Actions have consequences. Cyrus's penance for his lie was extra 'community service'.

Their organization, Second Advent, ran on taking in broken people at their limit with their own faith and giving them something else to live for. As Acheron had told him many times, there was strength in numbers, and power in strength. If they were going to cleanse this world, they would need all the earthly power they could get their hands on.

That meant recruiting like-minded people. And for the first time, Acheron expected Cyrus to play a role in this recruitment instead of being a silent spectator.

Bune was to accompany him. Moloch rarely went along on these things; his temperament was a bit too much to mask. Dressed in simple jeans and t-shirts, the two left the compound. The only thing Cyrus had been armed with was a pamphlet explaining the benefits of joining Second Advent. As they say on the train, he ran his thumb over the embossed catchline on the front cover: TIRED OF PRAYING TO A GOD THAT DOESN'T LISTEN?

"Smile."

Cyrus looked up from the pamphlet to see Bune eyeing him with a sneer.

"Better practice now, boy. You think you're gonna win over anyone looking like that?"

Gritting his teeth, Cyrus attempted to curve his lips upward in a way that seemed genuine. Bune grimaced, rolling his eyes.

"Well, that's off the table. Hope you can think of something else."

Fifteen minutes later, Cyrus was standing shoulder to shoulder with Bune on Delilah White's doorstep. From what Bune had coached him on the way over, Cyrus knew Delilah was divorced and had lost her son in a drunk driving accident. Acheron had already reached out to the woman, who had reluctantly agreed to take a home visit.

Bune nudged his shoulder. Uncurling his fists from the pamphlet, he rang the doorbell.

The woman was frailer than he had imagined possible, thin and hunched over as if she could collapse at any moment. She took one look at the men on her doorstep before pulling her shawl tighter around herself and opening the door wider. Cyrus stepped around her, clearing his throat.

The words didn't come. He didn't know what to say.

Shooting Cyrus a glare, Bune spoke up. The picture of politeness, he shook Delilah's hand as he said, "It's very nice to meet you, Ms. White. I hear you've been having a difficult time."

Her eyes trailed to a picture hanging front and center on the wall of a young boy. "You could say that."

The three sat down. Bune raised an eyebrow at Cyrus as the woman picked at her shawl.

Cyrus cleared his throat again. "If it's alright, I'd like to talk about God."

Delilah met his eyes. Hers were cold and blank.

He forced himself to not look away. Backtracking, he said, "That's your son," gesturing to the picture.

"This is where you tell me he's in a better place now, right?"

"No." Cyrus knew if he looked beside him, Bune would have an icy glare reserved for him. He didn't look away from Delilah. "I can't say he is. I can't say there's any place better than this. But what if I could tell you we could make this a place where a tragedy like that never happens again?"

Delilah just stared at him. He handed her the pamphlet and watched as she saw the words over the cover; tears came to her eyes, and her lip began to wobble.

He knew he was in the home stretch. It hadn't taken much at all. "All this time your prayers have fallen on deaf ears," Cyrus said. Trying to inject some empathy into his voice, he continued, "We're here now."

Delilah began to sob, first clutching the pamphlet to her chest before wrapping her arms around Cyrus too. He froze, unmoving in her embrace even as her tears began to fall on him. "You look so much like him," she cried, smoothing back his hair.

Through the gap in her arms he caught Bune's eye. He mouthed, Son of a bitch, kid, and smiled.

§

Stolen story; please report.

Bune parted ways with Cyrus after leaving the White residence after handing him a shopping list. "Supply run," he explained before disappearing down into the subway.

The walk to the store was peaceful, at first. His success with Delilah had him flying as high as his first kill had done. He couldn't get her anguish out of his head though, and that mellowed him a bit.

Something changed then. Cyrus couldn't put a label to it, but noted goosebumps has risen along his arms. It was an uncharacteristic day for the season, with the sun high and bright overhead and taking away any need for a jacket. He slowed down, and the other people on the street flashed him scowls and hurried around him.

Cyrus closed his eyes, trying to focus on the feeling that had begun to rush through his body. It started as warmth, seeping into his very core—then he imagined it forming into an invisible lead, gently tugging him in another direction. Eyes still shut, he followed its pull.

Moments later, his other senses were invaded—the smell of burning rubber burned his nostrils, squealing tires against asphalt filled his ears. Cyrus's eyes snapped open just in time to see a black sedan screech to a stop; his hands thudded against the hood that was resting against his thighs.

He couldn't breathe, and it had nothing to do with the fact he had almost been run over. Staring back at him with eyes as wide as his own, Tuesday was sitting behind the Cadillac's wheel.

Another car blared it's horn. He didn't look away, and Tuesday made the first move: gesturing him aside. Remembering how to move, Cyrus stepped back on the sidewalk. Stiff, like his limbs had been replaced by concrete, he watched as the Cadillac turned into a nearby parking lot.

Cyrus stayed glued in place as Tuesday threw open her car door and sprinted across the lot. As she came closer, the feeling that had overcome him only grew stronger. How hadn't he recognized it?

Maybe he hadn't wanted to.

"OhmygodCyrusareyouok–" Tuesday inhaled a deep breath then tried for coherency. Still sort of hyperventilating, she said, "Jesus, I'm so sorry! I kinda zoned out back there, I didn't even see you."

Cyrus was still focused on the energy coming off of her. What he had previously thought of as warmth was tainted by her fear. The coldness enveloped him.

He'd never met another human he could feel so strongly. That only left him with about a thousand questions he had no answers to. Cyrus concentrated on the most pressing one, trying to project his thoughts as he so easily did with Acheron.

What are you?

Tuesday's expression didn't change. Some of her honey-colored hair was plastered to her face with sweat; all the color had drained from it, leaving her skin sallow.

Maybe some people were just—well, bright. Maybe Tuesday was just bright.

As Cyrus was turning this over in his mind, she spoke again.

"Okay, I know you don't like the talk but if you don't say something in the next three seconds I'm taking you to the hospital–"

"I'm okay."

Tuesday blinked, her mouth falling open slightly. She let out a shaky breath. "It's nice to hear your voice. I didn't think I would again, after your mom–"

Killed herself. She didn't finish the sentence, but it didn't matter. The words didn't hurt Cyrus. He didn't remember anything about his parents but what Acheron had told him; they had abandoned him, so why should he care?

"Where did you go?"

Cyrus glanced around, but the people walking past were all too buried in their own lives to spare them a second look. He couldn't sense Acheron near, but he could swear he was being watched. Paranoia, of course, but what if Acheron found out what had just happened?

He should turn Tuesday in to him. Someone with the power she must have would be a valuable resource. Cyrus found he didn't want to give her up though.

She was his first secret. That was surely part of her intrigue. He also craved the feeling he got around her, his own personal power plant.

That's why he answered her, verbally. He wanted to prolong the feeling.

"My uncle took me in," Cyrus said, the lie falling effortlessly off his tongue.

"And you...switched schools?"

"Home school."

Tuesday had to lean in to hear him over the midday traffic. Cyrus didn't take the hint to speak up; talking at all was foreign enough. He had managed it alright earlier, but it had been a job then. A chore. This was different.

She shook her head slowly, looking him up and down. Cyrus stared at the pavement to avoid her eyes. He didn't have the faintest idea what she must be thinking of him. He could only expect her to bring up an excuse about needing to be somewhere and get the hell out of dodge.

She didn't. "Well, uh, I'm really sorry for, y'know, almost killing you. Is there anything I can do to make up for it...give you a ride, maybe?" Tuesday began walking towards her car.

Cyrus was shaking his head, but followed anyway. He began to explain he was capable of walking to the grocery store and Tuesday interrupted him.

"Says the guy who jumped into traffic. Get in the car."

As she turned her keys in the ignition, Cyrus hesitated outside. Tuesday looked back at him, and she tapped the gas pedal, revving the engine.

"That wasn't a request, FYI."

Cyrus slid into the passenger seat with stiff limbs. Every decent thought was screaming at him to get out of there. But his instinct—it was telling him he was right where he needed to be.

"You sure you're okay, Cyrus?" Tuesday asked softly as she pulled onto the main street.

The image of her, a different version of the sweet girl sitting next to him, came back to him. It was just a dream. It shouldn't mean anything. He wanted to believe that, but coincidences didn't exist in his world. He'd had that dream long before he'd ever known this teenage Tuesday.

In fact, the last time Cyrus had known her, they'd been in kindergarten together.

The memories of that time were faded, blurry, and nearly impossible to reach. He could recall a vague scene, though, of a younger, tinier Tuesday. She'd sat next to him one day at his otherwise deserted table in the cafeteria and shared her lunch when she saw he didn't have one.

Recalling that memory made the others come easier. She was the only one who ever bothered to try talking to Cyrus, especially when he didn't bother talking back. Tuesday apparently didn't mind, because she spent most lunch periods with him. Sometimes she even had sat with him on a bench while the other kids better utilized recess time.

Why?

"What?" Tuesday said, pulling Cyrus out of his reverie. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

Cyrus stared out the window. He hadn't meant to say that out loud, and he wasn't going to repeat himself.

"I feel like..." Tuesday paused. When Cyrus risked a glance over, he saw her fingers were gripping the steering wheel like she was stranded in open waters and it was the only thing keeping her afloat. Her next words came quieter. "I feel like I knew you in another life."

These were strange words to be coming from a good little Christian girl. They were strange for other reasons, but Cyrus chose not to dwell on them.

She laughed, and he felt her eyes on him. He didn't meet her gaze. "Sorry, that was weird. I just thought...it needed to be said."

After several moments she cleared her throat, tapping her french-manicured nails on the wheel.

"Anyways, I was distracted earlier because–well, remember the flier?"

How could he forget? His first kill. It made him wonder what killing her would be like.

Cyrus dug his nails into his palms and bit his tongue. Shaking his head did nothing to rid himself of the thought. Unaware of his internal crisis, Tuesday was still talking.

"They found James."

Cyrus finally looked up. Her eyes were red and glimmering with tears just about to spill over.

"He–Ugh, sorry," she said, dabbing at her eyes. "His...body...was found in the next town over. Keys and wallet gone, car trashed."

They were pulling into the grocery store parking lot then, which was good: Tuesday had begun shaking, the tears coming thick.

"The police say...he was mugged." Sucking in a breath, she trained her questioning eyes on Cyrus. "But who mugs someone by slitting their throat?"

Her anguish was seeping into him, mixing with his own. He unlocked the passenger door and opened it, before staring at her pointedly.

"What–oh, right, you've got stuff to do. Sorry, I didn't mean to be...such a mess." Tuesday sniffed, wiping her eyes and studying her hands. "Well, ah, see you around."

Cyrus took a few more seconds to watch her, turning the words over in his mind. If she were right about that, it would equal danger for the both of them.

He also had a feeling it didn't matter. He would be seeing her around, definitely.

If only in his dreams.