The steady thump of music sounded from high above me, drowning out the annoying elevator music in the stairwell. Yes, in the stairwell. Whoever thought it was a good idea to play that same anxiety-inducing crap for those purposefully avoiding taking those deathtraps deserved a special place in one of the darkest cells of Pyrarcis.

Okay, so maybe I was just a tad grouchy, but who could blame me? Having to climb nearly forty stories sucked on a normal day. I definitely didn't miss calling this place home.

With my head still pounding and every cell of my body aching from today's events, it was considerably worse. If only I hadn't left my headphones at school...in a dorm room with someone who wanted me dead.

Allegedly.

Well, until I had some real proof anyway.

The smell of drying paint made me scrunch my nose. Up ahead, the words demons out in all capital letters graced an entire wall. Drops of black paint had run all the way down to the concrete stairs beneath.

Well, this was new.

A single, messy line from the d continued onto the next wall and merged into more words. And take the shifters with you, also in all caps. I squinted at the squiggly letters. Shifters was spelled wrong. I refrained from rolling my eyes and continued on.

Out of breath, I slouched into the empty penthouse lobby after the excruciatingly long ascent. A part of me had expected Dad to be pacing the foyer, but there was no sign of him. Weird.

I was about to sneak past the hallway leading to his office when the previously ajar door was pulled open, revealing Dad's surprisingly calm face. As always, his blond dyed hair was gelled back in an attempt to make him look younger. It worked to a degree, but the prominent wrinkles on his forehead—probably from years and years of constant frowning—gave him away.

Stepping into the well-lit foyer, he said, "I thought I heard the door."

How he could hear anything above the unbearable garbage my stepbrother was blasting blew my mind. But that wasn't the strangest part. He didn't seem angry. Why wasn't he angry?

"You're not mad?" I asked, adjusting the sleeve of my hoodie so it covered the multitude of tiny scratches courtesy of the numerous shrubs and bushes I'd jumped through.

He frowned, pushing his glasses to the tip of his nose to rub his dark-rimmed eyes. "Why would I be mad? I was informed about the portal...malfunction shortly after it happened." A rare smile softened the sharp features of his tired face. "If anything, I'm surprised you showed up this late instead of coming at a more civil time tomorrow."

Right, blame me for wanting to please my control freak of a father.

"You're still awake," I remarked.

"It's been an eventful day," he said, frowning once more as he gave me a thorough once-over. "You look terrible."

"Well, father, you weren't the only one having a rough day," I muttered under my breath. Forcing a smile, I added, "Exam season, you know how it is."

The crease on his forehead deepened. "Family comes first, that was the deal."

Not this discussion again. If he actually meant family I would have maybe been able to understand, but no, he was referring to that stupid human-only ambassador dinner earlier. Needless to say, I wasn't exactly sorry about missing that.

"I didn't provide you with the opportunity to study alchemy so you could stop showing your face around here," he continued.

Right, provided me with the opportunity, meaning allowed me to pursue something that made me happy. Oh, how grateful I should be. The fact that it was my hard work and vast knowledge of the subject that had gotten me this far was, of course, entirely irrelevant.

"It wasn't an exam that kept me from coming over," I grumbled. "You said so yourself."

He sighed. "I don't want to argue with you, but we both know you could have been here yesterday, like your brother, if it wasn't for your studies."

If I would have known he would be here, I would have pretended to be sick or something altogether. Seeing him once a year was bad enough and he would be much harder to avoid than Dad this weekend.

I could only hope that this party of his went on for the rest of the weekend. I'd pick wearing earmuffs and hearing muffled music over his annoying voice any day.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm going to bed, I'm beat. See you tomorrow."

"Actually, I'll be leaving on a business trip early tomorrow—"

Surprise, surprise.

"—but we should have dinner when I get back on Sunday. You are staying until then?" It was supposed to be a question, but the scolding undertone suggested otherwise.

"Yeah, sure," I mumbled. The steady throb of my arm reminded me that I needed to reapply ointment and change the bandage. Forcing another smile, I added, "Have a good trip then."

"Good night, Ariel. Try to put on something a little more ambassador's daughter and a little less"—his hands wildly gestured at my, as I liked to call it, comfortable attire—"homeless shifter on Sunday. We might have guests."

Great, more people to deal with.

"Sure," I bit out, already moving to retrieve the hidden key to my suite from beneath the NYC snow globe on the shelf in the hallway. "See you Sunday."

"Good night...honey."

***

No less annoying club beats were still on full blast by the time I came to beneath a mountain of pillows and two layers of extra fluffy comforters. I clawed my way out, causing cushions to tumble to the soft-carpeted floor, and stretched.

My limbs still ached, but it felt more like mild soreness now. Taking one look at the brightly glowing skyline against the bluish-purple night sky, I knew it was well past sunset.

Never underestimate a good night's rest.

I blinked at the faintly illuminated Saturday, 9:42 P.M. on my alarm clock display. Or in this case, two nights' rest. Even better. My time here was almost up and I hadn't seen Clarence once.

After carefully removing the discolored bandage and frowning at the blue skin from elbow to shoulder for a good ten seconds, I covered the nearly healed wound with a large waterproof bandaid and hopped in the shower.

When I felt like a regular human being again, despite failing to scrub even a little of the color off my arm, I reapplied ointment and clean dressing, slipped into the coziest clothes I could find—my purple Save the Great White Sharks hoodie and matching sweatpants—and sneaked into the kitchen to find a snack.

The two-story penthouse was chilly, and not just temperature-wise. Painted a stark white, the walls felt cold despite the numerous black and gray abstract paintings on them. The shiny mahogany floors didn't help either, and the occasional fake houseplant only emphasized what this place actually was.

A pretend home. For me anyway.

The only lively thing about this place was the music and distant laughter and cheers of what had to be at least fifty people. Knowing my stepbrother, he probably opened the entire pool area and the adjacent living room for his stupid party.

Lucky for me, my suite wasn't just right across from the kitchen, but also on the opposite side of Clarence's. That didn't save me from the almost headache-inducing music volume, though.

I'd just made myself a perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich when the nauseating stench of fruity alcohol and stale beer surrounded me. A tan hand landed on my shoulder and squeezed painfully. Of course, he had to stumble into the kitchen now.

"Well, well," Clarence slurred, "look who it is?"

Per usual, I ignored him, instead opening the fridge to retrieve a bottle of dew juice.

His grip tightened, fingers digging into my clavicle, and he placed his beer bottle on the counter in front of me before grasping my bandaged arm, fortunately, concealed beneath the oversized hoodie. A searing pain told me the wound had opened up again, but I didn't flinch. He'd never get that satisfaction again. Ever.

"I'm talking to you," he warned, his sour breath fanning my cheek.

"I know." With a half-shrug, I placed the PB&J on my plate. "Your voice is harder to ignore than most."

He released me only to spin me around and reapply his grip on my shoulder and elbow instead. He was close, too close. Then again, he'd never regarded my personal space before, so why should he now?

Lowering his head so his bloodshot bluish-green eyes were level with mine, he said, "Always the smartass, huh?"

"Do you need something?" I asked, keeping a straight face.

He stepped back to wipe a strand of chestnut hair out of his smirking face. Now that he wasn't in my face anymore, I noticed his shoulder holster and the silver hunting knife tucked inside. The sight of Clarence and his most prized possession wasn't uncommon by any means, but openly-carrying at his own party? Unless he had something to celebrate...

My eyes quickly found the fresh tattoo on his bicep. The jagged bullet within the maroon triangle stood out against his tanned skin, an insult to all supernatural beings. It was official then, my ambassador-to-be-jerkface-of-a-stepbrother had joined the Vanguard, a paramilitary group of estranged and openly anti-supernatural humans who not-so-secretly hoped and waited for the new and unsteady union between realms to fail.

Seeing me staring at the abomination on his arm, his grin widened and he asked, "You like?" He flexed his arm, bicep bulging, and tenderly traced the still-swollen lines of the triangle. "We're a force, you know? You all have no idea how many active members are in NYC alone."

"Better make sure it doesn't get infected then," I said, "or you'll be one man short."

Watching the vein on his forehead protrude and his complacent grin morph into a strained frown felt oddly satisfying. Even when his hand shot forward and he tilted my face up.

"You're a disgrace, you know?" he sneered.

"Bite me, Clarence."

"After everything that happened to your mother, you of all people shouldn't mingle with monsters."

The kitchen counter connected with my spine as he shoved me back. Sure, Clarence, push me around some more, that's the only way you'll win. Still, bringing up my mother stung. He had no right. He knew nothing about her.

Deep breaths. Don't let him see you falter.

"Sooner or later," he continued, suddenly solemn, "they're all gonna turn on us and then we'll be the only thing standing between you and them."

And Dad wanted to make him ambassador...

"Sure, Clarence, whatever helps you sleep at night. Meanwhile, I'm gonna keep doing something useful with my time."

He clenched and unclenched his fists, his eyes narrowed to slits. "You know the only reason Dad tolerates your useless little chemistry hobby is that it keeps you busy and out of his way. Besides, not like you're any good."

So, we were back to childish insults and a stare-off. Great. Maybe on a different day, I would have just ignored him per usual. Maybe. But not today.

"Careful now or I might just show you how useless my little hobby is."

He blinked almost in slow motion and then he just looked at me, slack-jawed for a moment. "Is... Is that a threat?"

I shrugged, refusing to be the first to look away. Seeing him utterly bewildered brought a different kind of satisfaction. But it wouldn't last. It never did.

He caught himself much too soon. Crossing his arms in front of his chest so the tattoo was pressed into his closed fist, he sneered, "Please, you can't do shit to me."

Unfortunately, he was right. For now anyway. But, boy, was I tempted to prove him wrong.

"Lance!" someone screamed from down the hall.

I took everything in me to refrain from rolling my eyes. "Better head back to your party."

"This isn't over," he ground out.

You bet, it's not.