Or because there wasn’t really much of a change at all?

And that was when I truly started to understand the scope of the lie we’d been living. My mother hadn’t changed because she was possessed. She’d changed because she was deteriorating. Because her soul was almost completely devoured and her health was starting to decline. Her body was starting to mutate.

To degenerate.

But…it should take years for a possessed host to become a degenerate. Nearly two decades, under optimal circumstances. There was no telling how long our mother had been in the possession of the Unclean.

For a moment, that thought almost made me happy, because it offered relief. The problem wasn’t that we were unlovable; it was that our mother wasn’t capable of love. Because she wasn’t our mother. She wasn’t even human.

Then that thought began to resonate, and I couldn’t let it go, even though interrogating a demon was a really bad idea.

“How long?” I asked as Melanie tugged me backward. Away from the demon.

How long had Leona Kane’s body been possessed by the monster calling itself our mother? Since her descent into drug-fueled withdrawal from life? Since before my sterilization? Since my third-grade recital?

Longer? It had to be longer. Degenerates aren’t built in a day.

“Ask your sister,” the demon in my mother’s skin said. “I think she’s finally figured it out.”

“Mel?” I squeezed her hand. I wanted to look at her—to see for myself if she knew something I didn’t—but I couldn’t afford to take my focus from the demon. “How long, Mellie?”

“Always,” Melanie whispered, and fresh horror washed over me. “Or very close to it.”

Our mother’s head nodded, as if the demon behind her eyes was proud of at least one of its…investments. “I always knew she was the smart one.” Her gaze found me again. “Fortunately, I don’t need you for your brain.”

“We were never supposed to be her children,” Mellie continued in a horrified, haunted voice. “We’re her business. Souls to steal. Bodies to wear. Right?”

“In your case, a body to sell,” the demon corrected, and Melanie shuddered all over. “Nina is my next host, born and bred for that very purpose. But you, dear Melanie, are an investment. My payment plan. You can’t imagine what a young, healthy body is worth to the right people.” And by people, of course, she meant demons. She shrugged, and the gesture looked painful, as if her joints resisted the motion. “You would have been worth more as an eighteen-year-old virgin—of legal age—but at least you’re not a total loss. I’ll just consider this a lesson learned. Next time, staple the investment’s knees together.”

“Next time?” I was cold with shock. My teeth wanted to chatter. “You’re going to do this again?” Stop talking and run. Every survival instinct I had was demanding my retreat. But I had to know. “Have you done this before? Did you breed our mother for this?” Demons could not be born, nor could they age. They could only move from host to host as each body wore out, consuming one irreplaceable soul after another. Had this demon conceived and raised our real mom, only to steal her body and soul when she came of age?