“Fire magic. Fire magic. Fire magic,” I whisper, turning page after page in the book before placing it back on the bookshelf. I reach for the next book in line and start the tedious process of meticulously looking through it for information about fallen angels and fire magic. Anything I can find that could potentially be helpful.
The library is quiet at this time of the day, and most students have left for home. I guess that’s why I’m here now and not during the day when it’s filled with the hum of whispering students.
I love the supreme silence that reigns among the paper and hardbacks. It’s only disturbed by my silent whisper and the rustle of the pages.
When I don’t find anything of relevance, I place the book back down and reach for the next.
I pause as my eyes land on the title of a hardcover on the top shelf.
Intrigued, I pull it out.
It’s so high up that I have to stand on my tiptoes to reach it.
Smoothing my hand over the carved leather exterior, I flip it open. The pages are filled with cursive, handwritten notes and smudged drawings, some more chaotic than others.
It describes life in Eden before the fall, and the more I read, the more I want to continue reading.
Then it goes on to outline the nature of evil and how it weaves into the fabric of Hell.
I turn another page, pleased to find an entire chapter dedicated to the mastery of fire magic.
This is what I need. Something to outline and explain the process. Fire magic is such a natural elemental power to these angels that I’m left feeling like a lost fish in the ocean. Especially now that I look like a fallen angel but feel like an impostor.
I’m sliding my backpack off my shoulder when the room turns dark, except for an emergency light up ahead that flickers like something straight out of a horror movie. It’s too faint to reach where I’m standing.
I quickly place the book in my bag, zip it back up, and then shoulder it again.
Maybe it’s later than I thought, and the teachers are heading home.
“Hello?” I call out, but instead of stepping out from the shadows, I slink back. Something feels off.
Even the air seems to have dropped in temperature.
The sound of heavy footsteps draws nearer, slow and calculating, boots clapping on the marble flooring. Whoever this person is, they’re not trying to hide their presence.
I carefully push the books apart to peer through a gap. The aisle is empty, and I wait with bated breath to catch a glimpse of the person.
I wait and wait.
The footsteps slow to a stop, and silence descends on the library once again. My heart beats so loudly, rushing in my ears, that I’m sure it can be heard over the screaming silence.
Just then, books get shoved to the floor behind me, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin. I press a hand over my mouth. How I don’t scream out loud is a miracle.
Suppressing a whimper, I breathe through my nose. Deep, steadying inhales to calm my racing, panicky heart.
I slowly turn and look through a gap in the books. At first, I see nothing except the dark, flickering aisle lined by geography books. But then a shadowy figure, a person dressed in a black robe with their hood pulled low over their face, comes into view. Large, black wings drag over the floor as he walks past, and I hold my breath, scared to make a noise.
I back away when I see the carved hunting knife in his hand, with its sharp blade that glints beneath the flashing emergency light.
As if he can hear me hiding behind the bookshelf, he pauses and cocks his head in my direction.
A beat passes when I can barely breathe, let alone think.
Then I sprint.
Instinct takes over, and I run for the exit, my feet pounding on the marble flooring and my heart thrashing inside my chest.
I can hear him take chase, knocking over books as he comes flying around the corner, but I don’t look back.
The door is in sight.
A few more steps.
I launch myself at the handle and tumble into the brightly lit hallway. The momentum causes me to lose balance and fall onto my hands and knees, but I’m too high on adrenaline to notice the pain as I spin around.
The mouth of the dark, open doorway gapes at me, and I wait for the robed man to step through, convinced he’ll kill me.
Nothing happens.
An eerie silence settles, pressing in from every corner.
Silence can be gentle and welcoming.
Not this silence.
This silence mocks me.
It laughs and jeers.
It wants me to rise to my feet and step back into the library to face my nightmares.
Are you not brave enough? Who’s a scaredy-cat?
I am. I am that scaredy-cat.
I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to wrangle my panic into submission. When that doesn’t work, I inhale a deep breath.
“Are you okay?”
My eyes fly open, and I jump to my feet.
Dariana stands in front of me with an uncertain look on her face, as if she thinks I’m strange.
My back meets the cold stone wall. “I’m fine.”
Where did she come from?
I flick my eyes over her shoulder to the gaping doorway. “Were you in the library just now?”
“No…” she drifts off, following my line of sight before looking back at me with her brows pulled low. “I, uh, I stayed to work on a project.”
“A project?” I ask skeptically.
“Yes.” She takes a hesitant step closer. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I look at the door again, then at her. “I’m fine.”
“Wait!” she calls out when I walk off, and I slow to a halt. Her heels click on the marble as she runs to catch up.
I’m enveloped in a cloud of her flowery perfume, fruity shampoo, and strawberry lip balm. Struck with a sense of nostalgia, I breathe her in as discreetly as I can.
“Where are you heading now?”
“Back to my place.”
I’m still shaken by what happened in the library and need to be alone. Someone tried to attack me.
Not only that, they knew I was in there and hunted me like prey. What would have happened if I hadn’t made it out in time?
The thought sends chills down my spine as we turn the corner.
“You’ve grown pale,” Dariana points out. “Maybe you need to sit down for a bit.”
“I’m fine.”
She pulls me to a stop. “You’re not fine.”
I look back at the way we came, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. The sconces on the walls burn brightly, their flames dancing over the stone, shadows crawling and elongating.
“Come with me.”
Before I can protest, she hauls me along, gripping my arm tightly in her hand.
I let her lead me outside into the fresh night air, where we take a seat on the stone steps to the academy.
Nudging my knee with hers, she says, “Why don’t you tell me what happened to spook you?”
At the mention of the robed man with the knife, I shudder, wrapping my arms around myself to ward off the cold. “Someone tried to attack me in the library.”
Dariana stiffens. “Are you sure?”
“Unless it’s normal to carry knives and walk around in black robes, yes.” I meet her steady gaze. “He chased me when I ran.”
“You need to tell the headmistress.”
I’d rather peel off my own nails, one by one, than subject myself to that woman. She’s scary as hell.
“I don’t want her involved. It was probably someone playing a prank.”
At least, that’s what I’m choosing to believe. It’s easier than facing the truth.
Dariana looks unconvinced but lets it go, probably sensing my hesitancy to talk about it. “Is it true that you escaped Eden?” she asks instead.
It hurts that she doesn’t remember me.
Because she doesn’t. She’s not looking at me the way she used to.
There’s no fondness in her eyes; I could be anyone.
“Yes,” I breathe, looking back out at the forest. It’s less painful to stare at the shadows lurking beyond the thick trunks than to see the truth in her gaze.
Imaginary eyes peer back at me.
“Why did you leave Eden?”
“It didn’t feel like home anymore,” I whisper.
I stiffen when she shifts and smooths her hand over my wing. “They used to be white?”
“Yes.” My voice is weaker this time, barely audible over the evening breeze that rustles the leaves in the trees. I like the feel of her fingers gliding through my feathers.
I suppress a delicious shiver, then look at her. “Your stories about angels are true. They have white feathers, blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a shimmering hue to their skin.”
“But yours are black as night. And big.”
“They are.”
“What happened?”
I hold her gaze, trapped in her night sky. The urge to lean in and kiss her overwhelms me as I dig my nails into the stone to stop myself from acting on the impulse. “I fell from grace.”
I fell for you.
The last thought is a whisper on the breeze that tingles, unspoken, on my lips before floating away into the night.
“Do you like it here in Hell?”
“Why are you here?” I ask instead of answering her question. Dariana isn’t someone who is nice to strangers because she wants to be nice. When we first met, she sneered at me.
This side of her unnerves me.
“Do I need a motive to talk to you?”
Yes, you do. My shoulders rise and fall. “You tell me.”
We’re still staring at each other, both curious and a little wary.
I like the way the breeze lifts her hair from her shoulders and how her long lashes brush her cheeks every time she blinks.
I especially like her smile when she breaks eye contact to scan the tree line.
“I like it here in Hell.”
Her wide and curious night-sky eyes return to me, and I duck my head, then shrug. “I can be myself for the first time… I felt lost in Eden.”
“Why did you feel lost?”
I don’t care if she has ulterior motives for talking to me. I just want to hear her voice.
To sit beside her like this and catch notes of her flowery perfume on the breeze.
“It’s complicated.”
“You live with Dmitriy now?”
“Yes.” I watch her closely for a reaction, but she remains guarded.
“He’s bad news.”
“You don’t like him?” See, I can play the role of a clueless newcomer.
Her head shakes, and she turns her body to face me. “You should stay away from him.”
“Why?”
“He has a rivalry with Daemon.”
Don’t I know it?
“And he’ll do anything to get at him. He’ll even go as far as using others.”
“How do you know I’m not in on his plans?”
Her eyes flick between mine, causing my cheeks to heat. “Call it a hunch.”
“A hunch?” I’m amused now.
The Dariana I knew would not allow herself to be guided by a hunch. She’s definitely up to something.
“Yes, a hunch.”
“Maybe I’m the villain.”
I expect her to smile or laugh, but she does neither. She simply stares at me with those big eyes that reflect the silver moonlight. “Are you?”
“Define villain.”
Now she smiles, as if my reply surprised her in a good way. “A villain is someone who’s against Daemon. Tell me, new girl, are you an enemy?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
Okay, that was a cheesy comment. The urge to face-palm strikes me like a thunderclap cracking through a valley.
Me and my mouth.
She watches me for a moment longer, then gets to her feet. “Will you be okay now?”
My response is a nod. I don’t want her to leave, but I have no choice but to let her go. “I’ll be fine.”
I’m on my front with my feet crossed in the air. The fireplace warms the side of my face as I turn another page and skim my eyes over the text.
I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I’m entranced regardless, reading about Hell’s history. The information in here is so different from anything the elders told us. Their stories were so cutthroat.
“Fallen angels are bad.”
“Stay away.”
No wonder I was always curious.
Amenadiel once told me my curiosity would get me into trouble, and I think it’s safe to say that trouble didn’t just find me; it completely owned me.
I turn another page, then pause. The picture on the page depicts the fall: seven angels walking out of Hell, covered head to toe in blood.
Chills run down my spine. I slowly sit up, pulling the book onto my lap.
Amenadiel walks beside Lucifer, and even though it’s a drawing, the likeness is undeniable. Five other angels trail behind, but my eyes stay glued to the brothers in the lead.
The darkening sky surrounds their group like a vengeful God, and their white, crimson-stained wings sprout black feathers.
I turn another page, my eyes scanning the drawings. Their wings are now fully black, and their once-blue eyes are dark pits of nothingness.
The picture on the next page depicts fangs and horns.
As I reach up to my hair, my fingers glide through the silky strands to poke the small, protruding horns.
Daemon didn’t like it the first time I touched his, but he let me explore them, as if he fed on the stunned curiosity in my gaze.
The paper crinkles in the silence, which is only interrupted by the sparks in the fireplace. I turn more pages, skimming the text, until I come upon a picture of an angel engulfed in flames.
I’m mesmerized by the dark, wolfish smile on his lips. There are no screams of agony, no signs of fear, and no hesitancy. His power is an extension of him, and he wields it like a deadly, destructive weapon.
Looking down at my own hand, I bring a flame to life, watching it flicker wildly.
It dances across my palm, a graceful performer on a lit-up stage, before growing still, like the glassy surface of a quiet pond.
I stretch my arm out, and it spreads along the surface in a symphony of flames.
A lit match to a trail of gasoline.
“You’re growing stronger.”
I startle, and the flames go out as if doused with a bucket of water.
Amenadiel pushes off the doorframe and enters my room. With his hands in his pockets, he takes in the strewn clothes on the floor, then the open book on my lap.
Intrigued, he walks up to me, shuts the book, and reads the title. “Are you curious about Hell, little angel?”
I open my mouth to speak, but I’m cut off when his eyes flick up from the book.
“Or are you curious about me?”
“I’m not curious about you,” I bite out.
His lips spread into a smile, and I wonder if he’s aware of his close proximity or the fact that his fingers are still on the book.
“Ask me questions and I’ll answer.”
I slide the book out from beneath his touch and hug it close to my chest. “How long did it take you to master your powers?”
“A long time.”
“That’s not an answer.”
His heavy feet sound on the hardwood floor as he walks up to the fire and leans with his hands on the fireplace. “If you want to embrace your powers, you need to give in to the darkness.”
“I’m trying.”
“Not hard enough.”
When he turns, a bitter smile—the kind of smile that turns blood to ice—graces his lips like an intruder in the night. “Luckily for you, I come prepared.”
I watch him disappear out the door before returning with a bound and gagged naked human man.
He tosses him onto the bed like he weighs nothing. “The night is young, and so is this man. I trust you’ll have fun, angel.”
My incisors throb at the sound of the human’s fearful whimpers and the scent of his blood from a cut above his eyebrow. “Did you retrieve him from the human world?”
“Of course. Only the best for my protégé.” Then he turns for the door, but before he leaves, he swings back around. “Oh, and one last thing. You’re not allowed to kill him.”
I look back down at the terrified human when the door shuts with a soft click. The thrum of his pulse beats erratically beneath his pale skin, and his bottom lip, wet with tears, trembles.
It’s not lost on me that Amenadiel brought me a gift. This is the equivalent of a father gifting his daughter a doll for her birthday.
But Amenadiel is not my father, and it’s not my birthday. And this man is not a doll.
Although he could just as well be.
My eyes cloud over with a red mist at the sound of his pathetic pleas when I stroke my fingers over his stubbly cheek. He shouldn’t show his fear so openly; it only makes me want to hurt him more.
To claw him open with my nails.
Explore his insides.
My sharp incisors elongate, glinting in the dim glow of the fireplace. “I’ll look after you, I promise.”
