Trix tried to sleep. The bed was huge and soft, she had sunk deep into the feather-stuffed mattress and was now surrounded on all sides by high drifts of fluffy white bedding.
She closed her eyes and the memory played again, as it did every time: The man with the knife, looking down at her, about to kill her, followed by the scene inverted: his face looking up at her in terror. She tried to push it away, to crowd it out with other thoughts. She imagined her mother's face, imagined what she'd say when she saw her tomorrow, imagined them hugging and crying. The vision floated in the blackness of her imagination, abstract and unconvincing, the ever-present light shining through her closed eyelids, lending a red hue to the scene.
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Wilbur stood on the balcony, leaning out over the railing to watch the street below. He would pick someone in the crowd and watch them for a while, following them with his eyes as they pushed their way through the mass of people on some unknown adventure of their own. Once he lost them, his eyes would glaze over, and he would find himself staring blankly at the next balcony over, yet again. Trix's balcony. Was it still Trix? Was the girl they were bringing back to earth tomorrow still the same girl he had fallen for back at Almadel?
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Emma was sleeping deeply, her face relaxed, her head nestled comfortably against Dean's chest. She twitched her nose and shifted slightly, pressing herself closer to him. He closed his eyes and joined her in sleep. He was not worried about tomorrow: whatever happened, whatever they had to face, they would be facing it together, nothing else mattered, really.
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Jeremiah pored over the book, checking it against his notes. Behind him, the bed was untouched. He knew he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight, he needed to prepare, to meditate. He couldn't afford any mistakes tomorrow, four young lives were depending on him. He went over the ritual one more time in his head.
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Salome had not taken a room, preferring to spend the night on the roof, looking out over the city. Without a sunset to put an end to the trading, there was no break in activity. The food stalls rotated, each leaving to be replaced by another, shops closing and opening with no clear pattern. The beating, living heart of the city unable to rest.
She couldn't bear to sit still, so paced back and forth on the roof, wishing for the first time that her body were mere flesh, that she could look forward to exhaustion, the release of sleep. She did not understand what was bothering her so much, she knew what must be done, she had known for days, Demons did not feel guilt.