Caspar doesn’t dream. Not this time. 

This time, he’s sunk into a semi-conscious state of sleep. His muscles are still tense, ears still listening. They’re waiting for any sign of danger as his body does the minimum to rest and recover. 

Thunder cracks overhead, shaking the RV. Caspar flinches, curling in on himself. 

“It’s just rain,” a low voice soothes.

Caspar opens his eyes. Outside, the sky is a dark stormy gray, huge thunderheads rolling across the sky. Against the window, fat raindrops are collecting on the edge, sparkling as a bright bolt of lighting streaks across the sky.

Caspar’s eyes shift. The lightning illuminates his clothes on the floor, his towel hanging from the bathroom, and—a dark figure, standing at the edge of his bed.

Caspar’s heart drops as yesterday’s events come into focus. The slot canyon. The victims. The flood. The deal.

Malakai.

Malakai smiles, voice soft. “The storm will be over soon.”

Abruptly, Caspar sits up, ignoring the way his vision dances and his stomach lurches. Malakai’s eyes widen. “Cas, lay back down. You’re going to puke.”

Caspar ignores the warning. He can’t just lay back down, defenseless, in front of this demon. He can’t be weak—

His mouth waters, stomach tightening. 

Malakai moves to the kitchen quick, pulling something out of the cupboard. He comes back just in time to hand Caspar a trash bag, which is promptly utilized to catch the spew of stomach contents that come forth. 

There's a few miserable minutes of Caspar heaving, losing all of his dinner and some of yesterday’s snacks into the bag. When finally it’s over, he grimaces at the sour taste, wiping his mouth. “What time is it?”

“11 PM,” Malakai says.

Caspar stares down at his own sick. He’s been asleep way too long. He checks his phone. “Have you been messing with my alarms again?”

“I turned it off, if that's what you mean.”

“Fuck off. I set it for a reason.”

Malakai huffs, crossing his arms. “It went off for thirty minutes. You slept through it.”

“So?”

“You have a fever. You need to rest.”

Caspar’s skin crawls. Did Malakai feel his forehead as he slept? Fuck. He hopes not. “I feel fine.”

“You puke a lot for someone who feels fine.”

Caspar ties the garbage bag shut abruptly. “Your damn face made me sick.”

“Rude.”

Caspar grimaces as he stands. Malakai is still at the edge of the bed, refusing to move. With him just a hair’s breadth away, Caspar can feel body heat roll off him, worsened by the small space compounding the feverish warmth wracking his body.

Determined not to be intimidated, Caspar shoves him to the side. Malakai allows Caspar to pass, hitting the wall with a dull thud.

Seeing no attempt at retaliation, Caspar enters the kitchen. He squats at the mini fridge, opening it to find one last can of off-brand lemon lime soda. At times like this he’d prefer ginger ale, but it will have to do. 

He cracks it open, taking a sip. “Wake me up next time.”

“I can’t let you just self-destruct, Caspar.”

Caspar stands, holding in the growing urge to deck this monster. “Shut up. That's not for you to decide.”

“Isn’t it?”

Caspar squeezes his soda. The metal creaks in his grip. “It’s not. You’re not my nanny.”

Malakai smiles serenely. “I’m only trying to be a good friend. You’re sick, and you can’t even do any investigating in the park right now. It’s flooded and the rain isn’t projected to stop for another hour.”

“I was going to go over what I've collected.”

“Well, you can do that now, can’t you?”

Caspar glares. He sits at the table, lifting his backpack. It’s still soaking wet. As he opens it, his heart skips a beat. 

Duncan’s hiking pack is here too. Of course. Caspar had forgotten he’d grabbed it. 

Caspar opens it, trying not to nauseate himself further by remembering Duncan’s face slipping under the waves. Inside there’s a few items: a gun, a phone, a notebook, some trail snacks, and a bottle. 

Caspar starts with the phone. It’s dripping wet. “Did you see any rice in the cupboard?”

“Are you hungry?”

“No. It's for the phone.”

Malakai blinks. “The phone?”

“To dry the phone,” Caspar sighs. 

Malakai takes a moment to respond. His eyes dart to the phone, brow just barely pinched in concentration. Suddenly, it smooths out. “Oh. I didn’t know about that. It’s a myth, though. It will probably just make the phone unusable as the rice dust gets into the ports.”

Caspar raises a brow. What just happened? “If you didn’t even know about using rice, how do you know it’s a myth?”

Malakai just smiles, shrugging. “Google it if you don’t believe me. Do you want some coffee, at least?”

Caspar puts the phone to the side. “Fine. How do you even know about Google when you were stuck trapped in that pentagram for so long?”

Malakai glances to the side, away from the kettle. “Are you sure you don’t want some toast or something? You really should eat.”

Caspar glares. He’s being ignored. 

“Cas? Toast?”

“Caspar. And no. I’m not hungry.”

Caspar turns his attention back to the bag. He picks up Duncan’s notebook next. The pages are tinged red from the water, but thankfully it’s not total mush. He carefully starts to rip them out, stacking them between folded pieces of paper towels to dry. Duncan luckily wrote in pencil for most entries, so everything seems pretty legible still.

“When you said there was no human life, did that also account for belongings? Did you see anything left behind?” Asks Caspar.

“No, nothing.”

“What's your range? Do you have limits?”

Malakai sets a black coffee down in front of Caspar. “In the slot canyon and surrounding areas, there was no sign of humans, human remains, or belongings.”

Caspar’s eyes narrow. “The surrounding areas. So what would that be in square feet?”

Malakai sighs. “Dude, trust me, there was nothing. We can check again later once the rain stops.”

Caspar stares. Malakai stares back, eyebrow raised. 

So Malakai is pretending to be human, even though that was never agreed on. Is it to mess with me?

 “You’re avoiding my question,” says Caspar. 

“I just don’t think it's relevant.”

“I think it’s plenty relevant. You’re keeping secrets from me. Shouldn’t that be a violation of our contract?”

Malakai sits at the table, leaning on his hand with his elbow on the table. “It’s normal to have a little privacy even between friends, isn’t it? But if you want to get personal, I can share some things if you do too.”

Caspar averts his eyes. Why does it feel like he’s about to sell his soul again? “Fine. But I want to go first.”

“Deal.”

“What color are your wings?”

Malakai tilts his head owlishly. “They have no color.”

Caspar can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Somehow, he pictured them as translucent things that could become opaque, like a ghost. 

“My turn. What’s your relationship to Jacob?”

Caspar tenses. “Fuck off. Don’t go near him.”

“Wow, you’re asking me very intimate questions, yet you can’t handle the heat?”

Caspar’s jaw clenches. “I don’t want you near him, or anyone in my family.”

“I won’t intentionally hurt anyone you care about. I can’t per our agreement. So answer the question, unless you want to end this game.”

Caspar takes a deep breath. He tears out another page from Duncan’s journal. “He’s a childhood friend.”

“He didn’t sound very friendly last time I heard him.”

“Shut up. My turn again.”

Malakai smirks. “Go ahead.”

Caspar lays the last page on the stack. 

It’s futile to try and get any genuine answers. But curiosity is burning in Caspar, too much to not at least try. 

“Are you a subspecies of succubus?” he asks.

Malakai answers immediately. “No. Not that I’m aware of. Why are you and Jacob fighting?”

Caspar grimaces at the quick turnaround. Two can play at that game. “He’s mad at me. Do you have to preen your wings like a bird?”

Malakai chuckles. “I do. Why is he mad?”

“I don’t know. It’s his hobby, I guess. Can you glide with them?”

“I can. Do you have any other friends?”

“No. Are you planning to trick me, like you did Douglas?”

Malakai grins sharply, eyes narrowing. “Are you planning on cheating me like him?”

A tense silence fills the air. Caspar darts his eyes to his hands. His palms are rubbed raw from gripping the walls of the canyon tight. Everything hurts.

 He just wants it to stop.

“I’m not. As long as you keep your end of the deal, I’ll keep mine,” says Caspar, voice soft.

When he looks back up. Malakai isn’t smiling now. He’s just staring. He taps his fingers on the table, head lolling to the side. “We’ll see.”

Caspar clears his throat. He sips his coffee before setting it down to look at his reflection in the inky brew.

What has he gotten himself into? Can he really keep this monster in line? 

Malakai lifts his own cup to his lips. His expression shifts to disgust. “How can you drink this black? Can we get cream and sugar next time we go to the store?”

Caspar glares. Back to the charade already?

He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to banish the pounding in his head. It’s going to be fine. He’ll use Malakai to finish this. And then—

Caspar feels himself go numb as he pictures Malakai’s face closing in on him, pupils slit and irises glowing with unholy light. 

Once this is all over, Caspar will die. 

He feels so guilty for how relieved that makes him feel.