Since finding out about Resent’s absence, Rodrigo felt like the storm cloud hanging over him for months had temporarily cleared. He was so ecstatic, he had nearly embraced Adena when she told him, but knew about her aversion to any displays of affection, let alone public ones. He shuddered thinking about how much the gift might have cost her. The prince wouldn’t have agreed to it unless there were a few thousand in it for him, and while that may not have been a big deal to her, to Rodrigo, it was a wildly expensive gift.

  After bringing them their drinks, Valerie flopped down onto the couch next to them, seeming exhausted by her hostess’ duties. She had an enormous plate overflowing with potato chips on her lap that she was whittling down at a surprisingly rapid clip.

  Adena was staring into the mug of coffee, the liquid lighter than Rodrigo’s skin, and he could tell she was barely restraining herself from objecting to the liberal use of creamer. Instead, she asked, “Where did Jett run off to?”

  Valerie huffed a laugh. “No idea. I left him alone with a bottle of rosé for all of a minute while I went to find him a cup, and when I came back, they were both gone. Wherever he is, I hope he’s pacing himself.”

  “This isn’t your house, so why are you stuck playing chaperon?” Rodrigo asked. “Seems a shame you can’t enjoy your own party.”

  Valerie pushed her slipping metal framed glasses further up the bridge of her nose. “The house may be empty, but if at least one of the people that lived here didn’t die, and ended up in the hospital or something, why should they have to come home to a place even more wrecked than the invasion left it?”

  “That’s considerate. But why throw the party in the first place, then? I mean, with the...” Rodrigo drifted off, not wanting to drag the mood down any further than he already had.

  “With the demons around, right? You’re not the first to wonder where my head’s at.”

  He nodded.

  Valerie shrugged. “Haven’t they made everything miserable enough? I was blessed by the Goddess, and didn’t lose any close family, but other kids lost everyone.”

  Suddenly Rodrigo understood how a senior like her and a junior like Jett had apparently become close friends. Religion was one of the things most impacted by the invasion. Some had lost faith, feeling abandoned by God, leading to a huge uptick in nihilism. Others felt the invasion was a punishment for their lack of piety, and clung to religion harder than ever before. Few still had a healthy attitude on the subject.

  After letting the words sink in, Valerie continued, “And for those first few months, they were basically living under martial law, no school, trapped inside with nothing but free-time to dwell. Even now, if they weren’t at this party, half these kids would be roaming the streets, itching for a fight, or looking to score drugs harder than what’s trading hands here. Maybe it’s optimistic of me, but I figured if I could just give them one night to kick back and appreciate each other’s company, it might help jump-start the healing process for some of them.”

  Rodrigo knew she had good intentions, but it was the naivete of someone who didn’t know loss born of brutality to think that a single night of fun could do anything more than act as a distraction from the trauma and anger. Still, he couldn’t fault her for essentially having won the lottery. Five months ago, like most people, he’d been unfamiliar with that sort of loss himself. Besides, trying to lift spirits was more than the majority were doing.

  “Now, my friend, can I offer you some advice on a less grim subject?” Valerie asked.

  While Rodrigo usually hated unsolicited advice from people he barely knew, maybe it was because despite just meeting her, he had taken a liking to the would-be grief counselor that he said, “Sure, hit me.”

  “Leila’s gorg. And she seems nice enough, when she’s not being passive aggressive for getting caught trying to have her cake and eat it too. But most girls don’t like guys who seem too available. So, adorable as it is to watch, sneaking glances at her with those puppy dog eyes isn’t doing you any favors.”

  Rodrigo’s eyes widened. “I’m that obvious?”

  Beside him, Adena spluttered, nearly choking on the coffee she was sipping, as she stifled a laugh.

  Valerie smiled. “I guess that answers that.”

  Rodrigo rose, dramatically throwing his hands up as he did. “Okay, okay. You two can keep giggling about my failure of a love life. Meanwhile, I need to make a pit stop. Bathroom?”

  “Such a gentleman. Most guys are just fertilizing the bushes out back,” Valerie said. After a few seconds passed, and it became clear he wasn’t going to join them, she added, “Upstairs, first door on your left. Good luck.”

  Rodrigo nodded in thanks, then went off. Though Valerie had brought him a two-liter bottle of orange soda, which he had been chugging like a madman, he didn’t actually have to go. But it did give him a good excuse for the hourly bathroom trips to dissipate and rebuild his arm that he’d be forced to take throughout the night.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  When he came to the staircase out in the hallway, he realized why Valerie had wished him luck. Through the flashing lights, from the bottom of the steps, he could see a half-dozen girls waiting in line. He must have been out of his mind to think he’d be able to dip into the only restroom whenever he pleased, in a house where hundreds of kids were drinking themselves into oblivion. Still, he trudged up the stairs, stepping around the red-eyed stoners lounging on them, as if it was a perfectly sensible place to sit. People were sliding down the banister past him, to get back to the first floor, not one among them landing gracefully.

  Up on the second floor, Rodrigo had intended to find an empty room to recuperate in, but found himself drawn to a wide-open space where a more old school hip-hop beat was playing, a nice break from the repetitive trap. Kids were dancing in scattered groups all over the house, but this appeared to be the designated dance floor.

  A small crowd, whooping and clapping, had formed a circle around a breakdancing guy doing windmills in a tank top. A couple of them were filming it on their phones. Because he had taken off his dress shirt and was spinning so fast, it took Rodrigo a few seconds to recognize Jett. When he pressed his hands flat to the floor next to his head, kicking up to land on his feet, Jett staggered a little as he stopped to catch his breath. His skin was flushed from the exertion, but he looked happier than Rodrigo had seen him in months.

  His cousin had been jovial growing up. A kid who could flash you a toothy grin with his prominent dimples and make your day just a bit brighter. But ever since getting reacquainted with each other five months ago, Jett had been sour and melancholy, not that he didn’t have plenty of good reasons to be. From getting an ability far less subtle and harder to control than Rodrigo’s, to being right upstairs when his mother had been killed by hounds. Yet Rodrigo had always wondered whether that happy-go-lucky kid was buried in there somewhere, or if time had taken its pound of flesh, making him feel as wretched as the rest of them.

  Rodrigo shook the useless, bleak thought away, turning to leave. Then he heard someone retch behind him and stopped, knowing what had happened before he saw it.

  “Ew!” a girl squealed, scampering away from a doubled over Jett, as the contents of his stomach barely missed her high heels. Others were taking it in good humor, patting him on the back or continuing to film.

  Rodrigo paused, weighing the risk of being caught on camera with a deflated sleeve against leaving his cousin to pass out in a pool of his own puke. Eventually, he sighed, walking forward through the gaps in the dwindling crowd. He put an arm around Jett’s shoulder and helped him to a recliner in the corner of the room. “What happened to not dancing your troubles away?”

  “Dunno. Wasn’t planning on it till I got a bit buzzed.” Jett looked ready to pass out, his head lolling back as he covered his eyes with his forearm. After a few seconds, he raised his arm onto his forehead, cracking an eyelid open. “Wait...that you, Ruy?”

  Wow. As blackout drunk as his mother had been at times, she never failed to recognize him. Though he would have been better off if she hadn’t now and then. “Yeah, it’s me. You good, man? How much did you drink?”

  Jett either didn’t hear the question or was unsure of the answer, because instead he slurred, “Sorry bout earlier, dude. Being a dick about the job offer, I mean. I just...I think you chose right bout Carlito. Wish I had the balls to do the same before Pa and Geo came back. It gave you a chance to move on. Tomorrow’s been hanging over my neck like a…what’s that French choppy thing?”

  “A guillotine?” Rodrigo asked.

  Jett snapped his fingers ineffectually. “That’s the one. This funeral’s been waiting to crash down on me like a guilty-teen since she died.”

  Rodrigo was starting to feel dazed and weak from maintaining the arm’s solidity for so long, so he didn’t correct his cousin on just how little he had moved on. “All right. Hang here for a bit. I’ll come back with some water in a few minutes.”

  Rodrigo ducked into the nearest bedroom, unoccupied by some miracle, locking the door behind him. He didn’t even make it to the twin bed in the middle of the room before collapsing, his sleeve deflating and his empty glove hitting the floor. These recovery times were the only incentive to getting a prosthetic, at least for use during his downtime. In his exhausted state, he’d probably struggle to fend off a malnourished kitten.

  After Rodrigo’s breathing evened out, he managed to pull himself into a sitting position, leaning against the wooden bed frame. It was only now that it dawned on him that he was in a child’s room. He hadn’t bothered to turn the light on on his way in, so he could see the hundreds of plastic stars on the ceiling, glowing a luminescent green in the dark. His night vision had grown sharp enough to let him glimpse his surroundings with that faint amount of light.

  Action figures littered the floor, and Rodrigo absently picked up the one nearest to him, a superhero clad in bright colors that he didn’t recognize. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when, but he had lost that imaginative spark it took to play with toys from an early age. It was only when Carlito got old enough to take an interest in the pastime that Rodrigo was forced to dredge up some enthusiasm for it. Though Carlito had been more into video games and trading cards by the end, when they used to play together, his brother was never satisfied with simply mashing figures together, instead creating elaborate stories and rules, like a dungeon master trainee.

  There was a soft knock at the door.

  “Just a second,” Rodrigo said, trying to focus on quickly rebuilding the arm, the nebulae starting to materialize from his shoulder.

  The knock came again, but with greater urgency.

  “Give me a minute,” Rodrigo said more forcefully. He had molded the nebulae to match the length of his left arm, he just needed to trim them down to match the shape.

  The knocker pounded for a third time, more insistent than a beeping microwave. Convinced that someone was either screwing with him, or wasted to the point of deafness, Rodrigo shot to his feet. He slipped on his glove, hoping his shirt’s sleeves would hide any discrepancies between his arms. He unlocked the door and yanked it open. “Jesus! Can’t a guy get some pri—”

  He stopped cold as Leila shoved into the room, flicking the light switch on, and closing the door. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring up at Rodrigo with glassy, accusatory eyes.