As Rodrigo was wandering through the small neighborhood of Prospect Park South, he was a bit put off that hardly anyone was on the streets. Granted, it was early morning, but it was also winter break. He thought he’d at least be seeing other kids scattered around.

He was walking his second long block, shivering the whole way, when he noticed the unique houses varying in style from imposing Colonials to fairy-tale-like Victorians had transitioned into rows of near uniform brownstone apartment buildings. Fearing he had zoned out and gotten lost, he did a double take, checking across the street behind him and seeing the squat Catholic church he’d passed on the end of Emelina’s block.

Rodrigo was still mulling over the jarring divide when a thin teenager with slicked-back reddish-brown hair came jogging toward him. He stopped a few feet away, removing his white earhook headphones blaring a reggaeton rhythm. “Hey, Ruy.”

Only one person still called him by that childhood nickname. “Jett.”

They clasped hands, pulling each other into a quick one-armed hug. Rodrigo hadn’t seen his cousin in the flesh in over two years. Living boroughs apart and with the tiresome feud between their mothers, they’d drifted apart after entering high school.

“Hey, man. I heard you were living out here now. Why are you running in this weather, though?” Rodrigo asked.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I cut my morning jog short and was on my way home since I heard you guys were already here.”

“My mom sent me on a food run. And we just got here. How did you know?” After a second, Rodrigo answered his own question, “Raquel.”

“Yep. Unlike you, she doesn’t act like social media’s a plague. Haven’t seen you in a while. Barely recognized you.”

“Yeah, right. I look exactly the same.”

Jett hovered a hand over Rodrigo’s head and drew it to the bridge of his own nose. “True. You’re still pequeño.”

Rodrigo chuckled, giving his cousin a playful shove. “And you still look like you’re capped at one meal per day.”

“Weak comeback, but I’ll let you have it.” Banter out of the way, Jett frowned. “Man, I can’t believe what happened to your house. I can still picture every room. This seriously sucks.”

“Yeah,” Rodrigo said glumly as reality came crashing down on him.

“I haven’t been having the best week myself. Actually...” Jett trailed off, twisting one of the small diamond studs in his ears. “You know what? Never mind me. Gotta look on the bright side. At least we’ll have time to hang out now. Ever been around here?”

“The park, yeah. Not so much the surrounding area.”

“You gotta go up a couple of blocks to Church Ave or cross over into Flatbush proper to get where the stores and everything else’s at. If you still like fast-food, you’ll be in heaven. I’ll walk you.”

After leaving the residential area, the cousins ended up in front of a Middle Eastern deli Jett recommended. Rodrigo went inside, grabbed a two-liter bottle of Coke, and ordered sandwiches for his family. Barely having enough to cover it, he left the deli, and with Jett, started heading back.

On their way, taking a different route than they came by, Jett pointed out places of interest amid the dizzying amount of shops and restaurants. Within the quarter mile they traveled, there must have been a store for every major phone carrier and a church for every prominent religion. Across the street from Kings Theatre was a gym, conveniently between a doctor’s office and a Taco Bell. Not like getting ripped would be much help against demons, but at least it would be something.

“How’s Geo?” Rodrigo asked, as the Vega home came into sight.

“He and Pa are visiting family in D.R. I didn’t feel up to it this year, so Ma stayed home with me. They’ll be back by Christmas.”

Unlike Rodrigo’s parents, Jett’s kept in touch with their ethnic roots. It was the reason Jett was fluent in Spanish, while Rodrigo only had the hundred or so words he could retain from his high-school language classes. Isolating him further from his heritage, his grandparents on his mother’s side had all but disowned her and moved to Miami with unfulfilled plans to return to Cuba before he was born. He had never met them.

“Besides that, you know him,” Jett continued. “Unlike Saint Carlito, nothing but drama with my little bro. I try to keep him outta trouble, but he’s fallen in with a bad crowd...wow, can’t believe I just said that. Feels like I’m my old man or something.”

“Yeah, I get you. Carlito’s a good kid and you know how brainy he is. I’m more worried about him shutting everyone out than getting involved with shady people. But Raquel’s practically dating one of them.”

“Ay Dios. They grow up so fast,” Jett joked, reaching up and pretending to brush away a nonexistent tear. He walked through the path cutting across his lawn, up the five stone steps, and unlocked the door, leading Rodrigo inside.

As they entered the maroon living room, Emelina rushed over, sweeping Rodrigo into a tight hug. Despite being a few years older than his mother, she had a more youthful appearance with her auburn hair styled in curls and her tan skin not aged prematurely by binge drinking. But more than any of that, it was the lack of her sister’s wretched unhappiness in her lighter eyes. “Lo siento mucho, sobrino. I still can’t believe what happened.”

“Yeah. We lost everything, but at least no one was hurt,” Rodrigo said. Raquel and Carlito were sitting on the alabaster L-Shaped sectional sofa, and seemed so absorbed in the cartoon they were watching, they didn’t notice he’d come in. Jett took the bag of sandwiches from Rodrigo and headed over to greet his cousins, but his mother snapping her fingers rapidly after him made him turn back.

“¡Bandejas, chico!” Emelina chided. Recognizing the word for trays, Rodrigo let a small smile slip. She always was a bit of a neat freak.

Jett glanced heavenward and disappeared into the kitchen.

“I wanted to fix them something to eat, but Miriam...well, you know how stubborn she is,” Emelina said. “She went to rest in the guest room almost the minute she came through the door. I don’t think she’s slept since you’ve been in the hospital.”

Rodrigo didn’t mention he doubted her insomnia was born from any concern for him, and simply nodded. Did she know just how much worse her sister had become recently?

After Rodrigo had wolfed down his bacon, egg, and cheese hero, and washed it down with some soda, Resent said, “My expectations were high after that pizza, but you disappointed me, slave.” The sandwich was nothing extraordinary, but it wasn’t bad. Like virtually everyone else on the planet, Resent must have developed a fondness for pizza.

“You kids should shower before you play those silly games of yours,” Emelina said. “Jett, dales ropa. Dig through Geo’s old clothes from the bags going to the Salvation Army for Carlito, if you have to.”

“On it, Ma,” Jett said, running up the steps.

“Rodrigo, we need to talk.” She glanced at Raquel and Carlito coming closer. “Later.”

“Oh, sure.” It had to be serious for her to want to talk to him about it alone.

Though spending the last thirty-six hours bedridden had left Rodrigo clean enough, he went into the upstairs bathroom. He heated the water to just below scalding, wanting to escape the chill that followed him even indoors, and stepped into the shower. Getting out after twenty minutes, he grabbed one of the unused rolled towels and dried himself off. When he opened the door, he saw Jett left him everything from a new pair of boxers to a red baseball jacket. He felt a pang of nostalgia, seeing the black and purple cashmere scarf with frayed edges. It was a gift from one of his closest friends growing up, left in Jett’s old apartment the last time he’d visited. Part of him had hoped to never see it again.

After he got dressed, he headed into Jett’s room. The teal walls were lined with small black wooden shelves stacked with games dating as far back as the PlayStation 3 era. Carlito and Jett were sitting on the top bunk of the bed, gripping white wireless controllers and furiously mashing buttons. They were competing in some shooting game on the PS5. Raquel was at the computer desk in the corner, phone in hand. She occasionally looked up at the flat screen hanging above the dresser and snorted.

“Bro, go take a shower,” Rodrigo said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. He glanced at the score on the screen. “You’re getting destroyed, anyway.”

Carlito groaned before hitting pause, handing the controller to him, and climbing down the ladder.

“Know how to play?” Jett asked as Rodrigo unpaused the game.

“I’ve got a good enough idea. Don’t forget, I used to have an Xbox One until my mom threw it out the window thanks to Carlito’s Minecraft addiction.”

“You’re soft. I wouldn’t let my ma do me dirty like that.”

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Rodrigo smiled. “Uh-huh. Yet, I’ve seen you and Geo hide from her flip-flops like soldiers in a foxhole.”

Jett sucked his teeth. “Come on now. Why you gotta bring the chancletas into this?”

Unfortunately, with Rodrigo’s preference for strategy games, shooters never were his forte, whereas Jett played them daily. By the time Carlito came back into the room fifteen minutes later, Rodrigo had just lost the rematch.

“And still the undisputed champion!” Jett barked in an exaggerated ring announcer voice.

Rodrigo was stretching the controller out to Carlito, but Raquel swooped in and snatched it from him.

“Strange. These ‘video games’, as you call them, simulate dangerous situations while not actually putting the participants in any peril.”

“That’s the point. To experience things you can’t do or don’t want to risk doing in real life. A break from reality.”

“You humans certainly find baffling ways to entertain yourselves.”

With the others distracted, Rodrigo slipped out of the room and headed downstairs to see what his aunt wanted. As he was making his way down the steps, Miriam’s shrill voice drifting up from the kitchen made him halt. “Three twin beds in the guest room, huh?”

“Rodrigo can take Geo’s bunk until he and Antonio are back from Santo Domingo,” Emelina answered calmly over the sound of running water and scrubbing. “Jett and I’ll do some Christmas shopping tomorrow morning. Get you guys some stuff to get back on your feet.”

“I’m not a charity case. And nice try dodging the subject. We both know none of those beds were meant for me. What, two kids not fulfilling enough for you, sis? You want mine, too?”

“We also both know…” Emelina exhaled, the sound of scrubbing intensifying. “Never mind. You’ve been through a lot. I didn’t invite you here to argue.”

“No, say it. You’ve never held yourself back from slinging judgment from that high horse your bony ass has always been saddled in. Say it! Say it, you uppity—”

“You’re a mental case! Loca!” Emelina snapped, dishes clattering. Then she lowered her voice enough that Rodrigo had to strain his ears to hear her. “Mamá y papá would have had you committed if you hadn’t run away when you had. You broke their hearts. So, yeah, I wanted my nephews and niece to have somewhere safe to go if you ever have another episode like that.”

There was a long silence before Miriam spoke again. “You know what? We’re not teenagers anymore. I don’t need to take this. You want some quality time with my kids so bad? Knock yourself out.”

“Sí. Corre, hermanita. Correr,” Emelina said as Miriam stomped away and the front door slammed. “It’s what you’re best at.”

Rodrigo waited a few minutes before continuing down the stairs, as much to give his aunt time to cool off as hide his having eavesdropped. In the cream-colored kitchen with marble counter-tops, he found her washing dishes. “Emelina.”

His aunt dropped the plate she was scrubbing into the sink, and looked over her shoulder at him. “Caramba, niño! Skulking around like a cat. You’re free to talk now?”

“Yeah, the others are playing a game.”

“Of course,” Emelina said, rolling her eyes as she squeezed the sponge out and returned it to the caddy. She took a seat at the round dining table, near a sliding glass door leading into the backyard. Rodrigo sat in front of her, and she continued, “It’s about your father. He called a few days ago, upset he couldn’t send money this month.” Maybe because of the shared grief Miriam caused them, Emelina had stayed on good terms with Edward, even after he left her sister.

“What, like, child support?” Rodrigo asked. “I know he doesn’t pay alimony since they’re not technically divorced.”

“No, the money he sends for your personal use,” Emelina said, staring at him with concern. “Honey, he’s been sending cash monthly since you turned fourteen. You haven’t gotten any of it?”

Rodrigo was at a loss. As far as he knew, Edward had cut all ties to his family, except for what was legally required of him. According to Emelina, he should have gotten about thirty-one envelopes filled with cash. If it wasn’t her saying it, he would think it was some sick joke. “I’ve never gotten anything from that man. But then, the mail used to be delivered pretty late, so Mom was usually the one to get it from the mailbox.”

After it was out in the open, both of them came to the same conclusion within seconds.

“You don’t really think Miriam would...steal from you, do you?” Emelina asked.

“She’d do it in a heartbeat.”

Despite having been the first to suggest it, his aunt’s arched brows rose in surprise at the conviction in his voice. “Okay. Listen, don’t mention this to your mother yet. We’ll talk to her about it together when she’s in a better headspace. I’ll call Edward tonight and tell him maybe he should send the money another way.”

“Thanks, Emelina. Oh, and when you call him, I’d like to speak with him.”

Rodrigo didn’t know how much money Edward sent, but no matter the amount, it could definitely have helped the family. His mother had canceled his fencing classes shortly after his father left and he hadn’t argued, assuming it was just too much of a financial strain. Was she even employed or was she just wasting that money, drinking the days away? He was so frustrated he considered scouring the nearby bars and liquor stores for her. But instead, he did what he was so accustomed to, and swallowed his anger. “I guess now’s a good time to get started.”

After telling Emelina he was going for a walk to clear his head, Rodrigo left the house. Resent had insisted the best place to train would be somewhere both secluded and spacious. He tensed as he noticed security cameras were everywhere, at least one by the entrance of most apartment buildings, then cursed himself for how Resent’s presence had him thinking increasingly like a criminal. Finally, he ended up in an alley, where he could only hope no one happened to look out their back windows.

“This should do. If someone stumbles upon you, kill them,” Resent said.

Rodrigo had no intention of doing that, but he didn’t argue. “So, how’s this work?”

“It will be arduous. You must make a trigger in your mind that can bring the nebulae out with a thought. However, there is no guarantee this will work, since the Flair is mine.”

“Did you have to make a ‘trigger’, too?”

“Yes. Demons can use their Flairs from birth, but besides certain anomalies, cannot call on them with ease prior to making a trigger. Now, close your eyes and block out all sound except for my voice. Like most Flairs, the control over nebulae stems from the hands. Stretch them out and tighten the muscles solely in your arms.”

Rodrigo did as he was told. The initially unsettling quiet of the neighborhood made concentrating much easier. He placed his arms out in front of him and flexed them.

“While keeping that pose, you’ll need to visualize the nebulae I control. There will be no result unless it’s done flawlessly.”

Rodrigo noted that was the first time he heard Resent use contractions. But put it out of mind as he thought back to the dream from the hospital. The black nebulae with traces of purple were crystal clear in his memory. A chill coursed through Rodrigo that had nothing to do with the cold. Opening his eyes, he saw pure black mist emitting from his hands. Lacking the density of Resent’s nebulae, they swirled all around Rodrigo without any input from him. It was almost as if they were alive and judging him. Eager to dispose of him if they found he wasn’t up to par.

Only when the nebulae calmed and settled at his palms, did Rodrigo stop shuddering. “I-I did it?”

Resent didn’t respond. From how difficult he made the process sound, Rodrigo could only assume he had somehow completed it faster than anticipated.

“I did it,” he repeated, sure of himself now.

“I suppose, if little else, humans always had impressive imaginations. Now imagine the same nebulae in your hands dissipating.”

Rodrigo did so, and they disappeared.

“Good. The trigger is complete. Now that you can call on them whenever you choose, you need to learn how to use them. While your hands will direct the nebulae, it is your mind that will need to alter their form. Practice.”

Rodrigo imagined them even more vividly than the first time, and they appeared instantly. That he had to intend to bring them out should prevent accidents. He pointed his hands downward and envisioned himself ascending with the nebulae. Nothing happened.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to shoot nebulae at the ground so I can fly or something.”

Resent laughed. “Fly? You fool. At best, that would make you jump.”

After countless failed attempts at making the nebulae do anything more than flail uselessly, Rodrigo was becoming discouraged. As someone who spent his more recent years trying to stay under the radar, he knew he wasn’t an ideal candidate to command such power. Despite that, he had to learn so he could stand up to Flint. Especially now that he was a guest at Emelina’s house. His presence there might put her and Jett in danger. Most importantly, he needed the strength to protect Raquel and Carlito.

As if responding to that core desire, the nebulae lashed out at the ground, propelling Rodrigo up into the air. His excitement was fleeting, as he had to cover his head to stop it from smashing into the steel gratings of a fire escape platform. With a grunt, he fell onto his back, hitting the ground hard.

“Sad.”

“Look, I’m trying my best. Sorry I’m not some hotshot prince who was born for this.”

Resent ignored the gibe and kept laughing at his every mistake. However, as Rodrigo kept practicing, determined not to let the prince’s jeers distract him, Resent eventually eased up and started throwing some tips his way.

This went on for over two hours, with a few brief breaks. It was more mentally demanding than physically, but by the end, Rodrigo was lying down, gasping for breath as he wiped sweat off his forehead. He had expected the regeneration to take care of his fatigue as well, but that didn’t seem the case.

“If basic training tires you so, I hate to estimate how long you will last in combat. Nevertheless, now that the body is more familiar with the nebulae, I can already feel an ounce of my strength has returned.”

“Resent, after Flint knocked you out, someone else showed up. A woman, or a she-demon, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I never saw them and might’ve been delirious. I’d just gotten my ass kicked and Flint was choking me, I thought, to death. Anyway, whoever it was said I wouldn’t survive the first hour of the Apocalypse. Any idea what that’s about?”

“Heinrik informed me I was in that urn for fifteen years, so I would not know. If the vermin approach us again, I’ll beat the answers out of them. For now, carry on with your pedestrian existence...while you still can.”