"Ssshh." Tzich hushed her, and he shoved a spatula under the sticking brown mass of yolk and onion. The skillet hissed. "You're always too loud. You drown yourself out. Listen." He flipped the crumbling omelet and it popped and snarled and screeched anew. "The egg is a potential life -- half of a whole life that could've been, half of what makes a breathing, eating, fucking animal. Fragile like a skull, wilder than the woods. They're never-born children screaming. Half a life, in yolk and white or blood on the moon, it's all the same. Smell them burning, unbreathing." He broke a piece off with his fingers and popped the steaming-hot mass into his mouth, contemplative. He'd been staring at the eggs for a long while, letting it burn while Carly took her time getting up. He turned off the stove. "Better never-born than living, better living than dead. Better food than forgotten."

He grabbed the skillet with a bare hand and tossed it scorching onto the table, then shoved the handle of a fork at Carly. "What do you smell?" He went to the window and leaned on the sill, staring out at the empty road and a dog squatting in a neighbor's front yard. He grinned and turned around again, lazy and loose, just to see how Carly liked his breakfast. The omelet was sour and had been drenched in vinegar at one point in its cooking; it was blackened and bubbled and chunky with unidentifiable mounds of green and red and brown. "You smell the colors, don't you?"

Carly endured his spiel, intrigued by it bizarre quality and the chaos which made his words a mad tangent. As a whole, it made sense, but she tried to trick herself into going in circles around his speech, desperate to find no similarity whatsoever. She wanted to be as dissimilar to him as possible. So far, though, she was losing.

Her nose scrunched unhappily when he offered her the fork. Reluctantly, she grabbed it, and she took a slow half-step up to the skillet where the egg rested. As Tzich found vacation at the window sill, she analyzed the delirious concoction below. It was gruesomely discolored, and the stench made her wretch. She took his advice, went quiet, and looked at the disturbed egg.

“It’s big,” she nearly mumbled, eyes still screwed onto the thing with gross interest, “the mess of colors. I can smell sections and then a blend. Like a puzzle. I can put them together and take it apart.”

She could taste it without putting it on her tongue. Momentarily, she didn’t find the flavor awful, but compelling, because she could taste individual sects—fish on one side, onion in its own enclave, a smattering of pepper. She could feel where the potential in the egg had once been, but then had failed. In a daze, she took a small bite of the egg and put it in her mouth.

And then humanity crashed down on her.

Immediately, her eyes widened and she seized up, then she dove to the sink. She spit out everything and felt her stomach tighten and convulse, and she took handfuls of water and gulped it down. She tried to scrape her tongue clean with a napkin, but it was to no avail.

“Fuck,” she growled, “that was horrible. What’s wrong with you? Are you trying to poison me?”

By the time Carly turned around again, Tzich was sitting in the seat she had just vacated, chewing slowly, savoring, a bitten piece of rubbery black omelet in his fingers. He sucked the buttery grease from his thumb. "I know you believe me," he told her as he examined the odd colored shapes in the burnt egg. "Your life makes sense when you know the devil is your father. You're still convinced you'll convince yourself otherwise."

He swallowed. Took a long whiff of onion and cilantro-cinnamon. Licked the omelet like an ice pop, dropped it back in the pan and surged out of his seat with a sudden sharp-eyed ferocity. He grabbed her hand and dragged her to the door with long firm strides. "Your smell is good but it's not enough to taste it," he hissed in a determined passion. "Your humanity gets in the way of your strength."

He grabbed the doorknob and began to throw it open in a dramatic display of showing the way to Carly's true life -- only the door was locked and deabolted, and he frowned and yanked at it pitifully.

Carly stiffened from the startle of Tzich’s violent rise. When he grabbed her wrist, her eyes widened, and while she put some distance between them, it didn’t stop him from pulling and then dragging her through her own home.

She could’ve tried and break away, maybe hit him, scream and curse to all the people that weren’t listening, but instead she walked ahead, her steps stinted and slanted in attempt to slow them, but it did nothing. Tzich moved her along and pursued his spiel, all the way until the door.

By then, her amber eyes were big and her eyebrows knitted, her expression conflicted between surprise of the uproar and irritation from being tugged about like a ragdoll. Just as she was about to make a more definitive face toward him, maybe say something, he opened the door and failed. He tried again, beating against the deadbolt, but to no avail.

“Yeah, and your batshit crazy gets in the way of common sense,” she said pointedly. Then, in one quiet motion, she reached up and flipped the lock. Not that she wanted to be wrangled outside by this madman who was budging his way into her life, but she felt a little bad for him. Just a little.

“You really believe what you’re saying, don’t you?” she muttered edgily. He didn’t seem to by lying, and from the surface there didn’t seem to be much reason. “Look, I’m not leaping at the idea of being the Devil himself’s daughter, but you can’t blame me, can you? As far as I know I’m a normal girl—er, woman. I mean, yeah, I’m kind of a bitch, but aren’t all humans?”

He glanced at the deadbolt now released, and he thought that maybe she was inviting him to prove a point or leave. Her eyes were begging to be convinced and her voice wouldn't fool him.

Tzich took in a slow breath, and he stepped closer, a smirk playing on his face, taunting.

"You were an hour away from death last night," he mentioned in a low voice. "You were bleeding out, gimping like a stray cat hit by a truck, I carried you the last three blocks to the hospital -- now, normally ..." He gave her a charming, modest grin. "Normally, someone who's carried into a hospital doesn't walk out the same night. Normally, someone who'd spent a weakened three hours soaked in cold rain would be feeling a little sniffly by now." His eyes narrowed in a challenge. "So you've had a transfusion, right? Thirty stitches at least? And the doctors let you march out those doors against hospital policy because you were fine after all -- you should be in a hospital bed right now but you're not because you have a gift for manipulation and does it hurt?" A smile crawled up his face. "A normal girl-er-woman would be in debilitating pain or looped out on Vicodin right now, and your head's as clear as the Alaska moon so that only means that you must be in excruciating pain right now, and I think you should lie down. Any normal girl, any normal woman would."

Her jaw progressively clenched. Unaware, her fists bunched together tightly, drawing the pigment away from her knuckles and leaving shaking, ghostly knobs.

Tzich brought up a very good point, one that even she couldn’t refuse. When she urged herself to think about it, her shoulder stung some, but even she knew that she was just convincing herself that. In reality, it was a little stiff to move around, maybe a little irritated around the stitching, but she was in tip-top shape. Aside from the dull headache reeling in the back of her brain, she was five by five. She wasn’t any normal girl—and normal woman.

Carly snapped her head away and turned around quickly. With her back turned, she crossed her arms over her chest. Only when eyes were off could she let that worried, sickened and enlightened expression come to glean. Everything spun for a moment and she felt light-headed. Her eyes coasted over the family photos hanging above the grey stone fireplace—her, her mother, and her father. Her fake father.

“Fine,” she could barely believe the words were coming out of her mouth, dry and seized, trembling from pressure, “you got me. What do you want from me, then? If I’m the bastard kid of the devil himself, I think I’d be in a different place in my life. At least if I were supposed to be important or anything.”

She spoke quietly, and with her back still turned.

Tzich shrugged, folded his arms and leaned his back against the door. "I'm sure Lucifer would agree with you, but there's a contract to abide by. Your parents got to keep you and raise you like any old normal kid for the first twenty-one years, no interference, no contact. And that has been done."

He leaned his head against the glass of the door and frowned at the back of her head. She was taking this a bit better than he'd thought she might -- but not as well as he could have hoped. He glanced out at the height of the sun.

"What else are you gonna do with your life? Wait tables? Go to college and drown in debt? Meet some rich tycoon, get married, have two kids, get divorced, die miserable? Why be normal when you could be beating the shit out of demons and feeding them to the fire?" He tapped impatient fingers on his elbow. "You'd be saving people," he added as an afterthought. He figured maybe since she'd been raised human, she might care about that sort of thing. "Those serial murderers, gang rapists and politicians are all either being manipulated by a rogue demon or are possessed themselves. Nobody can spot them -- nobody can fight them -- except you and me."

He waited awhile for this to sink in, and he shifted to his feet and pulled the door open. Daylight streamed in, warm and welcoming. "Whatever you'd rather do, you're going to want to test yourself before another one of those rogues comes looking for your blood. I can't rescue you every time."

Carly had never felt much empathy for her fellow man, and that was perhaps what had set her apart the most in her age. In school, she’d used it to her advantage, plucking innocent minds and controlling them like marionettes, willing them to carry out her bidding and lead her down the most successful paths. And in the rise of adulthood, she neglected sympathy; serial killers were a nuisance, considering it meant that she could be in the line of danger, but they didn’t bother her much. Ten car pile-ups and drunken collisions were simply life strokes, nothing more. Carly wouldn’t turn to facing the evil in the world for the better good.

However, she would act in her best interest. And with this fire in her gut, and this insatiable hunger rearing in the back of her throat, following Tzich into this madness had to be it. Or, at least, it could be. Denial was still fresh and stinking in her brain.

“Okay,” she turned around, visually resolved. Her arms across her chest looked less like protection and more like authority now. Her eyes were narrowed and her jaw was set. “What do we do?”

There was a flash of fang in his grin. He could smell it on her. The hunger. He liked that strong stance, the cool command of her eyes, the crackle of power under her skin that she couldn't feel for herself. Not yet. Tzich could almost taste his freedom. All he had to do was convince her to abandon her own.

"We look for trouble," he replied with a twitchy gesture of his head. He eased the door open and stepped out onto the threshold. He looked out at the sunlight, curious and distracted for a moment -- and then he changed his mind. He surged toward her again, leaning close with a ferocious smile. "No, I want you to find trouble." He licked his teeth and shifted back again, eyes narrowed, hands in his pockets. "Find me a demon. Find me a demon and I'll show you what I expect of you."

He'd always wanted a pet. He knew well that it wouldn't be long before she'd have her power like a noose round his neck; he'd have to savor his superiority while it lasted.

There was a flash of fang in his grin. He could smell it on her. The hunger. He liked that strong stance, the cool command of her eyes, the crackle of power under her skin that she couldn't feel for herself. Not yet. Tzich could almost taste his freedom. All he had to do was convince her to abandon her own.

"We look for trouble," he replied with a twitchy gesture of his head. He eased the door open and stepped out onto the threshold. He looked out at the sunlight, curious and distracted for a moment -- and then he changed his mind. He surged toward her again, leaning close with a ferocious smile. "No, I want you to find trouble." He licked his teeth and shifted back again, eyes narrowed, hands in his pockets. "Find me a demon. Find me a demon and I'll show you what I expect of you."

He'd always wanted a pet. He knew well that it wouldn't be long before she'd have her power like a noose round his neck; he'd have to savor his superiority while it lasted.

There was a flash of fang in his grin. He could smell it on her. The hunger. He liked that strong stance, the cool command of her eyes, the crackle of power under her skin that she couldn't feel for herself. Not yet. Tzich could almost taste his freedom. All he had to do was convince her to abandon her own.

"We look for trouble," he replied with a twitchy gesture of his head. He eased the door open and stepped out onto the threshold. He looked out at the sunlight, curious and distracted for a moment -- and then he changed his mind. He surged toward her again, leaning close with a ferocious smile. "No, I want you to find trouble." He licked his teeth and shifted back again, eyes narrowed, hands in his pockets. "Find me a demon. Find me a demon and I'll show you what I expect of you."

He'd always wanted a pet. He knew well that it wouldn't be long before she'd have her power like a noose round his neck; he'd have to savor his superiority while it lasted.

There was a flash of fang in his grin. He could smell it on her. The hunger. He liked that strong stance, the cool command of her eyes, the crackle of power under her skin that she couldn't feel for herself. Not yet. Tzich could almost taste his freedom. All he had to do was convince her to abandon her own.

"We look for trouble," he replied with a twitchy gesture of his head. He eased the door open and stepped out onto the threshold. He looked out at the sunlight, curious and distracted for a moment -- and then he changed his mind. He surged toward her again, leaning close with a ferocious smile. "No, I want you to find trouble." He licked his teeth and shifted back again, eyes narrowed, hands in his pockets. "Find me a demon. Find me a demon and I'll show you what I expect of you."

He'd always wanted a pet. He knew well that it wouldn't be long before she'd have her power like a noose round his neck; he'd have to savor his superiority while it lasted.

There was a flash of fang in his grin. He could smell it on her. The hunger. He liked that strong stance, the cool command of her eyes, the crackle of power under her skin that she couldn't feel for herself. Not yet. Tzich could almost taste his freedom. All he had to do was convince her to abandon her own.

"We look for trouble," he replied with a twitchy gesture of his head. He eased the door open and stepped out onto the threshold. He looked out at the sunlight, curious and distracted for a moment -- and then he changed his mind. He surged toward her again, leaning close with a ferocious smile. "No, I want you to find trouble." He licked his teeth and shifted back again, eyes narrowed, hands in his pockets. "Find me a demon. Find me a demon and I'll show you what I expect of you."

He'd always wanted a pet. He knew well that it wouldn't be long before she'd have her power like a noose round his neck; he'd have to savor his superiority while it lasted.

There was a flash of fang in his grin. He could smell it on her. The hunger. He liked that strong stance, the cool command of her eyes, the crackle of power under her skin that she couldn't feel for herself. Not yet. Tzich could almost taste his freedom. All he had to do was convince her to abandon her own.

"We look for trouble," he replied with a twitchy gesture of his head. He eased the door open and stepped out onto the threshold. He looked out at the sunlight, curious and distracted for a moment -- and then he changed his mind. He surged toward her again, leaning close with a ferocious smile. "No, I want you to find trouble." He licked his teeth and shifted back again, eyes narrowed, hands in his pockets. "Find me a demon. Find me a demon and I'll show you what I expect of you."

He'd always wanted a pet. He knew well that it wouldn't be long before she'd have her power like a noose round his neck; he'd have to savor his superiority while it lasted.

With rapt interest she watched Tzich. He reminded her of a cat’s tail, flicking with energy, momentarily suspended in sly grace and then violently jerked into a new direction. A manic look haunted his eyes, and it somehow compelled Carly—perhaps because, deep down, she knew he was her guide to satisfaction, wherever and whatever it was going to be. Her muscles pulsed with anticipation in her arms and fingers.

She frowned. “What? How am I supposed to know? I just started!”

She had a feeling that that excuse wouldn’t work. Therefore, rather than stand there gawking at him until he did something, she inched past him then started down the sidewalk. Once at the divide of latitude and longitude, she stopped and took a deep breath. It turned into a sigh, and she pressed her hands against her hips.

Then it came. She tensed suddenly, and her knees really pricked. It was clear she caught a scent of something. Poised, demanded, she looked to Tzich quickly, her eyes wider, her pupils were tight and constricted, like an animal in the heat of the hunt.

“I think there’s something this way,” she said, barely pointing in front of her before she started toward it. Her walk went from a smooth pace, to a hasted gait, then a full-on jog.

For a few moments he stood where he was, arms folded and head cocked and eyes squinted at the slow narrowing and hastening of Carly's attention.

"Impulsive," he sang to himself, and he licked a fang with a white grin. It was the most fun he'd had in ages, watching the war between beast and beauty explode so savagely behind her eyes. Poor thing wanted so badly to want to be normal -- but every fiber of her existence was tuned to a minor chord, to the shadow and the blood.

He threw himself forward once it was clear she wouldn't look back, he bounded up the middle of the street and with a few long strides was running alongside her, at a distance of several feet. He wouldn't have his own aura screwing up whatever scent she'd latched onto.

"Don't think," he called, just loud enough for her to hear, "just answer: feral or intelligent? Passive or dangerous? Angry or sad? Is it a thing or a person?" He watched her with bright hungry eyes, and waited for her to guess wrong.

Her arms pumped in rhythm with her step. It was a brief reminder of what had happened with her shoulder the night before, but it was nothing but a stinging afterthought, and certainly nothing she couldn’t handle. The closer they became, the harder she ran. In the back of her mind she was waiting for her body to give out, for her to slow down and take a couple minutes to double over and breathe raspy breaths in her desert-dry lungs. It never came, though.

“Feral,” she answered, her eyes dead-set ahead of her. “Not like that lady was last night, though. It’s different. It stinks.”

Carly took them around a block, then behind an old Chinese store. At the sight of the alley, she paced herself, then came to a slow halt at the mouth. In broad daylight, something rummaged through the large dumpster, sick wafting in the air.

“There,” she murmured quietly.

Then, as if on cue, a head popped out. A flesh-rippling growl emanated from the deep throat (or, throats) of the savage dog. Its skin looked as if it’d been peeled away, revealing thick cords of wet and bloody muscle, though the meat looked rotten. Holes clipped the ears of the beast, and its eyes were white, speckles of maggot burrows on its face. In a couple of seconds, leapt up and out, revealing steroid muscles and cankerous infection all across its body. Carly could smell it from where she stood.

"Ha ha!" Tzich grinned and rubbed his palms together, leaning forward in anticipation of a gourmet meal. "Just breathe in that aroma. A perfect combination of waste and rot, seething around the crazy holey scrap of a renegade demon, more violent and dangerous than ten of that woman put together. One bite, one scrape --" He smiled sharply, in glee over the thought of blood and bone.

"Even you wouldn't want to get near those teeth." He clasped his wrist behind his back and leaned to where Carly could see the humor in his eyes. "So what do you do? Maybe throw boxes at it til it gives up. Maybe it knows commands. Heel! Sit! Stay! No? Got a gun? Didn't think so. He's got his eye on you now, and he's hungry and mad." He was enjoying the show.

All confidence and intrigue she’d possessed was dashed away in seconds. Her determined, unconscious smirk trickled away at the sides of her lips, and soon her eyes were big and trained on the beastly dog. She felt the adrenaline and strength leave her at the knees.

When she noticed that indeed the rabid dog had gone from the dumpster to looking at her, she stiffened. The humor was evident in Tzich eyes, but it wasn’t helping her any and she began to panic. She shuffled from one foot to the other, then looked to the man who’d dragged her into all of this. If it wouldn’t have conflicted with her best interest, she would’ve slugged him right in the face.

“Seriously? Aren’t you going to help!” she bellowed.

That made the demonic dog before her get excited. It hunched down, flexing its irregular and deteriorating muscles, then pounced up, flashing its vicious maw, cankerous saliva dripping from the corners of its mouth. Carly yelped and darted for the side in one fluid somersault.

She ended with one knee and foot on the ground, her fingers pressed lightly at the concrete. Wild, she looked between Tzich and the hungry beast.

“What do I do?!”

Tzich stuck his hands in his pockets and spun into the open space behind Carly, confidently safe while she was so efficiently attracting the dog's furious attention. He'd admired her reaction and her command of her limbs and balance, but her instinct could use work. The stench had him on edge; he resisted the urge to drive that beast into the pavement, just to hear it screech, to feel the shards of an old soul scatter. This one was hers, its blood for her teeth.

"Well," he shrugged, and he grinned, speaking through a hiss. "There are a few ways to go about gutting him." Tzich dropped to one knee behind Carly and took the back of her hand in his palm. "Let's try them all," he whispered in her ear.

The dog shot forward before he finished speaking. Tzich raised their hands together, and he drew on both their energies, pulled it dark and crackling from her stomach, and he took careful aim at the oncoming threat.