He knew that the PCA was waiting to see when Clio showed signs of reaching his potential as a deadly, demonic incubus, and they had yet to observe any signs of it. What research they had as reference were ancient, scrambled accounts of incubi, each a bit different from the last, making it difficult to pinpoint the exact attributes of an incubus. Long tail. Horns. Red eyes that glowed when hungry. Sexual energy. A hypnosis-inducing, melodic voice that trapped prey. The capability to control the paranormal was one, as well. They were kings among vis users, and apparently vis users were drawn to them like flies, instinctually wanting to be closer to their maker.

Jackson had seen none of that in Clio, save for small, nudging hints of the last. Though he would never admit it to the PCA, for fear that their connection would be observed as though they were lab rats, Jackson was helplessly drawn to Clio, and he knew that this connection was growing stronger, day by day. Still, it was nothing yet like the legends described. 

Or like what he felt in the woods with Clio’s slain mother the day they had met. 

But to find out that Clio had exhibited signs of reaching his other capabilities as an incubus was something that Jackson didn’t want to hear, for a lack of understanding what it could mean for Clio.

“Do you know why it was different this time?” he wondered carefully.

Clio surprised him by nodding. He hadn’t been expecting a positive answer. “Yes! I think it was because…well first, I smelled the person.” He leaned closer with a sly smile, as though he were sharing a great secret and whispered, “I smelt vis. For the first time! And then I felt happy that I could do that! I think because I was happy, I think that was what made the person do the things I told him to do.”

Jackson swallowed, nodding to Clio to show that he understood and did his best to appear excited by his story. “Good work, kid. Did you tell Dr. Connors about all of this?”

Clio blinked, as though realizing something for the first time. “No!” he gasped, looking horrified with himself.

Jackson shook his head, reaching to ruffle the boy’s pale hair that just made his hair fluff up like a tangled spider web.”Hey, it’s cool. Listen, I want you to do me a favor. Something very secret. Just between us friends, got it?”

Clio nodded, leaning forward eagerly.

“I want you to keep it between us. Don’t tell the doc about how you felt, or what you, you know, smelt. In fact, if you do your line-reading in the lab, I want you to think about something else. Think of some really sad cartoon or something.” So that the same thing that Clio did wouldn’t happen twice. The longer they could postpone the PCA’s understanding of Clio’s abilities, the better.

Clio’s eyes grew round. “Like when Christopher Robin leaves Winnie the Pooh to go to school?”

Jackson snapped his fingers, grinning like Clio had done a great job at something. “Yep, kid, exactly like that.”

Clio nodded seriously, understanding the secret request and smiling conspiratorially. Then his gaze dropped and he frowned. “Um…”

“Hmm?” Jackson once again prompted, his mood suddenly growing wary at Clio’s tone, his own mood constantly shifting, whether he was aware of it or not, to respond to Clio’s. 

“Um, there’s something else,” Clio said in a rush. “Nowadays, at the end of labs, they measure my…” He gestured to his crotch and giggled nervously, peeking up at Jackson, once again seeking approval.

Approval that at the moment, Jackson didn’t know how to give. “Why?” he snapped harshly, enraged.

Clio drew silent, seeming to doubt himself because of Jackson’s reaction, and his eyes dropped as he drew in on himself.

“Clio,” Jackson sighed, forcibly gentler this time.

“Um, well, um, I think they are checking puberty?” Clio said softly, not as a statement, but as though asking Jackson. “I told them I know what it is and everything, because I kinda do, but…”

Puberty. It took Jackson’s mind a moment to catch up with the PCA’s intent, but then suddenly it clicked into place, and it all made sense. Clio was an incubus, a demon at the pinnacle of capital vices, their strength thriving on the greatest cardinal sin.

Lust. 

The PCA was waiting to see if the stories regarding incubi seducing, sharing sexual energy, and then killing their prey were true.

Puberty. Of course. Of course.

Jackson had never dared think about connecting the demonic fables and Clio together. He couldn’t look at Clio and see a godlike being of endless power, and only thought he glimpsed the reality when he’d failed at suppressing it. 

Yet when Clio went through puberty, who knew what would happen? Would the PCA deem Clio too much of a threat and terminate him? Was Jackson’s last year at the PCA the same as Clio’s last one alive?

And the most upsetting part of all: there was nothing he could do. There was no way to have Clio ‘keep it a secret,’ as the PCA was physically observing him, and they would most definitely find out. There was no way that he could tell Clio to stop growing, to just stay a kid, a lost boy, forever, for the rate in which he grew was much like any other human’s (until he reached adulthood, when it would slow and stop; if he was like other vis users, he would live forever).

But Clio perhaps didn’t have that long to find out. 

It was hopeless. 

“I’ll tell you about it next time,” Jackson said suddenly, shooting up from his seat, his voice hardening. His insides were turning to stone, he knew, as it was his default response to facing issues he was unsure of how to handle. 

Clio looked dejected again, even embarrassed, and guilt hit Jackson through his stone. “Hey, it’s cool, buddy.” He reached to squeeze Clio’s shoulder as the boy stood. “We’ll talk about it next time.”

Clio nodded, still not looking at him.

Together, they left the room. 

After Jackson hurriedly left Clio back in the playroom to escape his thoughts, he got a ping from his task watch letting him know that Winslor wanted to see him in his office in the next building over. 

Jackson headed over and knocked when he was at the door. 

“Come in,” Winslow called. Upon entering, Jackson saw that the man was relaxed in his usual spot behind his room-centered desk, stacks of paper spread lazily before him. 

Jackson stood before the desk. “You wanted to see me?”

“‘Want’ is a strong word,” Winslor grunted, grabbing a remote from his desk and pointing it at the screen that took up half of the opposite wall. 

When he turned it on, Jackson saw himself upon the screen, at a steep angle, sitting across from Clio in a break room. It was a video, and it had been recorded from only moments ago.

”Hey, it’s cool. Listen,”  Jackson said on the screen. “I want you to do me a favor. Something very secret. Just between us friends, got it?”

Clio nodded.

“I want you to keep it between us. Don’t tell the doc about how you felt , or what you, you know, smelt. In fact, if you do your line-reading in the lab, I want you to think about something else. Think of a really sad cartoon or something.”

Jackson said nothing as, wordlessly, Winslor turned off the monitor, his eyes hard on Jackson. “That was some fuck up there, Jackson,” he said finally.

Jackson shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though his heart hammered. “Isn’t my fault your best doc failed to do a basic psych analysis on the kid. Missed a spot.”

Winslor sighed, scratching his gray beard. “CL-10 is showing signs of changing. The doctors speculate that soon we’ll have a full-fledged little demon on our hands.” He paused, studying Jackson carefully. “We plan to terminate him. Unless…”

Jackson’s heart was a bullet against his rib cage in his chest, and his shields went up, the ice inside of him protecting him from the pain of Winslor’s words.

“Unless,” he echoed.

Winslor smiled, as though he were giving Jackson a bright opportunity. “Unless you stick around for a few more years to help us observe him.”

Jackson, without even having to think about it, stiffly nodded, his relief surprising him, as well as the fact he had so easily given himself up to be the PCA’s dog. Once again. “Done.”

Winslor nodded in return, as though he had been expecting this, but then his expression hardened. “You’re to tell us everything you observe about him.” His voice held a hidden meaning that he was sure Winslor was attempting to convey to him, yet Jackson purposefully refused to catch on.

“Everything,” he agreed, not sure yet if this was a lie.