In all honesty, I thought my sixteenth birthday would be spent with my mother and father and Mary as we curled up on the couch against the early July heat. Not with a group of kids I was slowly warming up to on a mission to get my demonic sword back from a nosy college kid.

Carter, Mun, and Ace had done a great job of finding out about the thief. Turned out his name was Thomas, and he was in college but ruining his life, seeing as how all he did was party and play sports. Because of this, Ace asked around and determined that he would be at a party this other college girl was throwing. That place was the target to get my sword back.

Dillan rasped through my lashes with the unused pink mascara we had fished out of Nahara's bag. He hunched forward, his tongue protruded from his lips, eyebrows knit in concentration.

I sat in front of him, frowning promptly. I slouched my I could match his height; his head stopped at my breast, she he was significantly shorter. "I don't understand the point of make up."

Dillan pulled back once he was done working with one of my eyes. "We have to pretty you up so you are more likely to come home with him so you can get the sword. We have no idea where he lives, so we kind of had to go this way about it." He began working on the other one.

"I didn't mean that..." I felt a flare of frustration heat up inside of me. "I mean, make up in general. Girls cake their faces in it. What is the point of that? It isn't attractive."

Dillan shrugged. "A little is pretty. Nahara likes stuff that changes her appearance, although she isn't exactly that girly. Too bad she isn't the one doing your make up, but she is talking with Ace about something important in the back room. I don't know what about."

The conversation was taking a turn I didn't want it to take. I felt my lower stomach churn, and I pursed my lips as he brought out the eyeshadow from Nahara's bag. I didn't understand girls, much less ones that were my age. What I did understand was that I knew about Nahara being with both Ace and Dillan, and that Dillan would be devastated if he knew. I wasn't sure what to do in my position; trying not to care wasn't working. I hated knowing.

Dillan patted my cheeks with the soft pad for the blush, smiling softly. "Once during a Halloween party, Nahara, Ace and I-"

"I don't want to hear about Nahara," I snapped, not wanting to be twisted into feeling so bad that I revealed the angel's relationship with Mary's Apotropaic. "Just get the fucking make up on me. What clothes am I wearing? Cause even a desperate man wouldn't take me home in a Metallica shirt."

Dillan rolled his rich purple eyes. "Yeah, a desperate man would bring you home naked." He set the blush down and went for purple eyeshadow almost as fluid as his own irises with sparkles that I had to struggle not to cringe at. "Seriously though, Nahara has a nice and pretty red shirt for you. And you can just wear a clean pair of skinny jeans. Um... And Delta's shoes, maybe?" The tacosexual laughed a little. "The guy has eyes for shoes."

I pursed as he applied the pink lipstick to my thin lips, all the while rolling my eyes. At least I wasn't expected to throw on a full-on dress and heels. The make up, however, did make my skin feel strangely, although I knew that he wasn't applying much.

"You're so uncomfortable-looking, little sister."

He pulled the lipstick back with a crease of his eyebrows, dipping his head. He twisted it back on and put the golden cap on in a blur so quick. He dipped his head in a position that let his black hair hide his face. "Sorry."

I fixed him with a curious look. "Uh... You're forgiven, I guess."

"It's just... You act a lot like she did."

I felt stupid in that moment. I had thought it was a friendly thing, him calling me his sister. But then I recognized the remorse and regret in his voice. He had lost his sister, and mistaken me for her. "Sorry... Dillan... I know how hard that must be..." Kill me if I am going to have to try and cheer the damned boy up.

He shifted his purple headband into place gruffly, flashing me a grin and subtle wink. "Whatever, right? I'm sorry I messed up... Hahaha... But, uh, I can call you sis, right?"

I held back my anger towards him, feeling the heated flare of frustration die in me. Sure, I hated the new nickname, but he had lost his sister.

And I knew how that felt.

"Whatever," I answered gruffly, crossing my arms over my chest. "Just don't expect me to let you dress me up and do my hair cause I'm still just your friend."

"Duh." The prophet gave me a small smile, then took a step back to overlook the make up. "Damn. Hehe, not bad. You should wear it more."

"Hell no. I distrust this. It could give me skin cancer or something..." The red shirt was hanging over the railing now that Delta had gone to get it, so I picked it up and laid it over my shoulder. "Oliver is coming with me, right?"

Dillon dipped his head. "Yeah. We wouldn't have it any other way, either. We wouldn't let an Extant go somewhere dangerous without their Apotropaic."

I rolled my eyes. Oliver and I had trained with both my end and my sword. I was without the sword now, but I could still very well attack anyone with my air. I could defend myself. Not that I could if I were to come in contact with a demon General, but this mission would be a lot safer than that. He will be better moral support than help. Stepping into the house once again, I narrowed my eyes ahead of me.

I had battled demons, I had fought Generals, but this was a fight I had never won before. And it was against the hormones of a boy...

***

The place was everything I had expected at Dillan's Welcome Home party he threw for me (now that I think about it, it was probably thrown because my Apotropaic knew for sure I was the Kalos Extant); drugs were being passed, people were drinking, and the only people not gyrating were too drunk to do so. Getting in wasn't too much of a struggle. After all, I was part succubus (according to Dillan) and the guard was a boy just a bit too young to go inside. I was just as tall as most of these boys already and pretty enough, so my age wasn't questioned. I did, however, have to confirm Oliver's age since he was as short as any 15-year-old.

Besides, being a newly made 16-year-old, I was only two years away from being old enough to come in.

I was offered something, but ignored the person who offered it. As I squeezed through the crowd, Oliver's hand in mine. It probably had drugs in it, whatever it was. In that moment, I treasured how truly child-proofed Dillan's celebration had been.

I yanked Oliver forward to stand beside me, hurting his arm the slightest it. He yelped, but I spun him towards me before the sound could finish escaping. "Do you see the target?" I had to shout over the music.

Oliver shook his head. "Not anywhere. Check the back rooms?"

I dipped my head, then pulled him along past the crowd. Is it even legal for this many people to be in one place? We traveled up the stairs. The place, even if I couldn't see it completely through the people, was in bad shape. The sand-colored staircase felt as if it were going to fall through at any moment. The walls, when I touched them, felt thin and hollow. I could feel the air lying still in there. The railing was loose. On top of that, the place was small. I wondered how the owner could afford the party when he couldn't afford his home.

I hated the way people worked. Although, even when I used to think I was human, I had always loathed people anyway. Probably why I got along with Mary. She's a faeirie, after all. I released Oliver's hand, and we came to a halt on the hardwood floor, which was probably fake.

"Now that I can hear you... You'll have to look out for the target. I have no idea what he looks like," I told my white-haired Apotropaic.

He beamed an innocently boyish smile. "The old Emma would have yelled at you for calling them a target, you know?" Before I could slap him, he interjected with his strange accent, "Come on. We will look over the rooms. Then, we will go back down and see if we can spot him in the room. Uh, by the way, the way those people are dancing... Why are they..?"

"No." I dug my hands into my pocket. "My acting skills may be a bit rusty, but I can pull this off. You ready?"

"You know I am." Oliver lunged forward, squeezed my hand in assurance, and vanished down the hallway before I could hit him. That left me utterly alone with time to switch into character.

Desperate, drunk, bubbly. You can pull this off, Emma Whitestone. I took in a deep breath, shifted my shoulders so one of the red strays was drooping, and batted my eyelashes. You can do this. You can do this!

I walked back into the room. Time to become the life of the party. That's how I have to get noticed by the target... I swung my hips as I walked, trailing my slender hands along the crumpling railings. I felt my phone bulge in my pocket. The thing was on in case I needed help. Because, let's face it, as Emma Whitestone, defeating a demonic Dark General was so much easier than romance. I flipped my hair and entered the room once more. Let's hope to Croma he is here or so help me... My throat cleared.

As I predicted, the passing of drugs hadn't stopped, and wherever the target was, he was unnoticed. Taking up the entire living room and kitchen were people dancing in a way that would make Michael Jackson cringe. I hid my disgust for all of this with a bubbly smile. I knew I was going to attract men... After all, I was 'cute' int the sense that I was younger, wearing make up, and a succubi.

I walked over to the table where the punch was being served, not that anyone was drinking it, due to the fact that toy soldiers littered it. I shouldered the one serving the punch, who looked pretty sober and frustrated. "Oh, with all those muscles, they should make you the guard." I have to tell my little sister about this one day. "You look so strong! How many parties have you come to?"

"Uh..." His voice cracked, as if he, too, were too young for this. "I dunno. Um.. I work out." He gave me an embarrassed smile, cheeks bright. He was probably cussing himself out on the inside for being so awkward.

I flipped my hair. "Would a strong man like you help a little girl like me? It will be worth your time~" I winked.

His eyes flew open in shock, and he set his drink down so he didn't spill it. "Yes! Anything!"

"My granny had a house in the woods," I said, pouting. "Someone took her precious sword that she got from a Japanese man. It's made of gold, and very valuable." I licked my lips. "Help me out and I can come up with several rewards for you. Somebody took it." I could only admit it to myself, but my whining voice was entertaining to pull. "Somebody here. Help me please?"

"Thomas Duncan got a sword the other day! Um, it wasn't made of gold but..."

I pressed my body closer to his, feeling utterly violated at my own actions. "It's okay. I wanna see. Where is he?"

The boy pointed eagerly towards the middle of the dance floor, where everyone was watching the kid bust moves. I smiled up at him. "Thanks. When I am done, we can go up to the back rooms, okay?"

He grinned nervously. "O-okay!"

I turned away a suppressed a shudder of disgust. I danced my way into the crowd and pulled Thomas aside without much fuss from the people watching him.

"Can I come home with you?" I asked, straight to the point since he was obviously incredibly drunk.

"Yeah," Thomas slurred.

"Where do you live?"

He answered me, and I pushed him off. He looked confused for a minute, then returned to dancing.

I repeated the address over and over in my mind, and Oliver rushed to greet me, saving me from the man near the bowl. "Got it."

His blue eyes widened with shock. "Good! Let's go then, Em!"

We wound our way through the crowd until we got to the man at the punch bowl. He set the cup of punch on the table once again. "Are we going backstage now?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, placing his hands on his narrow hips.

"Sorry," I told him with a happy chirp. "My boyfriend is here now!" I gestured at Oliver, who blinked innocently at me with only a trace of my lie recognized.

The man gaped.

I waved him a gentle little goodbye, and with the new information, Oliver and I left the hell hole. Dashing under the liquid stars across the wet grass, we felt a co fined freedom. We ran beside each other, wind in our faces, hand in hand. And the funny thing was, his skin against my palm didn't feel so strange anymore. Instead, I kind of liked it.

Look at Death in that picture. Look at him. Isn't he pretty?

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