want his mother to see.
“Honey, we need to talk.”
“No.” He sounded really upset, almost as if he‟d been crying.
She leaned closer to the door. “Are you all right?”
“No . ”
Maybe he was sick. Maybe . . . “I‟m coming in,” she warned and opened the door.
Zack huddled in the narrow space between his bed and the wall, curled in a tight ball, his arms wrapped around his knees.
Concern clutched her heart. His face was flushed, his eyes fever bright and miserable.
She started across the room toward him. “Zack, what‟s wrong?”
“I don‟t know. Stay away.”
She heard a sound— the front door opening? —from downstairs, but her attention was on her son.
“Do you have a fever?” She reached to brush a hand over his forehead the way she had a thousand times during his
childhood.
He jerked his head away. “Don’t touch me!”
“Zack.” She stared at him, shocked, dismayed. “What‟s the matter with you? Did you take something? Did someone give
you something?”
“He has been possessed,” Morgan said grimly from the doorway. “By the demon Tan.”
20
ZACK WANTED TO HOWL. IT WASN’T RIGHT, IT wasn’t fair, Morgan wasn’t supposed to be here, he would tell her
everything, he was ruining everything . . .
He gripped his head, fighting the pain, struggling for control of his own brain. No, that wasn‟t right, Morgan was his father,
he was supposed to make things better, he was trying to help.
“What happened?” the woman—his mother—asked. “When did you get here?”
“I tracked them from the beach,” Morgan said. “Zachary and the other.”
Fishy bastard. The wave of rage burned Zack‟s throat until he nearly puked. If Morgan hadn’t shown up, none of this
would have happened, everything would be all right.
One heart. One pulse.
Two minds.
He struggled for control.
“What other?” The woman turned to him. “Zack? What‟s going on?”
She was killing him with her questions. She was wearing her fake, everything‟s-fine doctor face, but her eyes were wide
and worried. Scared. He liked that. He liked scaring her.
Zack shuddered. No, he didn‟t.
“Don‟t want . . .” He choked the words past the constriction of his lungs, the searing in his throat. “To hurt.”
“It‟s okay, honey. We‟ll take care of you,” she said.
“We‟ll take care of everything.”
Stupid. She was stupid. She didn’t understand.
Stop. Zack tried again, wresting another tiny victory from the demon. “Don‟t want to hurt . . . anybody.”
Morgan said, “You won‟t.”
Hate him. Hate him. Hate.
Zack hissed in pain.
Just for fun, the demon rolled his eyes back in his head and growled. “Fuck off, fish face. I‟ll suck your bones.”
The woman gasped. Even Morgan, the big bad demon hunter of the deep, looked shaken. The demon laughed, hot energy
spurting through him. It was good to be free. Three long years in the damp and the cold and the dark . . .
Tan wished he could stay long enough to enjoy himself, to feed on the pain of the human woman, to drink her despair. But
his freedom was more important than his revenge. He must not underestimate his foe.