My vision spun as I lifted my head from the grass. Trees surrounded me, as did the thick spiky tendrils of wild blackberry bushes. My clothes were soaked by the pouring rain, my limbs so cold they were numb. My bookbag had spilled open, and my sketchbook lay in the mud, swollen from the damp.
Quickly gathering my things, I climbed to my feet on wobbly legs.
I wasn’t on the university campus anymore. The forest surrounded me, the shadows thick and impenetrable. Vague silhouettes loomed in the dark; whether they were trees or something else, I had no way to be sure.
Slowly, I turned around, and my breath caught in my throat.
A house stood before me, larger and grander than any I’d ever seen. Shrouded in darkness, it looked like something out of a fairytale; a crooked castle that had made its home among the trees. Its three narrow towers stood as tall as the pines, the boughs of which were wrapped around the pale gray stones like a lover’s embrace. The windows were dark and overhung with vines, and moss covered the walls. Thick roots protruded from the ground, framing the house’s red entry doors with gnarled wood.
Braided thread covered the doors like a spider’s web, and dozens of small talismans hung around the entryway. Made of woven twigs, string, and fishbone, they swayed in the breeze, rattling as they knocked together.
I’d seen such trinkets before, usually hung on the doors of Abelaum’s superstitious old residents. They were meant to ward off the attention of the Deep One.
This couldn’t be real. This had to be a dream, or a trauma-induced hallucination. I lifted my hand to rub my face but stopped. My trembling fingers were sticky with blood, and the front of my dress was stained with it.
Marcus’s blood.
My eyes stung, and my throat swelled. Magic had a mind of its own, and mine rebelled like a feral beast. It tried to protect me in the only way it could — by spontaneously teleporting me away from the chaos. Right now, back in Calgary Hall, Marcus was dying, or already dead.
There was nothing I could do. No way I could stop it.
I wasn’t supposed to want to stop it.
The wind changed, bringing the vile scent of putrefaction rushing in my nose. Nearly gagging, I clapped my hand over my mouth, turning to peer back into the shadowy forest. Amid the darkness of the swaying leaves, something stirred.
Something big.
A bone-white skeletal snout emerged from the darkness. Milky eyes stared at me, jagged teeth clipping sharply as the beast stepped forward. Its limbs were long and boney, with rotten gray flesh stretched over its misshapen, canid body. A twisted half-spider, half-wolf creature that carried the stench of death upon it.
It was one of the Eld. An ancient, warped species of beast that manifested in places that had endured great suffering and bloodshed. The God’s magic had always drawn them here in terrifying numbers; in the night, the forest was theirs, and they would consume anyone foolish enough to step into their path.
Tonight, that fool was me.
The beast wasn’t alone. More of them appeared in the darkness, teeth bared, thick putrid saliva dripping from their jaws. With every step I backed away, they advanced. Their joints popped and crackled as they moved, hunching toward me. If there was ever a time for my magic to teleport me away, it was now.
The fire within me smoldered with fear, but all I managed was a few pathetic sparks.
The beasts lowered their heads. I was weak, vulnerable. Easy prey, with plenty of magic in me to feast upon.
With no choice left, I turned and ran toward the house.
Their grunting breaths were horrifically close on my heels as I sprinted through the overgrown grass. Leaping up the steps, I threw myself at the door, seizing it and throwing all my weight against it. But I swiftly jerked back in pain. Unseen barbs on the backside of the knob had sunk into my fingers, leaving behind tiny puncture wounds that blossomed with beads of blood.
With a burst of light, the lanterns hanging on either side of the red doors flared to life. Within seconds, every window was alight. There was a furious howl, and a flurry of branches snapping. When I glanced back toward the beasts, they had fled.
There was a long, slow creak, then light pooled around my feet.
The house was open.
My footsteps echoed off the marble floors as I entered the house. The doors shut behind me of their own volition with an audible click as if a lock had slid into place. It was surprisingly warm. A large chandelier dangled overhead, suspiciously void of cobwebs. All its candles were lit, bathing the room in a soft glow.
A grand staircase was before me. The wooden steps led up to a landing, upon which sat a statue of a woman holding a dagger in her outstretched hand. The stairs split from there to the right and left, the walls along them covered with paintings in elaborate gilded frames. Clouds of dust poofed into the air as I walked, my head tipped back in wonder at the arched ceiling.
It smelled old; dust, damp, and mold permeated the air.
“Hello?” Only silence greeted me. Someone had to light all these candles, but it was so quiet. Too quiet. The tapping of the pouring rain sounded so far away.
Goosebumps prickled over my skin. There was a tingle in the air, subtle but distinct. Like the crackle of electricity before a lightning storm.
There was magic in this house.
Pulling my cell phone out of my bag, I groaned in despair when it wouldn’t turn on. Completely waterlogged. What the hell was I supposed to do? The Eld would eat me alive if I went outside, but I had no idea what horrors awaited me in here. Father would be furious if I didn’t make it home tonight. How could I ever manage to explain this to him?
At least the door was locked, offering me a little protection from the creatures outside. My jacket was drenched, so I peeled it off and slung it over my bag. Meandering around the room, I ran my finger along the surface of a table along the wall, leaving a long trail in the thick dust. It looked as if no one had been here for years.
The painting hanging above the table caught my attention. It portrayed six people dressed in black, their somber expressions staring at me. The blue-eyed gaze of a blonde woman in the center of the group drew me closer, and I brushed my fingers lightly against the old canvas to wipe away the dust. She looked so much like my mother; it was uncanny.
Along the bottom of the portrait, an elegant cursive script listed their names. It was difficult to read, and I traced my finger along the text as I tried to discern it.
Thomas Caroll, Rebeccah Anton, Grand Mistress Sybil Laverne —
My trembling finger froze in place. That surname was my mother’s own maiden name, which meant Sybil…
Sybil was my ancestor. The one Mama had told me to seek out, the one who supposedly held the secret to my escape, was right here before my eyes. Or at least, the memory of her was. Looking to the very bottom of the portrait, I read the words that made my heart clench with both dread and wonder.
Laverne Coven and Family, 1902.
The words swirled in my head like leaves caught in a whirlpool. Grand Mistress…Sybil…Laverne Coven…
This was a house of witches, but not just any. This was my ancestor’s house.
How could Mama never mention this to me? How could I have gone all these years never knowing of its existence?
“It’s about time you got here.”
Jerking back, I whirled around in shock. But no one was there. It must have been my frayed nerves getting to me, making me imagine things.
Pausing for a moment, I concentrated on the lack of weight at the back of my mind. The absence of pain, the void of emptiness where my anxiety usually lay. It was gone.
I couldn’t feel the Deep One’s presence here.
Approaching the stairway, I tried my weight on the first step. It creaked, but it felt solid. Despite being abandoned, the house was incredibly well-preserved.
“Is anyone there?” No one answered.
So up the stairs I went.
The halls above were long, with so many turns and locked doors I feared I’d become lost. I inspected every doorknob for more barbs and found none, but I did find several locked doors bound with rope. Thin black strands had been intricately knotted across their surface, just like the entry doors, in elaborate designs I couldn’t make sense of.
It was some kind of old magic. There were runes carved into some of the doorframes and Latin inscriptions, but none of them gave me a good idea of what I was dealing with. It was such a big house; surely it would have been home to dozens of people.
Where had they all gone?
Tap, tap, tap.
A shiver shot up my spine. The sound was soft but distinct, like fingernails tapping on wood. Glancing over my shoulder, I surveyed the empty hallway. A clock ticked somewhere nearby, the old walls creaking in the wind.
The sound was gone.
The sheer size of this place made it impossible to know if anyone else was here, but perhaps I could find a room to rest in until morning. Once the sun had risen, it would be safer to wander out into the trees to find the road.
The thought of returning to my father made my stomach coil in terror. The aftershocks of this night wouldn’t be small. I could only imagine the chaos my disappearance would cause, let alone the turmoil that would be unleashed when Marcus went missing too. Or when evidence of his murder was found…
“Tread carefully, my dear.”
This time, I knew I hadn’t imagined it. Whirling around, I searched frantically for the source of the voice. It had sounded so close, as if someone was standing right behind me.
“Who’s there?” I called out, trying to make my voice sound fierce and bold.
The light was dim. Candle flames danced in the sconces along the walls, as if beset by a breeze. A strange smell, like wet stone, permeated the air.
Then the shadows moved.
They grew, stretching along the walls like long fingers reaching toward me. They bulged and swelled, darkness becoming appendages within a fluttering shroud.
Wisps of shadow and fog swirled to create a wraith-like form with a shimmering blade in one hand. I stared, at first not daring to move, hoping it couldn’t see me. But beneath its cowl, silvery eyes locked onto me. Shriveled lips pulled back from blackened teeth, and the creature shrieked, flying toward me with the blade raised.
I turned and bolted, quickly becoming lost within the labyrinthian halls. Portraits glared down at me from every wall, my footsteps terrifyingly loud as I fled. I tried every door, but none of them opened. And despite running until my chest ached, the shrieking cries of the wraith followed me. More joined it; every time I glanced back, another wraith was flying with the pack, or crawling along the walls or ceiling.
Their bodies looked incorporeal; the blades in their hands certainly did not.
With sickening horror, I realized I was facing a dead end. But I couldn’t stop. At the very end of the hall stood a large set of doors, wrapped in braided black rope. If those doors were locked, I would be dead.
Throwing myself against them, I grasped both knobs and shoved, glancing back frantically as the wraiths were almost on me —
The doors opened, and I fell inside, landing hard on the floor and knocking the breath out of my lungs. Scrambling forward, I barely made it out of the way before the doors slammed shut, leaving the monsters screaming furiously on the other side. They pounded against the door with so much force that the stone walls shook.
They wouldn’t be held off forever. Surely, there was another way out of this room.
My mouth was tainted with the taste of iron, and I reached up to find my lip bleeding. I must have bitten it when I fell. But strangely, I couldn’t just taste iron; I could smell it, too. Iron and coal, but also something sweet and pungent. Like the rich scent of a cigar.
As the wraiths screamed and clawed at the wood, I surveyed the room. Shelves stuffed with books lined one side, volumes stacked in piles on the floor. Potted plants, vibrantly green with life, hung from the ceiling and were wedged into every available space between the shelves. Large arched windows occupied the wall directly in front of me, but they were shrouded with heavy curtains. The light was faint, emanating from smoldering embers in a fireplace to my left. Beside the fire sat a small table with a gramophone on top.
To my alarm, the gramophone was playing. The record’s crackling jazz melody filled the room; a strange juxtaposition to the cries of the monsters outside.
Narrowing my eyes, I tipped my head curiously as I examined the stone floor. There were markings: two circles, one inside the other, with runes etched between them.
As the wraiths’ shrieking grew more furious and my eyes followed the strange language beneath my feet, a cold sense of realization settled over me. I knew what these markings were. Although I couldn’t read them, I knew what they were used for.
It was a summoning circle. Made to call and contain a demon.
But if there was a summoning circle, then…
My eyes drifted to the far side of the room, to the shadows beneath the window, and I barely held back a scream. There, lying upon a massive bed covered in red velvet, was a man.
He had one leg propped up and the other extended out, his head resting limply upon one folded arm. His eyes were closed.
Was he asleep…or dead?
Daring to take a few steps closer, I was able to get a better look at him. His body was long and lean, his chest bare. He had an angular face, unnaturally poreless and pale, as if he’d been carved from marble. His dark hair curled around his ears, just long enough to brush the curve of his neck. It looked soft, like it would slip through my fingers like silk. His feet were bare, and thick black claws curled from his toes. His fingers were clawed, too, lying limp against the soft velvet and leather blankets.
Then I realized it wasn’t leather at all. The “leather” was bat-like wings, splayed out across the bed. The thin gray membranes were marbled with black veins, with tiny spines along the top.
This wasn’t a human. This was a demon. But he wasn’t an ordinary one, no. Mama had told me his kind existed: ancient demons with massive wings and immense strength, royalty amongst their own species.
He was an archdemon.
Father used to talk about wanting to summon one, insisting he needed to replace disobedient Leon — who had served the Hadleigh family for nearly a century. But Mama had quickly put a stop to that, and for once, he listened to her. She had said, “You don’t summon an archdemon. You call them. And depending on how unlucky you are, one might show up.”
Maybe facing the wraiths in the hall wasn’t so bad after all.
But the demon didn’t stir. Not so much as a twitch, or even a single breath.
The wraiths were beginning to cause significant damage to the door. The wood was audibly cracking, the metallic thunk of their blades striking the door again and again. There was no other way out; no door, no stairway, no hatch in the floor. Perhaps I could try the window, but that would require climbing on the bed and potentially disturbing the creature lying there.
I was trapped in here — stuck between monsters.
Crack!
The door was splintering. At least a dozen pairs of silvery eyes stared at me through the crack, their shrieks and cries like the howling of wild dogs. Vicious hands clawed for me as they tried to squeeze through — pushing, piling on top of each other, howling ravenously.
As the door fractured and the wraiths poured in, a dark form flew over my head. I was wrenched backward by a hard grip on my shoulder, and I landed on the bed. There was a flurry, like the beating of wings, and what remained of the doors burst outward in a massive explosion that sent the wraiths flying back. The sounds coming from the mass of smoke and shadow were unlike anything I’d ever heard: disturbingly beast-like but terrifyingly human. There was a metallic screeching, like sheets of iron being torn apart.
All the noise abruptly stopped. Only the dust and darkness remained, swirling and settling like milk drifting through coffee. The wraiths were gone — destroyed or vanished, I couldn’t be sure.
Only a single tall figure remained. He peered at me over one outstretched wing, fixing me with a gaze that snatched the air out of my lungs.
His eyes were black. Solid black, like the deepest voids of outer space, sprinkled with tiny pinpricks of silver stars.
For a moment, nothing moved except the slowly drifting dust.
Then the demon grinned, baring a mouthful of sharp glistening teeth. He lifted his hand; my eyes tracked it as if it were a weapon he could throw at me.
“Don’t run,” he said.
The deep baritone of his words rumbled in my chest. My heart was pounding erratically, fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings. Frozen on the bed, I didn’t move a muscle other than to rapidly blink.
The demon was still smiling, wide and excited. His chest was heaving as he sniffed the air, tipping his chin up like a dog on the trail of a scent. His eyes rounded, and his claws scratched on the floor as he turned toward me.
He took a single step, and I leapt up from the bed. My sudden movement made him dart forward, faster than my eyes could follow. He stopped, crouched just inside the broken doorway, panting, as he stared at me.
“I’m warning you, Everly,” he said, the words spoken from between tightly clenched teeth. “Do. Not. Run.”
There was so much pressure in the air, like I’d sunk to the bottom of a deep pool. Not daring to look away from the demon, I made quick, frantic glances toward my only exit.
“How do you know my name?” I whispered, almost too terrified to speak.
The demon’s expression shifted from rapid excitement to irritated confusion.
“Who else would you be?” he said. He rocked slightly on his heels, still crouched. It took me a moment to realize he was dancing, swaying to the beat of the gramophone. “Everly. Dear sweet Everly.” He spoke as if he was savoring the words, consuming them, luxuriating in the sounds. “So…very…sweet.” His teeth parted, a forked tongue flicking out to swipe hungrily over his lips. “The very last Laverne witch alive. Only you…only you could be here, in this house. You see?”
He spread his arms, as if he’d explained everything. But I didn’t see. I didn’t understand at all, and I shuffled another inch toward the door.
The demon lowered his head, his eyes fixed on me as he rose slowly to his full height. I was a tall woman, five foot eight inches without shoes. But he towered over me. His presence expanded beyond his physical form.
“I’m going to leave,” I declared firmly. My mind was churning chaotically, running through every iteration of how this scenario could play out. Unless one commanded very powerful magic, there was no outrunning a demon. No hiding. No fighting back. But an archdemon…I’d never seen one before. I’d never even dared to think it was possible to encounter one.
He shook his head. He was still swaying to the music, eyes half-closed.
“Mm…no. No, I think not.” His eyes were fully closed now, his head tipped back. His fingers moved, twiddling in the air, as if flying over invisible piano keys. Moving as slowly and silently as I could, I kept inching toward the doorway.
Where could I go? Where could I possibly hide?
“Sweet as sugar,” he mumbled, though only fragments of his words reached my ears. “Holy ambrosia…so fucking soft…”
Finally reaching the doorway, I was closer to him than ever. Trying to keep my eyes on him, while simultaneously watching for any debris I could step on, proved impossible. With one quick step, I sent a splintered shard of wood skittering across the floor.
The demon opened his eyes.
“Drenched in blood,” he said softly. Like it was a prayer. “You’re too beautiful. It’s a sin. A curse. It’s fucking poison.” He inhaled sharply, deeply, such a massive breath it seemed physically impossible. “Dangerous woman, aren’t you?”
His grin returned as I kept backing away. It was wicked. Playful. Like a cat about to pounce on an injured bird. His constant movements were unnerving, but it was far more frightening when suddenly, he went perfectly still.
“I think you should run now, Everly,” he said. “Run for your fucking life.”
