I frowned. “That’s more than a hundred percent.”
“Shhhhhh,” he said, exaggeratedly patting my hair. “All right, so, I am what I am because the thing that got my mom pregnant was a demon.”
I was about to tell him I didn’t believe in demons—not that I really believed in vampires either, but I definitely didn’t believe in demons—but he saw my look and cut me off.
“That’s just what we call them,” he explained. “If you want to get into a theological debate, don’t bother. I don’t claim to know anything about heaven or hell or God or gods or afterlives or any of it. At least, not any more than anyone else can. We’ve been around long enough that demon has always been synonymous with monster. For all I know, he’s really an alien, or a superevolved parasite. Whatever he is, he’s not human and he’s not what I am. What we do know is that he—and all of his kind—feed off human emotions. It’s their only energy source, the only one they need, because for the most part they don’t seem to exist in a physical state.”
He paused, and then admitted, “As his offspring, I feed off emotions, too. Except instead of draining people of them, I simply”—he looked around, searching for the right word—“absorb them.”
“What’s the difference?”
He frowned, thinking. “Demons are basically leeches, slowly sucking out your life-force. Vampires are sponges, soaking up the energy you’re already putting out—kind of like solar panels. We both get the energy humans emit, but one is a parasitic relationship and the other is merely commensal.” He saw the blank look on my face. “One party gains while the other remains unaffected.”
“Ah,” I replied intelligently.
“You, though,” he said, glancing down at me. “With enough concentration, we can actually pick you out from a crowd. It’s definitely easier out here, where the population density is so low. The stronger you’re feeling any particular emotion, the easier it is to find you. That’s how I knew where you were in the woods.”
“One, that’s super-creepy,” I interrupted, “and two, how?”
He frowned, thinking, then looked over at me. “Have you ever walked into a room and just felt that everyone was really angry, or sad, or whatever, without anyone having to say a word? It’s not really like that at all, but that’s the closest I can explain without diving into theoretical physics and emotional resonance and revealing that my alter ego is an unequivocal nerd.”
I smiled at that. “I figured the nerd part out a while ago. But how do I know you’re not just staying around me because you’re hungry?”
He snorted a sudden, surprised laugh and glanced at me. “We’re in a small town, but it’s not that small—I get breakfast just passing people at school.”
I sat up. “So, wait, if you were in the city, would you be crazy-strong or something, because there are so many crowds?”
He shook his head. “We’re like batteries—we can only charge up so much.”
I didn’t really know how I felt about all this. Was he feeding off me now? Was “feeding” even an appropriate verb? I wanted a different one, mostly because I didn’t want to think of him as some sort of animal. “Charging up” was much cleaner.
“I sense confusion,” he said half seriously.
“Can you really pick out which emotion I’m feeling?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes all I can tell is tone. Dark or light. Negative or positive. Demons can only feed off negative emotion. Like Dementors.”
A smile spread over my face. “Did you just make a Harry Potter reference?”
He shrugged, blushing. “I was a kid, too. I may or may not have read Harry Potter.”
“How many times?”
“The whole series?” I nodded and he blushed harder. “Five times,” he admitted finally. “I had a huge crush on Hermione.”
I couldn’t help it, I burst out laughing. “You totally have a Gryffindor scarf, don’t you? And an Elder wand and a Goblet of Fire.” I grinned at him. “Tell me you have a Goblet of Fire.”
His face was red, and it was adorable. “No goblet.” He paused, then admitted, “I might have the wand.”
I laughed again, suddenly liking him so much more. “Well, I’m glad you’re not a Dementor. Although it’s super-creepy to think that something like a Dementor exists. Which I’m not totally sold on, by the way. Maybe you got some sort of bio-tech contact lenses yesterday to freak me out, and you’re really committed to an elaborate joke. I could be on a reality-TV show right now.”
“Could be,” he conceded. “And you’re welcome to believe whatever you wish. My job is simply to keep you safe.”
I looked up at him sharply. “Wait—what?”
But we were coming up on the school parking lot. He pulled into a spot and cut the engine, then looked at me.
“Later,” he said. “I promise.”