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floor. They are black, which gives them instant awesomeness. And they are stretchy, which helps. And for the most important part, they are warm, dry, and not made of that terrible material they made our uniforms out of. I find a white t-shirt, because I don’t want to look like Lucien, and throw it over my head. Shoes and socks are next. The shoes are a little too big, but my uniform ones were a little too small, so I’d take big any day.
    That’s what she said…
    I’m sorry.
    So. I get all my clothes on and throw on a black jacket, which is super warm. It’s funny how new clothes make you feel better about yourself, even when you shouldn’t.
    And I do feel better.
    Until I look in the mirror.
    And I see myself.
    Not Willow.
    Not Sam.
    Hart.
    Jessup.
    In the same body I’d worn for twenty years.
    It’s me staring back at me.
    The human me.
    I stare.
    And I look into my eyes.
    And I throw a vase at the glass.

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    Hart
    I ’M SITTING ON THE BED WITH my head in my hands when Lucien finds me. I guess he heard the mirror shattering and thought he might need to come up here. I don’t know. Maybe he thought something was going on, something supernatural, like a ghost or something. Although, how could we be afraid of ghosts? Were we not technically ghosts… or zombies… or something not normal? Para-normal.
    I hear the old stairs pop and creak as he runs up them, and I hear him call my name. I don’t say anything to him. What is there to say? Oh, there’s plenty to say, but I’m not sure I can even form words right now.
    I just saw myself.
    Me.
    The real me.
    The real me in the flesh.
    The flesh that hurt Colleen.
    The flesh that disappointed my father.
    The flesh that killed my brother.
    The flesh that can’t forgive itself.
    Being a demon, even a demon with humanity, was better than this. I felt, but I didn’t feel like this. I hurt. But I didn’t hurt like this.
    Dear Lord, I sound like a whining baby. I need to stop all my bellyaching and move on with my life—or what’s left of it if I don’t stop Gracen. I’ll stop her, but in my own way. I promised her after all. I won’t let her become a true monster. I owe her that much.
    “Hart,” my brother says all annoyed, like he’s been saying my name forever. I don’t know if he has. I stopped listening a few minutes ago during my little mental breakdown.
    “You back to calling me Hart again?” I try to laugh. It doesn’t come out very strong, but at least it comes out as something. No one can say that I don’t laugh in the face of adversity… or whatever.
    “What do you want me to call you? You ready to be Jessup again?” The floorboard—that stupid really old and creaky floorboard—squeaked, which let me know he was fidgeting in the doorway. I wonder how this feels to him, being human again. He got to keep his true form in that weird way Heaven has about it, but to actually be human, in the old body of Lucien Blackwell. To be near me again. I should ask if he remembers Hell because it seemed to do a number on him. Hell, it does a number on everybody. But he hasn’t been out long. Those memories, those times, they haunt you. They still haunt me.
    “I don’t know what I’m ready to be.” It’s probably the most honest I’ve been in a long time.
    “Yeah, me either.” He sighs and walks toward me. He doesn’t stop until he sits next to me on the bed. This isn’t awkward at all. “Sorry about your jaw.”
    My jaw. I’d almost forgotten about it. “Don’t. I deserved it. I deserve a lot more.” Whiny… I’m being whiny. Suck it up, buttercup.
    “Eh, you’ve had a hard day.”
    “We’ve had a hard existence.” I counter. “Seriously, Lucien. How can you be okay about all this?”
    Cause he sure seems okay. He seems like there’s nothing going on at all. Like this is the most typical thing ever and we are up in my room shooting the bull after bedtime. I miss our house. I miss our life. I hate that I didn’t