The Devil You Know by Jenna Black

laughter and shook his head at me. “Don’t look so murderous! Can you really blame me for laughing at the image of you as nursemaid?”
    I glared at him. “Hey, this is me we’re talking about. I can blame you for the sky being blue if I want to.” But secretly I had to admit, he had a point. I’m not exactly what you’d call a motherly sort.
    He laughed again, but it didn’t sting so much this time. “Good point. But I still think we’ll get along better if we aren’t living in the same house.”
    “Apartment,” I corrected, and the hurt was back even though I knew he was right. “But we’ll also get along better if Raphael doesn’t kill you.”
    I saw my shot hit home and wished I’d presented my argument more tactfully. Andy’s hands clenched into fists, and his face—already pale from too many weeks in the hospital—went white.
    Mentally giving myself a swift kick in the ass, I moved farther into the room and sat on one of the visitors’ chairs, pulling it around so I could face my brother.
    “Do you know anything he might want to kill you for?” I asked.
    “No,” he answered, too quickly. “He kept me shut off from the outside world much of the time, when he was hiding something or we…disagreed.” He shivered. “It wasn’t anything like what I was expecting.”
    My heart ached for him. Yeah, he’d been a volunteer, and technically it was his own fault that he’d been miserable, but he’d only been twenty-one when he’d invited Raphael into this world and into his body. That’s awfully young to make a decision that in theory would be irreversible for the rest of your life. He had known the risks, but knowing the risks and understanding them were two different things.
    I’m not the touchy-feely sort, but I reached out and clasped Andy’s hand anyway. His fingers wrapped tightly around mine, as though he were hanging on for dear life.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling completely inadequate. Surely there should be something I could say to lessen his pain, to chase that haunted expression from his eyes. But there was nothing.
    A perfunctory knock on the door interrupted the silence. Neither one of us said anything, but the door swung open anyway, and a distinguished-looking man about fifty years old walked in.
    “Am I interrupting?” he asked, looking back and forth between me and Andy. He wore a traditional white lab coat, and I could see from the ID badge clipped to his lapel that this was Dr. Frederick Neely. I had never met him before, but I knew he was one of the doctors who had been treating Andy. Reluctantly, I let go of Andy’s hand.
    “Would it matter if you were?” Andy asked.
    The doctor laughed, and I gave my brother a sidelong glance. That sounded like something I would say. Andy was usually polite to a fault.
    Correction—the Andy I’d known ten years ago had been polite to a fault. Even ten years of normal life would have changed him. Ten years with Raphael might have warped him beyond recognition. Only time would tell.
    “I just need to give you a final checkup before discharging you,” Dr. Neely said. He looked at me pointedly. “If you would excuse us please, Morgan.”
    I blinked in surprise. I’d never seen this guy before, so how did he know who I was? “Have we met?” I asked, though I knew the answer.
    Dr. Neely shook his head. “No, but the nurses told me you were here.” He reached out his hand. “I’m Dr. Neely,” he said, putting on a charming smile.
    I shook his hand. We had a brief who-can-squeeze-harder contest, but since The Healing Circle was crawling with demons, I decided I’d better give up before I learned the hard way that Dr. Neely was one of them. He didn’t quite have the physique of your stereotypical host, but he was close enough to make me cautious. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes that told me he knew exactly what I was thinking, and I decided on the spot that I didn’t like him one bit. Andy’s body language