He asked me to wait outside, which I took to mean stand right by the bathroom with the door a centimeter open just in case the shower water burned him. I mean, he was half-demon, or something. I still wasn't quite sure how this all worked, but that didn't stop me from assuming my head off. I was relieved he didn't make any weird noises that echoed around the room, clueing me into every little thing he was doing there. I heard the occasional coughing fit and then a disgusting splat on the floor, hoping endlessly that whatever came up would wash away with the water.

The shower stopped after about 20 minutes and I was snapped awake by the sound of the curtain practically being thrown open. I had a feeling it was about to come off the hangers. There was some scuffling around, followed by a soft, "Holy shit, there are towels here." I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing.

Once I was sure he'd covered himself properly, a horrible, stupid idea crossed my mind, and I couldn't get it out.

The door was still open, just a crack.

So I looked.

No, "looked" is an overstatement. I caught glimpses as he paced around the floor, not sure what to do with himself now. By several pauses held in the same place, I could tell he was looking at himself in the mirror. Multiple times. I winced a little before realizing that people actually did that. Just...looked at themselves, and didn't feel the slightest bit uncomfortable. For me, I had to focus very hard on something I was in control of; my hair, my nails, how this shirt went with that outfit. It had become second nature. But Jack was probably looking at himself just to look. Maybe to see what it was like not to be covered in dirt and blood all the time. Maybe he loved himself a little too much. Maybe he'd forgotten his own face. The thought of it made my heart ache. I'm kind of a bitch, yeah, but I'll be damned if I don't end up feeling bad for every new person I meet. There's always something there. Even if it's all in my head.

I eventually remembered what I was supposed to be doing (partaking in purely scientific research, of course) and focused again. This time he was sitting on the edge of the tub, towel around his waist, grumbling to himself like always. I caught a few words, such as "bullshit" and "clean" and "wait," but I was mainly just looking at his figure. Not in any gross way, excuse you, I was curious. And I can safely say that all of the breaking into people's houses and mauling them to death certainly paid off; he had muscle. He was still kind of skinny, and I knew once he put that hoodie back on it would all disappear, but...

He stood up and I almost fell away from the door with a jolt of surprise. After a terrifying moment of silence, he called, "Are you still there?"

I collected myself and leaned back against the wall, trying to clear out my voice. I hadn't talked in a while, and I knew something was bound to go south if I just started again without any preparation. "U-um. Yeah. Waiting for you, dumbass. You know you could've just come out when you were ready..."

"I am ready. Can you pass me my clothes?"

He was referring to the damp pile on the floor next to me, his hoodie and pants which I'd washed but not dried. Apparently, they would "do that on their own" and we'd be wasting time if he had to wait in my house, practically naked, for them to be ready. I furrowed my eyebrows.

"Yeah, about that...you sure you don't want me to run these through the dryer? Like, not even a couple minutes?"

"I'm sure. Can you pass them?"

"Fine."

He opened the door about halfway, hiding most of his body behind it and reaching out to take the mildew garden himself. I handed him the items one by one, but startled myself by looking up and realizing he still had all those stitches in his arm—really, everywhere. There was still dry blood practically glued to his skin that I had struggled to peel off before, remnants of the black smoke that ended up manifesting themselves as more tar, the sharp, jagged cuts in his skin that had been so hurriedly closed up...

Cuts he made himself.

"Uh, are you good?"

I snapped back to reality and nodded hastily. "Yeah, yeah, I-I just remembered that you...nevermind." I tossed his poor rag of a shirt into the bathroom and shut the door the instant he retracted his arm. "Now hurry up so I can go back to living the happy, normal, stressed-filled med student experience."

He definitely took his sweet time in there, almost as if trying to spite me. I didn't let my impatience get the better of me, regardless of how many times I was tempted to snap at him from outside. Finally, he came out, fully dressed and dripping from his sleeves, nose, hair, even ears. I raised an eyebrow, impressed.

"All that time testing my patience, and they still haven't dried by themselves?"

"Don't," he grumbled, taking one step onto the hardwood floor and looking regretful. "Better staying like this than...well, you know."

"No, actually, I don't know. Explain your hidden genius."

"Look, I'm really pushing it with all this business at your house. It'd be a nice little getaway from real life, I'm sure, but if my boss starts looking around or god forbid sees me here then we're both fucked."

"Aren't you the one who was begging me to let you stay here another day?"

"Yeah, and that was delusional. Just a nice thought, my head's totally clear now, I'd better get going."

I usually would've loved hearing something like that from him. But right now, I couldn't help but mutter, "Oh," with a thin trace of disappointment. For once, he wasn't being so much of an inconvenience, aside from all the mess; he'd even offered to help clean the place. Maybe that was "delusional" of him, too.

"Yeah, yeah. Save your whoop of joy, just tell me which door I should leave through," he said, wiping a drop of tar off his face and wringing out a small portion of his sleeve. "Jesus. If I'd known he was going to do this to me, maybe I would've just stayed in the realm yesterday."

My curiosity had been reignited. I furrowed my eyebrows.

"Hold on, I thought you were used to all that. Didn't you say—"

"Yeah, I am, but this is different. Something's changing, it's like..." he clenched his teeth as if to keep himself from saying the demon's name. "...he's using more energy, trying to be harder on me, making me even more dangerous than before. You know, on second thought, it's probably because of you."

I would have faked offense at that if it hadn't actually offended me. "Wh—I haven't done anything to you or your 'boss,' how can this—?!"

"Because I let you go! I got soft, I didn't want to fight anymore than I had to. And now he's pissed at me because you're still alive." He took a breath and rubbed his forehead. "Look. I'm worried, okay? You shouldn't be caught up in all this in the first place. At least you'll be going away for a couple days soon."

My eyes grew wide with outrage. "What did you...how do you know that?"

"I took your phone for a few minutes this morning, remember? Don't get all worked up, I only saw a text from your mom. Something about a family reunion over the break, right?"

I had to take a second and convince myself that punching him in the stomach right now was not worth it. My eyebrows knit, and the space between my chest and throat was on fire. "I need to start locking all my doors and windows while you're around, don't I?"

"Don't look at me like that, I didn't do anything!"

"You will."

"No, I won't! I swear! Here—" He held out his pinkie with a completely straight face. No shame whatsoever. "I promise I won't follow you there, or snoop around your house when you're gone. It'll be better for both of us, anyway. I'll say you finally kicked the bucket, old boss will forget about everything, and we can even still hang out afterwards."

My hand stayed fixed by my side. "Hang out? Do you seriously think all of this makes us friends? I helped you out because I felt sorry for you, that's it!"

"Are you taking my promise or not?"

I suddenly felt like a child for that mini-outburst. I sighed and raised my hand, linking our pinkies for a brief, embarrassing moment.

"You won't follow me anywhere. Not for half the trip there, not while I'm heading back. You won't look through my stuff, and God forbid you do, you won't touch a thing. Okay?"

He nodded solemnly, and I almost laughed at how seriously he was taking this.

Exactly how mad does he think I am...?

"Now can you leave me alone? At least until I come back from break. I never signed up to be your personal maid, anyway."

"Gladly."

—

Taking the train to my parents' house was a lot less fun than I remembered it being. I kept one eye open for most of the trip, with the strange, hallucinatory encounter on the bus back from Sean's house playing in my head like a broken record. Luckily, no spawn of Satan in disguise came to harass me this time, at least not that I knew of. I fogged up the window with my breath, wondering how badly my extended family was suffering right now due to the cold. Few to none of them had experienced temperatures below fifty degrees before.

I stepped out onto the platform with my bags in tow, shielding my face from the brisk winter air. My nose already felt as if a thin layer of ice was pinching it in place as I forced one foot in front of the other towards the main street. I'd already told my mom I was going to be late, though instead of response I was sent a fresh, telepathic wave of motherly disapproval. Mentally preparing myself for the clamoring of voices I would face once inside, I took a deep breath and opened the back door.

A sea of amber, red, yellow, and green greeted me at the kitchen. It looked as if everybody had abandoned it hours ago in favor of the rest of the first floor. Poinsettia pots had been squeezed in next to each other on the windowsill. I took my gloves off and rubbed life back into my frozen hands, resting an elbow on the back of a chair.

"...I'm home."

No luck. People in the living room had to shout over each other to be heard in conversation. I sniffed, my face still thawing, and dragged my luggage to the dining room where my mother had stationed herself, testing out a thin layer of broth in silence. Always one to get to the point, she tapped her spoon on the edge of the pan and sighed with relief as I came into her view.

"Ah, Sawyer! It's a good thing you're here, you have to talk Tío Agosto out of singing the national anthem again. Idiot's already had too much to drink." She smiled and hugged me tightly as if I'd just come back from war. In a way, I kind of had. When we broke apart, she patted me on the shoulder and waved her finger in a circle around the room. "Go on, greet everyone first! You've been away for a very long time."

I didn't have the energy to complain. Besides, this was one of the few times a year I was able to see my family and get away from all this school nonsense. I knew I'd get a more heartfelt welcome from Dad, anyway. I hoisted my suitcase over the little bump lining the dining room's doorway, as if crossing a grand threshold. "Yeah. One second. Is there anywhere I can put my things? I don't want them to get in the way..."

"Nobody is going upstairs until they say hello," Mom singsonged. I repeatedly clicked the button on my rolling case's handle in annoyance.

"I'm not trying to—ugh, fine. I'll leave it all here to clog up the doorway." As I walked away, no more a spring in my step than there was before, she called softly, "We missed you!"

I tried standing on my tiptoes to see over everybody's heads and map out a path for myself, but groups kept clumping together and dispersing rapidly like the life cycle of a few hundred stars. Except these stars didn't seem too interested in leaving any space between each other; ahead of me was an impenetrable wall of chattering relatives. Several gasped and pointed to their hair as I walked by, likely in an attempt to say I realize you got a haircut but I don't want to say anything mean about it.

"So, this guy, Trump..."

"Please, Victoria, we promised not to talk about this—"

Tía Vicky was sent into a coughing fit, successfully cutting off her brother and continuing as if she hadn't heard him. "A-all I'm saying is, if they hired enough people to assassinate 'em—!"

"Maybe you could show us that new project of yours?" One of my uncles folded his hands, smiling, in a desperate attempt to steer her off track. Her eyes glazed over after a moment, and without a word she reached into her purse and pulled out a stuffed bear with a marine's hat crappily sewn onto its head. She turned to me as I passed by and, without even acknowledging the fact that I'd just gotten here, held out the bear and said in a flat voice, "Tómalo."

I blinked and gently pushed the poor thing back in her direction. "Uh...no thanks."

She narrowed her eyes and nodded wisely. "Yes. You're right. Only when you're ready."

I'm not even going to ask.

So far, everybody but the people I could really talk to had fallen into my field of vision. All that were around were distant or estranged relatives, nobody I knew well enough to have more than a minute-long conversation. The first floor held only uncles, aunts, grandparents, kids, my cousin Javier...

Bingo.

Javier was from the Spanish side of my family—or rather, the Spanish speaking side. They were from some Latin-American country but for whatever reason I never bothered to ask which one. Somebody here probably would've known, anyway. My mother always called his immediate family the Hispanoles, which is what stuck with most of us. Javi barely knew any Tagalog, so if we wanted to talk in another language, I would have to use my subpar understanding of Spanish for any hope of communication.

"Hey, Javi-boy," I said, tapping his shoulder and giving him a pinch on the spot. He groaned and turned around, folding his arms.

"And that's what I was missing. Sawyer, you really couldn't have bothered anyone else here some more?"

"Aw, don't act like you're not happy to see me."

Eventually, a smile broke through on his face, and he hugged me with all the awkwardness you could get from a cousin. "I see you cut your hair," he began once we broke apart.

"That's the nicest thing anyone's said about it."

He frowned. "Really? Where are the others, I'll teach them a lesson."

Whether he intended it to be a joke or not, I had to hold back laughter. Javier was about as buff as a piece of uncooked spaghetti.

"Well, Morgan called me a Filipina Dora, but I'd better not see you doing anything about it. I can fight my own battles."

He chuckled. "Oh, don't worry, that one's well deserved. 'Filipina Dora,'" he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "It does look good, though. Just don't mat it up or anything, mom will have a fit."

Mom. Otherwise known as Tía Freyja, or my more extravagant aunt. I couldn't believe I'd forgotten her. "Where is she, anyway? Hasn't made her grand entrance yet?"

As if by strategy, my tía pushed her way through the solid wall of people behind Javier and held out her arms with the brightest of smiles.

"My guapo Samuelito, ¿cómo estás? How are you?" Without a second to waste she had pulled me in and I was trapped, left to wonder what would be a good time to correct her on my name. I knew by the way Javi wordlessly opened his mouth that he was thinking about doing it himself. We both waited the hug out. It was a nice one, anyway.

"I'm doing good, tía," I muttered, brushing myself off once she'd gotten her share of affection from me. She pouted at the gesture.

"Samuel, you brush me off like this after I haven't seen you for two years? Where is my love?"

Javi sighed and gently pat her on the back. "Mami, it's Sawyer."

Freyja shook her head and scoffed, swatting his hand off her. "¡Ay, sabes que no puedo recordarlo, mijo!"

"Sí, yo sé." He widened his eyes at me exasperatedly, like, can you believe it? and I smiled despite that.

"Don't worry, tía, you're not in trouble—"

"Yes, yes, I know, I am never in trouble." She flashed a grin and stood on her tiptoes to give me a kiss on both cheeks. I held up one finger before she could force me to do the same.

"But it is Sawyer. Got it?"

"Yes, mi amor, I remember you are...cómo se dice, tran-gender?"

Eh. Close enough.

"How's Javi been, anyway? He hasn't told me all about his life yet, I think he's embarrassed," I said, changing the subject and throwing Javier a knowing look. He closed his eyes and folded his arms again like he was never going to hear the end of it, while Freyja's face lit up.

"Oh, my dear boy had been very good. He just got a job at a...studio-art, yes?" She said with an even brighter smile. Javi was having none of this.

"Mamá, I thought you said working there was a waste of time."

"But not a waste of money! As long as you're happy, mijo—he gets to work with kids, you know that, Sawyer? Such little darlings, he teaches them how to paint."

"I help somebody else get the paint so she can teach them."

Freyja waved her hands in the air as if to say, bah! "Okay, okay. I won't bother you about this. Are you ashamed, Javi?"

"I don't appreciate you being ready to spill every detail of my life at the drop of a hat!"

I was tempted to roll my eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen, it's only your job. You'll live," I said, patting him on the shoulder and waving them both goodbye as I continued to make my way around the room.

"Rule, Britannia, Britannia rule the—"

I heard my dad's annoyed drawl cut off Agosto from across the house. "Hombre, that's not even the right country! We are getting you to a bathroom..."

—

We all tolerated each other for the rest of the evening. Dinner was a fantastic mess, as always, though nobody seemed to care all that much. I'd forgotten how cathartic it felt to be around my family, especially the louder ones, ever since I moved out and stopped attending every little event my parents held here. Not even my grandparents' talk of Heaven, Earth, and Christ managed to remind me of everything going on back on campus—after all, I only believed in a Hell at this point. There was at least one awkward question concerning me every five minutes, whether it be about my gender, my health (still somewhat related to gender, based on who was asking) or my career. I didn't mind all that much this time. And in the rare case that I did, one of my cousins would swoop in to change the subject before anything hurtful was said.

Javier, Freyja, Agosto, and a few others were staying the night while everybody else went back home. There were tearful goodbyes, some almost too much to stomach this late. I decided I was ready to go to bed when my great-uncle—Eduardo, I believe his name was—started waving a red handkerchief and yelling at the top of his voice, his glasses clouding up in mere seconds.

"Goodbye, Rafaeles! Adiós, arrivederci, best of luck to—"

"¡Dios mio! Let's go, Eddie, you can just call them later..." His wife pushed him with little sympathy towards their car across the street, not bothering to look back. I leaned against the doorway, already in PJs, and gave the lot one last tired wave before heading up.

The nations, not so blest as thee,

Must in their turn, to tyrants fall...

At the realization of what I was thinking about in a half-drunken stupor, I groaned aloud. Oh, goddammit, he got that song stuck in my head. How does that even happen? It was, like, two seconds!

Opposite to what I expected, I wasn't able to fall asleep so easily in my old room. Somehow, I was having an even harder time closing my eyes. I visited this place every year, I should've grown used to it by now. But...

God, it smells so weird in here.

I sat up in bed, my eyebrows knitting together and hands gripping the covers tightly.

That's not normal.

"Mami, what did you do to my—"

I was cut off by a soft but sickening cough coming from down the hall. It was like somebody choking on water. It didn't sound like my mom, it didn't sound like Javi...it did not sound like Tía Freyja.

My bare feet touched the hardwood floor, freezing in place as I craned my neck and tried to catch something else with my ears. Maybe a door creaking open, somebody stepping out to get a towel or a midnight snack. Anything to explain what I'd just heard. For five minutes, I came up empty. I shivered and slowly approached a chair in the corner of my room, blinking several times to adjust my eyes to the dark, and grabbed a sweater I'd thrown over it earlier. Should've known better than to go to bed in just a t-shirt and pajama pants.

"Hey, is anybody up?" I wrapped the sweater around my shoulders like a shawl, lacking the commitment to put it on fully. I got very shaky all of a sudden and couldn't place why; the cold didn't have much to do with it. I just had this horrible feeling about what might be going on. As usual. My hand fumbled around for a flashlight, or candle, or maybe just a desk to help me navigate my way towards the door. Nobody answered me until I stepped out into the hallway. Everything was black and blue, as night usually is. The answer I did get was slow, quiet, raspy, and scraped my spine like it was a piece of wood to whittle.

"No...body...lying."

And then another cough. This time it was loud. I was sure—what the hell, I was hoping that somebody else had woken up from it and would check out this creepy bullshit for me. But for another minute, nobody stirred. Nobody spoke. My heart was beating out of my chest, and I clenched the corners of my sweater as I took another few steps forward.

"Such a good...never will know, never remember, never want to..."

Something about that voice was terrifyingly familiar. I stopped dead, causing the floorboards to creak under my weight. I expected some sort of creature to jump out from the shadows of the hall and attack me, right then and there, but the entire house became still again.

The voice was coming from my tía's room.

Wait, what if that really is her? Is she sick? Did something happen just now, while I was trying to fall asleep?

I held my breath and started walking again, and quickly. Might as well have gotten it over with. I sharply withdrew my hand from the doorknob when I felt how cold it was, but told myself to suck it up and prepared to open the door.

"Freyja?" I asked in the tiniest whisper my voice would allow. All I heard from the other side was heavy breathing and a soft snap. My heart jumped into my throat at the sound.

Nothing's happening, you big wimp, somebody probably just got cold medicine from downstairs and they're opening the bottle. It's definitely Agosto. He really should lay off the alcohol this time of year—

My thoughts screeched to a halt when I opened the door and took in the scene before me.

Dark, opaque liquid was the first thing I saw. The body crouched over her bed was the second, and Freyja herself was the third. This person, this creature, this thing that was scraping at whatever lied before it, was practically choking down all the air it could take in; it wheezed and coughed and spat everything up again. The room smelled awful, like some combination of dry saliva and sewage and rum and blood. I started to gag.

My aunt was dead.

A boy I knew was eating her guts.

Nothing moved but my eyes, which were ricocheting around the room. Tens, hundreds of scratches covered the windowsill, blood soaked the sheets in front of her killer and dripped to the floor below.

No, no no no, this can't be happening. He can't have followed me, that would mean...!

Jack looked up, mouth dripping, claws out, his eye sockets more hollow than I'd ever seen them. There was nothing there; no remorse, no surprise, not even a trace of sadistic pleasure. This was survival to him. It always had been. And I'd been stupid enough to think he was stretching the truth.

He simply acknowledged me walking into the room, like he was saying hello for the first time. His eyelids narrowed in some strange attempt to recognize me—or maybe he knew how disappointed I was in him, though "disappointed" sure was a kind word for the wave of nausea and horror that was crashing over me right now.

"Sorry, Sawyer," he said, the blood in his mouth causing the words to slur together. "I was hungry."