Chapter One: Search

All of his life, Blackheart had searched; first for his father's realm, then for that ridiculous contract, and now for a way to survive.
He should have had the foresight to realize a true demon was harder to kill, and that Legion wouldn't be a true demon: Legion was a thousand human souls in a demon's body. After Legion was killed, Blackheart remained. He was a mere shadow of his former self; a non-corporeal being. A cloud of black smoke.
For six months, he fed off the vermin that infested the ruins. Slowly, he gained some strength, but soon even the insects began to avoid the area.

With limited strength, and even less sense of direction, he wandered west, ending up in California.
The heat, firestorms, mudslides and earthquakes reminded him of home, a home he could not return to. He fed off larger game, and the occasional careless human that wandered into his abode. California was doing him well. Too well.
Though still not as powerful as he was before, Blackheart gained all his arrogance back. He began hunting humans, but killed too many. Soon, the damn mortals would notice.

So, he traveled east, winding up in Minnesota. It was cold, snowy, and the complete opposite of California.
Luckily, the animals and people here were much more trusting, and the snow banks made it easy to hide a body.

Two years had passed. Two fucking years. Still weak, still pathetic, still so...human. The snow is melting, and my bodies will be discovered soon. I have to go west. There is a vague memory of a Canadian city, where my kind is welcomed.
I have to get there

He continued to travel east, and finally crossed into Canada through Windsor. He had a slight memory of Windsor, or rather, of someone talking about Windsor.
He didn't rest, he didn't feed, he just knew he had to get to this town. He had turned into a black cloud again, saving all the energy he could to form a human-esque body when he got to his destination.

It was a large, red-brick house in the suburbs. He went to the door, and a tall, pale, spindly woman answered. She seemed to recognize him.
"Blackheart?"
He inhaled weakly, "do you still house demons?"
Before she could respond, he had collapsed.

The smell of beef woke him up. He was on his side, facing a young woman in jeans and a tank top. She was holding a steaming cup.
"Mom said you would be awake," The woman said, "I thought you would stay in a coma forever."
"How long have I been here?"
"About a week," She passed him the steaming mug, "I have other things to do, take the soup, and drink it. Mother will come talk to you later."
Cautiously, he took the mug, and scoffed, "Soup?"
" Yes, soup. It will do you good."
"It's human food," He attempted to return the cup.
"Of course it's human food."
"I don't eat human food."
"It never stopped me."
He attempted to give back the mug and speak, but she pressed a finger to her lips and said, "if you don't do what I say, mother will force you to drink the soup. Either way, I don't care."
There was something familiar about the way she pressed her index finger to her lips.
She turned and walked out. Angrily accepting this fate, he slowly drank the soup. So, the bitchy woman had been right...it did make him feel better. After a quick nap, he felt well enough to go downstairs, and see what had happened.

He remembered everything, though it had been three years since he had been there, everything was in roughly the same place. Arrogantly, he swaggered into the main room.
"So, you're up."
He nodded, "thank you for the food,"
The older woman shook her head, "At least you ate it. Last time you were here, you protested it terribly."
He laughed, "Demon's that eat human food, it's not that common, or that normal."
"I was always different."
"You ran away and married a mortal."
"It's called love, Blackheart, one day you'll find it."
He smirked, "I see your husband still fawns over that pool."
"We like the water." She quickly changed the conversation, "how long do you expect to stay here?'
"You're the one who seems to be taking care of me."
"A few weeks then, that fight nearly killed you."
He sighed angrily. He had forgotten what this demon could do. Praxis was a unique demon that could read thoughts. She carefully eyed him.
"You forgot what I could do," Praxis smiled slightly, "understandable. It's been three years. Three long years. I'm quite surprised you remembered this place."
"I've always been good with directions," there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

From outside, a splash was heard. The dark form of the young woman sped through the water.
Praxis shook her head, "Mimi needs to stop swimming, and clean the attic suite..."
"Mimi?"
"Surely you recognise my daughter?"
"The sixteen year old brat whose room I was forced to share?"
Praxis nodded, "Yes, my daughter, Alchemy."
"She's...grown up."

Alchemy was, already, bored of swimming. Elegantly, she raised herself out of the pool, stepping out gingerly. Water glistened on her pale skin. Her father threw her a towel, which she caught and wrapped her slim figure in. She reclined on a bench, letting the towel provide a barrier from the hot metal. Sighing angrily, Praxis abandoned Blackheart and went out to the deck.
"Mimi!" She called softly, "come back inside. You have to change the sheets in the attic suite, and reorganize your own room."
"My room? What for?" She replied, sitting up to face her mother.
"Until he's well enough, someone will have to watch Blackheart in the night."
In what seemed like a fury of water, Alchemy was standing on the deck in front of her mother, "Are you crazy? I had to bunk with him last time," She waved a hand in his direction. He was standing at the door.
"I can survive alone," He piped up, "I'm much better."
"I've had to sleep with him for a week now!" Alchemy whined, "Mother, we have other suites. He can take the attic! I'll have it cleaned in no time!" She started to walk past her mother. Praxis grabbed her arm and squeezed it tightly. A red mark appeared.
"Fine," Alchemy said through gritted teeth.
Praxis threw her daughters arm down, "get dressed, change the sheets in the attic suite, and get your room ready."
Alchemy, still wet, pushed her way past Blackheart, fuming.

Alchemy tied her hair back in a tight ponytail. A patch of wet appeared squarely in the middle of her shoulders. She quickly changed the sheets on the five beds in the attic suite. She always managed to dress bed's beautifully when she was angry. With a few tears streaming down her face, she smoothed the white linins. Carefully brushing the few stray tears away from her face she returned down to her bedroom.
The house had four floors; the basement, the main floor, the second floor and the attic. The basement functioned as an entertainment room. There was a huge sound-system, a giant television, various game tables, and a full bar. The main floor was the living area. Here was the kitchen, the living room with a smaller TV, but with video game systems, and the exit to the pool. The second floor had the main bedroom (for Praxis and Alexander), the laundry room, and three other bedrooms. Two of these rooms were outfitted with queen-sized beds, a desk, and a dresser for guests; the third was painted a cheery green colour with two beds, both single sized. This room was Alchemy's room. She rarely had to share it with guests, but in case she had to, she often bunked with teenagers or children. The attic suite was the largest of rooms. It was reserved for families. It had a queen-sized bed, and two sets of bunk beds, along with en-suite bathroom and kitchenette.
Three years ago, Alchemy's room was wallpapered in Marilyn Manson posters, interspersed with a few Harry Potter references. Now, her room had only a few framed prints hanging on the wall. Now that she was nineteen, and an adult, she could no longer act like the teenager she had once been. She had to become an adult, for one day she would run the hotel, once her mother decided to retire.
Part of her wanted to become a normal human being. She had completed high school that past June and was not planning on attending post-secondary. She had little need for it. She was, after all, a demon. The handful of friends she had made already were out of town, learning to be doctors, or lawyers, or accountants, she had stayed behind. Part of her resented this fact.
In fact, a lot of her resented that.
There was something missing from her life, and no matter how hard she searched, she couldn't figure out what it was.

"I trust you know where you are sleeping," Praxis commented to Blackheart as he retired to bed. The night had long since fell. Alchemy was swimming laps in the illuminated pool, hoping to shake off some of the anger she felt toward her mother.
"Are you sure," He looked out the window to see Alchemy diving headfirst into the pool, and swimming into the inky blackness, away from the light. "She seems upset."
"Nonsense, you are still very weak, and someone will have to look after you in case something happens."

Blackheart poked around Alchemy's bookcase. He found a collection of old novels that she had since he was there three years previous, but found a small patch of new books. He selected one—a classic book entitled 1984—and curled up on his bed. Alchemy must have re-arranged it now that he was conscious. The headboard was now facing the middle of the room, with the end of the bed pressed firmly against the wall. This arrangement was a strange one, but Alchemy had always liked to be enclosed while sleeping. She assumed that everyone was like that, thus a wall by the feet of the person sleeping there would be more comfortable.
Under the bed were three drawers, indented for the occupant to house their clothes and other belongings. Blackheart had discovered his trench coat folded neatly in the first drawer. Much to his surprise, however, he also discovered some clothing made of a soft, cottony material. He found them pleasing to the touch and oddly comfortable; much more comfortable for contorting in sleep than his everyday clothing would be. He had just finished the first chapter of his book when Alchemy walked in, shutting the door behind her.
"I hope you don't mind...I don't like sleeping with the door open."
"No, not at all," He didn't look up.
She crossed the room nearly silently, in an eerie cat-like way, hopping lightly from the balls of her feet. She reclined on her bed, back exposed, and pulled her black and green duvet to the small of her back.
"Still obsessed with that computer," he commented.
She shrugged as best as one could lying on their stomachs, "Does it bother you?"
"No," He replied, "the glow is something easy to adapt to. Besides, I can always bury my head under the pillow if you get too annoying."
She grinned slightly.
Blackheart sat crossed-legged in the middle of his bed. The small task light attached to the wall granted him enough light to read by, and the pleasing click of computer keys made him feel very relaxed. Soon enough, he turned out the light and bid his good-night to Alchemy.
There was a light in Blackheart's face. Not a bright one, but enough of one to stir him from his light sleep. Alchemy had shifted positions and was shutting down her computer. A pink shirt lay crumpled on the floor, and she sat slightly hunched over. The blue-white glow of the screen reflected off her milky flesh, subtly highlighting the curve of her exposed breasts.
She sleeps without a shirt? Blackheart asked himself. I suppose she doesn't have people sleeping in her room much...
She stretched, packed her computer in a bag, and settled herself for sleep. A few minutes passed. Her soft snores confirmed she was asleep.

This was not the same Alchemy from three years ago.