He snorted. “You’re underestimating the power of their denial. They might not argue with me, but I doubt they’ll really believe me.”

Of course, since the story wasn’t true, it was hard to blame my parents too much for not believing it. But no worries—there were plenty of other things I could blame them for.

I longed to ask Andy if he knew anything about my real father and the circumstances of my birth, but I knew it was too early for that. I needed to give him time to recuperate, to readjust to life as an independent human being. So I’d wait until tomorrow to ask.

I was once again struggling against my urge to run away when I heard the excited babble of my parents’ voices and realized it was too late.

“You want to hide out in the bathroom until they’re gone?” Andy asked me, and for the first time since he’d awakened I saw a spark of life and humor in his eyes.

Sad to say, that offer actually tempted me. But I scraped up what maturity I could and stayed right where I was.

My mom came through the door first. She’s the kind of woman who won’t set foot outside her house until her face is meticulously painted to hide any hint of blemishes or wrinkles and her hair has been sprayed until it didn’t dare move even in a gale-force wind. She wields her iron with fanatical zeal, and even when she wears linen, you’ll rarely see a crease anywhere.

Tonight was no exception, though how she managed to look so perfect when she’d obviously rushed out of the house, I had no clue. Maybe she was really a demon-possessed mannequin. But I’m being uncharitable. So what else is new?

She put her hands over her mouth when she caught sight of Andy, stifling a sob as her eyes shimmered with tears. Then she walked past me without even a sidelong glance and reached out her hand toward my brother. Andy took the offered hand and forced a smile. My mother couldn’t speak through her silent tears, and for that I was grateful.

My dad wouldn’t know a tender emotion if it bit him in the ass. He stepped through the doorway and gave me a brief nod, then moved to stand by Andy’s wheelchair, looking like being reunited with formerly catatonic sons was an everyday occurrence for him. I wondered if anyone would notice if I just slipped out the door.

“How are you feeling, son?” my dad asked.

“Much better,” Andy said. He tried to withdraw his hand from my mother’s grasp, but she didn’t let go.

“We’re so grateful to have you back,” my mom said, her voice quavering. “And now you can tell us what really happened on the night you were shot.”

Andy and I shared a look. Now as you might have gathered, there’s no love lost between me and my mom, but even I had a hard time believing she could be this callous. My mouth went on autopilot.

“You haven’t talked to the real Andy in ten years, he’s been catatonic for weeks, and the first thing you say to him is how grateful you are that he can tell you R—” I stopped myself before Raphael’s name left my lips. Demons adopt their hosts’ names when they walk the Mortal Plain, and they rarely divulged their own names. In all likelihood, my parents didn’t know the name of the demon who had possessed Andy, and we were all better off if it stayed that way. “Raphael” might not be his True Name, but there were probably others who knew that was the king’s brother’s name.

I cleared my throat, trying to disguise the slip as a cough. “Hoping he can tell you his demon isn’t the bastard everyone else has said?”

My mother’s back stiffened, and my dad glared at me.

“Morgan,” he said, “if you don’t have anything nice to say, then I’d suggest you not say anything at all.”

What was I, five? My hackles rose even higher. “I might say the same of the two of you! Are you even marginally happy to see Andy restored, or is that goddamn demon the only thing you care about?”

My dad’s glare became even more icy. “Watch your language.”

Unbelievable! I’d always thought of Andy as their favored son. I’d known it was because he’d agreed to host a demon, but I didn’t realize until this moment how little regard they actually had for him as a real person.

“Let’s not argue, okay?” Andy said weakly. “I don’t have the strength for it.”

I immediately felt like shit. Yeah, I thought my mom was a callous bitch, but surely I had enough self-control to keep my opinion to myself for a few minutes while he and my parents got reacquainted.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. I was apologizing to Andy, but my parents seemed to think the apology encompassed them as well, and I saw no reason to disillusion them. My dad turned away without a word, and my mom had never looked my way in the first place.

“Of course we’re very glad to see you recovered,” my mom assured Andy. “I can’t imagine what these last few weeks must have been like for you.” She sniffled daintily, and Andy forced another smile.

“It’s been rough,” he admitted, “but that’s over.”

My mom finally let go of his hand and pulled up a chair, my dad standing behind her like some kind of bodyguard. Surely he was feeling something—other than his distaste for me, that is—but you wouldn’t know it by looking at him. He’s one of those super-uptight men who thinks showing emotion is girly. I doubt a tear had dared leak from his eye since well before puberty.

Leaning forward slightly in her chair with her earnestness, my mom asked, “So tell us what happened.”

Once again, Andy and I shared a look, but this time I managed to bite my tongue and let him talk. He shook his head and met my mother’s gaze.

“I’m really sorry, Mom, but I’m afraid you already know the truth. My demon went rogue, and there was nothing I could do to stop him.” He shuddered visibly, and my mom sat back in her chair looking dumbstruck.

“How can that be?” she whispered, eyes wide and incredulous.

Andy shrugged. “Not all demons are the same. I just happened to draw one of the bad ones.”

My mom didn’t say anything, but anyone with half a brain could see she wasn’t convinced. I really don’t get her. She has to know that there are bad demons out there. Even with the thickest, rosiest-colored glasses imaginable, she had to have seen reports of rogues (demons who commit violent crimes) and illegals (demons who possess unwilling hosts). Why was it so impossible for her to imagine Andy getting saddled with one?

“Well,” my dad said with false cheer, “even if that’s the case, I’m sure things will go better next time.”

My jaw dropped open, and I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.

I should have known my parents would want him to host again. Hell, they’d probably wished they could summon another demon to take him over while he was catatonic. However, even though he’d signed the consent forms the first time around, he’d have to do it all over again if he wanted to host another demon.

I’d just gotten my brother back after a ten-year absence. I didn’t want to lose him again!

Then an insidious thought wormed its way into my mind. If Andy was going to host another demon, why shouldn’t that demon be Lugh? My heart tripped over itself. Andy had always wanted to be a hero, and I never had. It would be perfect! I’d get rid of Lugh and go back to as normal a life as I’d ever had. And Andy would get to be the hero who saved the world.

But before I got too excited about the idea, I saw the ghastly white color of my brother’s skin, saw the horror in his eyes, and knew that my faint hope was already dead.

Still pale, his hands gripping the arms of the wheelchair, Andy shook his head. “There won’t be a next time,” he declared, his voice slightly wobbly. “Once was enough for me.”

My mother put a hand to her breastbone in shock, and my dad was momentarily rendered speechless. He recovered quickly.

“That was insensitive of me,” my dad said, and I swallowed a laugh. “I’m sorry, son. I didn’t mean to rush you. The first thing you have to do is get your strength back. We can talk about your future later.”