Dee returned to a world both changed and unchanged.

Unchanged, because when she finally powered up her phone, there were three voice mails waiting for her.

The first two were from her mother. Her voice was carefully neutral, asking if she would like to come home for a Sunday dinner a week from that day. There was a shiver in her voice, as if she were holding back her own distress.

The last voice mail was from her father. He asked if she knew where the extra vacuum bags were, where she had put them. There was no mention of the fight, no allusion to any conflict—likely, he didn’t even remember it had occurred.

Unchanged.

Definitely unchanged.

But some things had changed.

Changed because she had not slept last night—she was too busy looking up news of the explosion in Seattle, texting Cora about it. Cora replied with a simple No idea and left it at that. James was more willing to talk it out with her—and they settled on one rather uncomfortable conclusion.

Something had gone wrong. With the voids, with the demons—otherwise, why would the Daemon have bothered to stick around? “He wouldn’t have been there if it was just an accident,” said James darkly, and Dee couldn’t disagree.

And the world was also changed, because when they pulled up at her dorm, there was a moment of slightly awkward silence between her and James. She hesitated, unsure of what to expect. This was it—the last few seconds of her Not-Life. The moment she opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk, things would go back to normal. Or what passed for normal these days.

So she did one last reckless thing.

She leaned in, pressed a kiss to his cheek. His skin was soft, his stubble rasped against her lips. He held very still, as if not wanting to scare her off. “Thank you for everything,” she told him, before she opened the car door and stepped into her real life.

When she walked into her dorm, Gremma was waiting. She had a cup in hand, offering coffee in exchange for an explanation. Dee had little energy to make up stories, so she simply said that she couldn’t stand the thought of attending school, so she’d begun her weekend early. With James. The boy she’d disappeared with from the art gallery. It was a flimsy excuse, even for Dee.

Gremma eyed her. “You’re not telling me everything,” she said. Not in an accusing way, but more matter-of-fact.

“No, I’m not,” Dee agreed.

A moment’s pause.

“This has to do with your drug running, doesn’t it?” asked Gremma.

Dee heaved an exasperated sigh. “For the last time, I am not a drug runner.”

Gremma narrowed her eyes, her painted green nails thrumming impatiently on her desk. “Organ harvester?”

“Yes,” said Dee, straight-faced. “I am an organ harvester. You have gotten the truth out of me. Can I have the latte now?”

Gremma’s scowl never lessened, but she handed the coffee over. “You’ve always been hard to read,” she said. “I mean, I know you’re a liar. You’ve always been a good liar. But you’re getting better at it and it’s driving me crazy.”

Dee paused, the coffee halfway to her mouth. Those words coming from anyone else would have sounded like an insult—but Gremma sounded almost admiring, almost fond. The way she spoke about one of her unsolved puzzles.

“I am not a liar.” Dee sipped the coffee.

“Only liars say that,” replied Gremma. “People lie. It’s what they do. But it’s about little stuff, like homework and shit. But you—you hide everything. I’ve never been inside your house.”

“I’ve never been inside yours,” Dee protested.

“My parents live in Seattle.” Gremma gave her a measured look. “Yours live less than ten miles away. But I know far less about you than you do about me. I didn’t even know you were Latino until I saw your last name on a student form. I thought you were just really tan or something.”

“Half Latino,” said Dee. “On my dad’s side.”

“See,” said Gremma. “I didn’t even know that.” She tilted her head, eyeing Dee. “You never talk about anything in particular—you’ve mastered the art of small talk. And for the most part, I like it. I like puzzles. But now you’re running around with homeless guys—”

“He is not actually homeless. You know that. You’ve seen his apartment.”

“—and you’re missing school, and I swear I smelled something like cordite on you the other day.”

Dee took another drag of coffee, if only so she had time to think of an excuse. “Are you going to report me?”

“No,” said Gremma. “I just want to know what’s going on so I can go back to normal puzzles like how the human body works. This is driving me up a wall. I couldn’t focus on chemistry the other day because I spent half an hour trying to figure out your new extracurricular activities.”

And for a moment, Dee considered it. She considered telling Gremma everything—about her heart, about her parents, about the Daemon, about that cobbled-together homunculus, about Cal falling to the sidewalk, about Cora’s hollow eyes, about the sensation of James’s mouth on hers, their fingers woven together, about the fact that her life was some kind of screwed-up fairy tale and she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be reading Faust or Cthulhu or if she was even going to survive all of this—

But the words knotted in her throat, and she found herself unable to speak them aloud.

Gremma saw the distress on her face and she softened. “Fine,” she said. “Not now. But later, I swear to everything that I hold dear. Later, Moreno. I will get it out of you.”

The text came on a Saturday afternoon.

WE NEED TO MEET, said Cora. JAMES’S APARTMENT. TONIGHT. 8PM.

Dee could almost hear Cora’s stern voice in the all-caps message.

She texted James. Did you just get Cora’s message?

yup.

Did she volunteer your apartment as a meet spot?

it’s not the first time. u need a ride?

Dee considered; she ran through the scenario of asking Gremma for the Camaro, then quickly typed a reply.

Yes, please.

She met James on the curb. Her stomach was twisted into knots; she hadn’t seen him since the road trip and part of her was nervous. She didn’t need to be flustered. After all, they were friends. But her mouth went dry when his car pulled up and he stepped out.

And then she froze in horror.

She raised a finger. “No. No, no, no.”

James reared back a step, startled. “What?”

Now that they had returned to their old lives, it seemed James had gone back to dressing in his usual wardrobe. With one notable addition.

“You are wearing a straw hat.” Dee couldn’t believe she was even saying the words—but there it was, perched atop his rumpled hair. “You are not wearing a straw hat.”

“Pretty sure those are two contradictory statements,” said James. He was grinning, reaching up to tweak the offensive accessory.

“That is possibly the most hideous thing I have ever seen,” said Dee. She was rooted to the spot, paralyzed with disgust.

“You’ll work for a demon,” said James, “blow up magical voids, juggle a double life, watch friends get killed… and this is what breaks you?”

“It’s got a hole in one side,” said Dee, making no attempt to hide her despairing tone.

“Does it really?” James pulled the hat off and poked a finger through said hole. “Oh. Look at that.”

Dee snatched the hat from his hands and tossed it into the bushes. “Now look what you’ve done,” said James.

“You said we should live for today,” said Dee. “That fedora is not living. That hat is the opposite of living.”

“Technically, it was a trilby,” said James. “And did you just call my hat undead?”

She laughed and it turned into a snort. Which made him laugh, in turn.

It occurred to her that that was exactly why he wore it. He knew it would distract her, get her to focus on something trivial. And all at once, her nervousness faded away.

“No one else is going to die,” said Cora.

James and Dee simply looked at her.

They were still sitting on his Ikea couch, the one stained with paint and charcoal. Her back was to the couch’s arm, her feet tucked beneath his thigh. The contact felt comforting. A box of pizza sat open on the coffee table. Cora had declined the food. She had also declined a seat in favor of pacing back and forth, much in the manner of a general at a war council. There was a fire behind her eyes, Dee saw, a burning that had not been there before. Her body was tight with pain, her face rough with sleeplessness.

Cora said, “This is wrong. We’re wrong. We were wrong to make deals and the Daemon was wrong to change us. He is going around turning us into these… things.” Her fingers touched a lump in her pocket—and Dee thought that must be where she was keeping her knitted heart. “This is wrong. He can’t do this to us. We’re all being kept alive on a string.”

“I think you mean our lives hang on a thread,” James corrected, as if unable to help himself.

Cora threw him a heated look. “I have been awake for nearly three days straight. Do you think I give a damn about the phrasing?”

Ah. So that explained her slightly unhinged appearance. “If you do not mind me asking,” said James. “Why have you been awake for three days?”

“I’m going to stop him,” snapped Cora. “I will not let him take another heart. I’ve been following the Daemon for three days. Or trying to. I’ve mostly managed.”

“How will you even find him now?” asked Dee, startled out of her silence. “If you’re here, and he’s out there…?”

Cora’s smile was a crooked, triumphant thing. “Demons still think we’re helpless. They treat us like livestock, like things to be herded and harvested for their own needs. But humans evolved in the last few hundred years—and we’ve got technology.”

A moment.

Then it hit Dee. Exactly how one might track the Daemon.

“You’re following his cell phone?” she said, aghast.

James gazed at Cora in unflattering amazement. “Wow. I mean, I knew you were ballsy, but this is… a whole new level.”

Her mouth twisted. “Shut up, Lancer.” There was no affection in her words, no blunted insult this time. Her voice was low, utterly serious, and for the first time, Dee did not see a benevolent leader. Cora looked… coldly calculating. She looked like a demon hunter.

This, Dee decided, would not end well.

“So,” said Cora, turning flashing eyes upon Dee and James. “Are you both in?”

The ringing silence was answer enough. Cora looked between James and Dee, her own face tight with anger. “You’re just going to let this continue?” she snapped.

“I don’t see we have a lot of choice,” said Dee quietly.

Cora did not say another word. She turned on her high heel and strode out of the apartment.

“I feel like an asshole,” said Dee.

“I’m impressed,” said James.

She frowned at him. “Because I said no to someone?”

“Actually, it was because you just swore in front of me.”

She used her big toe to poke at his leg. He made a squeaking sound and caught her bare ankle in one hand. “Seriously, are we horrible for not wanting to help her?” said Dee, after a moment of thought.

James shook his head. “You’re asking me if we’re horrible people for not wanting to break a contract with an immortal being, to deliberately set ourselves against him, to risk everything we have and everything we are—all so we might hypothetically keep another teenager from losing his or her heart?” He paused.

“We’re horrible people,” said Dee.

“Yes, we are,” agreed James. “But somehow I think I can live with it.”