1: are apples a form of family therapy?

I think if you knew me, you'd be a little afraid of me. Everyone kinda is.

It's not that I'm terrifying. Like, you wouldn't see my face on a Wanted sign or anything, and I certainly don't look like those serial killer guys on TV, with the bald spot and the creepy smile and the round glasses. It's just that whenever I smile, most people shudder a little.

I have my father's teeth.

And I should probably mention my father's a demon.

He's married to a crazy witch by the name of Sybil and the two of them raised me in a house with a secret door, somewhere in the Atlanta subway system. The place doesn't have one precise location. It moves around wherever Sybil spells it to.

The two of them are an unlikely couple, and they sure as hell like to remind me of it everyday with their constant bickering. Sybil usually throws a pot or a pan at my dad at least three times a week, but then I'll walk in and they'll be hugging each other like everything's perfectly fine.

I guess you could say my mother—my birth mother, I mean—is somewhat of a matchmaker. She forced my dad and Sybil together when she promised one that she'd have his child and the other that she'd give her her child, respectively. So as soon as I was born, my mother dropped me off in their arms, and they haven't stopped bickering since.

Leastways, they're bickering together.

It's exactly what they're doing when I come in today, a bag of groceries in my hand. The subway tunnels smell like mildew and old soda, but after living here for a while, it's not so bad. Besides, Sybil always has incense burning—so it's more like mildew, old soda, and a random toss-in of vanilla cream pie.

One of the subway cars whistles past me as I walk along the walls, but it doesn't knock my arm off with its speed, probably because I've purposefully made myself incorporeal. It's another thing I get from my father: my invisibility skills. Comes in handy sometimes.

I find the door how I always do: feeling around the sticky tunnel walls until my hand falls through. It's not purely by touch, either; I'm literally drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. I take one step in the wrong direction and it's like every blood cell in my body starts rushing backwards.

This time, the door's between Lenox and Lindbergh Center. My hand slides along firm, sturdy wall until I reach a soft spot where it slips through the concrete, as simply as it would through water. I feel around for the knob, latch my fingers around it, and step into the house.

Today Sybil's incense smells faintly like a birthday cake. She knows I hate birthday cake.

I shuffle through the narrow foyer, unsurprised when I hear their warbled voices rising towards the ceiling. Sybil's manifests itself first: "By God, Alvanor, she can't just keep showing up."

My dad's is next: "She called this time, lovely. Besides, she ought to visit him."

"That wasn't part of the deal—"

The foyer opens up into the kitchen, whose walls are painted a gentle mauve, Sybil's favorite color. I see the two of them in full now, my father with a hand itching at his stark black hair, Sybil with her most expensive mesquite smoking pipe perched between her slim fingers. They both stop as I enter; the groceries make a soft ker-thunk as I set them down on the island.

They're still staring at me.

"I got apples," I say. "The green ones."

Dad's eyes widen a little; I wouldn't say that they light up, as they're pitch black, but he does seem excited. "The green ones? Attaboy, Grey."

Sybil and I exchange a suspicious glance. It's a common misconception that all demons are sly beings. My dad's about as sly as an earthworm.

"Mom's coming to see me, isn't she?" I ask.

Dad looks a little like he wants throw up. Instead of upchucking, however, he just takes a seat on a barstool, steadying himself against the counter. "She called me while you were out, yes. She said she'd just gotten done seeing the Pyramids of Giza and that she'd be here to visit you next month."

I laugh despite myself, taking an apple from the bag and taking a bite out of it. There's barely any teeth marks left in the fruit; my four incisors are sharp enough to rival a surgical incision. "Giza, eh? What was it last time?"

"Machu Picchu."

"Right."

Sybil lays a hand down on my shoulder, which I shove off. I don't mean it to be rude. It's just that her fingers are always cold. Icicles, I tell you. The woman's kinda scary when she's trying to be comforting. "We can send her away," she offers. "I mean, if you don't want to see her."

I raise an eyebrow at her. "No, why wouldn't I? You know, it's not like she actually cares about me, or anything. Ha. Not at all."

When Dad speaks next, his voice is low and breathy, and his eyes are narrow. It's his scary demon voice, which I know is supposed to frighten me, but I think he forgets that I'm half-demon, too. "Don't talk about your mother that way, Grey."

I stuff my mouth with more apple. "Mhm."

"I mean it."

"Let her have her visits," I agree. "If it makes her feel like she's doing something right."

Dad stares at me for a moment longer, as if debating if he's going to say something to that. In the end, though, he just dumps the apples in a drawer in the fridge and slams it shut. "She wants to have dinner," he tells me. "Think you can manage that?"

I nod like I have a choice, which seems to please him. With that, he yawns and scratches at one of the massive horns on his head and then vanishes in a cloud of dark mist, probably into his study. He's always in his study. I don't even know what he's studying.

This leaves Sybil and me awkwardly lingering in the kitchen. The incense is burning in the corner, beside the fridge, and the smoke from it and Sybil's pipe twine together in thin tendrils of silver. Sybil takes a drag, then says a bit gruffly, "Your father's just trying to be cordial."

I give her a look to communicate just how idiotic that assumption is. I know my dad. I share half his genes. He's raised me all this time. Most of all, I know how he is about my mother, flawless Corinne Meesang, who managed to thaw even a big bad demon's heart. "He's still in love with her," I correct. "It's a bit sad, honestly—ow. What the hell?"

Sybil has thwacked me in the head with her wooden pipe, and I feel like I should be bleeding, but thankfully I'm not. I am seeing stars, though. "As if!" exclaims Sybil, vainly adjusting her lengthy dark locks and jutting her chin. "As if Alvanor loves anyone but me. I'd watch your mouth, cross-breed. And tuck your tail."

"My tail?" I realize that I haven't tucked it down my pant leg, but only after Sybil's stomped on it with her high-heeled boots. She makes an assertive harrumph, then sashays off, leaving me there whimpering like a toddler.

My tail is a tender spot. It is not to be stepped on, and Sybil spends a ton of time with enough demons to know that already.

Still groaning, I do as she says and tuck my tail away like I usually do. I'm not sure why. It's some sort of etiquette thing, I guess. Then I turn and head back out into the tunnels; my weekend visit's about over, and I should probably head back to my own apartment before Safiya turns it into a blood bank again.

Vampires. You can't trust them with your stuff.

I make my way back out towards the street. When I come out of the dark tunnels and into the bustling station, people barely notice me. In a city where the subways are manned by ghosts and every coffee shop has a potion menu, a demon hybrid manifesting from the dark is the kind of thing that happens every other Tuesday.

I hop up onto the platform and brush past the crowds, skimming past graffitied walls and over dingy floors. Then it's up the stairs and into the bright daylight, the sun turning the office buildings and apartment complexes to kaleidoscopes of reflected sunlight. I have to squint for a while. I don't burn in the sun like an unprotected vampire does, but I am, in the least, kind of used to dark places.

I'm turning to head back towards the Varsity—my apartment's somewhere around there—when I hear a shout behind me: "Grey!"

I turn, and a smile crosses my face. One of my old friends, Rocco, is standing there, leaned back against the outer wall of the subway entrance. He's clearly enjoying the warmer weather in his t-shirt and cargo shorts, his eyes hidden behind massive aviators. I approach him with a chuckle. "What exactly are you up to?"

Rocco lifts his shades a bit to scrutinize me. "Thought I'd find you here," he says, then gestures down towards the subways. "Visiting the folks?"

"Yeah. Thought I would."

"How's your mom?"

I narrow my eyes. Rocco's known me since we were kids, so he's well aware of my whole family situation. He's human, but he probably knows more about demons than any of the rest of them do, because of how much time he spends around me. "She's currently in Egypt," I tell him, "but is apparently coming back to see me soon."

"See?" Rocco comments, slapping me on the back. "You are her son. She can't just leave you entirely."

"Might as well."

"You're being sour," Rocco chides, nodding his head fervently enough that his shades fall back into place. "You know better than that."

"And you know better than to ask about my mom, Rocco," I reply, and even with his shades on, I can kind of tell his eyes widen. He's right, in a sense. I don't really like being sour, as it just proves what everyone thinks about us demons anyway: we're all moody and surly and morbid and we want to steal your soul. We don't. Honestly. At least not anymore. We evolved, just like everyone else.

So I sigh and say, "Sorry. Were you looking for me, or something?"

Rocco's voice comes out a bit soft, with a touch of concern. "I just thought I'd check on you. I'm on my way to work my shift, but I was hoping to find you here."

"You found me," I say, throwing my arms wide, and Rocco just chuckles a little. I tell him, "Thanks for checking. I don't want to keep you, you know. If you have work."

"Oh, well alright," Rocco responds. He runs a hand through his hair, blonder in the afternoon sun, and turns to go. He doesn't walk off, however, not without calling over his shoulder: "Catch you later, Meesang!"

I watch him go for a moment, then turn with a roll of my eyes and continue on my way.