Raziel stayed outside long enough that when Nevaeh emerged from their bedroom, Cyrus was still alone and had come back out to sit at the island again. His mind had been a clusterfuck, replaying that morning's conversation; as soon as the woman came out, though, Cyrus was focused on the present once more.

He was careful to conceal what he was thinking this time, how he didn't particularly enjoy the confidence exuding from every fluid movement as Nevaeh strutted down the hall. In a very gruesome thought, he realized she was basically the female version of Raziel. It was unsettling, to say the least.

"Well, hello again," she greeted brightly, and Cyrus couldn't help but stare. She'd ditched the casual clothing he met her in and traded that in for a blue collared shirt, a nametag pinned over her heart. Nevaeh followed his gaze and laughed, the sound light and seemingly genuine, but something about it all refused to rub Cyrus right.

"How did you think we afford this place?" Nevaeh asked, gesturing to the room. "Demons gotta work too."

Acheron hadn't. Then again, he probably stole all the money he could ever need. Cyrus couldn't quite meet her eyes, but didn't want to clue her in on what he was feeling. He fumbled for the words for a moment before inquiring quietly, "And Raziel...?"

"Oh, he tends bar at a restaurant uptown a few nights a week."

Yet another image Cyrus couldn't quite picture, although at the same time it didn't exactly surprise him. Raziel was nothing if not charismatic, in the way best suited for slaving away to other people's whims in order to win them over and hustle some tips.

"Of course, he isn't exactly the breadwinner," Nevaeh continued, flashing a perfect set of gleaming teeth. "But answering a prayer here and there, well...grateful people seem to be eager to empty their pockets."

She gave him one last smile, eyes tracing up and down Cyrus's body before finally turning away and leaving. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself.

The balcony door slid open then, letting in a gust of chilly air. Raziel stalked inside, pausing at the intersection of the hall and living room and glancing at his open bedroom door. "She left already? Didn't think she was working today," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. He sighed, returning to the island to pour himself a third cup of coffee. Judging by how he couldn't keep his hands still--they kept rising to twist in his hair or rub the back of his neck--Cyrus thought the last thing Raziel needed was more caffeine.

He also knew better than to voice that assumption.

The coffee machine sputtered as it made the drink, but the sound was not enough to cover the sudden rumbling coming from Cyrus's stomach. Raziel glanced back over his shoulder, letting out an even deeper sigh. "Right, I suppose I'll have to feed you. I'll remember that the next time Vay whines about wanting children, as if I needed another reason to turn that down."

With the talk about demon hybrid offspring earlier, Cyrus was surprised he hadn't thought about what a demon-demon pairing could possibly create. Since Nevaeh had left, he'd let down his mental wall once again; it took too much effort holding up those days, what with all the other concerns he had to deal with. As Raziel dug through the nearly empty pantry, he said with his back still turned, "Demons aren't compatible together. We don't have the actual human sense of a life in us to make a new one, not alone, so don't worry about that."

He gave up on his search of the cupboards and opened the refrigerator to reveal the only contents: a few white cardboard boxes of takeout. "Well, kid, this'll have to do for now. I'll have Nevaeh pick some groceries up on her way back," Raziel said, plunking one of the boxes down in front of Cyrus.

Not like he could complain, not with what he'd gotten used to eating. Cold Chinese leftovers weren't the worst things in the world. There were a dozen things on Cyrus's mind, but not having to speak them aloud to make them known became very convenient then; as he ate, he focused on each curiosity, one at a time.

So when did you and her, you know...? Cyrus thought, Nevaeh being one of the most pressing matters at the moment.

Grimacing into his newly filled mug, Raziel said, "I met her after Acheron and I parted ways the last time, some exotic locale far away from here, but Vay insisted on joining me when I returned to the city. What can I say?" Raziel cracked a grin, but his eyes were still sort of blank. "I have that effect on people."

So you eat, Cyrus thought next, and sleep...?

"Oh, we do all sorts of things humans do," Raziel said in a suggestive tone, "but the need is nowhere near as frequent."

Shuddering, Cyrus tried to untangle the mess his mind was in. Watching him with resignation, Raziel shook his head and propped his chin on one fist. "Any more questions?" he asked sarcastically.

Of course Cyrus had more questions. Those first ones just happened to be the least complicated. They came in no particular order, each one jesting for his attention.

The first one found a chink in Raziel's stoic armor, and a weary grimace etched across his face. "After it was all said and done, I guess reality finally sunk in. I got the hell outta here, but not for the first several years. I convinced Acheron to leave you be for the first part of your life, that if he ever wanted you to fit in amongst humanity, you would need to grow up knowing it.

"But he grew impatient. He was sure you would become useless, but I guess you passed his first test."

Pain shot through Cyrus's chest and he pushed away the carton of food, appetite chased away by the memory of killing his mother.

Raziel offered an apologetic smile, but wasn't done. "I didn't want to keep playing Ach's game, and he never hunted me down. There was no need to, he already had gotten what he wanted. I did a decent enough job distracting myself, but then word of what was happening back here caught up to me. Never thought you would leave his side, so I figured a trip back would be pointless...but then it happened."

Raziel sighed, tipping back his mug and draining it. It clattered back down onto the counter with enough force to make Cyrus jump a little. He hurried onto his next question.

"Of course Vay was curious what you would amount to, as well, but she really is Switzerland. Honestly, she's too young to be dragged into these politics--just a couple hundred years old." Before Cyrus could really take in that information, Raziel tapped at an imaginary watch on his wrist. "As much as I'm enjoying this little Dr. Phil session from hell, there's bigger fish to fry here, kid."

Cyrus just stared at him blankly.

"No? That one go over your head, too?" Raziel snorted. "Woulda killed the bastard to show you some television now and then, huh?"

Finding himself--and not knowing why--leaping to Acheron's defense, Cyrus began to detail all the other uses of his time the old mentor had found to be more productive.

"Ugh, screw that. I don't have the patience for that anachronistic spiritual crap, I'm not gonna make you meditate or whatever." At Cyrus's raised eyebrows, Raziel continued, "Right. First order of business: gimme the knife."

Cyrus had actually forgotten its presence with all the other things occupying his mind that day; now, the feeling of it weighing down his pocket was blindingly apparent. "What if I need it--?"

"Did you already forget the rules?"

The coolness of the demon's tone sent a shiver down Cyrus's spine. Gritting his teeth, he took the dagger out and slid it across the counter into Raziel's waiting hand. Looking down at it, he curled his lip, using two fingers to pinch the handle. Muttering under his breath, Raziel disappeared from the room and returned with empty hands.

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Raking disapproving eyes over Cyrus, he said, "You got anything more...weather-appropriate to wear?"

Cyrus shrugged, playing with the hem of his borrowed shirt.

"Lord, ain't you one sad sack." Raziel sighed sharply before once again heading for the hall, calling back, "I suppose I'll have to order you some shit off Amazon, but consider that yet another favor. One of these days you're gonna have to pay your own way, kid." He returned with a puffy black winter coat, which he threw at Cyrus. "Don't worry about giving that back, I don't need it. Mostly for appearances, the cold doesn't bother me."

"Pay my way?" Cyrus mumbled, shoving his arms into the jacket. The strong stench of cigarettes coming from the fabric engulfed him.

"Oh, you know, get a job?" Raziel responded, crossing his arms. "Get a life? This whole wounded-puppy thing gets old fast."

The idea just wasn't fathomable. Cyrus began to protest when Raziel raised one hand.

"Yeah yeah, one thing at a time. C'mon, I'm not getting any younger."

To Cyrus's immense relief, Raziel was in a decent enough mood to allow for a more human form of travel. For the majority of the day, they walked through the streets of the Bronx, which Raziel proclaimed to be the area most in demand of miracles. Apparently, a day in the life of this demon mainly consisted of answering very mundane prayers--giving a few bucks to the homeless here, coaxing a cat down from a tree there. Cyrus would have found that last one comical, but strangely, the animal seemed drawn to the demon. Its owner, a frail-looking woman with a limp, insisted the thing had been up in the tree for hours. As soon as Raziel walked past her house, feigning surprise at seeing the sight, the cat finally bounded from branch to branch before landing agiley at Raziel's feet. It regarded him with a steady stare before the woman picked it up, at which time the cat let out a screech and struggled to get free.

Before the woman could get too touchy with her gratitude--she seemed like a hugger--they were moving on again. The little miracles remained strangely, terribly mundane until evening had finally come, dragging the last remnants of the sun below the horizon.

"Well, then," Raziel said, turning to Cyrus with a small smile. "You ready for something a little more exciting?"

Something to get him out of his head was just what Cyrus needed. All day, his attention wasn't explicitly needed, and had frequently returned to Raziel's story. It still needled at him how similar he could have ended up to Acheron, so drowned in his own pain that everyone else's became a whole lot less significant.

As they walked to their next destination, however, Cyrus found it was not easy to quiet his mind. At one point, Raziel dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder and spat, "Would it kill you to focus?" Cyrus tried to not react to the annoyance dripping from his tone; studying him, Raziel sighed, voice softening. "My next trick will be very dangerous if you can't keep your head on straight. How about this: I answer one more question now, and then you work on the whole 'focusing' thing."

The ritual was on his mind, the very little he knew about how he'd come to be. Choosing the most pressing question, Cyrus silently wondered why of all people, Tuesday had gotten his soul.

"Kismet, fate?" Raziel shrugged. "I don't know. You two were born at the nearly the same time, I guess it just sort of worked out."

He paused, eyes narrowing for a moment. Glancing upwards, Raziel gave a soft laugh, though his expression was still as cold and sharp as the winter air.

"You remember the church I mentioned that drove Acheron out?" he whispered. "Strangely enough, the leader of that congregation at the time was a member of the Hale clan, several generations back."

Cyrus didn't know how to absorb that information, but decided this was definitely the last question he should have asked. How was he supposed to focus now? His mind only seemed to clutter up further until he couldn't make sense of whatever was going on in there.

"Don't read too much into it," Raziel pressed, glancing up at the sky once more. "The universe has a strange sense of humor. It could all be as simple as that. Now, come on."

Before Raziel could walk ten steps, he stopped abruptly once again. Cyrus stumbled into him but Raziel did not react, eyes wide and going unfocused.

"I believe we have company..."

He turned, scanning the darkened streets all around them. Nothing lurked in the shadows, and whatever Raziel had noticed wasn't close enough to set off Cyrus's own senses.

"A reaper." Raziel answered his unspoken question under his breath.

Out loud, mimicking his whisper, Cyrus prompted, "Rogue?" His fingers were itching for his knife, but had to admit Raziel was probably right to take it away.

In response, Raziel simply gave a curt shake of his head. Raising his voice now, he called out, "I think you're a little lost, friend."

A shadow separated from the wall of blackness to their left where the light from the streetlamps couldn't reach. Peeling himself away from an alley wall, a man strode leisurely into view. Upon reaching the sidewalk, Cyrus could now see the black spheres of his true eyes.

"No," the newcomer said with a wide smile. "I'm exactly where I need to be." He jutted his chin out, nodding to Cyrus, looking him up and down.

Cyrus tensed in response, the desire to have a knife to steady his shaking hands around returning. Raziel stiffened beside him as well, but his careful emotionless expression did not change. "Listen here, you little fucker," he murmured, deadpan. "I don't know where you came crawling up from, but it's in your best interest you return--"

The reaper raised his hands up, palms forward, but nothing in his tense stature hinted at any sign of submission. "I simply wanted to know what all the fuss was about." Once again, he inclined his head towards Cyrus, this time with a curled lip. "You have an infinite source of raw power at your disposal and you decided to...domesticate it?"

"This is not a fight you want," Raziel responded in a voice that would have made Cyrus cower had it been directed at him. With each word, the fire in his eyes grew and the nighttime darkness seemed to cling to him, shadows dancing around him. "Go running back to your master and spread the word--this is my domain now."

The reaper did not speak again, shrinking back a few steps but otherwise holding his ground for several more moments. The tension between them was tangible, painfully so; it took all of Cyrus's self-control not to obey his baser instincts and flee himself.

Then the reaper cracked a tiny smile, nodded slowly and retreated back into the shadows.

Raziel released a shaky sigh, grabbing Cyrus by the arm and dragging him down the street. His own strides were no match for the demon's and he had to jog to keep up. When they were half a mile away, Raziel finally slowed, releasing his grip.

Realizing he wasn't even entirely sure just what reapers were capable of, unsure of just how dangerous that encounter had been, Cyrus couldn't help but break the silence by asking the question on his mind.

Half in a daze, voice quiet and eyes downcast, Raziel replied, "Those mongrels have as much power as their demon counterparts allow them, which is never much--they have to to give it from their own resources. He was a pest, that's all." He cut off for a second, hand covering his mouth as he fell deeper into his trance.

Finally breaking from it a minute later, Raziel met Cyrus's wide eyes. "The real worry would be the rogues, yes, but I can't imagine there are many left. Luckily they hadn't caught the attention of the humans, but I've encountered so many in the city recently..." If it was possible, he seemed to pale, any trace of color the anger had placed on his face retreating. Voice dropping yet again, Raziel muttered, "It's almost as if you've influenced more of them to turn..."

"Acheron said it happens when they take in too many souls," Cyrus protested, not wanting to shoulder any more blame. He was struggling as it was, nearly drowning under it in his most lucid moments.

"Well, yes, but what if your darkness is infectious, the need to kill so strong..." Raziel visibly shuddered. "Maybe we don't know the full extent of the impact your existence has. Christ, we gotta get that beacon of yours dimmed, and fast."

After several minutes of silent consideration, Raziel began to speak again. "Numbing you did nothing, having a conscience doesn't hold you back...I'm beginning to think we need outside help, kid."

Cyrus waited for any suggestions, not feeling in the least bit patient. The anxiety of having to wait for Raziel to work out his own thoughts manifested in the shaking of Cyrus's limbs, the way he couldn't catch his breath.

"I've definitely gone off the deep end here," Raziel finally said with a nervous laugh, "but all that talk of witchcraft earlier...no, nothing like that Salem shit, kid. They were nothing more than human. Whatever those people suspected to be witches, good chance was they were actually reapers--the legends around witches being that they sold their soul to the devil--but their magic is much too subtle to be so easily detected."

Raziel stopped walking, lightly tapping his head like it could help him get his thoughts back on track. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes tight.

"I'm talking real witchcraft--cleansing auras or chakras or whatever the hell. The problem is making sure it's legit. There's a plethora of so-called practitioners here but anyone with a true gift isn't gonna be publicizing and monetizing off it."

Against his greater judgement--the thought made Cyrus almost laugh--Tuesday's aunt came to mind. He was ready to shove that thought away again just as quickly, label it a bad joke and move on to whatever the real solution would be, when Raziel opened his eyes again to stare at Cyrus incredulously.

"What was that?" he prompted softly. "No, go back, let me see that again."

Cyrus obeyed, recalling again how aware the woman had seemed to be of him, then tracing over the little oddities he'd noticed throughout the house. Bowls of crystals, incense, and a plethora of other things that Cyrus was reluctant to label as strange but also had never even been a part of his own meditation rituals.

Raziel laughed, loudly, throwing his head back. In a gesture Cyrus could only hope was ironic, he added a knee-slap for good measure. "Ah, I'll be damned. The universe has a way of repaying its debts, too, it seems." Sobering, Raziel waved a hand at Cyrus. "Well, lead the way, kid. I think it's time we pay this witch a visit."

"I--don't think that's a good--" Cyrus began to say, only able to picture the scorn Tuesday's Aunt had to offer him. To be honest, she sort of scared him.

"You're really not good at the whole following orders thing," Raziel responded coldly. "Be careful with your next move...ball's in your court."

Deciding Raziel was infinitely scarier, Cyrus nodded quickly. Despite all his inhibitions, he dutifully retraced his steps back from the now-skeleton of a house--scorched, blackened scraps of wood basically the only proof of what had once occupied the space--to Tuesday's new home.