Hellbound Hearts

18. Fair Point

Arthur grips the steering wheel firmly as he turns the van onto our street. Eleonora has carefully patched up his battered nose, leaving only some dried blood as a reminder of the injury. But neither Arthur nor anyone else seems to care much about our wounds.

The whole way home, not a word is spoken. The silence isn't one of concentration—it's one of defeat. We walked into a trap and failed to prevent yet another death. The demons are completely out of control, and it bodes nothing good.

The bell rings cheerfully as we open the bookstore door, but now it's more irritating than ever. I spot Cody typing on a keyboard at the table in the corner. At the sound of the bell, he lifts his eyes from the screen.

"What the hell?" he blurts out, seeing us.

Eleonora offers him a sad smile and leads Kaja to her room. She's physically fine but visibly distressed, beating herself up more than she should.

"Did you expect us to come back with flowers?" I ask sarcastically as I plop into a chair across from him.

I wince as a sharp pain shoots through my back upon contact with the chair. Arthur grabs a can of soda from the fridge, presses it against his swollen cheek, and slumps down next to me.

"Fucking hell," he mutters to himself.

I give him a look, silently suggesting Cody's presence might not be ideal for discussing the situation.

"Let him get used to it. There'll be plenty of these talks," Arthur sighs, finally glancing at Cody. "Nothing personal."

"Don't mind me," Cody says calmly.

He stays seated, seemingly determined to observe the world he's found himself in. It unsettles me—having an extra set of ears on these conversations still feels strange. But no one else seems to care, so I let it go.

"Demons are far more social than I ever imagined," I sigh. "I never thought they'd work together. I've never seen it."

Arthur pauses, then sighs and sets the soda can on the table with a thud.

"Their little alliances don't matter. The real issue is their leader. Nine years of hunting demons, and I've never felt this kind of dread. Their leader is either an idiot showing off or the biggest threat we've ever faced."

After airing our thoughts, we don't mention the day's events again. This problem can't be solved overnight. We'll need time to prepare and plan carefully, and tonight, no one has the energy for that.

I linger in the shower, hoping the hot water will wash away not just the dust and blood but also clear my mind. I don't want to waste the night overthinking, so I focus on relaxing.

Afterward, I return to my room, where Cody has already settled in the armchair. In his free time, he often sits there, always occupied with something. Today, he's engrossed in Dracula and doesn't notice my arrival.

"Starting to believe in vampires, too?" I ask, smirking.

His eyes meet mine. "No, but this book's yours. Does that mean you believe in them?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

I chuckle and flop onto the bed.

"They don't exist."

"Then why read it so many times? The spine is nearly broken in half," he points out, lifting the book.

"Because it's fun to read about something unreal for a change," I say. "Books on demons, possessions, and souls are just artistically exaggerated reality. You've probably figured that out by now."

Cody nods. "Fair point."

I give a thumbs-up in mock triumph and lie back.

"How are you feeling?" I ask.

"My body isn't handling the spicy noodles I had for lunch."

"You know that's not what I mean," I chuckle.

Cody falls silent for a moment, so I glance at him.

"I don't know. I thought my life was strange before, but this last week has topped everything. I'm living with a bunch of strangers who say they can help me, but after today, I'm starting to doubt you can even keep yourselves safe," he says bluntly.

"Is it that bad?" I ask, awkwardly laughing.

"Absolutely," he replies without hesitation.

"I don't have good news yet, but we'll sort it out. I know that doesn't mean much, but I'd like you to trust me a little."

Cody snorts. "People don't trust strangers. I don't think we can call ourselves friends yet."

"I thought we reached that level when we became bedfellows," I tease.

I glance at Cody just in time to see Dracula flying toward me. I dodge, and the book lands on the bed.

"You're disgusting," he grimaces.

I laugh, ignoring his insult, and make myself more comfortable with my hands behind my head.

"You know, you're an interesting kid. I'd like you to call me your friend someday."

"First of all, I'm not a kid," Cody sighs. "You're only a couple of years older."

"Fair point. But you didn't say no."

"I don't think I have a choice," he says indifferently.

"You always do. But we could start with some simple questions, get to know each other," I suggest, trying to pique his curiosity.

Cody stays silent, either thinking about what to ask or how to dodge this pointless game.

"Do you feel cheated by this second chance?" he finally asks.

"There's a simple question," I say, laughing.

"As you wish. You don't have to answer."

Even though it stirs up mixed emotions, I'm not backing down from my own game. I pause to consider my response.

"Maybe, just a little. I won't deny it—sometimes I want to escape this, but then something happens that reminds me I can't afford to lose focus. It's a big responsibility," I sigh. "But you don't quit working at a café just because you burned your hand on hot milk once."

"I don't think hunting demons and making coffee can compare," Cody says, frowning.

"There are similarities if you look hard enough."

We are also different, yet somehow alike.

"Boiling milk won't kill you, but a demon might. I've had enough experience to understand that."

"Yes, but my situation is a bit different. I don't remember my life before death. I don't know if I merely exist or if I was resurrected and continue to live. That's why I put everything into this job—it's all I have."

I consider adding more, but I stop. A strange melancholy washes over me, leaving a hollow feeling.

I only absorb fleeting impressions and possess nothing of my own. Everything I do here feels like a brushstroke in someone else's painting. Even the time I spend with Cody feels borrowed.

The more I think about it, the tighter the feeling in my chest grows. It's hard to control these intrusive thoughts, and I hate feeling this way—tethered to something unknown.

I turn my head to the ceiling and close my eyes. Suddenly, the armchair in the corner creaks and a new warmth reaches my body. I open my eyes to find Cody's gaze fixed on me.

He leans over slightly, his hand resting on my chest, his expression unreadable.

"Fair point. But your heart is still beating. And as long as it beats for something important, everything you do isn't just meaningless existence."