The morning brought thick gray clouds and pouring rain. My feeble hopes of walking out into the woods and finding my way to a road were dashed. With no GPS, not even a compass, it was nearly impossible for me to find my way to another shelter before nightfall.
For another day at least, I was stuck here. Truthfully, the idea didn’t bother me. In fact, I found myself hoping the storm would get worse, that it would keep raining until everything was flooded and I couldn’t leave at all.
Despite my terror the previous night, I slept well. The big bed, upon which the demon had unceremoniously tossed me, was more comfortable than any mattress I’d ever owned. The bedroom was large, with several pieces of intricately carved wooden furniture: a low table in front of the fireplace, a wardrobe beside the door, two bookshelves in the corner.
There was a bathroom connected to the bedroom, with a big clawfoot tub in front of a floor-to-ceiling bay window. Potted plants filled the room and the bedroom too. The toilet was old, but at least it worked.
After sleeping in my dirty clothes, I desperately needed a bath to feel human again. But the tub was strange, unlike anything I’d seen before. Instead of a single faucet with a knob for hot or cold water, there were six faucets and more knobs than any bathtub had a right to have. Half expecting it not to work at all, I chose a knob and cranked it.
There was a bang, and the pipes gave a massive groan. Warm, floral-scented water poured from the spout. The next knob smelled like baking cookies; the next poured water filled with pink bubbles. It took me a few minutes of fiddling before I managed to get normal hot water to fill the tub.
An exhausted sigh escaped me as I sunk into the steaming water. Closing my eyes, I let my limbs float freely for a few minutes before I scrubbed away the filth on my skin. The dirt and blood drifted away into the water and vanished, leaving it as clean as when I’d first got in.
Even the water was enchanted.
Why had Mama kept this place secret from me? She’d never spoken of any relatives, except for my grandmother, Winona, whom I’d met only a couple of times as a child.
All I ever knew about her was she was a witch and a diviner; she could see glimpses of the future.
She died several years before Mama did. There was no funeral, or if there was, Mama and I didn’t attend.
Even the warm water of the bath couldn’t chase away the chill that settled over me. I felt like a boat lost at sea, tossed by the storm, unable to anchor. All I could do was try to stay afloat, try to survive until I could find my way again.
Climbing from the bath, I rummaged through the cabinets until I found a stack of towels. To my complete amazement, they were soft and smelled clean, as if they’d been recently laundered. Wrapping one around myself, I left my dirty clothes in a pile on the floor and went to look in the wardrobe.
Most of the clothes were covered in lace and satin, with bodices designed to lace tightly up the back, as if they’d come straight out of the 1890s. After scrounging around in the drawers, I managed to find a loose white blouse and some high-waisted trousers that were slightly too short for me. Just like the towels, the clothes smelled fresh and clean.
For now, I didn’t dare to leave the room. The demon had said I would be safe here until his return. But I couldn’t guess when he would be back, and my stomach was rumbling with hunger.
If the demon wanted to kill me, he could have done so last night. Although I didn’t trust him, I was certain he didn’t intend to cause me harm. He seemed more playful than violent. As ridiculous as it sounded, he reminded me of a massive dog who didn’t know his own strength. Desperate to play, longing for affection, too excited to sit still.
“You’re losing it, Ev.” I said as I pulled back the curtains from the windows. The gray, watery day greeted me, and looked down upon a large garden, surrounded by hedges and filled with flowering plants.
It was ridiculous to think of the demon as anything other than what he was: a preternatural predator who would gladly claim my soul and bind me to him for eternity. But I couldn’t forget the way he’d looked at me. Wild with need, with desperation, with…longing? How he’d trembled when I touched him, a powerful monster quivering like a lamb just from a brush of my fingers. It gave me a strange feeling in my stomach; warm and nervous, but not unpleasant.
I had to be cautious.
With the issue of clothing solved, I turned my attention to figuring out how to get food. There was a bag of old almonds in the bottom of my purse, and after a few cautious sips, I determined the water from the bathroom tap was clean enough to drink. What I really wanted was a mimosa, and a big omelet full of cheese and veggies, but stale nuts and cold water would have to do.
When I returned to the bedroom, something had changed. There on the low table, next to the covered silver platter, was a goblet…full of orange juice? Frowning, I picked up the glass and sniffed it, shocked to find it was cold.
“No way…” Slowly, I took a miniscule sip. “Oh my god.”
It was a mimosa. A fresh, bubbling, sweet-and-sour mimosa. Disbelieved, I turned my attention to the elegant silver lid on the platter and realized a tiny stream of steam was seeping from beneath it. Grasping the handle, I lifted it away to reveal a hot omelet, smothered in cheese and stuffed with vegetables, alongside two sausages and a bowl of fresh fruit.
For a moment, all I could do was stare. Then I laughed, although I couldn’t be sure if this was truly funny, or if my brain was simply cracking. I’d never witnessed magic that could make food spontaneously appear based simply on one’s thoughts.
It was delicious too. Perfectly seasoned, the vegetables buttery and crisp, the eggs soft and creamy. The fruit was so sweet it was like candy, and when I drained my glass, I watched it fill again before my eyes.
Okay, yeah, screw going home.
The champagne eased my nerves, and I settled more comfortably into the cushioned chair near the fire. There was no clock in the bedroom, so I couldn’t be sure what time it was, but I guessed it was early evening by the changing light.
Surely, the demon would return soon.
Suddenly, there came a sound right outside the door. My back went stiff as the knob slowly turned. Just in case one of those nasty wraiths had figured out how to properly open a door, I grabbed the poker from beside the fireplace and held it aloft, prepared to strike if necessary.
The door swung open, and my shoulders slumped to see Callum standing there. But I quickly stiffened again, when I realized he was still shirtless and his trousers were unbuttoned.
Why the hell was he standing in the doorway half-naked, holding a tray with a large teapot and two small cups?
“How sweet of you to anticipate my return,” he said with a smile that looked rather wistful. It was impossible to tell where exactly his black eyes were looking, but I could feel his gaze when it slid over me. Caressing my skin like curious hands.
I lowered the poker and put it away. The demon clicked his tongue in disappointment, but a playful smile remained on his face.
“I enjoy a good beating as much as any other sadist,” he said, which was a thoroughly bizarre way to start a conversation. He meandered into the room, carrying the tray. “But I assure you, when it comes to matters of self-defense, your magic will serve you far better than a stick. You are no mere mortal.” His expression turned serious. “Why don’t you use your magic?”
“Why do you care that I don’t?” I shot back.
He stalked closer, his movements too quick and too fluid to appear human. I didn’t back away as he bent at the waist and set the tray on the table between us. It was incredibly difficult not to stare at his splayed-open trousers, the thatch of dark hair beneath, and the monstrous bulge contained beneath the cloth.
“Why would a wolf choose not to bite?” he mused, straightening up and clasping his clawed hands behind his back. “Perhaps someone has convinced the wolf that she has no teeth.”
“I don’t like riddles,” I said, and he chuckled.
He took a seat in the opposite chair, crossing his legs and stroking his thumb along his jaw as he observed me. “What do you know about demons? Your father commands one. Do you know how he does it?”
Stammering as I tried to understand how this demon knew anything about my father, let alone about Leon, I said, “He uses a sigil — the demon’s true name. It’s written in a grimoire. That’s how the demon can be summoned and commanded.”
Callum nodded. Leaning forward, he took the cups and saucers off the tray and set one in front of me and one in front of himself. As he poured the tea, he said, “Exactly right. Demons have two names. The one we call ourselves, and the one that cannot be spoken, save in very ancient tongues. Our sigil. Every demon knows that if a witch ever finds their sigil, they’re doomed to a life of continuous summoning and enslavement. At least until we grow strong enough to resist. Sugar?”
He held up the little sugar bowl, tiny tongs clasped in his hand. Was I still dreaming?
I nodded, and he dropped a single sugar cube into my cup, then dumped five into his own, followed by a generous pour of cream. “A sigil gives one incredible power over the demon it belongs to. A witch like you could make me dance naked in the lake if you so wished. Command me to slaughter thousands. Make me steal from the rich and powerful.” He stirred the tea and took a small sip. The delicate cup and saucer looked ridiculous in his massive hands. “Tell me, Everly. Use your imagination. If you had my sigil, what would you command me to do?”
This seemed like a trap, but I couldn’t see a way out. I stuttered for several moments, uncertain how I should respond until finally, I threw caution to the wind.
“I would command you to live up to your name,” I said. It seemed to pique his interest as he raised an eyebrow. “Magni Deicide. God slayer. Is it true? Have you killed a God?”
He dropped another cube of sugar in his tea and slowly stirred. “It’s true. I’ve killed many.”
His words snatched the air straight out of my lungs. “You’ve killed…many? How?”
“Mm, suddenly very eager for conversation, are we?” He sipped his tea, black eyes watching me over the flower-painted rim. “Why does a witch who barely wants to touch her magic need to know how I killed a God?”
“To prove you’re not a liar.” Although it was difficult to tell, it seemed as if he rolled his eyes. “If you truly did it, if you’re not just trying to trick me, tell me how.”
The amusement on his face disappeared. He set down the tea cup and remained leaning toward me, elbows resting on his knees.
“How did I do it?” He said it as if he’d asked himself the same question a thousand times, and the answer was one of the universe’s greatest mysteries. “With the lives of 10,000 friends and lovers. With blood. With pain and fury. War is not so different, regardless of where you are in this dimension. Living beings give up their own lives so others of their kind can survive.”
He sighed and leaned back in the chair. Callum was so different from the unhinged monster I’d met last night. Calm and introspective, but there was feral energy lurking just beneath the surface. He continually snapped his fingers, with no rhythm nor reason to it.
“Was that what you wanted to know?” It sounded like he was teasing me. “Or did you want another answer? Something simpler perhaps? There’s nothing simple about escaping from a God. Not once It has Its eyes on you.”
Frowning, I picked up my cup of tea. The steam wafted in my nose, carrying with it the scent of bergamot and vanilla. It was more bitter than sweet; exactly how I liked it.
“What do you know about me?” I said, mirroring his position as I settled back in my chair. “You already knew my name and my father. What else do you know?”
“I’m beginning to suspect I know more about you than you do yourself.” The snapping of his fingers grew louder. “I suppose I should level the playing field. That’s something you humans still say, eh?” He rose from his seat, using his foot to shove the chair out of his way. “It’s difficult to keep track of language. Humans change things so quickly. Especially with your internets, forums, cellular devices…” He crouched, brushing bits of dust and lint from the floorboards. Then, using the sharp claw on his thumb, he pressed the tip against his opposite wrist and drew it across. Thick blood as black as ink dripped from the wound.
He continued, “Demons are adaptable, but Hell changes much more slowly than Earth. I suppose it’s easier for us. We don’t bother with so many of the petty rules and regulations you humans put upon yourselves. We simply live.”
He dipped his fingertips in the blood streaking from his wrist and drew upon the floor. Lines, dashes, and a crescent were drawn out in blood, stark against the caramel-colored wood.
“I regret my poor behavior last night, Everly.” His eyes were still focused on the floor. “As an offering of a good will, I would like to remind you that you do indeed have teeth. You could choose to bite, if you wished.”
When he stood up, what remained on the floor was a strange symbol: a half-circle with a series of lines and dots within. I stared, speechless, my heartrate ramping up again.
“Do you know what that is?” he said.
“Yes. Your sigil. Your name.”
“Perhaps it will help you feel safer. Write it down somewhere, or trace that mark with your fingers, and it will be very easy to compel me to obey you.”
Shaking my head, I scrambled for a response, “That’s not…no. No, that’s far too simple. Demons don’t just obey.”
“We obey easily if we’re willing.” He looked at me as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to laugh at me or eat me. Perhaps both. “And you will find I am quite willing indeed.”
“A demon doesn’t just give up their sigil. Why are you doing this?”
The way he lowered his head as he looked at me made my belly do somersaults. “Do I need a reason?”
“Yes! There’s always a reason. Shit, I know I’m weak, but I’m not that ignorant. You want something from me. People always want something. There’s always a price!”
Aghast at my own outburst, I sharply drew in a breath and fell silent. Perhaps he’d kill me now. Perhaps this was the moment he’d steal my soul, spill my blood and take me for himself. Out of all the fates that could have befallen me, for some reason, this one barely frightened me. An eternity in Hell couldn’t be any worse than an eternity as a God’s puppet. Perhaps this was even preferable.
My life had never been my own, always controlled and manipulated by the hands of others. It only made sense my death would go the same way.
But the demon didn’t lunge for me. He didn’t look angry. In fact, the moment I raised my voice, he looked thrilled.
“You’re not ignorant. But you’ve been intentionally misled. You’re not weak.” He shook his head, laughing softly. “No, lady witch, quite the opposite. You could kill me if you wished, and I don’t know how I can convince you of that, but I know someone who can. Your grandmother. Winona.”
“My grandmother is dead,” I said, wondering if I had any chance of sprinting from the house before he managed to kill me.
“And death has made her more unbearable than ever.” He winced and rather sheepishly rubbed the nape of his neck. “She’s not fond of that assessment but is very fond of you. And eager to speak with you.”
He took a step toward me, hesitated, then held out his hand. Arm outstretched, palm upward, as if inviting me to touch, to hold…
To trust.
“What’s the harm?” he said. My eyes darted between his face and his offered hand. “If I wanted to kill you, I would do it here and now. The moment you stop fighting fate is the moment you accept death. Take command and choose your path.”
I took his hand. “This is all madness.”
“Then we’ll be mad together.”
