By some miracle, Kyle stopped himself from screaming. The pain was overwhelming for him, and he knew that it was probably even worse for Ryka. Until four years earlier, the demon hadn’t experienced any such thing. Suffering was reserved for the damned. 

Sure, he slept his way through Kyle’s hangovers, conveniently avoiding the misery he’d created. But he couldn’t escape everything else. Not those times Kyle had stubbed his toes on the coffee table, not when he’d slammed a finger closed in his desk drawer. And certainly not whatever this was, though Kyle had a strong feeling it wasn’t meant for him. Already, pathetic howling filled his head. No, Ryka certainly didn’t like this.

Moments earlier, Kyle had been in the middle of a lecture on the Industrial Revolution when the whole room had gone black. Blinded, he had staggered backward and, in trying to catch himself, grabbed at the edge of his desk. The corner had broken off in his hand. A sure sign that Kyle was about to be forced into the background. But it didn’t happen fast enough.

The torment had followed only a moment later. It felt like someone was taking an ax to his skull, trying to hack their way in. Equally excruciating was the sensation of pressure building in his head, like his brain was simultaneously trying to batter its way out. His back spasmed, muscles tensing until he was sure tendons would start ripping. The scream he kept at bay, but a whimper worked its way past his clenched teeth.

I’d get to the bathroom if I were you, Ryka had hissed. I’m coming out, and I don’t need these little bastards to see me like this.

“Like what?” Kyle had managed. A frustrated growl had been the only reply. The room had suddenly come back into focus, and he found all twenty students in his first period History class staring at him, all wearing the same worried expression. “I’ll be right back. Sorry.” Then he had bolted for the nearest men’s room. It was a blessing to find it empty.

Now, Ryka was starting to take over, shredding the shirt off Kyle’s back. Usually, he kept his claws in unless there was someone to hurt, and Kyle knew he wasn’t stripping this way to be an ass. Between his increasing discomfort and his desire not to get trapped in the garment, he was being careless with his nails, leaving long, bloody gashes along his back and arms. The red-speckled confetti that had been a dress shirt fluttered to the ground at his feet.

With a thunderous roar, Ryka pushed out his wings. Kyle had shut himself in the handicap stall, in case anyone else came into the bathroom, and now regretted it. They exploded out from between Kyle/Ryka’s shoulders with enough force to buckle the metal wall on one side and shatter tile on the other. Ryka’s tail, which had been lashing back and forth in frustration, went rigid as the demon’s horns began to grow. 

“What the fuck is this shit?” Ryka seethed. 

Without the pain blinding him, Kyle was finally able to focus a little more on what was happening. He could see out Ryka’s eyes – when they were open and not squeezed shut in agony - and what he saw made him feel sick. A rapidly growing pool of blood was forming on the scummy linoleum under Ryka, who had sunk to all fours, panting and growling like a wounded animal. 

Why is this happening? And how? I didn’t summon you. And it’s day. You said you weren’t strong enough to summon yourself during the day.

“If I knew, I’d fucking tell you. Just shut up! My head ….” 

Somehow, Kyle could still feel some of what Ryka was, and whimpered along with him. Sorry, sorry.

Ryka just shook his head, spraying flecks of blood onto the walls. His wings had left crimson streaks there as well, and he added handprints as he struggled off the floor.  In a rush to get out of the cramped bathroom stall, he knocked the door off its hinges, sending it sailing into the radiator. To Kyle, it had seemed like it had hardly taken any effort for Ryka to do so, but he realized quickly how much the demon was still suffering when Ryka stumbled forward.

He saved himself from falling by latching onto the nearest sink. There was a loud crack as the bolts holding it in place started to break, but Ryka let go before he completely tore it off the wall. Just sit down, Kyle suggested.

Kyle found he wasn’t nearly as worried about the mess in the bathroom, or about anyone hearing them, as he was about Ryka’s current condition. “I’m going to.  Give me a fucking minute, huh?”

Still breathing heavily, Ryka rested his hands on either side of the mirror over the sink. You look like hell.

“Is that supposed to be some kind of joke? Asshole.”

Sorry, no. But that’s a lot of blood.

Bright red rivulets ran down the sides of the demon’s face, dripping off his chin and out of his hair. His arms, sides and back were coated as well, not only from where his wings had grown out, but also the dozens of inadvertent cuts he had given himself. And Kyle’s pants were no longer khaki in color – they were turning an ugly brown as blood soaked into the fabric. It looked like Ryka had been in a fight and lost. Badly.

“We’ll be fine. But hey, check out my horns.” The pain was all but forgotten as Ryka studied his reflection.

Kyle was rather impressed, too. Although Ryka’s horns had grown once before, they had still never been long, half a foot at the most, Kyle had guessed, and they had curved slightly back. Now, they were at least twice as long, but curled back toward his ears, like rams’ horns. If blood still hadn’t been dripping from the tips, Kyle might have been more enthusiastic. As it was, he was trying not to imagine how nauseous he’d be when Ryka finally returned to his usual passenger position. 

Why did they change? 

“I have no fucking idea.”

What?

“Some of us usually have straight horns, that stay short. They’re easier to hide them that way. So usually incubi, succubae, reapers, parasites and whoever the fuck else winds up here.” These, Kyle knew, referred to demons that looked generally human, and therefore were sent among them to cause all sorts of trouble. “Higher-ranking demons tend to have these,” he studied his reflection more, still looking surprised. “But I’ve never heard of this happening. Even as we age, they just get longer.”

Since he seemed more awed than upset, Kyle decided not to worry too much about it. Well, congratulations, I guess. But that’s some promotion. You still look like you’re hurting.

Ryka forced a smile. “I could really use a smoke.”

As if on cue, two senior boys burst into the room, and before either noticed the disaster area they had just walked into, or the demon watching them, one pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Smoking in the boys’ room, huh?” Even in the small space, Ryka’s deep voice echoed. “I think it’s only considered a sin if you don’t share.”

The boys took one look at the demon, drenched in blood and smiling wickedly, and ran. Ryka cackled as they fought each other to be the first out of the room. In the process, the cigarettes were dropped. Ryka waited until the door had closed behind the two delinquents before picking them up. “A full pack, too. My lucky day.”

Given what had just happened, Kyle couldn’t deny him. He said nothing as Ryka settled himself on the floor, wings stretched out and his tail resting across his lap. He had just lit his first cigarette when the door opened again. 

Tommy poked his head in, and the color immediately washed from his face. “Hey, don’t run, punk. Come here.”

It went against every instinct he had to listen to the demon. But listen he did. Slowly, Tommy picked his way across the room, stepping over blood that had been spattered on the floor. “Y-y-yes?” When Ryka didn’t answer right away, Tommy found himself unable to stop the questions that were plaguing him. “Why is there so much blood? Did you kill someone? Is Mr. S. all right?” Did you burn that convenience store down? he wanted to ask. Self-preservation stopped the words short.

“Most of that’s none of your business. And of course Master’s fine. I’m not the one that wanted to hurt him, right?”

Ashamed, Tommy looked away. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

“I’d have to put this cigarette out to really fuck you up, and I just can’t do that right now. So, do Master a favor and go get his briefcase out from under his desk. Toss it in here, then get your ass back to the room and finish chapter eighteen. Filthy mortal scum.” Ryka took a deep drag on his cigarette and leaned back against the wall. “Did you hear me? Move it, kid.”

Tommy ran from the room, and a few minutes later the door cracked open, and Kyle’s briefcase was placed just inside the doorway. Thanks, Ryka. We’re still going to leave, though. We’ll go home and get some sleep.

“That sounds fucking fabulous. You know, if it weren’t for your weak human body, that wouldn’t have hurt at all.”

Fine, I’ll stop at the liquor store on the ride home.

“You’re too easy.”

***

Ten minutes later, Kyle was headed back to his classroom. Ryka had smoked half a pack of cigarettes in record time before relinquishing control of their body to its rightful owner. Kyle had cleaned up – managing not to be sick – and changed into a spare shirt, but had been entirely unsure about what to do with the mess in the bathroom. He supposed telling the principal would be the best idea, since he wouldn’t bother asking for an explanation. 

Conveniently, Dr. Taylor was already waiting for him. Only in the past month had the principal and vice-principal been able to once again look Kyle in the eye, even if only briefly.

Before Dr. Taylor could even ask, Kyle started, “Nothing happened to the two boys who were going to smoke in the bathroom; the blood is all mine.” There had been so much. “And I’m sorry about the stall and the sink. I can pay for it.”

“No need,” the principal said, skirting around Kyle to get to the door. “We’ll take care of it. Should we call a sub for the rest of your classes? You don’t look well.” That was an understatement. There was still blood drying in his hair, and it looked like he’d spent a day at a slaughterhouse, minus the apron. The clean shirt he now wore stuck out in sharp contrast to his rust-stained khakis.  

“Um, please.”

And then he was gone. Heaving a sigh, Kyle plopped down into his chair. Then quickly stood again. No need to get that covered in gore, too. His clean shirt was already hardly that, red spots soaking through where he had been unable to wipe blood off himself. Twenty pairs of eyes watched, imploring him to explain. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“Are we still having the field trip tomorrow?” one of the girls at the back of the room asked quietly.

Kyle had almost completely forgotten about the trip the history department had planned for the sophomores. They were scheduled to walk the Freedom Trail in Boston the next day. “Of course. That’s why I need to go home now, so I can keep up with all of you tomorrow.” Through the open door, Kyle could see the vice-principal, Mrs. Vargas, walking down the hall toward his room. There was no doubt she was coming to take over until a substitute arrived. He thought he’d never been so glad to see her.