When the laughter burst out I couldn't stop it and weirdly, I didn't even want to try.

I laughed so bloody hard that I ended up with a stitch in my side and had to sit down, as the pain jabbed at my ribs and made it difficult to breathe, but I didn't care. If it was madness to laugh, it was a good kind of madness and one that I needed. It was a brief descent into an insanity that felt like cutting up a storm on the dancefloor, experiencing those first moments of hedonistic pleasure as the buzz fired sparks of heat into your veins.

'Okay, now I know you're high,' I said, as I struggled to compose myself. 'Or maybe I still am. Is that it? Am I on one big fuck-off never-ending trip? I need to know what the Hell was in that fix I got from Leon, because this is the freakiest, most insane, completely unreal thing I've ever heard, and you know what, I've heard some proper crazy things recently.'

Ethan's stony glare didn't waiver and I wondered if he practiced that convincing-as-fuck look in the mirror every day.

'I've known Oscar a few years now,' I went on. 'Everyone in East London knows Oscar. They know his mum, and if you think Oscar's bad, seriously you should meet Rita May. That woman should have been dunked in water years ago or burnt at the stake, because she's one evil witch. But everyone knows him, okay? And yeah, the bloke is a total scumbag, I mean, proper East End villain through and through. Spends most of his time with his hand crawling inside the sequinned underwear of all the pretty girls that dance at his club, or watching as people that cross him get to wear a nice concrete overcoat and are chucked into the river, but a demon? A bloody demon? It's just not possible.'

'I think you know only too well that the realms of what's possible and what's not aren't quite what you thought they were,' Ethan said, huffily. 'Why is it so hard to believe Oscar could be a demon after everything I've told you?'

I stared at him, mouth open. 'Because he's... he's Oscar. And because if, as you say, demons spend their time hiding out in a dimension under our world, Oscar doesn't hide. Have you seen his club? It's the most garish, gaudy joint in Hackney. It looks like the 80's chewed it up and regurgitated it in a pool of leopard-print vomit, and that's just the outside. You can't hide in a place like that. He might as well stick a huge neon arrow on top of the building that says this way to the perverted demon.'

Ethan's mouth twitched into a half-smile or half-grimace, I wasn't sure which.

'Well, when you put it like that...' he said, sitting down on the edge of his seat and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. 'Look, I know you think you know him, but he's spent a long time building his life in Hackney and before that he built it somewhere else, and somewhere else before that. This is what Oscar does. He went rogue a few hundred years ago and decided he wanted to live in the human world. He rejected everything he knew, went underground and resurfaced with a new face and a new life. The Angels leave him alone because he's no threat to them, he's more human now than demon, although not totally in the physical sense, obviously.'

'Oh, obviously,' I said, rolling my eyes and feeling the ghost of Oscar's hand sliding up my thigh. 'A few hundred years ago, you say? How old is he?'

Ethan looked away, his gaze finding the monotony of soap life on the TV screen, although I knew he wasn't really watching it. He bit down pensively on his lip. When he returned his gaze to me, his expression was guarded, almost as if he was about to tell the punchline of a joke that he knew I wouldn't get.

'Put it this way,' he said. 'If the canonical gospels were a guide to perverted demons and not the half-truths and mad ravings of crazy zealots, you'd probably see that big neon sign hanging above the masses that gathered on the northern shore of the sea of Galilee. Or pointing towards the faces of ghouls that watched the entertainment with glee at Pilate's court. Or maybe aimed into the crowds that wailed as three men were nailed to the crosses at Golgotha. Do you need me to go on?'

It wasn't a joke. It really wasn't, and I felt sick all over again. I tried not to think about the noodles, thick and heavy in my stomach like one sticky mass of worms, all twisted and knotted together.

'But... his mum...?' I whispered weakly.

'Human,' Ethan replied. 'But your comment about her being a witch isn't that far from the truth, although not in the way you know witches. She was a disciple to the fallen. She sold her soul and rented out her womb to Oscar, providing him with the chance to be re-born into a new life, to live as if he were a human. To be the Oscar that you know.'

'In return for what?' I said, aghast. 'Why would anyone do that?'

Ethan shrugged. 'Many reasons. Belief in a cause different to what you've been told. Money. Power. In Rita May Turnbull's case: revenge. Her dad was a low-life crook who grassed on the wrong people. They burnt down Rita's house with her parents and two teenage brothers inside. She began seeing things she shouldn't see, much like yourself, and a rogue demon called Rosier took her under his wing, offered her protection, promised he would get revenge on the people who burnt her family to a crisp – which he did in spectacularly gory fashion, by the way, with Rita May watching the whole thing – and then he added her to his growing number of human disciples.'

'So, Rita May and Rosier were like the disciple and the demon that you mentioned before?' I said, amazed that I could have anything in common with that nasty old boot of a woman.

He laughed, shaking his head. 'No, Rosier is no radical insurgent demon. He's not out to overthrow the system, he's just in it for himself. He's the one all the demons go to when they want out of the revolutionary machine. He provides them with the wombs of human women and hey presto, they get re-born into a new life. When that life is going to expire, or when they need a change of identity, they go back to him and he does it all again.'

'Wait, I don't understand. So, you're saying that the Oscar I know was a different Oscar before this? And a different Oscar before that?'

'Yeah, but he's only called Oscar in this lifetime. His real name is Berith and he's lived many, many lives. All pretty much as nefarious as the one he leads now, to be fair.'

His real name. I stared at Ethan, remembering when he'd told me his name and I'd known instantly it was a lie. Did they all have fake names? Fake identities?

'What about you?' I said. 'Were you a different Ethan before this?'

'No.' His tone was flat, like someone had just cut the power cord. 'I've always been me. Always will be. I'll always be the guy who watches too much TV and has shit taste in interior décor.'

He finished it off with a small smile, so lifeless and bleak, that for the first time I felt something other than fear and mistrust for him. He blended in so seamlessly with the surroundings he had created, like he was just another feature of his drab apartment, just another faded tatty armchair, just another line of neatly ordered items in a bathroom, just another out-of-date take-away menu. And yet outside, or topside as he called it, he'd seemed different. Interesting. Exciting. The type of guy you'd look twice at.

The type of guy you'd think about when fucking someone else.

I looked away from him quickly, feeling the shame cut deep for even going there, for even allowing myself to think about it again, especially with the images of the gaping hole in Davey's chest still haunting me.

'I think I need that drink now,' I mumbled.

Without a word, Ethan got up and headed to the kitchenette, returning with a tumbler identical to his own. Handing it to me, he fetched the bottle and poured me a large measure. I noticed how he stood slightly away from me as he poured and had to stretch out his arm a little to reach the glass.  Unable to look him in the eye, I found myself staring at his hand as it gripped the bottle, my eyes naturally wandering to the smooth lines of his forearm, the curve of his bicep. When he was done, I clutched at the glass using both hands, drinking half of it down in an instant.

Despite having terrible taste in décor, it turned out Ethan had immaculate taste in whiskey and I relished the heat as it coated my tongue and throat.

'One thing I don't get...' I stopped, trailing off, my cheeks reddening. Bloody Hell. This wasn't like me. There wasn't much that was off-limits as far as I was concerned, especially not when it came to sex, but with Ethan's gazed fixed firmly on me, I felt my mouth go dry as I tried to form the words.

He cocked his head to one side, his brow raised. Waiting. Like he knew I was about to go there.

Damn it. Damn him.

'The thing is... you said the women rent out their wombs and the demons, like Oscar, get re-born? I mean, how...?'

'Immaculate conception,' Ethan shot back, with a smirk. 'I'm kidding,' he said, his smile broadening as he saw my jaw drop. 'This is Rosier we're talking about and he's not going to miss out on the chance of getting his hands on some warm flesh. Human women are his thing, his downfall quite literally. His business, shall we call it, enables him to engage in his two most favourite past-times; collecting much-desired treasures and collecting much-desired women. He plants the seed, the demon in question takes possession of it, paying Rosier for his troubles of course, and the human female becomes the host for a beautiful, bouncing demon baby.'

I grimaced. 'So that means Oscar is part-human at least?'

'He inhabits a body that is part-human. Definitely doesn't make him one.'

I couldn't imagine Oscar as a baby, certainly not a beautiful one. In fact, I couldn't imagine Oscar looking anything other than how he looked now, so to think that he'd lived other lives, with other faces, was pretty bloody mind-blowing, but not necessarily in a good way.

'What does he want with me?' I said. 'I mean, if he's asked you to find me and hand me over, what will he do once he has me?'

Ethan, who had poured himself another drink, took a small sip and glanced back at the TV screen where an actress was doing a bad job of pretending to cry, mascara streaking her ruddy cheeks. 

'Ethan?' I persisted, even though I knew his evasiveness couldn't mean anything promising.

'He needs the Angels to stop looking his way,' he replied with a sigh, returning his gaze to me, 'which means one of two things; either he could hand you to them or he'll kill you himself.'

My heart rate quickened, an involuntary beat that pounded harder inside my chest. I doused the flicker of panic with a deep exhale of breath. 'Oscar doesn't kill anyone himself. He's got a gang of dirty little minions who'll do that job for him.'

'Oscar's killed plenty in his time, trust me,' Ethan said dryly. 'Just because he prefers to watch these days doesn't mean he's lost a taste for it.' He tapped the edge of the tumbler, his brows knitted in thought. 'Of course, there is another scenario, but I can't imagine he'd go for it. It's risky and if the Angels knew he'd double crossed them, they'd come good on their threats to turn him into offal.'

'What is it?'

'He could bargain with Rosier, offer you to him in return for his protection. Oscar gets to wash his hands of you, you get to stay alive and Rosier gets a fresh womb to use.'

'What?' My voice hitched up an octave. 'Like Rita May, you mean? No fucking way! I'd rather be killed than be pimped out to some demon with a permanent hard-on for humans.'

'You saw what the Cherubim are capable of, right?'

'Yeah and I don't care,' I said, shocked that he could even think I'd seriously consider it as an option. I didn't want to end up dead, especially not if my death was likely to be anything like Leon and Davey's, but the thought of ending up as chattel for Rosier left me feeling cold. 'I'm not about to become some demon's baby-making machine, popping out little Oscars left right and bloody centre.'

'Well, it wouldn't be quite like that,' Ethan replied. 'There are worse things for a maledicti than being under a demon's protection. Rita May's lived a pretty good life.'

'Good for Rita May. I'm happy for the old cow, I really am, but just because she was content to be impregnated by some grubby perverted demon, doesn't mean I am.'

Ethan rubbed his hand over his mouth and I swear he was trying not to laugh. There was an unmistakable glint in his eyes that softened the hard lines of his face.

'Like I said, I doubt Oscar would make a deal anyway.'

'So, it looks like certain death or certain death? Terrific. I mean, really, that's fucking terrific. Thanks for saving me, Ethan, just to throw me right back into the lion's den.' I raised the glass to him and then drained the rest of the contents. 'I'll think of you as I get my internal organs barbecued on a kebab skewer and served up for lunch.'

He bristled noticeably, any hint of amusement fading fast. I wasn't about to care about bruising his fake hero-complex though, not when he arrogantly believed I should be grateful, despite the fact he'd only played at being my saviour, so he could hand me over to one of his own kind.

I ignored his haughty expression and stared into the empty tumbler with a growing desperation. I'd been right earlier about alcohol not being enough. I needed a fix. It had been too long already, and I could feel my body crying out for something, anything, just enough to calm the bugs that were already getting busy crawling about under my skin. I flexed my toes, rocked the balls of my feet against the floor, gripped the glass tighter.

Focus, Brogan, fucking focus.

'Why do you owe Oscar?' I said, pushing my thoughts back on track even though it was getting harder to follow the trail. 'It must be a bloody big debt if you're willing to put yourself so much at risk by going topside?'

'It's not about being willing,' Ethan replied with a scowl. 'It's about not having a choice. I wouldn't be doing this if I had an option.'

I didn't know why that stung, but the knowledge that Ethan wouldn't have helped me if it wasn't for the fact I had human collateral tattooed across my forehead, was like running headlong into a swarm of bees. I balled my free hand into a fist in my lap, anger flickering hot and sharp.

'Getting that loud and clear,' I sniped. 'So why don't you have a choice?'

'Fucks sake.' He whistled out an irritated breath. 'Were you a pit bull in a former lifetime, because I swear once you get your teeth in, you don't bloody let go, do you?'

'Why should I? Considering you're going to deliver me to Oscar tomorrow, I think I deserve the truth.'

'The truth?' he said and started to laugh, settling into the chair and throwing his head back. His laughter echoed strangely in the small room and instead of the cold laughter of before, this was full of genuine mirth, a wild giggling that seemed to shake his whole body and light up his face with a boyish glee.

'Why is that even funny?'

'Because, humans wouldn't know the truth if it hit them in the face like a tsunami,' he said. 'Truth is nothing but fiction, told by the greatest storytellers this world has ever known. Of course, they were also the best liars, but that's the real secret to great story-telling, isn't it? Possessing the ability to make people believe you. Stories become truths so powerful that people forget that the tale itself was so fantastical, it couldn't possibly have been real. Serpents and apples. Building a massive boat full to the brim with every species of animal known to man. Five thousand people turning up to your dinner party when you only have five loaves of bread and two fish. And you want me to tell you the truth? I wouldn't even know where to start. I gave up believing in any kind of truth this world has to offer a long time ago.'

'Then tell me the real truth. Your truth, not the fiction.'

He snorted, nostrils flaring. 'I've already told you far more than is healthy for you. Asking questions will only take you down a path you can't turn back from.'

'Which is all well and good,' I said, 'but you're forgetting one thing: I'm already on that bloody path and there's no chance of turning back no matter how much I might want to. You're not the only one without a choice here.'

He stared at me, his gaze level and steady, before grabbing the bottle again and reaching over to give me a refill, then repeating the action for himself. We sat for a moment, sitting opposite each other, both holding onto the glasses, not drinking and I could see the struggle etched on his face. I could see he didn't want to tell me, but he knew I wasn't about to give up that easily.

'Oscar's an old family friend.' A hint of derision curled his lips into a sneer as he said it. 'A friend of my parents, not mine, I hasten to add.'

'Your parents? And, where are they?'

'Dead.' He sniffed dismissively. 'A long time ago now so don't bother with any empty platitudes.'

'I wasn't about to give you any,' I shot back, riled by his coldness, but it was the indifference in his tone that told me it was probably a subject I shouldn't explore any further. Not yet anyway.

'He was close to my parents when they were alive,' he said. 'When they were gone, he helped me out of a sticky situation in the Gobi Desert and then again in the foothills of Mount Sinai and once again in the sewers under Naples.'

He caught my eyes widening and he shrugged, his cheeks reddening slightly. 'What can I say? I was pretty reckless in my youth and yeah, I was lucky Oscar was around to get me out of a few tight spots, but don't start thinking he's any kind of hero. Berith never does anything unless there's something in it for him.'

'And what was in it for him? I mean, nobody saves someone that many times unless there's something really important that they want.'

'You know that thing I did when I got us away from the Cherubim?'

I shivered involuntarily. I remembered only too well and the thought of it, recalling how it had felt when he'd somehow opened up the floor into this demonic dimension, made my flesh want to crawl right off the bone. That sensation of icy coldness, pulling on my skin, like thousands of reptilian suckers desperate to eat away at me and the fall – fuck, the falling – made me want to puke up the whiskey and noodles into my lap. My stomach flipped, and I took a deep breath to fight back the nausea. I nodded slowly.

'As it happens, I'm fucking good at that, maybe even the best.' He grinned, almost preening. 'Learnt it from my parents, but I surpassed even their skill. Spent years and years working on how to be better at it than they were. I needed to be better at it. Anyway, I can do that pretty much anywhere, tear a hole in the fabric of your world and get where I need to be. Or where others need me to be.'

'And that's what you were doing for Oscar? Breaking into places he needed you to go?'

'You think he's wealthy through drugs alone? That's just a front for the Oscar you know. Berith's spent most of his lives buying and selling on the black market. Whatever you want, he'll get it for you, or at least he'll get someone else to get it for you. At one point, I was that someone else.'

'You're a thief?'

The giggle bubbled up before I could stop it and Ethan flushed even more, scowling darkly at me.

'I acquire,' he said, snottily. 'I'm not a thief. Most of the things I've taken over the years never belonged to those people to start with, so what does it matter?'

'So, Oscar saves you from whatever shit you get yourself into, he asks you to pay him back by steal... sorry, acquiring something for him and you just pop into some place, take whatever it is and pop back out again?'

Ethan, who was taking a swig of drink as I spoke, began coughing, choking on a mouthful of whiskey and almost spitting half of it out. He swiped his hand across his mouth, his eyes wide.

'It's not a bloody shopping trip to the supermarket, Casey. I'm not picking up a bottle of wine and a frozen pizza for two, for fuck's sake. We're talking so-called mythical treasures. Precious artefacts. Things people would gladly wipe out the population of a whole city for. And I don't pop in and out anywhere.'

Okay, okay, sorry,' I said, with a roll of my eyes. 'But wait, if you can do that anywhere, how come you didn't do that at the hospital? Why didn't you just... you know...' I waggled my fingers in a mimicking gesture, not even sure what I was meant to call this power of his.

'You mean why didn't I bust a hole in the ceiling and whisk us out of there like Superman?' Ethan said. 'It's not without its risks. Dimensional teleportation isn't something you can do quietly, at least not where the Angels are concerned. Ripping holes in the fabric of your world sets off alarm bells in theirs. They hear one, they come a-running looking for us, and because it attracts the wrong kind of attention, wherever I go, I have to get in and out as quick as I can. After a time, the Angels can become attuned to your signal, it's like leaving fingerprints at the scene of a crime, and then it becomes easier for them to track you.'

'How come they can't find you here then?' I asked, gesturing to the apartment. 'If you come and go here, surely they'll find you eventually?'

Ethan gave a wry smile. 'It's always possible. But like I said, I'm good at what I do, and I never rip a hole directly from outside. Let's just say I take the long route.'

'But clearly you didn't do that when you were younger? Not if Oscar had to help you out?'

He glowered at me. 'Back then I was still honing my skills. I was young and foolish and did stupid things, half the time because I just wasn't good enough and the rest of the time, because I was being purposely reckless with my own life. Maybe I wanted to put myself in danger. I used to think getting caught would make everything a Hell of a lot easier, but hey, what did I know? You learn from your mistakes, right?'

He looked at me then, one of those looks – something else he seemed to be skilled at – that made me wonder if he was aiming the question at me, maybe because he already knew the answer, or at least thought he did. I pursed my lips, my tongue sweeping over a sore bit inside my mouth that I knew would turn quickly into an ulcer if I didn't stop poking at it. I stared back at him, obstinately refusing to back down under his scrutiny. As far as I was concerned, Mr. I'm-Fucking-Good-At-It could give me those looks all he wanted. I didn't care for his pious judgement any more than I did for his shitty apartment.

'Anyway,' he said, with a small frown. 'To cut a very long story short, I repaid Berith for the few times he helped me out, and then, sometime later, when I was finally done with everything and everyone and wanted out, I went off radar. But, it seems you're never too old to be a fool. I resurfaced, stupidly, looking back now I don't even know why because it wasn't fucking worth it, and that's when I ran into Blake's little search team in New York. I made a mess of them, ripping holes all over the city and prompting the Divine Council to send every agent they had to NYC until I couldn't move without bumping into one of their bastard faces.'

He took a swig of drink, his lips peeling back from his teeth in a grimace, although I had a feeling it was more to do with the Angels he was recalling and not the taste of the whiskey.

'I ended up here, in London,' he said. 'Only to discover this was where Berith had been reborn, after accidentally ending up in his club one night after I'd had a few too many of these.' He tapped his finger on the side of the glass and winked. 'He, of course, very graciously agreed to keep the fact I was in London a secret from anyone who came looking, in return for... well, a favour he would call in, as and when he needed me. So, here we are.'

He drained the glass and looked at it, disappointed, like it wasn't enough. I knew that feeling only too well. 

'What would have happened?' I said. 'If the Angels had caught you, why would that have been easier?'

'Because it would have been over. Finally, it would have been over.'

With a humourless grin, he dismissed his comment like he'd never even uttered the words and put the glass down onto the table. Reaching for the TV remote, he aimed it at the screen. 'I fucking hate this show, don't you? Nothing but misery upon misery. I swear, the script writers need to get laid once in a bloody while or go for a long holiday in the sunshine, sip margaritas on the beach and start thinking happy thoughts, because this is seriously fucking depressing.'

He switched the channels, flicking through them at break-neck speed, until finally he settled on one that seemed to meet his approval, some generic action film where the hero did ridiculously unbelievable stunts that would have left both his legs broken, had it been real.

I found my gaze being pulled towards the screen, only because I knew if I looked at Ethan then, I don't think I would have been able to stop. There was something not just in what he said, but in how he'd said it, how his eyes had said a thousand things his words didn't. How everything about it had simultaneously made my heart beat a little faster and my stomach twist into knots, because I hadn't just heard it, I'd felt it.

Finally, it would have been over.

How many times had I thought that? How many times had I wanted that? Never daring to really admit it; but feeling it every single time I danced closer and closer to the line. Every time I swallowed another pill, knowing that I shouldn't. Every time I'd wiped away the thin line of blood trickling from my nose. Every time I'd allowed yet another bloke to put his hands on me, even though I hated everything about him. Every time I'd hated everything about myself.

Here I was, sitting just a couple of metres apart from a guy who wasn't even the same species as me, someone who might as well have come from another solar system for all our differences, and yet he'd said something that had resonated so deeply that I felt the barrier cracking, and now I didn't know how to deal with it. I didn't want to deal with it.

God, I fucking needed a hit of something. Anything.

The bugs under my skin were working overtime now. Crawling, wriggling, creeping. I could feel their many legs moving, moving, moving. I needed to get out. I needed to be somewhere else, somewhere Ethan couldn't see me. I needed to be somewhere I could pace the floor without his eyes following me everywhere I went. Somewhere I could curl into a ball and bite down hard on my nails.

There was so much more I wanted to know, so much more I wanted to ask him, but I couldn't. Not now he'd said it. Not now I couldn't even so much as look at him.

I stood up abruptly.

'Going somewhere?'

He wasn't looking at me either and I was glad of it.

'I'm wrecked,' I said. 'The whiskey, you know? Everything really. And I guess if tomorrow is going to be a big day, I need to get some rest. You don't mind?'

He shrugged. Of course, he didn't mind. He didn't care. I was just collateral. Payment. A debt repaid.

I walked into the kitchenette and placed the glass into the basin and when I returned, hovering uncertainly just inside the doorway, he'd moved only to light another cigarette, the glare from the TV screen solidifying the smoke clouds in the air in front of him.

Without another word, I slipped out of the lounge and headed back down the hallway towards the bedroom, stopping as I reached the threshold.

That beat, the one inside my chest that had already been pounding harder, picked up a frantic pulse of melody and I had to reach out and steady myself, gripping onto the door frame to stop myself from falling.

Everything was different.

Gone were the ashen walls. The threadbare carpet tiles. The sad attempt at a bedside table.

The room was bigger, more spacious, nothing palatial mind you, but enough space that you felt you could breathe. The walls were a warm cream, smooth and smudge-free. A plush carpet replaced the red, worn-out flooring. Above the headboard, a string of fairy lights hung from one corner to the other, and on the bed, which was now covered by a plush embroidered duvet, a small pile of clothes lay neatly folded.

But it was the opposing wall that drew the awed gasp from my lips.

Drawings of birds of all shapes and sizes covered the wallpaper, spreading bursts of coral and yellow, oranges, pinks and blues from floor to ceiling. Their wings were wide open in flight, tails spread out behind them. From the iridescent crown of the hummingbird, to the proud fiery plumage of the bird of paradise, to the vibrant rainbow hues of the macaw, the whole wall was a wonder and as I stared at it, all I could think was how did he know, how did he know.

Dragging my eyes away from the beauty of it all, I looked back down the hallway towards where Ethan sat, his legs now outstretched, his gaze still fixed firmly upon the television screen, seemingly oblivious to my dumbfounded stare.

He'd done this. As I'd bombarded him with questions, as I'd doubted everything he'd said, as I'd laughed at him, as I'd looked upon him like he was my enemy, he'd somehow done this, transforming a small piece of his bleak and miserable world into a mini-sanctuary of radiant colour.

I tried not to think about how no one had ever done anything like this for me before.

I tried. I really did.

Tears pricked my eyes, hot and unwanted, as I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.