We didn't go home right away. Instead, I sat on a mortuary gurney as one of the local MEs worked to set my broken arm. He had already finished tending Wes' injuries.

Wes lay still on the other gurney, eyes closed, as the wonders of morphine transported him from a world of pain to one of candy gumdrops.

I hoped to join him there soon.

The morgue at North Memorial Hospital was the domain of Dr. Peter Cole, one of the few Damian trusted with our secrets. It was always good to have a doctor on call even if most of his patients were already dead.

The fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptic were almost like home. We’d been here many times before. Hell, my first time behind the wheel was to rush Damian here before he bled out.

Peter was brilliant and should have been a world-class surgeon, saving lives and not wasting that brilliance determining the cause of death of people who were no longer here to care.

Something had happened, something he wouldn't talk about, to lead him to a life hidden in the basement. Damien knew, but even with all my poking and prodding, he'd never revealed it.

Don't get me wrong; I was appreciative. We couldn't go through the front door of the hospital without sentinels being up our asses.

Peter was human, so he worked a different type of magic, saving Wes and Damian's lives countless times. We owed him a debt we could never pay back, but he never asked a thing in return.

I'd never known a time when Peter wasn't in our lives. He was the cool uncle who always snuck me candy before dinner and always had a joke, smile, or a word of encouragement for an unruly cambion like me. He knew what we were and didn't care.

Peter looked over his shoulder at Damian, who paced across the pristine ceramic tile.

"Where were you when this happened?" he asked, an accusing tone in his voice.

Damian acted like my father, had raised me like a father, and loved me like a father, but Peter treated him like a child when it came to my safety.

Damian sighed in exasperation and replied in a level tone. "Trying to do my job."

"You should have left her at home."

Peter didn't say it, but there was that underlying tone of disappointment in his voice.

"Don't tell me how to parent," Damian grumbled under his breath.

There wasn't much of an age difference between them—Damian was thirty-four and Peter was thirty-seven—but Peter had always been protective of us. Must have been a doctor-patient thing.

"She's still a kid. She's not ready to be your sidekick," Peter said as he stitched up the gash above my right eye. I didn't even remember getting the scratch.

Damian snorted as he stopped pacing and looked pointedly at me. "She was supposed to stay in the car."

"You thought she'd listen?" Peter barked a harsh laugh "When has that ever happened?"

My ears burned with indignation. "She is sitting right here. Talk to me, not about me."

Peter turned back to stare at me, anger flashing in his eyes.

"This isn't a game, child. There is no restart button if you croak."

It was the first time I’d never noticed the worry lines on his face.

His emphasis on the word child told me everything I needed to know about what he thought of me. It was like he was waiting for me to shoot a deer, drag the carcass home, and mount its antlers on my wall before he'd acknowledge I wasn't a kid anymore.

I stifled a laugh, trying to lighten the mood and hide my annoyance. "Croak? Like a frog?"

I waited for my joke to have the desired effect, but neither of them looked amused.

"Because the demon was a frog?" I said.

Not even a half-hearted smile.

Tough room.

"A frog?" Peter asked. "How did a frog do this kind of damage to you?"

"It was a big frog."

Damian sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "It was a kappa demon, not a frog. Which you'd know if you ever did the homework I assign."

I shrugged. Bad idea. Pain spread throughout my body. When were the painkillers going to kick in?

"Looked like a frog to me," I said.

Peter finished poking sutures near my eye.

"All done. How are you feeling?" Concern warred with frustration in his tone.

"Like a giant frog kicked my ass.” I groaned as I shifted, my body stiff. Twice."

I could tell by how he smiled that he wasn't worried anymore. I would be fine.

He shook his head. "Try not to pick fights with things much bigger than you."

"He started it," I lied.

He gave me a quick peck on my forehead as he stood. I hadn't noticed how bloody his scrubs were.

"Well, my fierce little warrior, all you can do now is rest and let your body heal."

I nodded. Unlike a human, it wouldn't take months for me to recover. Maybe two weeks tops. There were downsides to being half-demon, but accelerated healing wasn't one.

"Keep her at home for a few weeks to avoid any suspicion," Peter said to Damian.

He sounded tired and worn out as he walked away to his computer. His gait was slow, and his shoulders stooped. He hated these visits. He looked at my brother as he sat.

"Don't worry," Damian said. "I'll shackle her in the basement if I have to."

"Fun," I muttered, unsure if he was joking or serious.

It wasn't like he'd ever punished me that severely, but then again, I'd never almost gotten myself and Wes killed before.

"If you insist on bringing her out on these trips, give the girl a weapon and some real training. As much as I love having her around, I don't want her coming in the normal route."

His eyes drifted to the cabinets where he stored the corpses.

"I'll do better next time," I promised.

Damian shook his head. "There will not be a next time. Your focus from now on will be school."

Peter watched with sad eyes like he'd seen this play out before.

"Seriously? You didn't even finish high school, and you've done all right. I don't need a degree to catch bad guys."

Even to my late teen ears, it sounded like a weak argument.

"I want better for you, Niblet. You think this is the life I would have chosen if I'd had a choice?"

There it was. He didn't say it outright, but the meaning was clear. I was a burden and always had been.

Froggy had beaten me bloody, but that truly hurt.

Our mother had left me with Damian when I was an infant to go to the grocery store. We hadn't seen her since.

She could be dead for all I knew, but Damian was convinced she wasn't. He never told me why he was so sure she was out there somewhere, but I trusted his judgment.

He knew her. I didn't.

"You could increase my training. Maybe some real-world experience, rather than just practice at home," I said, hopeful. "Then I'll be better prepared."

Damian scoffed. "You know how to get away if something nasty comes at you. That's enough."

Peter's snort was uncharacteristic of him but spoke volumes about the situation.

Fleeing wasn't my style. "I'm not a coward."

"Damian, she is more stubborn than even you. Listen to the girl, or she will go in half-cocked and get herself killed."

I don't know what was more surprising, Peter agreeing with me or the look on Damian's face.

Damian met my eyes and replied, "I'd rather you be a coward than a corpse, but I will consider it."

He was resigned to the fact that no matter how hard he tried to convince me to stay out of trouble, I would somehow always find it.

I looked away from him, not able to meet his eyes anymore. The untouched college applications stacked on our kitchen table invaded my brain. All the schools he wanted me to go to were at least a hundred miles away.

It felt like he wanted to get rid of me, wash his hands of the responsibility, all under the guise of keeping me safe.

As far as I was concerned, the only safe place in the world was by his side. Why didn't he get that? Why didn't he think that?

"I'm eighteen. You can't boss me around anymore," I said, more of a joke than a tantrum.

"I'm your big brother. I will always boss you around." He kept his voice low like he was struggling to contain the depth of disappointment he had in me, turning playful words painful instead. "When will you learn I only want the best for you?"

He came over to where I sat and cupped my face in his cool hands. "The last thing I want is you getting stitched up in the morgue."

He pulled away, the tension in his face aging him ten years. I was pretty sure I was responsible for the dusting of gray hair at his temples. I was hardly what one would call a good kid.

"Lex, I love you to death and would give anything to keep you safe, but I can't keep this up forever. You have got to learn this is not a game."

I said nothing in response. What could I say? Not to worry about me? That from now on I'd be good? We would both know it was a lie, and I had too much respect for him to pretend to be something I wasn't.

I wasn't the girl who waited at home, baking cookies as a battle raged across town. Maybe I wasn't ready to face the evils of this world head-on alone, but I had Damian. I just had to convince him he needed me, too.

He turned his attention to Wes struggling to sit up.

"Why the hell didn't you shoot him in the head?" Damian barked at Wes in a tone I rarely heard.

Wes shrugged as if Damian's harsh words didn't affect him, but his facade couldn't mask the downcast puppy eyes.

"You said we needed him alive to get paid," Wes said in a measured voice.

Damian sighed and ran his fingers through his thick chestnut-brown hair. "What have I told you time and time again? What comes first?"

Wes swallowed and glanced over at me. The guilt written on his face didn't belong there.

"I fucked up," he said like the words themselves hurt.

It wasn't fair for Damian to blame him.

"No. I shouldn't have run off like that. I messed up."

It was barely a whisper, but it was the truth. Wes didn't deserve the full force of Damian's fury.

Everyone looked at me as if I were speaking in tongues.

Damian gave a half smile. "Perhaps there is hope for you yet, Niblet."