trade a few years off her 'life' working for him to pay for the information. It wasn't like she hadn't done that before.

Okay...gotta...find...the demon...how...do we....get-

Close to him? I'm not certain. He's got to be around here somewhere though. I can just smell deceit and lies.

That's...weird,...Liam.

On they moved. The closer to the back they got the worse the smoke became. It was a flurry of colors, all mixing, mingling together to create something stronger than life. When she was told that Imariel owned a club, she expected a bar with a lot of space for a dance floor and a bunch of stupid people dancing. While part of that was true, it was nothing like most of the bars she'd gone to. It was like magic lived inside the air, bursting from sight with every other fizzing drink. A guy got too close to a girl and she set his hand on fire, walking off with her hips swaying and a grin on her face. Demons were the majority, clearly the target audience, and while she'd seen a few out in the city before, she'd never known just how many there could be.

They reached the bar and leaned up against it, purse sitting on the chair beside them as Liam led the conversation with the bartender.

"Hey, so, would you happen to know where I could find Imariel? A little birdie told me that he's got some information that I need."

The girl winked, setting down a cup and leaning across the bar so that her tits stuck out. The dark red of her uniform looked great against her pale skin--the low-cut bust certainly helping to amplify her look--and Ava had never felt so attracted to a vampire before. "Well, sweetie, I don't think you want to see him. You sure you wouldn't like a drink instead?" Her voice was soft and deep, like the color rhubarb.

Liam reached into Ava's back pocket--ever the gentleman--and pulled out her investigative badge. They'd been handed those when they accepted the case but she'd never considered actually using it before. Liam seemed confident in his approach though, so they held it out, letting the bartender get a good look before putting it back.

"A pretty famous prince died yesterday. Seems like if anyone in this city knows..."

She sighed, standing up straight and picking up an olive from an ice tray behind her. As she plopped it into her mouth, her hand jerked to the left. "He's in the back room. Let me know how it goes, girlie. If you come out with your soul intact, maybe I'll take you out on a date."

Da..te...? Ava's mind swirled. You move...fast....Liam.

She was talking to you, stupid.

Oh.

I'm in your body, remember?

I...always...forget...that...lesbians exist. Ava wanted to pull out her twitter and type up a post immediately. Instead, she'd have to store it for later. 'Lesbians? In this economy? More, at three.' Shitposts like that were her favorite, mostly because the losers who followed her were also shitposters. A community of stupid. That, and politics, and suddenly Twitter was summed up.

Liam grabbed the purse, careful not to bruise any of the fruit while he held it to their chest.

He's right up there, in that room. Are you ready?

Not...really...

In they went.

The room was just as dark as the rest of the place, but somehow the gothic vibes had increased tenfold. Maybe it was the stuffed bats on the wall. Maybe it was the firepit. Maybe it was the disco ball that only showed the color red. Maybe it was just the furniture, which looked like it belonged backstage at a concert in the seventies.

"Hm?"

He was the type of demon that made the classics look bad. Dark shades covered two of his eyes while the other three remained on the top of his head, just looking down in contempt. Loud, impressive horns protruded from his head, glowing in the darkened room. His nails were long, lingering on the table even as he stood, his body reaching an impressive height. By all means, he was attractive.

"Ah. Investigators."

"How did you--"

"I know everything in this city." Imariel's words bounced across the room like pebbles over a pond. Ripples spread throughout the air and throughout Ava's body--was that Liam shivering, or her having goosebumps? Both? He stepped over his desk--literally, throwing one leg over and then crossing with the other--and gave them a grin. "Just as I know that you're here expecting a name and a death weapon, yes?"

Liam stiffened, nodding their head. "We need a name. We're prepared to bargain with you."

"Bargain? Oh? What have you brought me?" A smile grew over his face, and he held out his hand, the polished knuckles gleaming in the light. His skin was a perfect porcelain. "Well? Or is it something a bit larger than a shiny new credit card?" Eyes glinting, he stepped closer, crossing the distance between them in seconds. "Is it you that you've come to trade information for? A daring thing, I must say, but it's such a cliche--"

"No. I...brought you fruit."

"Fruit? My, my, am I your five year old child? What is it, a bunch of cuties?" He chuckled.

I told you!

Just...try...it. Demons...like--

Fine, whatever, but it's not going to work, Ava.

"They're avocados. I heard that de--that you liked those, Imariel." Liam held out the bag, a frown on their face. He seemed uncertain, as though there was something he was forgetting, but Ava didn't have time for hesitation. For once, she was moving fast. Perhaps it was the magic in the air. She felt almost alive. "Take them. They're ripe."

"Avocadoes? Ah, the testicle fruit. Trying to flirt with me, are you?" Imariel took the bag and placed it on his desk without opening it. He breathed in deep. "Mm, they do smell nice and full. And you put a little something special in them, did you not?"

"I did," Ava said, forcing Liam to be silent. It was hard, because the wraith seemed so confused, but Ava didn't want to have to be there longer than possible. Already, he'd been in her body for around a half hour. "And if you give me the information, I'll make you a promise."

"A promise?"

"Anything you want. Whenever you decide to collect is up to you." Liam was there again, stronger, and the words came out more confident than when it was just Ava talking. It was almost nice, hearing herself speak in a way that was almost real. Having words that came out almost as fast as a text would.

Imariel slid his hands over the bag, seeming to dance as he moved around the desk to pick up a stack of papers and rearrange them. Silk stretched from his mouth as he spoke. "It was a godsmetal dagger, if that means anything to you."

"Who--"

"Ah, ah, ah! If you want something better than that, you'll have to give me more than a little bit of fruit and a promise of more." He winked and Liam almost groaned. "Well?"

Liam shifted, obviously uncomfortable by the man's words. "I, uh, know where you can find a wraith that can haunt someone for you."

"A wraith?" Suddenly, there was a brighter interest in his eyes. The red of his horns intensified, the glow casting shadows down his face, deepening every crevice. "Is that so? Well, I guess you---he'll owe me a favor too then, won't he?"

A deep breath in. "I...guess he will." Ava's throat felt tighter. Her chest hurt. What was that feeling? Why was Liam so upset? It was a stupid promise to get information and there he was, almost blowing their cover because he couldn't make himself comfortable? She wanted to just throw him out then and give him to the demon, but hell knows what the demon would want to do with her. Zombies weren't too common in the city.

"Seymore. King, to be specific. Found on the other side of the city. He's the one who's got that pretty little weapon. I will say, it's not something so often found. Why don't you get me that weapon from him on your way back, hmm, pretty girl? Then your favor will be all done. We'll leave the wraith business for later."

Ava forced herself to nod.

By the time they managed to get out of the room, Ava couldn't breathe. The club had somehow gotten fuller--the music louder, the dancing more erratic, and the liquor spilled across the precious stone floor of the club. The smoke cloaked her eyes and she stumbled, forcing herself to the exit. Liam hardly moved at all, no longer talking. It wasn't until they'd gotten outside that she finally heard his voice again.

My teddy bear.

What?

It was in the purse. Liam broke free of her body. "You fucking gave him my teddy bear!"

"You...left...it in...my purse?" Ava shook her head. "It's...just....a teddy...bear. Calm...down. Liam?"

He was already floating away, a fury of words leaving his mouth as the tears rolled down his face. Whatever it was with him, she didn't need to know. They had the information. Now, it was time to figure out why the hell Mr. King had that godsmetal dagger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leo Wilder

Are you going to talk to Imariel, or are you going to keep standing out here like a buffoon?

Oh hush, give him a second to gather himself. He doesn't get much experience around other people, remember?

These people won't help me if you don't shut up. Can't you leave me alone for once?

"Can I help you?" a voice interrupted the ones swimming about in Leo's head and he had to feign a smile, ignoring them as they whispered.

"I was hoping to speak with Imariel, it's rather urgent," Leo forced himself to sound desperate; his words drenched with a pleading that he could only hope wasn't taking it too far.

"Yeah? You and everyone else in this fucking city," the man sighed and rolled his eyes before turning away from Leo as though he could offer nothing in the entire galaxy that would interest him.

What a dick.

I think this is the first time we agree.

"Please, at least hear what I have to say," Leo tried once again, following the man as he dove deeper into the crowd of people and further into the sea of music that had begun to drown Leo before he'd even stepped foot in the club.

"I don't have the time, and I've said the same answer to about a million of you already. Find one of them for what I said 'cuz I'm sick of having to say it," he was incredibly irritated, and Leo knew there wasn't much he was going to be able to find out in this circumstance.

"Please, can we just talk somewhere quiet?" Leo used his powers and pushed the thought into Imariel's head; hoping that the risk of further insanity was worth it. Imariel turned and glared at him.

"Your tricks aren't going to work on me, you fool. I wouldn't even bother if I were you," Imariel crossed his arms over his chest as though his wiry frame could display a menacing amount of muscle mass.

"Please, I need your help," Leo tried once again because he really was as desperate as he sounded.

If you don't get this information, you'll wind up not solving the case and then you'll prove to your father what we've all always known. You're a disappointment, Bear.

Don't say that! You'll hurt his feelings, he'll pretend not to be holding back tears and suddenly we are the bad guys here.

Why can't you be silent for one goddamn minute?

Because we are your cognitive replacement for the brain cells you use every time you tap into your Enlightened side, therefore being a crucial part of your very being. Haven't we discussed this before?

Leo dug his nails into the palm of his hand again and didn't stop until he felt blood dripping down his fingers. Imariel watched him with intrigue written on his face and smirked softly.

"You have voices in your head, dontcha? You little psychotic Enlightened bastard, you," Imariel's smirk turned into a grin and he nodded for Leo to follow him. He may have been irritated earlier, but Leo's very own sickness had caused him enough amusement to last through a 5 minute interrogation, apparently.

As soon as they had entered a more private room, Imariel headed to pour himself a glass of an indeterminable alcohol.

"Since you have such a connection with the Beings that warp the fabric of our world, could you kindly tell them to fuck off for me? They always seem to get in the way of my plans and it really puts a damper-" before Imariel could even finish, Leo had his hand wrapped around his throat and a cross shoved into his face.

Imariel clenched his jaw, thrusting all of his energy into the glare that he threw at Leo. He clawed at Leo's hand as he was forced against the wall, his feet slowly lifting off the ground. He struggled to find air in a room filled with the very smoke he'd emitted.

"Do you have a death wish?"

No. Do you? Because, honestly, I kinda wanna know what it would feel like if we were to rip your throat out you repugnant little hell-spawn.

I don't want to just imagine that, I wanna live it Leo.

I will not kill this man... I need information from him.

Tsk. Word choice, Bear. You will not kill this man... yet. That is what you meant to say, right?

"Give me the information I need and you won't be hurt," Leo looked straight into the silver eyes of Imariel and didn't even stop to blink.

"Put... me... down," Imariel's words were staggered as he fought to remain conscious, "and I... will... tell you... everything,"

Ah, we are so smart. We always know how to get our way.

You didn't do anything. Shut up.

Imariel gently massaged his throat as he sat down on the couch and lit a cigarette. Leo rolled his eyes at the habit and decided to remain standing.

"The weapon was a godsmetal dagger, and it may have been stolen from my own personal armory," Imariel admitted this almost sheepishly; not taking pride in the fact that this made him an accessory to a heinous murder.

"Any clue to the name of the person or maybe their appearance?" Leo questioned him and Imariel simply shook his head and shrugged.

"I only know where they got it from. You can check the security tapes if you think you might find something," Imariel offered this and Leo couldn't help but find it curious how quickly Imariel had been willing to help.

It can't really be this easy. He would never give up this information, regardless of you threatening his life. There has to be something else at play.

I say we take the information he gave us and run. You threatened him, Bear, you need to get out of here before he has you chased by his guards.

I know.

"I'll come back for the tapes, but for now you've acquiesced and I thank you for that. I must be going," Leo turned abruptly and left the room, stopping only when he noticed a body in the middle of the dancefloor.

The face was familiar and the name that it spelled out for him was Melia. An Unseelie fae with a temper. No doubt she'd gotten into a fight with someone. It's a pity; she was smart and seemed to have a keen eye for details.

But she's gotten herself killed, and we can't be blamed for that now, can we?

No. However, we can take blame for the fact that we wish it was us who had done it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Liam Hughes

"Really? Flowers? That's how you're going to make it up to me? God, you're so lame, Liam." Allison tosses her hair over her shoulders as she spoke.

"I'm sorry, but I told you I wasn't cheating on you."

"Yeah right, you always were a sick bastard."

"Please, I promise you I didn't do it."

"You know, if you say you're sorry I might forgive you."

"But I didn't do anything!"

"Sure, and I wasn't the one who smashed your tv and burned that watch your grandfather gave you."

"You what?"

Stop it, don't think about that. Liam pushed the memories deeper into the back of his mind, willing them to fade away.

"Just apologize now and I'll make up with you."

"You burned my grandfathers' watch?"

"Whatever, I never liked that ratty old thing anyway. Last chance, Liam. Tick tock."

"Fine, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I cheated on you."

Don't apologize you fucking idiot! You didn't even do the thing she accused you of.

"That's my boy. Now, why don't you come on in so you can see how much I missed you."

Liam shuddered. Why was he so stupid? He grabbed Percy's torso in his pocket and squeezed. Allison wasn't there anymore. There was no more threat. Except of course there was. There always was. Liam knew a guy, who knew a guy, who knew a Fallen, who knew a Dragon, who knew a Fae, who knew a Demon, who knew another Demon, who could get him information about the prince's murderer. Unfortunately, it was a Demon. Who liked to hang out in nightclubs. Perfect. The last time Liam had been in a nightclub had been with Allison. No, don't think about her. You need to focus.

Liam checked the address on his phone and continued down the sidewalk until he was standing at the door of the supposedly infamous club. Something about the big black door and neon sign hanging above it seemed familiar. Very familiar. Whatever, it didn't matter. Liam steeled himself and passed through the door silently. Something about the feeling of passing through crowds of people made him uncomfortable. Like he could float away any second at the mere though of how substantial their bodies were. Then again, it was even worse when he was alive. He hated big crowds, Allison knew that. And yet she still dragged him off to that stupid party. She, of course, had a great night, dancing away with a hundred other men while Liam sat at the bar, hoping against hope he could pull off his fake ID. He had spent the rest of the night drunk and woke up with a severe hangover. Of course, that was the same night Alice accused him of cheating on her and stole his car. But there was no time to think about that now.

He waded through the crowd, pausing to make sure he was still invisible. He spotted a woman with dark brown hair and slightly pale skin sitting on a bench at the edge of the crowd. She seemed familiar. Then it hit him. Liam had seen her at the crime scene. She was one of the investigators. A zombie? Yes, she was the zombie. He headed over to her, making himself visible halfway to the bench so he wouldn't scare her.

"Hi," he said, sitting down next to her. "My name's Liam. What's yours?"

"Avacado," she said slowly. Her voice was deeper than that of a normal woman, but then again, she wasn't exactly normal. "You're... the ghost."

"Yep," Liam said brightly. "That's me." Why was he acting like this? He wasn't ever this happy around other people. Except Foster. "You okay?" he asked. She shook her head slowly.

"Everyone... here... has a soul... but me."

"Well at least you're substantial," Liam said. "I tried possessing someone once. It didn't exactly work out. She got hit by a bus." Avocado nodded and slowly pulled her green purse closer towards her. "What's in the bag?" he asked.

"No thing," she said, entirely unconvincingly. Liam shook his head.

"Come on," he said. "We're all friends here." Reluctantly, she opened the purse for him to see. It was full to the brim with avocados. "Why all the avocados?" he asked warily.

"Because... I... like them."

"Fair enough. Hey, what are you doing here anyway if you're so uncomfortable?"

"I'm meeting... someone," she stated.

"Me too," Liam said. "A Demon called Imariel?"

"Yes."

"Wow, that's such a coincidence. Maybe we could talk to him together."

"What... you... have to bargain... with?" she asked.

"I know a few Wraiths. They're pretty old, and they're practically dead anyway. One of them even told me I'd be doing them a favor."

"But... you're a Wraith. You... seem... young. What if... he eats you... instead?"

"Oh, right. Well, I didn't really think about that."

"You... possessed someone... before?"

"Yeah, I did."

"You posses... me."

"No way!" Liam nearly shouted. "I told you what happened last time. Do you want to get hit by a bus?"

"No buses... here. Go ahead. I have a body... you... have a soul. It's perfect."

"Are you sure? I mean, it's not exactly comfortable for both parties and I've never possessed someone without a soul before. No offense."

"None... taken. It's... best chance we... have. He'll... eat you... and we shouldn't... let him know I'm... zombie."

"I guess you're right," Liam admitted somewhat reluctantly. "Just hold on a second, you're going to feel really weird." Liam concentrated, searching for her life force. After a minute, he saw it shimmering faintly around her and grabbed at it. The force pulled him into her body, making him blink slowly. He waved her, no his, or was it hers? Anyway, he waved the right arm around a little. It felt so weird to be back in a body again. Like his essence had been trapped and stuffed into a big tube of meat. Which was, essentially, what happened. He could hear Ava's thoughts in the back of his mind.

What's that on... ground?

Liam looked down slowly and focused in on Sir Perceval lying on the floor. He quickly snatched him up and stuffed him in Ava's purse.

"Nothing," he said. His voice was so strange now. It sounded like hers. "Do you know where we can find this guy?"

The bar

Liam headed for the bar, feeling uneasier by the second. It was probably the feeling of being trapped in a body again. It took some getting used to. But it was nice, feeling grounded again without Percy.

You have a teddy... bear? You're a... bit old don't... you think?

"Shut up," he hissed. "He's only here to keep me grounded. Now, what does he look like?"

Tall... black hair... drinking the martini.

Liam headed over and sat next to the tall, black haired man drinking the martini. The Demon's blue eyes stared at him intently.

"You the lady named Avocado?" he asked. His voice was pleasant enough, but had a harsh undertone.

"It's Avacado, not Avocado."

"Whatever. Weird name by the way. Anyways, what do you want?"

"I want the name of an Other that might have come into contact with a powerful weapon."

"How powerful?"

"Powerful enough to kill a Dragon."

"Hmm, not a lot of weapons that can do that. I might have a name. But you have to make it worth my while."

"I know where a nest of Wraiths is. There are about thirty, ripe for the picking."

Imariel scoffed. "I know the one you're talking about. They're practically dead already. No, I want something else. Something better."

Give him the avocados.

Are you stupid? Why the hell would he want avocados?

Everyone loves avocados.

Liam sighed. "I have a purse of avocados," he said. The Demon leaned foreword.

"Avocados?" he asked. "I love avocados. How many?"

"All of them," Liam said, surprised.

"Deal," said the Demon. "Give me the bag." Liam handed it over slowly. "All Demons love avocados. Didn't you know that? Never mind. The guy's name is Seymour King and he just recently came into contact with a Godsmetal dagger."

"Thanks," said Liam.

"Whatever, now leave before I eat your soul."

I told you, all Demons love avocados.

Liam walked away from the bar and out of the club. As he did, he heard the sound of a scuffle behind him. A brown haired girl was jumping up and down gleefully while a white haired one lay on the floor next to Imariel's stool.

"What happened?" Liam asked.

"I traded her soul for info," said the brown haired girl. "Poor Mal. Then again, I always thought she was annoying."

Let's go before people flood the place.

Liam silently agreed with Ava as he headed outside, thankful for the fresh air. He exited Ava's body quickly and gasped at the suddenly strange sensation that he was lighter than air. Honestly, he probably was. He saw Ava shiver.

"Weird feeling," she said.

"I know, right? It's so weird. I tried to warn you." He grabbed in his coat pocket to feel Percy's plush fur but couldn't find it. He searched his other coat pocket, finally turning it inside out in the vain hope Percy was inside. He wasn't.

"He's not here," Liam said. "He's not here!"

"Who?" asked Ava.

"Percy. He's not here!"

"Oh... you probably left it... in purse."

Liam shook Ava violently. "Why didn't you say anything?" he screamed.

"I forgot."

"How the hell could you forget?"

"It's just a toy... calm down."

Calm down

"Calm down," Allison scoffed. "It's just a toy."

"No," Liam said. "I can't find him. What did you do to him?"

"I threw him away. Is it really that big of a deal?"

"Why the fuck did you do that? You know how much Percy meant to me! My mother made him for me!"

"That's so messed up. You still carry around a toy your mommy made for you? Wow, Liam. You've really hit a new low."

Shut up, calm down, just breath.

"This is a present for you, Liam," his mother said from her hospital bed. "I'm sorry I missed your birthday."

"It's okay Momma," ten year old Liam said. "I don't mind." She smiled gratefully, and doubled over in a fit of coughing.

"His name is Sir Perceval, and he'll be here to protect you when I can't, okay?"

"Okay," Liam said with tears in his eyes.

No, stop thinking about it. It'll only make things worse. But it was too late. Liam grabbed the nearest dumpster and hurled it with all his might at the nearest wall. He roared as he flickered in and out of existence dangerously. Ava was scurrying away as fast as she could and Liam hurled a garbage can at her. In his anger, he missed and it sailed high over her head. Liam didn't have the strength to remain visible anymore and kicked an impressive hole in the wall of the nightclub. He knew why it was familiar now. It was the same one Alice had taken him to. Alice, Percy, his mother. It was too much, it was all too much. Liam slumped against the side of the alleyway and sobbed, burying his face in his hands. Percy had been everything to him. His last reminder of Allison, of life, of warm sunny days and picnic blankets and cotton candy. Of his mother. Of everything good and happy in his now nonexistent life. He cried until he could cry no more and instead resorted to curling up into a little ball. The human and Others leaving the bar took no notice of him. No one ever did. Not unless he screamed and yelled and threw things. Even when he was alive no one really noticed him. Oh sure, they thought he was handsome but they never really noticed him. Not for who he really was. Except his mother. She always noticed Liam. But she was dead now. Just like him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Imogen Swan

Dear Miss Swan,

Where has your humanity gone?

Yours truly, The Mirror

Gene sits at the window seat of a Chicago city bus, staring out at the empty night ahead of them but seeing mostly her own reflection in the glass, illuminated by the pale fluorescents lit up at the roof of the vehicle. Her cheeks are sharper in the glass, the hollows of her eyes deeper. A dark hair has fallen out of her bun. It annoys her every time it tickles her eyebrow. She swipes it back behind her ear and huffs. The reflection annoys her, too. A pit swells inside and nausea begins to tickle like the hair. I want the lights off, damn it.

But, this time, she's decided not to play God, so she simply turns the other cheek, surveys the much less interesting interior. The other members of the investigative team are there, too, each faction just as silent as the last, save for the occasional whisper between two of the same. Gene doesn't the gift of such company; Liam, the other wraith, chose to sit at the back of the bus, and now she's sat next to some other Other irrelevant to their cause, simply along for the ride. She watches him through her peripheral, and it's hard not to, what with the constant shaking of his leg. Intermittently, he whips out his wallet and takes his finger to it, counting out the bills inside like the dollar amount might change the next time he looks. It's incessant and she wonders what sort of crime he's committed to be so nervous about all the investigators around him and she even considers tapping him on the shoulder and asking but before she can the bus yanks itself to a stop and that's that.

Before the doors've even opened, the man beside her is up and at 'em, shooting down the aisle and bumping a hand impatiently against the exit until he's able to squeeze through and into the street. Gene turns to the window again, watching his route, and he dashes into a bland brick building, identified only by letters in neon pink spelling out "Imariel's" in curled font. A man checks him at the door. Then he's in and Gene sees of him no more.

Definitely some illegal shit going on.

And there's no better time than now to get a slice of all that. Gene stands, smoothes her skirt out, and steps in front of someone else attempting to get out of their seat. On the way to the front, she catches sight of Brandy and her foot in the aisle. Without looking, Gene jams the heel of her shoe against Brandy's toes, and then she flinches back, a hand to her mouth. "Oh, I am so sorry about that, Miss Alva! I didn't see your foot there! Are you okay?"

Brandy must say something but it goes in one ear and out the other as Gene struts away and delicately hops off the bus into the downtown chill of Chicago's only-somewhat polluted air.

She takes the lead and feels the pink glow on her face as she nears the entrance. Her shoulders are broad, strong, chin high, and when she comes to the man at the door, she displays a little badge of authorization that they'd been given before entering the crime scene earlier that night. "We need to speak to some witnesses we believe might be inside this club."

The man spits to the side. "We aren't too fond of cops rolling up in here."

Gene reddens, but then,

"Relax," a sly voice says, and there Brandy is, arms crossed to mimic the man before them. Gene narrows her eyes at the woman. "This team is with me. We won't be here but a few minutes. Won't even notice we're here." Brandy then winks at the man and begins to walk into the building without consent, and Gene follows, nose held sharply in the air for him to see. Once they're out of his sight and in the threshold, a deep pressure settles on her foot and she yelps out.

"Sorry," Brandy says, tongue laced in sweet venom, "I didn't see your foot there." Then she waltzes away and disappears into a nearby crowd, already blending with the scene, comfortable with her surroundings, at a home away from home.

I'll rip her fucking foot off next time. Then we'll see how well she can retaliate.

If anything, the woman's probably seducing her way to Imariel, but Gene has a much more to-the-point way of getting things done, and she'd rather get there before Brandy, so she walks until she's about midway deep into the nightclub, pauses at a row of occupied tables, all filled with Others of many shapes and sizes, and takes a deep, practiced breath. Then, loud:

"I'm looking for Imariel."

Barely anyone gives her the time of day, maybe a subtle lift and fall of the eyes at the most to feign ignorance, but a few look up from their game of poker, and one of the men stands, cocks an eyebrow, approaches her. She stands her ground and looks him in the eyes, flaring eyes; then she looks him in the nostrils, flaring nostrils because he's so much taller. His lips part in a curious, hungry smile, and then he shimmies up close to her, the yellow shine on his teeth close and real and rancid.

"I could swallow you whole, little wraith," he says, "y'know that, right?" His skin radiates the heat of Hell and Gene moves to take a step back but his aura encompasses her, and he's a slithery sort of man. She wants to grab the razor she's keeping in her flat but that's no way to get what you want, now, is it?

A voice booms from beyond the bar counter at the back of the nightclub, and a glass slams itself against the metallic shine. "Astaroth! Leave her alone, I say. No consumption of other Others in my nightclub. Take it outside if you must."

Astaroth grunts and returns to his game of poker, and with her eyes set on who she's guessing is Imariel at the counter, smoothes herself out once more and approaches the man she's been looking for.

He's a strange-looking man, that's for sure. Up close, he looks up at her, and his dark eyes are circled in jaundice; his beard is long and brown despite the peppering of grey in his hair, which is pulled back in a ponytail that flows down in waves across his shoulders. His brows are thick and messy, and lines exist on his freckled face, glistening scars crossing over his forehead. His attire is simple: black pants, black shirt, black blazer. He smokes a cigarette and it burns orange at the tip as he judges her appearance.

She shifts uncomfortably under his gaze and lifts her chin. Straight to the point, as always. "Imariel. I need information."

He laughs around his cigarette, but it's mixed with a scoff. "Don't they all, now?"

Gene remains poised. "I need information on Dorian. That prince with the last name nobody can pronounce. Anything about his death, his enemies, the murder weapon, perhaps? I hear you're our man to get this from."

Again, he laughs, but this time a puff of smoke comes with it and blasts her in the face. She squeezes her eyes and bats the smoke away, then coughs the bitterness out. When she opens them again, her eyes are fire, but he cares not. "You'll need to work harder than that, honey," he says with his scratchy voice. "Everything has a price here. You're no exception to my laws."

She parts her mouth to speak but comes up with nothing. What can she offer this jaundiced man she's never met before? Cogs roll and music thumps, and beneath her dress into her shorts her hand goes, and up comes the pipe she'd stolen from Dorian's house prior to this excursion. "I notice you like to smoke." She sticks out the arm holding the pipe in offering.

He simply stares at it and takes another draw on his tobacco. She clicks her nails against the surface of the gift, and then he nudges her hand away. His brows furrow. "Nothing that thing'll do for me that the little paper sticks won't. A demon needs a hard fix and something fancy and polished just doesn't do it for me. A demon always needs a fix. And I see you can't provide that for me. It's best you move along now unless you want a drink."

No, no; she needs to save herself, a quick resurgence of character and ambition to keep his attention, his interest, his yet-to-exist allegiance. Her hands fall upon the counter and stick to the residue left there. "You need a fix, huh? Hungry, then?"

"Why?" Imariel asks. "Are you offering yourself, little wraith? Because I'm always in the mood to eat little spritely ones like you whole."

Gene blinks, takes a step back, and smiles, eyes squeezed shut. "Um, no." But it clicks and it clicks and it clicks. Her lashes fly open. "However... five minutes, meet me outside in the back alley behind your nightclub. I'll bring you something you won't be disappointed by."

He scans her once more, grunts like Astaroth, and nods. "I'd better not be disappointed. I've got things to look after in here. You leave a cluster of demonfucks alone for two minutes and they start to eat the dance floor."

Miss Swan nods without humor, and then her back is turned, long legs strutting rapidly through the club in search of her next target. Her vision is sidelined by strobe lights and the vibrations underfoot, and this is an experience she won't take lightly; she'll memorize these feelings so that later, if ever she must return, she knows exactly how to react, what to avoid, at which area to pinch her nose.

Most importantly, she will remember where she found Liam Hughes, talking aggressively to probably-a-vampire or probably-a-werewolf or probably something equally supernatural and irrelevant. Miss Swan marches up to him, glares at the gothic woman before them, and takes hold of his arm as sweetly as she possibly can. In his ear, but loud enough for the woman to hear, she says, "Come now, Liam. I think I've found us a lead and I need your help following it. Now, please."

The other woman snickers and walks away, and Liam turns to her, brows downturned in anguish. "I was getting a lead of my own, Gene."

She digs her nails into his skin. No other wraith will disrespect her. "That's Miss Swan, to you. And your lead is null and void - I already found Imariel and he wants us outside now. If we waste any more time, the deal is done. D'you hear me?"

Liam's still bitter, but he nods, and tugging him to the back of the nightclub is met with no resistance. She almost feels bad, leading him along like this, but he disrespected her, and therefore she can't worry about it too much.

But when she passes the dancefloor, she sees herself, charred by black shadow, and that's when she knows she should. The voice ricochets for her ears alone: "Are you sure you want to do this, my origin? He's but a boy, sooner dead than born from the womb of his mother."

"His mother has already grieved him," Miss Swan says, quietly, only for herself; the music is too loud for Liam to hear her anyhow.

"Yes, but think of the benefits he may bring us in our pursuits beyond this. Consider, at least."

And Miss Swan decides to hear no more of it, because her mind is set, but she can't help but feel the little tickles of doubt brushing her eyebrow from its tight little bun. Her grip loosens, her resolve falters. And then sitting on a stool at the bar, she sees her shadow again.

"What are you doing, changing your mind like this, my origin? Is this not the correct path?"

"You just told me to reconsider," Gene growls under her breath.

"What?" Liam questions, but she bats him away.

"You have no leads, my origin. This is the only one you may ever get. The others are counting on us, like they always do, as it always falls to us to bring things to their end. Take him outside and get what they all need. They all need you, my origin."

They all need me. Alright, okay. They do.

The pair move beyond the counter and through the back exit, and there they find Imariel leaned up against the brick of the building behind his club. When he sees them and the door shuts completely, he lifts from the wall, teeth prickling into a smile. Gene tightens her hold on Liam.

"I have my offering, Imariel. I believe Liam can give you what you want."

There is but a slight shake in her voice, but it goes unnoticed.

"Let him give me what I want, then," Imariel says.

Miss Swan releases Liam and then takes her hand and shoves him forward by the back; she feels the sticky sweat of being inside against his shirt, and knows this debris will absorb into her forever.

Imariel steps forward to corner Liam, and yet the boy is still lost. He turns to Miss Swan, lips parted in confusion. "I don't know what-"

But then Imariel's hands are on either side of Liam's face, and with a quick twist, a crack sounds and the boy falls limp to the alley beneath them. The mechanics of this are simple, of course; he's already dead, the soul still there, simply unconscious. They could, theoretically, still go back on this unspoken agreement.

Imariel slings a leg on either side of Liam's body and crouches, grunting in the elderly way he might be expected to, with his appearance. "I like to subdue them first," he says without looking up, "so they don't draw attention."

Miss Swan says nothing, and Imariel feasts, as expected. She opts not to look for the simple reason that it's probably unChristian, but then Imariel looks up at her and whistles short and briefly to grab her attention. His eyes are satiated and softer, but the blood of him digging his teeth into the lips of his meal still dribbles from his chin. He coughs, nods. "There's a being who's recently come into possession of a shiny new Godsmetal dagger. Stay long enough to watch me finish my meal, and I'll give you his name."

And so it was not in vain. She obeys his wish, and as he bites down a second time, she does not look away, because while it may be unChristian to watch, it is what will please this overgrown child of Hell.

The soul would have just gone to waste otherwise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ozias Alva

Trust is something that has to be taught. People always say you have to learn how to trust, but that isn't the case. In order to trust, you have to see how. You have to watch the actions of others and how they behave around you in ways that can be considered "trustworthy". We trust our family to keep us safe. We trust our friends to keep our secrets. But we don't trust strangers, because we have not learned that they possess the qualities that we need in order to trust them. Once we do, maybe then it's a different story. Even then, though— it's easy for us to get misled.

I had been searching the club for an hour. I'd seen at least three people get kicked out and two of those started a brawl outside. None of that was what interested me, though. What interested me was the name I had seen in my mom's text messages— an informant hidden somewhere in the mass of people and music and booze that knew something valuable about Dorian's killer. More than that, what interested me was that no matter who I talked to, nobody had ever heard of him. Guests gave me a confused but sad look and shook their heads, and the staff just looked at me like I was speaking in another language.

Even the bartender, who I had already seen memorize the orders of at least twelve different people and give flawless refills to, had no idea who Imariel was. Which sounded like bullshit because it had to be. I sulked away into the crowd for the third time that night, keeping my head low just in case Adam or someone might recognize me and tell me to go home again. My feet ached, but the barstools were all occupied no matter how frequently I checked back to see if there was anywhere I could sit and scope out the place.

Something latched onto my shoulder as I passed, yanking me backward as I tried to keep the ground from sliding out beneath me. A flash of knuckles and a plaid shirt hit me hard as I was pulled between barstools. The more I struggled, the tighter the grip became as a second hand snaked around to latch itself to my other side. I found myself face to face with a dusty blonde man in a cowboy hat sitting on the barstool in front of me. His muscles looked like he could crush my skull in the crook of his arm and the chewing gum between his bright teeth gave off a cinnamon scent that covered him like a blanket. "You've got to be some kind of stupid to come in here asking for me, kid," he drawled, letting his grip relax ever so slightly as he flashed me a grin.

This is Imariel? My mental image of a shifty-eyed, smirking demon with eyes that glowed an unearthly yellow was slaughtered by the tanned, blue-eyed, chiseled adonis that stood in front of me like he'd just gotten off the set of a western murder mystery. I could feel my mouth gaping like a fish as I tried to find any combination of words that made sense. "The prince is dead."

Imariel looked me up and down, a smile twitching across his lips as he released his hold on me at last. "By the looks of it, you should be too." I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the ache in my throat from the lingering bruises my encounter with Prince Dorian had left.

The music switched tempo around us, transforming into an erratic beat that pulsed with every burst of light that came from overhead. I wasn't able to stop myself from tilting my chin upwards and trying to stand up taller, like I could somehow trick him into thinking I was in any way a professional. "I was told you had information," I called over the music. Something in his face changed at the words. There was something harder in his eyes, muscles tensing up as his jaw set firmly. Imariel looked back behind the bar, catching the bartender's gaze long enough to bring over a scrap of paper and slide it across the counter. Without answering me, he picked up his cup and downed the last of a ruby-red drink, signing his name on the page with his free hand.

After an eternity of waiting, Imariel turned back to me. "Why don't you come with me to the back?" he offered. Oh. A shudder ran through my body, cheeks draining of color as I processed the words. All I could think about was my mom whispering those words into some stranger's ear, luring him to the back of the bar where she could pocket his soul away for later. I can't do that. I must have been quiet for too long, caught under his waiting gaze like a deer in headlights. Arching an eyebrow, he tilted his head in surprise. "No?" Disappointment laced his voice as he hopped off of the barstool, standing in the open floor and leaving me to stammer over a million half-formed excuses. "Alright." Imariel brushed the crumbs off his shirt with a shrug, turning away from me as he stepped off into the crowd.

Something in my heart lurched, pulling my feet into action as I started after him. "Wait!" Imariel paused just long enough to cast a surprised glance in my direction. You can handle this, Oz. Through some act of god, the thought was enough to wiggle me out from between the barstools. "I'm coming," I told him, and a smile crossed the cowboy's lips as he tilted up the brim of his hat.

"That's what I thought." He held his arm out, draping it over my shoulders as I stepped up beside him. His skin was warm, and beneath his broad body I was almost hidden from the bobbing sea of faces that my mom was still somewhere inside of. Sucking in a lungful of air reminded me of just how closely packed together everyone was, like sardines still alive in their cans—wriggling and squirming to pulsing lights as if we could somehow escape the fact that someday we were all going to be eaten alive.

These clothes are going to smell like cinnamon for days. Imariel was all but piloting a ship through a storm, pulling the two of us across the floor with me firmly underneath his arm. He steered us towards an unmarked door close to the back where the crowd was thinner and the lights didn't touch. In the dark, I could make out the vague silhouette of two people making out in the corner and another pair not far from them. I could feel my heart getting heavier in my chest until it was sinking into the pit of my stomach. If he wants sex, just go. Just leave, Oz. It's not worth it. He's like— what? Twenty five? The door swung open on its hinges, pulling the two of us through it as I stumbled to keep up with Imariel's long strides. Thirty? How old does he look? Christ, I don't know.

The hallway was dark, muffling the music behind concrete slabs of rock that I could only see when the lights from the other room tried to reach us. Soon, the only sounds I could hear were our footsteps against the tile floor and the sound of my own unsteady breathing as we approached whatever was on the other side. Slowly, Imariel slid his arm off of me and let it hang by his side. "This is our private lounge," he explained, feet slowing to a halt as he reached out to stop me beside him.

My eyes strained through the darkness, trying to make out any sort of shape that could support his claim. As if on cue, a switch tripped and dull light flooded my senses as the space before me expanded. Not a hallway, I realized, mouth parting ever so slightly as I took in the room. Definitely not a hallway. Circular booths were arranged strategically around the room, offering equal parts privacy and luxury. A bar stretched across the far wall of the room, stocked with dozens of bottles I had no names for and something that looked suspiciously like blood but wasn't any of my business.

"Sometimes dragons prefer somewhere a little more discreet to meet." My eyes turned back to Imariel, watching him pull a pack of gum out of his pocket and unwrap a cherry-red stick that burned with cinnamon even from where I stood. "Or businesses need a place to ah—" Imariel paused, stuck between grinning and taking the gum between his teeth. "Chat." I decided before he could even finish chewing that whatever "chatting" was I wanted no part of it. "But for now, it's just us."

Imariel started towards the closest booth, leaving me to trail behind and take in everything there was. I won't lie and say I wasn't even a little impressed. The place had a chandelier, after all— just hanging from the ceiling and projecting minuscule shards of light across the room from ten thousand different crystals. The only other place I'd ever seen a chandelier was in the apartment below ours, where an old woman lived with three identical goldfish but never remembered having more than one, and frequently brought us undercooked banana bread.

"So," he started quietly, settling into the booth and making himself comfortable."I take it you're looking for suspects." I managed a nod, sliding in across from him carefully to avoid hitting my hip against the table's edge. "You came to the right place. I know everything there is to know about everyone who's worth a damn." A grin flickered over his expression, tongue darting between teeth as he chased the cinnamon gum around his mouth. "I even know you," Imariel confessed. "You're Brandy's boy." Shock and fear surged through me as my eyes widened, lips parting as I scrambled to find any sort of explanation for why I was here in the first place. "Ozias, is it?"

"O-Oz," was my stammered reply.

If he had any intention of letting mom know I was here, he didn't show it. All he did was nod, working over my answer in his head before responding. "She gave you a proper demon name." My fear shrank away and became a flutter of pride in my chest, and something in my face must have given it away because Imariel grinned even wider than before."You like that, huh?" he teased, resting his forearms across the table as he leaned across it. "You want to be a demon, kid?" I opened my mouth to respond, to give him the resounding yes that had followed me throughout childhood, but there wasn't room for my voice beside his. "You want to prove you're more than a mistake from some behind-the-dumpster screw that your mom decided to keep?" My stomach fluttered with nerves in a way that seemed to bite at my skin, picking me apart beneath his gaze. Like a puppet on a broken string, my head bobbed up and down.

Imariel sat back then, folding his arms across his chest in satisfaction as he thought. I could hear his foot drumming beneath the table to its own beat, only stopping when he finally spoke again. "Tell you what," he decided, "Let me make you a drink. If you can empty the glass, I'll answer any question you have."

Hesitation slowed my heartbeat to a crawl as I asked, "What's in it?" but Imariel just shrugged.

"Don't worry about that." Mom always says never take drinks from anyone. But there wasn't any time to tell him no. With one hand on the table, he pushed himself back up and stretched. "All you have to do is drink it."

I'm going to die. My head peered out of the booth as I watched him walk behind the bar, straining to see anything that might present itself as a red flag, but there was nothing up there that I recognized. I'm going to be drugged and killed by a hot, demonic cowboy. With his back to me, I could watch splashes of different bottles pour into the cup he had in front of him. Within a matter of seconds, he was back in front of me with a glass full of pale red liquid in his hands.

Slowly, I took it from him as he settled back into the booth. Imariel's eyes watched me expectantly as I held the cup in my hands. The contents of the cup were thin, too thin to be blood even diluted so at least that was out of the question. Gingerly, I sniffed the rim and got a strong taste of fruit punch and the burn of alcohol. Mom is going to kill me. There was something more in it, I could tell. It made my veins buzz in expectation, but not in a way that was at all pleasant. It was wave upon wave of excited nausea that only grew when I pressed the cold cup to my lips. Don't taste it, just drink.

Holding my breath, I let the liquid pour down my throat and coat my tongue. Even without tasting, I could feel it burning as it slid down my esophagus and hit my stomach, but I refused to let myself stop swallowing until I could see Imariel through the bottom of the glass.

For a moment after I set down the drink, I felt nothing. Then something surged through me, like a phantom hand reaching inside my chest and inverting my ribcage until I could taste blood in my throat. Pain forced a gasp from my mouth as I doubled over, seized by a fit of coughing that was only interrupted by the sound of Imariel's laughter from across the table. The bruises across my neck felt like fire as if the prince's hands were still wrapped around it and squeezing even harder than before. Tears stung my eyes as I wheezed out a desperate, "What is that?"

Imariel reached across the table, slamming the palm of his hand into my back until the coughing stopped. I sucked in air so fast my head spun as he tried to stop the laughter that shook his chest. "Relax, you'll be fine!" His words weren't convincing. The world felt too bright like someone had turned the saturation up until everything around me was distorted. What did I drink? "I haven't laughed that hard in ages." Imariel wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, chuckling as he grabbed a napkin off the table and left me in the search for a pen.

My head hit the table faster than I anticipated. The cold polished wood felt good against my burning skin as I tried to stop the shivering, nauseating pain that swarmed my body. I need my mom. I want my mom. "I know a guy who just purchased a godsmetal dagger." Imariel was talking again but his voice was warped as if he was talking to me through a tunnel. Slowly, the napkin slid in front of me. "This is where you'll find him." He said something else, I could see his lips moving but my ears refused to cooperate.

I don't remember grabbing the napkin, or how I managed to stand up and leave the lounge and make it through the sea of people to the real exit. What did little Oz learn from this lesson? Never take drinks from strangers. Especially demons. Even hot demons. Even if they have information you need.