Page 124 of Devil Inside

“Your host.”

third wheel

Jordan

Cara.Her name is Cara.

We’ve slept with each other—twice—and we’ve never met. Not really. Not her. The real her. She’s a total mystery to me, whoever she is, outside of bumping into her at the bar.

Based on her reaction the last time I introduced myself, I’m a stranger to her, too. Oil and water, right here. But I need to know. Need to see. For myself.

We agreed her first host—the first I met, at least—would be the most appropriate person to talk to. It’s who I most associate with Lilith. On the outside, I mean.

Christ, this gets confusing so quickly.

Lilith texts me an address from a phone not programmed into my contacts. Strange area code. Whoever it belongs to, they aren’t from Richmond. I show up at a five-floor walk-up on Monroe, overlooking the park. I ring up. Get buzzed in. Take the stairs, not the elevator. By the time I make it to the fifth floor—apartment 5N, just like the text says—I don’t know what to expect.

Who am I going to find on the other side of the door?What’s waiting for me inside?

I knock. Wait. Breath held in my chest.

What does Lilith think about all this? It’s hard to tell. I’m sure she’s not happy with the arrangement, but she’s playing along. I have to respect that. There’s so much about this that’s too confusing, the middleman of flesh and bone. I feel like it’s important to connect to her host. Any host. To at least try and understand their perspective on all this.

What is this like for them? Are they completely unaware of what’s happening while Lilith is inside? Lilith says it’s their choice, but I want to hear it directly from the source.

How else is this supposed to work? Open communication is key... Right?

The hall is so quiet. The slightest hints of existence seep out from the doors. The chatter of television programs. The faintest wisps of conversation seeping through.

The door opens and I find—

Her.

My instinct is to think it’s Lilith, but that’s only half true. She may be on the inside, sheltered by this flesh, but it isn’t her. Not entirely. I can sense her, staring back, but the body—her host—belongs to someone else. A familiar face, but that’s all.

It’s dawning on me I don’t know who this woman is. I haven’t been talking to her at all.

Always Lilith. Only Lilith. Nother.

“Come in,” she says, turning away from the door and slipping into the hall.

This is Cara’s apartment. Cara’s life.

Not Lilith’s at all.

I saysheand I meanthem. There’s two of them. Lilith within—and Cara, her host. The body she’s in. Both look at me with the same gaze, eyes that nearly feel superimposed with another. The smile they wear is slight, but there. An upturned hint at the corner of her host’s lips. A shard.

The possessions inside, the décor, the furniture—none of them belong to Lilith. She’s simply passing through, staying for however long she wants. A demonic houseguest. A home-wrecker.

I can’t help but think of her host’s body as some kind of corporeal guesthouse. Is there any star-rating for demonic possession? Does Lilith have to leave her host’s body in the same condition she found it in, or risk her user rating?What are the fucking rules here?

“Coming?” Lilith asks.

The flicker of faint light bounces off the walls.Candles.Lilith lit candles. Is she trying to be romantic?Maybe it’s a ritual,I can’t help think,and I’m the sacrifice.

Why the mistrust all of a sudden? Where’s this coming from?

I stay at the doorway, hesitant to enter. She tilts her head when she notices I’m not following, but she doesn’t stop. She’s drifting away, still walking, turning the corner and disappearing, her voice trailing off after her, “Don’t keep a girl waiting...”