Fire & Brimstone

Talia Wall

Copyright © 2026 by Talia Wall

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Talia Wall via contact form on her website at www.taliawall.com.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

No generative artificial intelligence (AI) was used in the writing of this work. The author expressly prohibits any entity from using this publication to train AI technologies to generate text, including, without limitation, technologies capable of generating works in the same style or genre as this publication. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

Book Cover by Talia Wall

1st Edition, 2026

Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

For content warnings, please visit: https://www.taliawall.com/content-warnings

To the Devil who thought he could keep me down and prevent this book from happening. How does it feel to lose?

Contents

The Dark One

1. Akuma

2. Akuma

3. Cara

4. Akuma

5. Cara

6. Akuma

7. Akuma

8. Cara

9. Cara

10. Akuma

11. Akuma

12. Akuma

13. Cara

14. Liam

15. Cara

16. Akuma

17. Akuma

18. Akuma

19. Cara

20. Akuma

21. Cara

22. Cara

23. Akuma

24. Cara

25. Liam

26. Cara

27. Akuma

28. Akuma

29. Akuma

30. Cara

31. Cara

32. Akuma

33. Cara

34. Akuma

35. Cara

36. Akuma

37. Cara

38. Akuma

39. Cara

40. Cara

41. Cara

42. Liam

43. Akuma

44. Cara

45. Cara

46. Akuma

47. Akuma

48. Cara

49. Akuma

50. Cara

51. Akuma

52. Cara

53. Cara

54. Liam

55. Cara

56. Akuma

57. Cara

Acknowledgments

Also by Talia Wall

About the Author

The Dark One

A shadow lingered behind the curtains of the stage, waiting for his blood payment. The mortal wielded a smile that could bring any onlooker to their knees. Clad in Brioni, he admired the platinum trophy he had just won, basking in the blinding spotlights and the warmth emanating from them. He might as well have been bathing in liquid gold as he relished the clapping and whistling that followed his acceptance speech.

It was intoxicating.

The mortal was attending an awards ceremony celebrating innovative tech, and his previously failing company had wiped out the scoreboard with its artificial intelligence developments. Slashing his staff by fifty percent and broadening his profit margins by over two hundred percent, he had become the new face of success after yielding his soul to an insidious benefactor decades ago.

The dark entity watched the audience and their glittering vanity, their hearts as black as coal. He thrived in their shallow praises and their deep envies, felt the power thrum beneath his skin as he reveled in their pride, lust, and greed. Three of the Sevens perched on the railing of the balcony seating, unseen by the humans’ feeble eyes. His strength, as well as the Sevens’, always bloomed in the presence of wickedness.

Anyone willing to sell their soul was an easy target. Most of them in the auditorium already had done so to an extent. They sacrificed their own morals and empathies for more prestige, yachts, and other gaudy luxuries. But the only one who had dared to sign the contract and commune with the spirit realm was the fool on the stage.

The only problem was… all of their souls were cheap. Cubic zirconia. They didn’t give him the same feeling of invincibility as say, children molded by their traumas, or mortals with genuinely good hearts hammered down to nothing, or the faithful who renounced their values. When good men who’d give their hearts to the world isolated themselves and turned bitter because their hearts had been trampled one too many times.

Those souls were diamonds. And the soul of a loyal Venator? The rarest painite.

Their souls were priceless. Owning that which belongs to a blessed warrior tasked with destroying the shadow’s kind would give him enough power to break the veil and unleash his children into the land of the living, where they may devour everyone—until the Earth was just another uninhabited floating rock in the universe.

Then, and only then, would he finally be able to prove that he was indeed the strongest of the heavens.

Once the curtains drew closed, the dazzling smile across the mortal’s face decayed, and the shadow jerked his chin toward the green room.

Away from the patrons, the shadow materialized into a man with crimson hair styled in a gentleman’s cut, and a suit tailored to his athletic frame. He presented an ornate, ancient jewelry box, one the mortal had seen too many times over the years. The box rumbled with a low frequency, a dim black light emanating from inside as it waited to be fed.

“Really? You’re demanding payment now? You can’t wait until I get home?” the mogul grumbled in an abrasive whisper.

“Have you looked in the mirror recently?” the benefactor asked with a smug grin.

The mortal hurried to the vanity, leaning forward to get a closer look at the wrinkles surfacing around his eyes and mouth and the streak of grey breaking through his wheat-blonde hair.

“This is ridiculous!” The mortal threw his hands up in outrage with a harsh whisper. “I can’t keep handing souls over to you with the risk of getting caught. The agreement has always been once a year, and it has only been four months since the last offering.”

“The price just went up. How are you going to explain your company’s success, surpassing Google, when you were just about to go bankrupt last year?”

Mortals were so predictable. So intolerant of pain. The slightest pressure applied made them crack.

“You can make all that go unnoticed. You said I’d remain wealthy, as long as I delivered you a soul. That I’d have nothing to worry about! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find virgins?” The mortal slumped into the foldable chair in front of the vanity, rubbing his temples as his elbows dug into the table.

“Of course, and your immortality has cured any qualms you had about Hell. But nothing is free. I was very clear about that.” The benefactor extended the box further. “When the stakes rise, so does the price.”

“I don’t have a woman just sitting in my closet, waiting to be killed. Not here,” the mortal whispered through gnashed teeth. With a disappointed sigh, the dark entity shut the jewelry box and drifted to the vanity, leaning against it.

“Offer your wife for tonight’s victory, and I will charge you one more soul that will free you of future payments. Not just any soul, though. No… the price for this gift requires a lot more work.” The man watched the human’s deep blue eyes redden with the onslaught of tears.

“Margaret?” He croaked, then paused, leaning back in his chair and chewing his inner cheek. “I give you Margaret, and I won’t need to give you any more souls?”

“Margaret for tonight, and you will have success beyond your wildest dreams without any worries of the public finding the skeletons in your closet.” The dark entity leaned closer, dropping his voice to a tempting whisper in the mortal’s ear. “Bring me a living Venator by bloodline before the next lunar eclipse. You will never have to bring me another soul again to maintain your youth. Plenty of time to find many more wives a hundred times over.”

The mortal dragged his hand down his face with an aggravated exhale. “I don’t even know what a Venator is. And how soon is that supposed to be?”

“Two months. And there’s one right under your nose, working in your building. A woman your son is actually quite fond of.” The man shut the jewelry box and pushed away from the vanity. “I will allow you a moment to think it over.”

“N-no. If he knows her, then this is a no-brainer. I’ll do it. Just…” The mortal held his hand up, fingers subtly trembling. “Please, let me handle Margaret at home. I have something I can put in her tea before bed.”

The man’s serpentine lips curled into a devious smile before he shifted into rippling smoke and shadow.

“It’s a deal.”

Chapter 1

Akuma

“Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell.” —Matthew 10:28, NKJV

The smell of flowers always reminded me of freshly dug graves. Nothing dredged up more memories of my late mother’s funeral than the pungent scent of roses, lilies, and chrysanthemums. The funeral had been a delicate farewell honoring her love for flowers and the art of ikebana, but now it was a brambly recollection conjured each time I was near any bloom.

Nonetheless, the memory didn’t stop me from treating the pink orchid bouquet as if it would wither at my lightest touch—because today was the day I’d finally ask Cara Freeman to dinner.

I left my row house an hour early to pick up my order from Silk Petals—a gaudy business with walls covered in pink-and-white striped wallpaper barely visible behind explosions of flora.

I flinched during the handoff as if the orchids wrapped in cellophane were covered in thorns. More images of the bouquets at my mother’s funeral sliced through my conscience.

“H-how much do I owe you?” I stammered, my voice barely audible over the zen waterfall fountain behind the florist’s butcher-block counter. The wrinkles across her face deepened as her lips stretched upward.

“A hundred and fifty,” the woman lilted as she punched in the numbers on her register. I didn’t question the price, nor gripe that it was for something that would die within a week or two. I’d never forget Cara saying pink orchids were her favorite flower at an office party earlier this year. She was worth a thousand orchids, no matter how much their aroma made my stomach wrench.

There was just one problem.

There was a high likelihood that she’d laugh at my gesture, or tell me she already had a boyfriend, or worse—that her boyfriend was our coworker, Liam Chamberlain. Despite eavesdropping on their countless conversations in the breakroom, I could never decipher whether she was already in a relationship. I’d always opted to admire from afar.

I was always praying for a miracle. Perhaps mumbling a hello whenever she turned in her timesheet would blossom into something more. Maybe she’d look past my stuttering during our brief conversations at the espresso machine in the breakroom.

I’d ignore the sweat dripping from my heart, just so I could see her smile up close and hope that maybe… she’d truly notice me.

“Anniversary or an apology?” the florist asked as she counted my change into my palm. My cheeks warmed at the question, and I pushed my round tortoiseshell glasses up my sloped nose. I didn’t know what to call it. I wasn’t even entirely sure if Cara remembered my name.

“Neither,” I said, and dropped the change into the tip jar.

The woman beamed. “Oh, a proposal then? Well, whatever it is, I wish you the best of luck, young man!” I dipped my head in gratitude before hustling out of Silk Petals, the brass bell ringing in farewell.

Standing at the curb of the bustling sidewalk, I inhaled the acrid stench of exhaust and a nearby hotdog stand to forget the putrid scent of flowers. Neither scent was pleasant, but burnt rubber was the lesser of two evils.

My navy blue tie seemed to come alive and squeeze my neck, and I tugged at my collar as I shifted my focus to count the number of yellow taxis in a sea of white, silver, and black vehicles. Counted until the silver cars no longer resembled tombstones and my lungs broke free of their shackles.

I drew a breath of relief and continued my journey to the subway. There was still a crackling tingle at my fingertips and a subtle shakiness in my legs where, if I stepped wrong, my ankle might roll.

Why, after six years, did the smell of flowers still remind me of death? Why did the sight of cemeteries create tiny cracks across my eyes, weakening the dam holding back the old tears?

I had considered therapy, but the thought of talking to a stranger about stale problems sounded like a nightmare.

But with Cara Freeman… even in the fleeting moments we shared… I forgot about everything in my past. All I could see was the future.

I tried to avoid wearing my heart on my sleeve, but Cara captured it the second she welcomed me on my first day of work three years ago. No one cared to know me beyond my name and what department I was in, which was nothing new. I was used to being invisible. However, she went out of her way to try to talk to me whenever our paths crossed, and my stutter… it never seemed to chase her away.

She was the only warmth in my endless winter. The only flower I craved to cherish—and I wanted to give her the world.

The crowd of civilians hustling to work grew denser as I neared the subway. Indistinct voices reverberated against the dingy, white-tiled walls. I opened the transit app on my smartphone, preparing to scan a QR code at the turnstile. Once the terminal light turned green, I pushed through the metal poles and joined the commuters standing behind the yellow safety line. The grey metal beast’s high-pitched whirrs pierced the tunnel and hissed once it slowed to a stop, as if exhaling from exhaustion. I smiled to myself when I finally sat.

The rhythmic chugging was almost like sleeping with the fan on. After long days of work, those sounds often lulled me to sleep. Usually, everyone’s faces blurred into the background because there were always so many. Sometimes it was too overwhelming, and it was better to turn it all off by shutting my eyelids. On nights of boredom or loneliness, I’d ride the train to the end of the line.

Today—I kept my eyes open. Too many butterflies infested my stomach with my plans for Cara. Instead, I observed the various banners advertising phone companies, cruises, and suicide hotlines that striped the top of the wall.

Then I paid attention to my peers.

A man with wispy, snow-white hair and a beard cascading over his chest clung to the metal pole with one hand and a twisted wooden cane in the other. Sunspots conquered his skin, and his bones poked through his thin burgundy t-shirt. His khaki shorts swallowed his knobby legs, and his back contorted like an oak tree.

My eyebrows inched closer together. No one offered their seat to him. Maybe no one had noticed him at first, like I hadn’t, but that excuse didn’t work for the people sitting directly behind him. I shouldn’t have been surprised, though. Lumis wasn’t exactly the warmest city. Most people were absorbed in their own worlds.

I rose from my seat and grasped the metal pole above the passenger’s hand.

“You can have my seat, sir.” I leaned closer so that he could hear me.

He flinched, head wobbling as he lifted his cloudy gaze to meet my spectacled one. “What’d you say, son?”

“I said you can have my seat, sir!” I projected my voice more. I was painfully aware of how soft-spoken I was. Before my father walked out on me and my mom, he had constantly reminded me of my “issues.”

Speak up, boy.

Quit that stuttering and say what you have to say!

Say it with your chest!

I hated yelling and loudness in general, though. Even at a normal, assertive volume, it drew too much attention… and attention inevitably led to criticism, especially when my words were constantly tangling. I found comfort in silence and invisibility.

The commuters had buried their heads in either their phones or their books until the abrupt sound of my velvety whisper shifted to a loud bass. Some looked sheepishly at me, others scowled—as if the older man didn’t deserve my courtesy.

“Oh!” The man’s wrinkles deepened around his eyes and mouth. “Thank you, my boy! Not too many kind souls exist these days. It is quite… rare.” He clamped a withered hand over my forearm for stability, and my heart leaped out of my chest when the abrupt movement nearly made me drop the orchids. I guided him to the seat.

“It’s no problem, really.” I inspected the bouquet through the teal cellophane, ensuring the stems were intact and the petals hadn’t ripped.

“I’m sure she’s a very lucky lady,” the man said, resting his hands over his cane’s handle. He tapped his foot to a rhythm only he could hear. I smiled, looking down at my shoes.

More like the other way around—if she says yes.

Cara was the only one at work patient enough to have a conversation with me. She didn’t try to finish my sentences or make that coaxing hand gesture to rush me.

“Guard your heart, Akuma.” The man spoke in a more serious tone, as if he had heard my thoughts.

I snapped my head up, spine locking in place. “Wait, how do you⁠—”

The seat was empty. I looked around at the commuters still watching me. Blinking rapidly, I removed my glasses to rub my eyes before putting them back on. The hard blue plastic seat remained vacant.

“What…”

The car slowed to a stop, followed by a ding.

Everyone rose from their seats, shuffling out the doors to move on with their lives. A new set of travelers boarded, and still I fixed my gaze on the vacant spot until a blonde woman in scrubs sat in it. Was it stress, or had the floral fumes finally get to my head?

The golden sun poured through the skylights in the vaulted ceiling, dressing the floor in shadowed plaid.

I held my breath as my loafers squeaked obnoxiously across the marble flooring of ChamberCorp’s lobby. I’d skipped my morning coffee in the café just so I could get the flowers safely to my locker.

Stepping into the elevator, I fixed my focus on my reflection, swiping my thin fingers through my hair to ensure every strand was combed to the side, my glasses were straight, and my tie was tightened.

But the longer I gazed at my reflection, the more my stomach curdled. I looked nothing like Liam Chamberlain.

The drastic opposite, actually.

I didn’t possess his shining golden locks styled in a slick back fade, or the expensive clothes tailored to fit his muscular frame. I didn’t have his deep, ocean-blue eyes, or his charm and charisma. I didn’t have the prestigious country club membership or play tennis on the weekends, or own a luxurious sports car.

Instead, my hair absorbed every light and color in existence, like a black hole devouring the universe. My obsidian eyebrows were just as thick. I possessed a lithe stature. The only shred of confidence I had resided in my above-average height, where I at least stood three inches above Liam.

I wore round, tortoiseshell glasses that framed dark brown eyes. I preferred contacts, but always lost them. My heart threatened to seize each time I had to speak to people. I didn’t have an athletic bone in my body, as I’d spent my entire childhood buried in books and behind a computer screen. Bicycles and subways were my preferred method of transportation because I wanted to contribute to the Earth’s healing rather than its destruction.

My olive skin shimmered in the summer but dulled in the winter, and it was already losing its brilliance in the middle of autumn. For Liam, it didn’t matter what time of the year it was for his tan to glow. And clothes? Well… I’d never owned designer brands. I wore my Baptist church clothes to pass ChamberCorp’s dress code. They had been collecting dust before I got the job anyway.

Liam probably didn’t hallucinate old men in subways either.

Every insecurity continued to bubble to the surface, warping my reflection against the elevator’s walls. All the laughter and humiliation in grade school, college, and now at my own job—crescendoed in my ears.

When the doors slid open to the tenth floor, I fought the urge to toss the flowers into one of the flimsy plastic trashcans at a random colleague’s cubicle.

As bile threatened to unfurl in my throat, I homed in on the energetic buzz of sales representatives’ phones, the copier’s hums and beeps as it spat out paper, and the chatter among the data scientists and software engineers. I flinched at the elevator doors’ hydraulic hiss as they shut behind me, and snapped out of my trance.

The breakroom was sandwiched between two bathrooms, which was unfortunate because there were many times where I accidentally swung the breakroom door on someone.

Cara emerged from the elevators and I ducked behind the wooden door before she could see me, releasing a shaky breath of relief at its vacancy.

It couldn’t have been empty for long, though. Coffee brewed in a pot, filling the air with malt and nutty notes. Someone had left their lunch bag on the round laminate table, with crumpled cling film and a half-eaten croissant resting on a napkin.

I rushed to my locker and fiddled with the combination lock, then pulled it open. Only a brand new pack of pens lived here, yet I examined the locker for a safe spot to place the flowers.

They needed to be perfect.

I licked my lips before propping the bouquet against the back corner, and moved the pens in front of the stems to hold them in place.

The breakroom door opened, followed by soft tapping of flats. Apple-and-cinnamon perfume drifted inside, harmonizing with the scent of coffee. I spun around and my heart slammed through my chest. Cara.

She was my undoing—every single time.

 Cara’s deep, sard skin shone like the golden hour sun, still kissed by the late summer glow. She had recently dyed her natural walnut-colored hair auburn for the season, the zig-zag curls framing her face like a harvest moon. Her eyes were glimmering pools of melted chocolate and cloves, with the kind of warmth that’d make anyone want to curl up with a good book next to a fireplace on a rainy day.

Cara’s smile pulled her dimples inward, equally drawing my heartstrings like a siren’s song. “Good morning, Akuma,” she said. Her voice was so ethereal. Sometimes I imagined her singing a lullaby before I fell sleep.

“M-morning,” I stuttered.

More butterflies torpedoed through my gut.

I became hyperaware of the sweat under my arms.

Was my hair still in place, or had that stubborn strand stick back up when I turned too quickly?

When I smiled, did I appear too eager, or not eager enough?

Oh Lord, was my tie crooked?

I forgot to check my teeth in the elevator. Was there a speck of pepper in my teeth from my scrambled eggs this morning?

Cara’s smile shrank, and she pulled a mug from the cabinet. “Are you okay? You seem tense.”

“Yeah, I-I just had a weird morning,” I replied, and instantly regretted opening the door to a conversation where I’d risk admitting to having a hallucination the old man.

“Oh yeah? What happened?” Cara flipped through tea bags until she found her favorite—Earl Grey.

I should get her a tea sampler and a cast-iron pot for Christmas.

I scratched the side of my temple and chewed on my lip. The question burned a hole in my throat. “Oh, nothing. Actually, um—I have something I wanted to give⁠—”

“Cara! Are you ready for the meeting later?” Liam said her name with his full, rounded voice ringing in a flawless vibrato as he shouldered into the breakroom. I wouldn’t be surprised if he sang during his tennis matches. He sauntered to the coffee pot and grabbed a paper cup, flipped it, and caught it upright before pouring his drink.

“Malcolm’s meetings are always a waste of time,” Cara said, switching her focus to dunk her tea bag in hot water. “I don’t understand all that coding stuff like you anyways.”

“It’s not your job to, but I get it,” Liam glanced at me with a smug grin. “Oh, were you saying something, Akuma?”

Cara popped her head from her mug, glancing at me before squinting at the back of Liam’s head with a mild frown. Before I could answer, Malcolm entered.

“Is there a reason so many of you are in here and not at your desks?” Malcolm asked, folding his arms.

“Just making my tea, sir,” she mumbled. Cara’s shoulders hiked to her chin as she stirred honey into her tea, keeping her head down. Liam’s smirk turned into annoyance before he left her side by the coffee machine.

A bitter taste invaded my mouth, and I dipped my head as I slipped out of the breakroom.

To add to my heavy heart, a thick pile of expense reports strewn across my keyboard. I eased into my leather swivel chair with a dejected sigh. Malcolm must’ve tossed them there. I organized the papers, then began the tedious task of comparing receipts to costs in stale silence.

Four hours later, I pulled away from my computer screen and leaned back in my chair. I removed my glasses and rubbed my weary eyes, then put them back on to check the clock in the bottom corner of the screen. Almost time for lunch.

Something poked my shoulder, and I swiveled around, startled.

Cara hooked a coil behind her ear with a sheepish smile. “Hey, sorry. Liam can be so crazy sometimes. Weren’t you going to tell me something earlier? Aren’t you about to go to lunch?”

“H-hey.” My voice crackled, and I cleared my throat to strengthen its natural, smoky rasp. Heat scorched my face. I thought I had escaped the potential embarrassment earlier.

“Can you, um, meet me outside at the gazebo? I-I don’t wanna tell you here.” I rose from my seat and peeked over the cubicle walls. Cara’s lips broadened, revealing flawless teeth.

“Of course! I’ll meet you in five minutes,” she said, then hurried off. I waited until she’d disappeared before I returned to the breakroom to retrieve the flowers. My limbs were rubber, and my fingers felt like they were melting together while I fumbled with the combination lock. Once I finally got the locker open, the scent of orchids slapped me in the face.

I stifled a gag and carefully grabbed the bouquet, freezing at the sight of Liam standing behind me with a smirk saturated with mischief.

“I didn’t know you had a little crush around here,” Liam said, voice trembling with restrained laughter. He cocked his head, folding his arms and peering down at the orchids. “Who’s the special gal?”

Too close.

You’re either gonna give me the answer key or I’ll beat it out of you.

I shrank against my locker and shook my head, knocking the twelfth-grade memory loose.

“Excuse me,” I mumbled and slid my back against the lockers to avoid brushing against him. I yanked the door open and rushed down the hall.

“Whoever it is, she’s way out of your league. Like waaay out of it,” Liam bantered. He stalked after me until I reached the elevator. Leaning against the adjacent wall, he watched me press the button three times like it’d summon it faster. He sounded just like the others.

You’re asking her to prom? You might as well just stay home.

Oh, look everybody! Akuma’s going to try to t-t-talk in front of the class.

I sighed, avoiding Liam’s eye contact. “P-please leave me alone…”

“I’m just joking around,” he said with a chuckle, and cupped his hand over my shoulder. He gave me a little shake before giving his brotherly advice.

“Good luck, man. You’re gonna need it.”

Chapter 2

Akuma

“Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.” —1 Peter 5:8, NKJV

Red and orange leaves garnished the weathered picnic table, which sat shielded from the soft glow of the afternoon sun under the vine-covered gazebo. I watched Cara from across the parking lot, standing in the rear doorway of the building and working up the nerve to approach.

She typed something on her phone, then set it face down on the table with shoulders sinking in a deep sigh. She shivered in the breeze. Her leg bounced while she chewed on her bottom lip, and I could’ve been reading into things, but… she appeared anxious.

I sucked air through my teeth to steel myself, and stalked across the parking lot with the bouquet concealed behind my back. My tie whipped in the brisk wind and my hair blew backward, undoing my efforts to tame it in the elevator. Halfway through the parking lot, and I already wanted to run back inside and pretend I’d never opened my mouth.

But Cara had already spotted me. She smiled and slowly rose with a quick wave, craning her neck to see what I had behind my back.

The worst that can happen is she says no—and then I’d just have to quit my job.

A lock of hair blew into the corner of her full lips and stuck to her lip balm, and she hooked the stray behind her ear. “What are you hiding there, Akuma?”

I inhaled sharply before swinging the bouquet between us. Her eyes widened as she rounded the picnic table. Her dreamy gaze sparkled, drawing me into yet another trance.

“I—um—I’ve b-been meaning to—” I drew in another trembling breath and looked down at my feet to collect myself. It didn’t matter how many times I rehearsed the words in my mind. The second I opened my mouth, they’d scramble together.

It didn’t help that Liam’s words were still bouncing around my skull, overlapping with my train of thought. But I’d already revealed the putrid flowers to her. How could I retract everything before I made a fool of myself?

“I’ve been meaning to ask for a while…” My palm became slick against the cellophane. I forced a crooked smile as I looked back up. “Are you free for dinner tonight?”

It was Friday—the day when most people always had plans. Why on Earth would I ask her at such short notice? I should’ve said next week!

Cara’s cheeks reddened. I stared at my shoes to brace for the slap in the face.

But she stood there, smile widening to laser beams.

“This is so sweet! They’re stunning!” she finally squealed, and grasped the bouquet to dip her nose among the petals. My heart jumped as she pulled me into a tight embrace. “Of course, I’ll go to dinner with you. It’s a date!”

My jaw dropped. Date.

She pulled away, and I could still feel the weight of her. Every individual beat of my heart pumped so fast that they became indistinguishable, like a flatline.

“How does The Black P-Pearl sound? Do you like seafood? If not, I mean, it’s your choice, w-we could always go somewhere else. I should’ve asked you first actually⁠—”

Cara placed a slender finger over my lips with a giggle. “The Black Pearl is perfect. How does eight sound?”

I nodded quickly, opting to stay silent to avoid sounding like even more of an idiot. Cara’s smile never left as she walked away. She kept her nose in the bouquet, occasionally pulling back to admire the flowers’ beauty. I waited until she’d disappeared into the building before I punched the air victoriously.

It had to be a dream, because not only did Cara Freeman say yes, but Liam was also wrong.

 I don’t think I’d ever put in so much effort to focus on my work. The clock had more of my attention than the expense and revenue reports. Accounting was endless—tracking salaries, credit card transactions, new and cancelled subscriptions for ChamberCorp’s chatbot engine. Sometimes, I wished I coded like Liam, or dealt with office administrative tasks like Cara. To feel a sense of productivity, I worked on the easiest reports before tackling the tedious ones.

But in the back of my mind, I brainstormed the right combination of cologne and clothes from my closet so I’d have a plan in place for the second I got home.

I couldn’t picture anything beyond polo shirts and khakis. I wasn’t even sure the one suit I owned would still fit.

The pile of paperwork was halfway cleared when Liam popped his head over the fluted cubicle wall. His smirk was twisted. “How did it go, man?”

My pen froze in place on a signature line. I pushed my glasses up my nose with a smug smile.

“It went well.”

“Oh? So who was it?”

“Th-that’s not i-important.”

“Really? What’s the big deal then? Unless you’re lying?” Liam sneered.

I sighed hopelessly, shaking my head and returning to the forms. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why any of my personal business mattered to him, or why Liam seemed to target me any chance he got. I mean, didn’t Malcolm leave him piles of work too?

“It’s okay to admit you got rejected, Akuma,” Liam said.

Like you might have been, when you probably asked her? I wanted to say, but instead bit my tongue and ground my molars. I continued to add my signature of approval on the reports.

“Or maybe you didn’t.” Liam propped his arms up on the edge of the wall and rested his chin on his forearm. He pondered at the ceiling.

Simmering rage stirred within my chest, like the pain that lingered after stubbing your toe.

Liam clicked his tongue, sapphire eyes brightening with mischief.

Goawaygoawaygoaway—

“Maybe she said yes out of pity,” he said with a low chuckle, then walked away.

And with that, my chest hollowed out.

I hadn’t considered that possibility. My excitement shifted to dread.

But Cara seemed genuine. The smile couldn’t have been fake… right? She’d even teared up!

Had my awkwardness make her feel obligated to say yes?

Heat rose to the nape of my neck from shame. I replayed our exchange by the gazebo repeatedly, analyzing every fumble of my words. I chewed my inner cheek and refocused my attention on the numbers in front of me until the clock ran out.

For a moment there, I forgot how to count.

Chapter 3

Cara

I could only scroll on my phone for a short period while I waited under the gazebo, because the knots in my core became too unbearable to ignore. For Akuma, the most withdrawn guy in the office, to want to tell me something in private… it couldn’t be for anything pleasant.

But then he presented the flowers, and then it was high school all over again. The butterflies in my stomach raged; my pulse raced. I couldn’t get enough of the orchids’ scent and opulence as I reentered the sterile air of ChamberCorp.

And I couldn’t help but wonder…

How did he know?

The last time I’d mentioned anything related to flowers was when Liam asked me what my favorite kind was during our office Valentine’s Day party. Eight months ago.

Even if Akuma overheard, how could he remember such an insignificant detail? Perhaps it was just a lucky guess.

I always admired his focus and reserved nature. Akuma wasn’t loud and didn’t act like a peacock. He was approachable and a listener, only offering solutions when explicitly asked. But he was also guarded and never volunteered information about himself. It was unnerving. It took me about six months to chip a corner of his shell when he started working at ChamberCorp, and even then he’d fidget with his hands or glasses or stutter around me.

Was it weird of me for thinking he was adorable for it? Or feeling the feral urge to squeeze his face and wrap my arms around him until he felt safe enough to completely be himself?

I couldn’t wait for our date tonight and explore a different side of him without work as an obstacle.

And the best part? Akuma didn’t strike me as the type looking for a one night stand either.

Akuma didn’t follow immediately. Thankfully, he was smart enough not to; otherwise, Malcolm wouldn’t have been too pleased to find out a couple of his employees were planning a date. The flowers caught various bystanders’ attention, triggering smiles and congratulatory nods.

Except for Liam, who stood near my desk with a thin-lipped smile. I tilted my head and frowned, wondering why he was at my desk and why he didn’t seem as excited as everyone else on my behalf.

“Looks like you had a good lunch,” Liam said. I laughed tightly and unwrapped the flowers before replacing the fake daisies I kept in a vase.

I couldn’t pinpoint why, but Liam’s presence always made me feel nauseous. Every movement I made—no matter how insignificant—he noticed. Every time he stood near me, it was close enough for me to pick out the aromatic notes of his expensive cologne. The hair standing on my neck and uneasiness in the pit of my gut reminded me of my childhood—a blemish in a history I refused to discuss with anyone other than my parents.

Behind those smiles, perfect teeth, and radiant blue eyes was an unsettling hollowness, like a wax figure. No matter how wide Liam beamed, it never seemed to crinkle his eyes.

“It was,” I said, and walked into the breakroom. I sifted through the cabinets for a large cup and filled it with water. As expected, Liam was at my heels.

“Who gave them to you?” he asked.

“I can’t say. It was anonymous. Shelley told me to come downstairs to get them,” I said, wishing I could rip my tongue out. I hated lying, and I hated how Liam’s nosiness forced me to do it. I couldn’t even say why I felt the need, but that nausea told me he was someone who shouldn’t know too much of my business.

Sweat pearled at my brow at the thought that he had seen Akuma hand the flowers to me through one of the windows, and was simply testing my honesty.

“Oh, a secret admirer…” Liam murmured, and his smile stretched into something devious. “I wonder who that could be.”

By his tone, you could say he tried to make it sound like he was hinting toward himself. Perhaps he hadn’t witnessed us under the gazebo after all.

I’d seen their interactions. I’d even tried to report it to human resources. Like everything else, they swept it under the rug. Liam never admitted it, but everyone suspected he’d been hired through nepotism. Chamberlain, ChamberCorp, his sports car, and the fact that Malcolm never reprimanded him for “mediocre work.” None of us would dare confront him about it, though. Not when it could be true, and one word to whoever he had protecting him could get us instantly fired.

“Whoever it is, he’s got excellent taste,” Liam said.

I fought the urge to glance across the office toward Akuma’s desk.

“Well, I’m happy for you,” he said dryly, and plucked a stray hair from his shoulder. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

The back of his neck appeared as red as his polo shirt when he crossed to the other side of the office, heading straight for the cubicle across from Akuma’s. I ducked into my own cubicle and snatched the phone the second it rang. The timing was perfect—I didn’t want to hear whatever Liam had to say to Akuma.

Five o’clock couldn’t come any faster. I had already transferred the phones to the twenty-four-seven line and packed my work bag, and was strutting toward the elevator when I caught Akuma still working feverishly at his desk. I wanted to say goodbye, but he looked so entrenched in his work that I didn’t want to disrupt his focus.

I left the flowers in my cubicle because, in reality, I spent more time at work than in my apartment. They could my personal aromatherapy during angry customer calls or tedious administrative tasks—like organizing the annual dinner for the entire ChamberCorp staff in a month.

I suppressed an explosion of colorful emotions until I found my car in the parking garage. The moment I jumped behind the wheel, I smiled so hard my face hurt. I dialed my best friend’s number through the hands-free feature of my car, eagerly waiting for Iris to answer.

“What’s up?” she answered in her usual bright rasp. Iris Martinez had been my ride or die since college. She was always so optimistic and adventurous and carefree. She was the type of person to bring me out of my nine-to-five hypnosis and remind me how to live. The sister I had always craved as an only child.

“You won’t believe what happened at work today,” I said, turning down the volume in my car because in just a few seconds, Iris would probably blow my speakers out.

“You finally punched that idiot in the face?”

I wasn’t sure which idiot she was referring to. It could’ve been Malcolm, Liam, Rachel, Hannah, or Russell. I ranted to her about all of my coworkers and my boss.

“No, but I got something better. Do you remember me telling you about Akuma?” Anticipation swelled in my chest.

“The cute, nerdy, shy guy? How could I forget? He’s the only one you don’t whine about around there,” she said. “What about him?”

“He asked me out to dinner tonight!”

“Shut up! Are you for real?” Iris squealed, and I cut the volume down just a notch more.

“I know! He gave me flowers and everything! And no, we’re not talking basic grocery-store arrangements. He gave me orchids!”

“Orchids? You didn’t tell me he was straight out of a fairytale! What time tonight? Are you on your way home? I’m coming over!” Iris spoke in rapid-fire shots, leaving no space for me to answer.

I laughed with a snort. “Yeah, I’ll be home in five minutes.”

Iris released one more squeal before hanging up. Despite my insistence to focus on a dead-end career, she always pushed me to go out to bars or to make online dating profiles. Her famous saying was, “Love doesn’t just fall in your lap.”

I just wanted someone who could be nice without any ulterior motives. Someone who knew when I needed space but also needed security. Someone with a genuine heart, and who wouldn’t stomp on mine. Akuma had the potential to mark all those boxes. I was comfortable being single and living vicariously through Iris’ dramatic life with her toxic boyfriends, but I understood her excitement. I put dating on the backburner after my last one two years ago, when I met up with a self-absorbed online match and ended up not only paying for the dinner, but also driving him home.

Now, Iris finally had an excuse to doll me up for a night, and I had an excuse to wear something other than slacks and a button-down blouse.

Pop music played in the background as I tore my closet apart. A box of half-eaten chocolates sat on my vanity. I was starving, but I didn’t want to eat a full meal beforehand and barely enjoy the expensive dinner Akuma had planned.

There was also panic.

I was seconds away from resorting to wearing a freaking skirt suit to the most expensive restaurant on the snooty side of Lumis.

Ugh, what if I run into Liam out there?

Surely, he lives on that side of town with the Ferrari he drives.

Akuma would probably clam up and cancel early if that happened.

He might even stay away from me.

Iris’ heavy knocks drummed from downstairs, mercifully interrupting my spiraling thoughts. I scurried to meet her. She carried an armful of rompers and dresses, and I wasn’t sure if the sight overwhelmed or relieved me.

“Girl, what have you been doing this whole time? You don’t even have any makeup on!” she chided, moving around me.

I gave her a sheepish grin, twiddling my thumbs. “Stress eating.”

“Well, don’t worry, Care Bear. Mami’s got you.” She patted my head and took the lead upstairs. I jogged to catch up.

Iris tossed the clothes at the foot of my bed and began fanning out various risqué outfits. There was an ensemble for every setting—from bowling to axe-throwing to clubbing.

I reached for another chocolate. My sweaty fingertips immediately smeared the coating before I plopped it in my mouth, and I anxiously wiped my hand on my pants without thinking.

“Okay, so first, where are you meeting him?” Iris plopped onto my bed, eyeing the layout.

My thumbnail inched toward my teeth as my brows climbed my forehead. “The Black Pearl.”

She sprung right back to her feet.

“Yeah, we’re not doing these—” She tossed different outfits to the floor, narrowing the choices down to the dresses. “We’re going classy for this one.”

Iris plucked a plum crushed-velvet dress with a V-shaped cowl neckline. Rhinestone chains draped across the open back. I tilted my head, considering it. She held it up to my chest, and I visualized myself wearing it in the mirror.

“It’s actually⁠—”

“Gorgeous with your complexion! Please wear it, Cara,” she pleaded.

“I do have some pearl earrings to match,” I mumbled. I checked my alarm clock on my nightstand, and my heart skipped a beat. Without another thought, I swiped the dress and rushed into the bathroom.

Getting dressed was the easy part. Iris squealed when I stepped out of the bathroom, clapping her hands.

“That dress is made for you. He’s gonna love it,” Iris said, and pulled me to my vanity. “That one’s yours to keep.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that⁠—”

Iris laughed and swatted my shoulder. “Shut up and get to work, lady.”

I rolled my eyes with a chuckle and picked up the foundation. While I did my makeup, Iris cut my time in half by styling my hair in stitch braids transitioning into a bun. By the end, I crossed my room to the full length mirror next to my desk. Smoothing my hands over the velvet hugging my hips and draping below my knees, I turned and examined the fabric flattering the hourglass curves I forgot I owned.

Wow, Cara. You need to do this more often. You still got it!

By the end, I had forty minutes to spare and could finally breathe again.

Somewhat.

The first thing I noticed at The Black Pearl was the dazzling chandeliers, shining with just the right amount of light to make my old diamond rings and white-gold lariat necklace sparkle.

Nautical ropes and nets mixed with loose gossamer fabric draped across the cathedral-style coffered ceiling. The walls were painted royal blue, embellished with gold wainscoting and trim. White cloths and antique brass candelabra adorned each table. Renaissance oil paintings graced certain sections, and I was certain they could’ve been originals.

I already felt like I owed the place money just for standing there.

“How may I help you, ma’am?” The host clasped his hands behind his back, ripping my attention away from a woman wearing a gown entirely made of fine gemstones, scooping black pebbles in a spoon. Maybe it was caviar. Whatever it was, it looked gross.

I swallowed dryly, even more intimidated by the host’s perfectly tailored tuxedo. His lips were twisted as if my presence left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Um… is there a reservation at eight o’clock under Akuma Tanaka?” I held my chin high with my shoulders back, steeling my spine to look the part. With the previous couple ahead of me, I had hoped he wouldn’t notice my middle-class gawking.

The man’s gaze lingered, analyzing my wardrobe and my braided hair with his nose tilted upward. Only after sizing me up did he open the black leather-bound book at the podium. He forced a thin smile before raising a white-gloved hand and gesturing to follow. I trailed behind him, gripping my glittery silver clutch like my life depended on it. My nude heels clacked along the black marble floors—goodness, I hadn’t even noticed the striking floors—and I ignored the criticizing stares from the patrons as I walked by.

I eased into the tufted dining chair and released a shaky breath. I wished Iris could hide behind the giant monstera and wait for the moment to rescue me or give me advice through an earpiece like in the movies. At least then, I wouldn’t be alone and out of place while I waited for Akuma.

A server clad in a crisp white shirt, bow-tie, double-breasted waistcoat, and pressed trousers approached. She held her hands behind her back with a proud smile. Her short black hair shined, laid flat with gel so hard that a hurricane couldn’t dishevel it.

“What would you like to drink, ma’am?” she asked.

“Oh, uh…” I glanced at my watch. Ten minutes before he’d arrive. “I’ll just take a water, thanks.”

The server gave a curt bow before walking off, and my hands battled in a thumb war under the table. I sat facing the front door, not only so I could watch for Akuma but also because I liked to be aware of all my exits. One of many lessons inscribed deep into my bones by my parents.

Three refills and a request for a merlot later, thirty minutes had passed.

Thirty minutes. To his own date. The date he’d so nervously offered with flowers.

And here I was, still sitting at this table like a lost puppy, at a restaurant that charged twenty-five dollars for a glass of wine and sixty dollars for five ounces of grilled swordfish coated in a tomato and olive relish.

Did he chicken out?

Surely, something must have come up.

A brass angel statue stood in the corner opposite of the monstera, like a soldier at attention with a spear at her side. Sculpted wavy hair cascaded her shoulders. She wore fitted armor, and had four wings folded tightly behind her. The feathers were carved so delicately that they appeared soft to the touch. I could’ve sworn the statue blinked. I stared at it, expecting another one.

My phone chimed. I snatched my phone out of my clutch—forgetting about the staring contest I started with a hunk of metal—but my shoulders fell to see Iris’s text asking for an update whenever I could. My thumbs danced across the screen.

I’m still waiting.

The server returned with a pitiful smile, clasping her hands together in front of her apron. “Are you ready to order, ma’am?”

“I’ll just take another glass of water.”

What? The sweet guy that gave you flowers is standing you up?! Iris responded.

I glanced at the front doors, hoping that maybe he’d pop in at the last minute and I’d just backtrack my oncoming rant. I mean, it looked like he’d stay at work a little later when I left the office. Maybe time got away from him and he was scrambling to get here.

I chewed on my lip, swiping to his contact on my phone. It took some scheming to get it—I used an excuse to ask him questions about my timesheet and asked for his personal cell. He hesitated, but gave it to me with bright red cheeks.

Hey, are you still meeting me at The Black Pearl?

I waited another thirty minutes. I don’t know why. My hope was delusion at this point, and the server grew more awkward each time she returned to refill my glass. I even caught a glimpse of her talking to three coworkers, furtively glancing in my direction. It had been an hour now. No response, no arrival.

I waved the server over with a stiff smile, eyes burning with humiliation.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I’m ready for the check now,” I said, and swallowed around the knot in my throat. Hold it together. Hold it together.

I refused to cry over a man. I’d just ask him in person on Monday what happened. If he didn’t have a legitimate reason then, I’d simply move on.

But Akuma cared too much about others, possibly to a fault. He worked on holidays so others could spend time with their families. He often bought lunch for everyone to keep office morale up because Malcolm never cared to. He wouldn’t stand me up.

I had a bad feeling that something had gone wrong.

Horribly wrong.

Chapter 4

Akuma

A mix of warm and cool white light made the skyscrapers sparkle like stars against the lavender sky, and lightbox store signages dressed the streets in vibrant color. The temperature had sharpened to a crisp bite, invading the fibers of my button-down shirt and trousers and piercing my skin. I kept an iron grip on my briefcase handle, gnashing my teeth and shivering as I trekked to the subway.

I paused behind the yellow line, waiting for the subway car to arrive under the sickly green luminescence of the station. When I decided to stay at work an hour late, I’d hoped to avoid leaving at the same time as Liam and spare myself the busy crowd. The commuters tended to thin significantly toward the end of rush hour.

Unfortunately, it left me with only an hour to get home, shower, change, and catch the subway again to The Black Pearl.

Maybe she said yes out of pity.

Liam was probably right.

A crack like brittle sticks snapped behind me, and warmth seeped into my neck. I glanced back. A man stood uncomfortably close behind me in a baggy grey hoodie, cracking his neck and breathing against me. His head hung low, the oversized hood covering half his face. Only his silver beard and thin, scarred lips could be seen.

My skin crawled, and I took several steps forward.

Then I felt his breath on my neck again.

What’s with this guy?

I moved further up, mumbling apologies as I bumped into a woman in a puffy fur coat holding a Yorkie that yipped at me.

Like a shadow, the man followed, but I didn’t have any more space to move forward. I moved to my left, following the line in hopes the man would get the hint.

But he didn’t.

“Sir, c-can you please—” The train’s arrival drowned my voice. Relief settled in my gut when train arrived and opened its doors.

Something sharp and thin yanked me back by the neck. My briefcase was flung out of my hand, and a scream lodged itself in my throat. A couple travelers glanced in my direction, some taking pictures and others gaping through the windows. The woman clutched her Yorkie closer, and her dog’s barks became higher pitched as she ran on board. Her wrinkled hand quivered as she took a call. I hoped it was the police.

It was impossible for me to slip my fingers underneath the wire. I bucked and kicked, wheezes forcing their way out of my throat. Reaching for the train, silently pleading for help as he dragged me farther away. He rammed a free fist into my face. My glasses went skittering across the concrete. Tears squeezed out of my eyes as the blurred faces in the car watched indifferently. Some even laughed, like school children watching a scuffle at lunch.

Laughed.

The fluorescent lights flickered, the doors dinged, and the tunnel howled as the subway train sped off like a bullet.

Air rushed into my lungs, and I fell to my knees with my hand shooting to my neck. Trembling, I crawled toward the only thing I could think of grabbing—my glasses.

I frantically reached into my back pocket for my wallet and presented it in my quivering palm as the man towered me. “T-take it…”

“Still so kind,” he snarled.

Through one cracked lens, I observed the foam around his mouth and the grease stains on his khaki shorts. I inhaled sharply as I recognized the burgundy shirt, the sunspots dotting his skin, and the knobby knees. His white hair and beard poured down his chest and shoulders. The only differences—he didn’t hold a cane, and his spine wasn’t crooked like it had been on the train this morning.

The same older man I’d given up my seat for… who had vanished… now stood before me with a wry smile and saliva oozing between his rotted teeth. His eyes were bloodshot, the irises enlarged and black and glistening with pinpoint white pupils. His splotched skin darkened to a sickly cool grey, closer to matching the concrete than an actual human.

“P-please… don’t kill me… just take th-the money,” I pleaded. I blinked rapidly, telling myself that this was just another hallucination. It had to be, seeing as how he’d reappeared with a strength like none other when he’d needed my arm for support just to move three feet this morning.

My nose still burned from his punch.

More bones cracked as the man’s neck snapped into a ninety-degree angle. I flinched at the sound.

“Money?” he snarled.

I scrambled to my feet and bolted down the platform with my breath sawing in and out of my lungs. The stairs were on the other end, the top of them glowing deep blue under the city lights. The surface, where I could call for help⁠—

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Another man appeared. Younger and stockier, but with protruding cheekbones and sunken eye sockets tracing the peaks and valleys of the skull beneath his skin.

The second attacker’s skin was also grey, and riddled with icy-blue varicose veins branching across his face and hands. He wore ripped jeans and a plain white T-shirt stained with grass and dirt. Black grease coated his fingers like a mechanic’s. Blocking the exit, he glared from beneath his brow with the same depthless eyes, the same as the first man. He raised a pistol in my direction, the black metal glinting.

I’d half turned when I realized the initial stranger had caught up. Between the two of them, there was nowhere to run, and I was beginning to think they weren’t men at all.

A woman under a pile of blankets and a cardboard sign huddled in a corner. Only her wide eyes were visible as she sat frozen in terror.

“I-if you don’t want my money… then why are you d-doing this?” I croaked, returning my focus to the gunman. Perhaps I could talk to them, maybe beg—stall until the next train or a police officer showed up.

“You should’ve kept to yourself,” the gunman sneered, curling a finger over the trigger. His fingertips blackened like necrosis.

“W-what did I do wrong? I d-don’t understand!” I whimpered, my voice shattering. Hair matted to my sweaty forehead. My knees remained bent, ready to spring into another desperate sprint whenever an opening presented itself.

“You existed.” He racked the slide. My spine seized as I shot my hands into the air.

“NO—”

Pain seared through my chest, knocking me back like a stiff wooden board. The taste of copper welled in my mouth, a river of slick warmth spilling past my lips. The lights’ flickering intervals sped up as the attackers prowled closer like wolves.

I peered down the barrel aiming right between my eyes. Inside of it, I could see Cara, dazzling under The Black Pearl’s chandeliers, like a diamond necklace on display.

With vacant faces, the men hovered with artificial smiles that couldn’t reach their eyes.

“What he wants… he always gets,” they said in unison.

My wheezes grew shallow. The cold I’d felt on the walk here was nothing compared to the ice invading my veins now.

Maybe I would have spoken full sentences without Liam lingering around the corner, waiting to interrupt. Maybe I would’ve made her smile, and hear that cute snort that often threaded into her laughs.

It was going to be the first chapter of showering her in everything she deserved.

But now that book will never be opened.

I stopped feeling the pain of hellfire, and I didn’t feel the final shot at all.

In the blackness that followed, my body was as light as a cloud, levitating in place as a sheer echo of myself. I lay cradled by stagnant air. I couldn’t hear the sirens, the screech of tires , or the urgent thunder of the police stomping down the stairs, but I imagined it. My rescuers would be seconds too late.

Clawed hands clamped onto my arms, legs, and neck. My inaudible scream was lost in the abyss when they dragged me down.

Chapter 5

Cara

I couldn’t decide to be livid or worried.

After a long shower spent analyzing Akuma’s personality in the three years I had known him versus his no-show behavior tonight, I had to call Iris to debrief. I put her on speaker while I removed my remaining makeup, my skin screaming from the million cotton pads I had to use to scrub off the stubborn foundation.

Iris finally broke her silence after digesting my rant. “So… if he stood you up, what reason do you think he had?”

“I don’t know. He could’ve missed the subway—or if he has a car, it broke down on the way.” I dabbed makeup remover onto another cotton pad.

“But he never answered your text,” Iris said flatly.

“His phone could’ve died,” I said, wincing as I dragged the pad across my cheeks with more pressure.

“Okay, so… let me get your theory straight. His phone died the night he had a date, and he never bothered to charge it when he got home? And maybe he had an emergency where he couldn’t show up, but he had no way of giving you a heads-up? You made him sound like he was pretty punctual and type A with everything. Sure, he set the dinner the same day he asked, but he could’ve had it planned for months.”

Hearing my reasoning aloud definitely made it sound like a far reach.

“I don’t know! Men suck, okay? Maybe I’m just making excuses because he’s shy. I know it doesn’t necessarily make him innocent either.” I tossed the fraying cotton pad among the others piled on the vanity and blew an exaggerated huff of air, propping my elbows on the dresser.

“What if he was intimidated? He could’ve thought you were too good for him.”

“In that case, he wouldn’t have asked me out to begin with. I don’t know, Iris.” I shook my head. “Something isn’t adding up. But my brain hurts and I’m too starving too to worry about it anymore. I’ll just ask him Monday.”

“Looks like that’s your only option,” Iris said with a defeated sigh. “Keep me posted.”

“Will do,” I said, and shuffled downstairs to stuff my face with meal-prepped chili for the fifth day in a row.

I tried to imagine it was the clam and lobster chowder I would’ve ordered.

I hated Mondays, much like everyone else. But today couldn’t come fast enough.

I showed up ten minutes early because Akuma was often already at ChamberCorp before I arrived. However, his desk was empty when I passed it to get to the breakroom.

No one had started coffee yet, so I filled the pot as an excuse to linger in the breakroom. Every time the door opened, anticipation electrocuted me—only for it to ebb into disappointment when it wasn’t Akuma entering. I watched the wrong faces lock up their packed lunches.

I started an electric kettle of hot water, and stuck a blueberry muffin into a microwave.

“Good morning, Cara!”

I cringed at the sound of Liam’s bright, booming voice. Thank God my back was facing the door. I turned around with a stiff grin that morphed into a yawn.

“Morning,” I rasped.

“Rough night?” He tilted his head. My eyebrows threatened to knit. Did I look rough?

“You can say that,” I said curtly, pouring hot water into my mug. I dunked the tea bag by its string and checked my watch. Five minutes ‘til nine… and Akuma still hadn’t set foot into the breakroom.

Strange. We were both creatures of habit, so he should’ve been in here by now. I guess he could’ve just gone straight to his desk. Maybe to avoid me.

Liam leaned against the counter next to me, eyeing the coffee pot. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I didn’t get enough sleep,” I said, the last word distorting with another yawn. Liam nodded and straightened, then sifted through the cabinet for his mug.

“Something definitely feels off this morning, I’ll give you that.” Liam prepared his coffee, flicking a sugar packet before tearing it open. He opened his mouth to speak, but then shook his head as if to erase the thought. I took that as my cue to leave.

Akuma’s desk was still empty. No briefcase or bento box, no sweater draped over the back of the seat. The computer screensaver still bounced around. He was ten minutes late.

Akuma Tanaka. The model employee. Late.

I couldn’t even delude myself into thinking he was in the bathroom.

A rock settled in my gut. Did he feel guilty about standing me up and called off, or had something happened?

I sat at my desk and closed my eyes, took a deep breath—and shoved thoughts of Akuma into a box in the back of my mind.

Two days passed, and Akuma still didn’t return. By Wednesday, I assumed he had taken the week off. Maybe he had broken into hives all over his face or something, but that still didn’t explain why he’d never responded to my text Friday night, or the text I sent yesterday asking if he was doing okay.

But I had a job to do. I couldn’t keep worrying about him. He was a grown man capable of handling his own problems.

After a few hours, I rubbed the burn out of my eyes and grabbed my lunch bag, but froze at the edge of my cubicle.

Two men dressed in conservative business attire emerged from the elevator hallway. Malcolm immediately stepped out of his office, as if he had sensed their presence.

My pulse pounded in my ears. Brass badges hung from their belts. Malcolm approached, shaking both their hands. I crept to the breakroom, only to stop in the doorway to snoop.

“Thank you so much for taking the time out to speak with us. We’re working on tracking down his family to notify them of the tragic news,” one man said.

“Of course. Whatever I can do to help you guys find those fiends. My office is this way,” Malcolm said.

They didn’t say his name, but they didn’t have to. My appetite vanished, just like all those meaningless theories Iris and I had come up with. I burst into the breakroom and pulled out my phone, searching Lumis’ local news.

Thirty-one-year-old man brutally slain at the subway station—most recent tragedy in a string of seemingly random murders...

I covered my mouth, stifling a gasp and choking back tears as I read the article.

A male with a ChamberCorp badge fatally shot…

Name withheld until further notice…

I shut my eyes tightly to block the uncensored images of brain matter and blood splatter.

With a hand braced over my stomach, I rushed to the bathroom and hurled into the toilet.

“Cara? Are you okay?” Michelle squeaked from the sink.

“I’m fine!” I exclaimed shakily. He was dead.

Dead.

Dead!

I wanted him to be the jerk that left me hanging. I wanted him to have missed the subway or forgotten to charge his phone.

Who else didn’t come to work today? It could’ve been someone else⁠—

I flushed the toilet, then washed my hands and splashed my face.

“Cara, what’s wro⁠—”

I ignored her and burst out of the bathroom. I took a lap around the office. Everyone was present and accounted for. The detectives stood at Akuma’s desk, stripping it of his computer.

The floor dropped from beneath my feet. I was suspended in the air, hanging by fraying threads over a cliff. Then my chest collapsed into a caldera, water filling my lungs.

How could I have thought that he’d stand me up? I couldn’t believe how selfish I had been, thinking I had anything to do with his absence.

Of all the theories, Iris and I had never picked murder as a possibility.

Malcolm circled the cubicles like a shark. He paused and looked dead in my eyes, brows pinching together.

“What are you doing standing there, Cara? This isn’t some form of entertainment. Let these men do their jobs and get back to work.”

I scoffed and cocked my head.

“You’re really not going to let us know what happened to him?” I gestured to Akuma’s desk as the two detectives carried his computer away, along with a box full of his files.

“Why are you so riled up? Do you already know?” Malcolm crossed his arms, gaze sharpening. Silence trickled across the office, the hum of the copier the only remaining sound. Several pairs of eyes peeked over their cubicles. Malcolm sighed, turning to face them.

“Everyone, I have some tragic news.” His shoulders rose and fell with another performative deep breath. “It is with a heavy heart that I say that Akuma passed away over the weekend.”

Gasps and murmurs overshadowed a phone ringing in Malcolm’s office.

Passed away? It was more than that! He was murdered!

My inner self kicked and screamed as my subconscious dragged her across the floor of my mind to lock her away.

“Yes, yes, I know. It’s terrible. But that doesn’t mean our lives have to pause. Process it, but don’t let it get in the way of your work. His funeral will be public, hosted next weekend at St. Augustine’s Cathedral, if any of you would like to attend.” Malcolm cut a sharp look in my direction. “I think it’s best you take the rest of the day off.”

“With pleasure,” I bit out, and stormed to my cubicle. I’d barely taken a step away before Liam was in my space, and I thought I’d explode.

“Liam—”

“I’m sorry, Cara.”

I paused halfway to the elevator, breath catching in my throat. His tone, unlike Malcolm’s, was soft. Almost warm enough to make me melt into tears.

“It’s fine.” I continued my stiff trek to the doors and mashed the button.

“Sometimes I wonder if Malcolm’s a robot, you know? It’s really messed up what happened to Akuma. We had our differences, but I never wanted to see him die,” Liam said, shaking his head slowly.

“For Malcolm to push everyone to keep working after dropping that news, too? He’s… disgusting,” I said. I didn’t think Malcom would’ve told anyone what happened to Akuma if I hadn’t put him on the spot.

“I’m gonna go to the funeral,” Liam said. “If you need anyone to talk to or a shoulder to cry on, just know I’m here for you—day or night. Okay?”

The knot in my throat had crawled its way higher and morphed into a frog. “Okay.”

I didn’t want his shoulder to cry on.

Chapter 6

Akuma

“There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death.” —Proverbs 14:12, NKJV

It was as if I fell for days, with nothing to grab on to in the inky void. I reached toward the heavens, my hand swiping through the thick air as if being dragged through murky water. The clawed hands still clung to me, tearing through my pants and splitting my skin. I couldn’t decide if they pulled me at a hundred miles per hour or one, and when the tears escaped my eyes, the droplets pearled above me. My stomach floated at the roof of my diaphragm, like at the drop of a rollercoaster.

Is this Hell?

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I slammed into something solid. More blackness, despite being able to peel myself from the surface.

I turned in small circles in hope of some sort of stimulus besides myself. The space was vacant without stars or suns. No walls, no floor, no ceiling—yet I could stand.

My pain was nonexistent. I reached to touch my face and chest, and the bullet wounds were gone.

Silence buzzed in my ears.

What is this place? Is this just one long nightmare?

I flinched as I felt a tug at the hem of my slacks. Two misshapen creatures stood on all fours, their heads rotated upside down. Their taut, shiny-grey skin revealed sharp cheekbones and lipless, reversed smiles. I twisted to run but instead fell through a hooded figure standing behind me, briefly enveloped by a frigid cloud.

I crawled rapidly backward. Poking out of the draping black cape was a set of enormous wings arcing over their head. White feathers, each the size of my hand, covered one. The other was a tattered, membranous ebony wing with a curved talon at its apex like a bat’s. Fine veins branched through the leathery webbing.

“Be gone, Spirits of Cowardice and Oppression. Return to your dwellings,” the figure commanded with a feminine, orotund voice that rang like a thousand trumpets. The creatures shrieked and appeared to jump off an invisible ledge, and with their disappearance, the weight crushing my chest lifted. The air no longer felt like sludge. I could even hear my own breath again.

I rotated forward, hunching over my knees with violent trembles.

“Calm yourself, child. I am only Death. You suffered a premature, ill fate brought on by a pair of demons sent to kill you. Now, you must make a choice.” Her voice was now gentle but sonorous, like that of a deep cello. The cape stretched beyond Death’s feet, flowing into the darkness like a river of immense depth. It was impossible to see how far the fabric went.

“W-what is this place?” I whimpered.

“You’re in Sheol, a holding place for the deceased.” Death swept a hand over her head, the trumpet sleeve of her cloak slipping gracefully to expose light teal skin. Ancient markings were etched into it.

I squinted, unable to decide if the markings were hieroglyphs, numbers, or letters. They were nothing I had ever seen before when I was alive. There was a specific language that used hieroglyphs. I couldn’t quite remember the name of it.

One memory failed to fade, though. I still felt it.

The wire digging into my neck. The barrel of the gun flashing.

You should’ve kept to yourself.

I’d navigated that situation with such cowardice.

“The choice you are about to be given is a rare opportunity.” Death moved around me in a prowling circle, her steps as silent as an apparition’s. I hardly blinked, staring at an empty spot on my knees.

They killed me. They killed me in cold blood.

“You may choose to move on to the afterlife, or to seek retribution. What is it to be, Akuma Tanaka?” Death tilted her head expectantly, unmoved by the tears in my eyes.

“Why did they—what did I do to deserve this? Who sent them?” My voice became brittle. “Was I not good enough?”

She didn’t answer my question, nor offer solace. “Bliss awaits you in the After.”

It didn’t matter how many times her words echoed. Her voice couldn’t penetrate the wall of despairing rage building in my core.

This couldn’t be happening. No way did I get murdered after having finally worked up the nerve to ask Cara to dinner. This had to be a nightmare.

“I’m… I’m going to be late to my date,” I whispered. I tugged at my hair.

Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup!

“You’re a long way from that being possible, my child.” Death crouched in front of me, lifting my chin with frigid fingertips. Her beryl skin was soft. Her lips were painted like black cherries, and a silver vertical stripe ran down the center of them. An obsidian gemstone in the shape of a cross rested between her hairless eyebrows. Death’s eyes were as white as the sun, so bright I couldn’t look directly into them for longer than a second.

But in that second… my murder flashed before me on repeat like a broken record, as if I were watching through one of the commuters’ eyes.

In the vision, I foolishly crawled to my glasses instead of the broken pipe in the opposite direction. I should’ve rushed the first man with it instead of facing the one with the gun. But I had never been a fighter.

A cavern split open in my soul.

Death locked her fiery gaze on me as my breaths turned abrasive, and I banged my fists against my head, my chest, the ground.

I never bothered anyone at work. I helped the homeless and disabled, donated to charities and food banks, even volunteered during disaster relief whenever Lumis suffered from tornadoes or blizzards. Don’t even get me started on all the research papers I did for free for people throughout high school and college, only for them to still laugh at me behind my back.

I guess I couldn’t blame them for laughing at my stupidity.

That naivete extended giving up my seat for a man that didn’t even exist, until he reappeared to repay the favor in blood.

I screamed, shredding my vocal chords to ribbons with zero physical pain. I wanted to tear myself apart—limb from limb—and remove my existence from the past, present, and future.

Years of buried rage sliced their way to the surface, splintering my very being. All the missed opportunities I’d wasted from being silent, all those moments of pleasing others and having my kindness taken for weakness—unfolded before me.

Death still waited for my answer. My screams faded, like a well that had dried up.

“You can only find peace on one path.” If her voice was gentle as a cello before, it now resounded with the impending doom of a minor piano chord. “One grants serenity, the other eternal sorrow and anguish. Choose wisely, because you are one of the few who wasn’t on the path of self-destruction.”

My tears ceased. The last piece of my identity had dissipated into the abyss with them. What had felt like a dagger twisting in a lung was now a million scorching blisters festering every inch of my organs.

I hugged myself, rocking back and forth, and shook my head slowly.

W-what did I do wrong?

You existed.

“Whoever sent them… they can’t get away with this,” I mumbled. “Something must be done.”

Death knelt in front of me, resting her frigid palms on my cheeks. I embraced the cold—it was grounding.

“I implore you, child. Choose wisely. If you return as a Reaper… you will not have another chance to rest in peace.” Death’s hairless eyebrows shifted inward toward the cross, her lips pinched with grave warning. “You will succumb to the Dark One’s evil influence if you’re not careful. Take the path to the Father before it’s too late.”

“How could I ever rest in peace if my life was stolen from me?” I snapped. “If there’s a chance to see Cara again before she finds out I’m dead…” The thought of a second chance at the life I wanted so badly made hope inflate within my chest. “And if those demons are still out there… I can’t let them hurt her, too.”

Death’s hands slipped from my face. “You may see her again, but not in the way you hope.”

I lifted my chin and met her scalding gaze with defiant resolve. “Take. Me. Back.”

I could figure out how to explain the misunderstanding to Cara if she had already heard news of my murder. Maybe even pass it off as a different employee from another department instead.

Death stilled, unblinking. Glowing white markings appeared across her cheekbones, her chin, and the bridge of her nose.

She rose to her feet with a rueful grin. “It appears the darkness has already begun to take hold. Very well—you’ve made your choice.”

Black smoke and neon purple sparks crackled from her palms. With a bellowing voice, she warned, “This is a dark power you will receive. Don’t let it consume you. The wicked will want to wield it. Guard your name, for those who possess it will rob you of your volition, and you will have to do their evil bidding. Guard it, even from those you love. Trust no one.”

Death pressed her palms together as if in prayer and spoke in an otherworldly language. Her voice split into hundreds of disembodied and discordant echoes, whipping around me in a whirlwind.

I lowered my head and closed my eyes. Her echoes shut off, the buzzing silence returned. Flames erupted across my body.

I released a monstrous roar as the blaze infused into my bones, turning my core into molten rock and burning away all feeling. Purple sparks stained the flames and limned my veins in violet. My heart turned to ash and left behind a hollow cavity in my chest. The tears on my cheeks evaporated along with my mercy. I shifted into a heat-seeking missile hellbent on bathing in the blood of my enemies.

My screams morphed to maniacal laughter as I embraced the agony.

Chapter 7

Akuma

“Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.” —Romans 12:19-21, NKJV

Petrichor pervaded the air. Cold droplets pelted my skin in an irregular rhythm, coaxing me out of a stupor. I pulled my face from a puddle forming in the grass, feeling weighed down by lead. Thunder cracked, and it reverberated beneath my skin.

I blinked, vision crackling like static.

I found myself underneath a maple tree at the summit of a small hill in just my pants, now torn into shorts. Vibrant red leaves glowed against the churning sky and blocked most of the rain.

My hair had grown to my shoulders, and it clung to my cheeks and neck. I swiped it away from my face with a frown. Time must stretch at different lengths between worlds.

At the bottom of the hill was a cemetery, and in the center a circle of umbrellas clustered around a casket like black dahlias.

“We are gathered here today in the presence of Akuma Tanaka. He was more than just a coworker. He was a beloved friend.” I followed the voice to a priest dressed in a black cassock with a white clerical collar. “While he may not be in this world, he is not dead. Akuma is on the path to everlasting life now.”

Somehow, I could hear every word from a quarter mile away. I could see every wrinkle and pore across his face, and I reached to push my glasses up my nose—my fingers met empty skin instead. My glasses were gone, but I possessed sight sharper than that of an eagle.

Is that… my funeral?

A beloved friend to whom? The only time anyone noticed me was when I bought lunch for the office, and they’d forget me after their bellies were full. Even after my death, their concern was superficial at best. I doubted they’d remembered my name at all before the priest mentioned it.

I spotted auburn coils peeking out from beneath one umbrella. The woman balled a tissue in a tight fist, clinging to a blonde-haired man wearing an expensive polo shirt.

Cara and Liam.

Across from them in the circle stood older colleagues who were on the path to retire from ChamberCorp, also weeping as if they were close to me.

Rachel. Michelle.

A rotund man with a silvery horseshoe hairline stared vacantly at the casket while his wife buried her face in his chest. I had dinner with them once—two years ago.

Russell and Shannon.

Still lying prone, I balled my fists in the grass, ripping handfuls from the root with gritted teeth.

Real. This… this is real.

The two men from the subway flashed through my mind, and I flinched as if slapped.

I peered down at the puddle before me, my broken reflection a stain in the rippling mirror.

That’s when the horror truly set in.

Jagged scars surrounded my right eye, mimicking the topographical map of the mountainous West. Melted skin stretched down the right side of my face, sliced and peeled to expose my teeth and gums. A portion of my cheek was gone, as if my jaw had chewed its way partially out of its shell. And my eyes… they glowed the same shade of malevolent violet as Death’s flames—the color of wolfsbane.

“No…” I moaned, trembling fingers brushing against the ridges and my exposed teeth. This could not be real. No, this had to be Sheol. This was—no.

Not Sheol.

Hell.

“What has she done to me?” I screeched in tandem with a crack of thunder, and sprang into a desperate retreat before any of my former colleagues could see me. Before she could see me.

I ran barefoot through Lumis but paused at a bus stop in a condemned neighborhood that had long been removed from the route to downtown. I sank to the chipped bench, not even out of breath. The rain had picked up, and the small awning did little to keep the seat dry. I was almost to my house, but I needed a moment to process my lack of exhaustion. I propped an ankle over my knee and examined the sole of my foot.

They hadn’t bled, blistered, or broken. My ribs hadn’t punctured my lungs. If I wanted to, I could probably hold my breath until the end of time. Horror bled from me at the realization of how terribly unnatural I had become.

And hideous.

A familiar click sounded, and something cold and solid pressed against my temple.

“Empty your pockets.”

My body went rigid, but not a fleck of fear entered my chest. I slowly lowered my ankle, palms flat on my thighs as a calm wrath coiled around my dormant heart.

“What, are you deaf? I told you to empty your pockets, freak!”

From the corner of my eye, I saw a man in a black oni skull mask that covered his nose and mouth. He wore a matching jumpsuit that blended into the night.

A low, rhythmic rumble emanated from his chest, racing faster and faster like the beat of a drum.

“Does it look like I have anything in my pockets?” I asked lowly, rising from the bench. The man jumped back, jabbing the barrel sideways.

“Pull them inside out, then!” he demanded. “Don’t make me count!”

I jerked my head to the side just as the gun went off. The bullet ricocheted across the street, missing me by inches. Dogs started barking in the distance.

Black dots crowded my vision before his wrist bones crunched within my fist. He cried out. The gun fell, and I still held on to his wrist, watching him buckle as I snapped his arm. His bright hazel eyes widened in horror behind the mask.

“Wh-what are you?” he cried.

I removed the mask from his face. He was young, probably no older than eighteen—already ruining his life before it started. Straight brown hair stuck to his drenched face, snot caught in the strands of his thin mustache as he wept.

“Have you killed before?” I asked calmly, still holding his contorted arm in an iron grip. I transferred the mask to my face with my free hand.

The boy shook his head frantically and tried to pull away. “P-please don’t kill me! I wasn’t gonna shoot you, I swear!”

“Odd… you pulled the trigger before I’d even reached into my pockets,” I said. Imagery of separating his arm from his shoulder flashed through my mind, and I tightened my grip until his wrist bones grinded against each other like rocks.

“I-it was an accident!” he shrieked. His fingers swelled and turned purple. I let go of his arm and latched on to a fistful of hair.

“I should kill you,” I said through a tight jaw, and pulled his head backward until his Adam’s apple threatened to burst out of his throat. “It’s people like you who bring Hell to Earth.”

“I just needed money, man! I ain’t mean it! Please!” he strained.

I wanted to feel sorry for him, but all I could think about was how many people he held up at gunpoint. How many would he threaten once his arm healed?

But… what if he harmed no one ever again? He was still young and capable of growing from this mistake.

My mother would’ve wanted me to walk away, and the thought chipped at the shell of rage covering my eyes.

I released his hair with a force that gave him a whiplash. I pivoted on my heel and walked into the rain.

Another gunshot rang out, and I staggered forward. A gaping hole in my left pectoral revealed muscle fibers beneath. I watched in bewilderment as the hole slowly shrank without a drop of blood. A puckered scar replaced it.

The colors in my vision shifted into shades of violence. I closed the distance between us in a flash, snapping the shooter’s head backward in a vicious jerk. He collapsed instantly.

I stood over his limp body, nostrils flaring. My knuckles cracked as I tightened them into fists.

“I gave you a chance, and you shot me in the back?” I shouted, kicking his outstretched leg. When he didn’t react, I spiraled.

The kid’s just sleeping.

No… he’s not moving. He’s not breathing.

I let him go, and he pushed me to do it. I didn’t kill him, it was self-defense.

What was I supposed to do? Let him empty his magazine into me?

Curl up in a ball and beg for my life, like in the subway terminal?

He forced my hand.

I roared at his corpse, kicking at his ribs repeatedly. His face morphed into Liam’s, the other students from high school, my murderers.

I tried to do the right thing: giving the boy a second chance to turn his life around.

I tried mercy.

I would not make that mistake again.

No one else noticed me as I ran through Lumis. To the ordinary eye, I was the wind blowing through the golden honey locusts lining the cobblestone streets of Lumis’ Victorian row houses and storefronts.

I didn’t stop until I reached my building, yanking the spare key out from its hiding place in a crack in the doorframe.

I hustled inside, locking the deadbolt and securing the door chain behind me. Pressing my back against the door, I slid to the floor with a ragged breath. I peered into the darkness of my home as if for the first time.

The curved archways opening into the shotgun layout, the coffered ceiling, the Victorian crown molding, the wainscoting bedecking the walls—it was all foreign. It smelled stale, like dust trapped in the vents.

As if the house had died the same day I had.

I stood with a soft grunt and padded up the creaking stairs. I entered my bathroom and flicked the dull yellow light on, squinting at it. Blinking until my vision sharpened, I removed the mask I’d taken from the robber, and observed the stranger in the mirror.

It hadn’t just been the rain distorting my appearance in the puddle at the cemetery. Underneath the disheveled, shoulder-length raven hair, there was still twisted skin and a grimacing skeleton. My once narrow, gaunt frame had become a bulky, muscular beast with a broad chest, a narrow waist, and swollen arms. Burn scars painted my torso in patches.

A mockery of the physique I’d always wanted.

I’d never thought I was the most handsome guy around, but… I could never let Cara see me like this.

You may be able to see her again, but not in the way you hope.

I had been played. I’d fallen for a sick, twisted joke concocted by the Grim Reaper herself.

This is a dark power you will receive.

Unless…

Perhaps Death’s power was too much for my mortal soul to bear, and this was the result. Maybe this was what a walking corpse was supposed to look like.

My mouth went dry. I couldn’t be seen in public with this face. Whatever hope I’d had of seeing Cara again to explain why I’d missed our date was extinguished, just like my chance to move on to the afterlife.

I shuffled into my bedroom, immediately slipping on a pair of charcoal joggers and a black hoodie. Even within the comfort of my home, I pulled the hood over my head—just in case the outside world could see right through my blinds.

I didn’t turn on the lights. I roamed the halls like a poltergeist, running my hands over the wallpaper to ground myself.

A melodic ringtone trilled from the kitchen downstairs. I loosed an incredulous scoff, surprised that I had left it home the day I died. Even if I had managed to get away from those men, I wouldn’t have been able to call for help.

I had been doomed from the start.

I crept into the kitchen carefully, as if a monster lurked around the corner with the phone in its hand. Pushing invisible glasses up my nose, I inspected the caller ID. I gasped.

Cara’s phone number flashed across the screen.

Chapter 8

Cara

The skin around my knuckles stretched taut as I gripped my phone in one hand. I ran my fingers through the white shag rug in my living room with the other. My grandmother’s acacia cross, passed down through several generations, hung on the wall next to my fireplace. Foreign symbols were etched along its edges. My parents had said that one day I would need it. That it was a weapon against an evil they wished I would never come to understand.

But I had already experienced a special kind of evil when I was ten.

The sight of the cross triggered a heaviness in my chest, a tightness in my throat, and a feeling of… betrayal.

I hated myself for feeling this way.

And I hated myself for being so affected by Akuma’s death when everyone else had moved on within a week.

Akuma had never known how much my heart fluttered every time he stopped by my desk to take my weekly timesheet, or during the little coffee conversations we shared in the breakroom. He hadn’t known how much I craved his calmness in my storm, after having dealt with disgruntled customers or a pretentious boss or Liam breathing down my neck. And Akuma hadn’t known how long I’d waited for him to make the first move.

Worst of all, I’d underestimated him like everyone else.

Each ring of the phone kept me in a chokehold. Every second that passed was a second that Akuma could’ve answered.

He hadn’t answered my calls or texts after already being an hour late for our date. I hadn’t been able to shake the curdling in my stomach as I kept sending the server away, or the chill prickling my arms each time I glanced at the front door. If I had paid attention to the sudden change in his behavior, I could’ve called the police. Maybe they could’ve saved him in time.

When he didn’t show up to work Monday…

Or Tuesday…

And then the two detectives visited ChamberCorp on Wednesday…

It felt like a nail had punctured the top of my throat and the whole planet fell out of orbit.

Call it denial, call it hope. You could even call it delusion, but it didn’t matter that I had gone to Akuma’s funeral today. The casket had been closed. It could’ve housed the wrong body. Perhaps he was sick of his job, wanted a new life, and faked his death. Maybe he was kidnapped, and the perpetrator covered it up so no one could look for him.

Wouldn’t his family have shown up? Why would his coworkers and a random journalist be the only ones in attendance?

No matter how cinematic and unlikely those scenarios sounded, it made more sense than someone like him being randomly ripped away from this world.

The ringing stopped, followed by a quiet crackle that ebbed and flowed through the speaker.

In… out… in…

I gasped, sitting upright. “Hello?”

The breathing continued, hitching at the sound of my voice.

“Akuma?” I whispered. “Are you there?”

I had never hallucinated in my life. Surely, it was breathing on the other side of the line.

The call dropped, followed by the beep of my phone. I sat on my knees, dialing the number again. Except this time, it went straight to voicemail.

I tried three more times, all with the same result.

My brow lowered, and my jaw tightened. Someone answered the phone, then turned it off.

The kidnapper scenario might not be too bizarre after all.

The walnut floors creaked beneath my feet as I hustled to my bedroom to change into leggings and a baggy knitted sweater. Hustling as if a fire had been lit beneath me, I snatched my keys from the twisted-oak nightstand and sprinted out of the apartment.

The police department was connected to the courthouse, made of alabaster stone and held up by Grecian columns. A brass statue of a woman wearing a chiton and carrying the scales of justice stood at the center of the colonnade, almost reaching the building’s height. Behind her were brass arrows bolted to the wall, directing the public to law enforcement or the legal hall.

I hiked up the stairs, clutching my purse over my shoulder with one hand and my cellphone in the other. My flats scraped lightly against the steps, thighs barking from the exercise regimen I had abandoned since Akuma’s murder.

I veered left, following the arrows to the police station.

“How can I help you?” The receptionist behind the plexiglass stood from her desk, her eyes scanning my body with concern.

“I’m Cara. I have some information for Akuma Tanaka’s homicide case,” I said through my panting. The silver-haired woman scratched her head with a sniff before flipping through a binder.

“Looks like that’d be Detective Jamison. Have a seat, ma’am.” She picked up the phone, twirling her finger around its spiral cord. Peeling myself away from the counter, I forced myself to sit down. There was still that jolt of energy buzzing in my limbs. I wanted to pace, I wanted to run, I wanted to scream⁠—

I clutched my purse tighter, nails digging into the alligator skin while my leg bounced. With my eyes glued to the digital clock next to the television, it was difficult to ignore the news covering his story. At least they censored his corpse behind a blurred oval. Apparently, another murder had since occurred, and Akuma’s story from three weeks ago was being rehashed.

A couple more people filed into the department, holding parking tickets or manila folders. Another crossed the waiting area to exit, rubbing the bright red bands imprinted on the pallid skin of his wrists. His head twitched, eyes bloodshot.

“Miss Freeman?” A tired, gravelly voice sounded behind me. I twisted in the metal seat to see a burly gentleman in a fitted polo shirt and khakis with a brass badge, pager, and holster hooked to his belt. He stood in a secured doorway, propping it open with his polished brown loafer. His chocolate-colored hair had thin streaks of grey and was cut in a high and tight fade. His veiny forearms bulged over his chest as he crossed his arms.

I gulped, slowly rising.

Detective Jamison crooked his chin toward the hallway he was blocking. “Follow me, ma’am.”

I nodded, nearly scurrying to catch up. He led me down a long, beige corridor lined with cheap particleboard doors. There were no posters decorating the walls.

“What brings you here today?” His voice was more prominent within the confines of the hallway.

He’s gonna think I’m crazy.

I held my tongue until we settled in his office—a box just as bland as everything else, with only a single family photo showing a wife and teenage son and a Christmas snow globe on his grey laminate desk. The filing cabinet drawers couldn’t shut all the way with how many manila folders and papers were stuffed inside.

“I called Akuma’s phone,” I began, rubbing my thumb along my purse’s leather strap. “Usually it just rings, and then goes to his voicemail, but this time… someone answered and I heard breathing.”

“Breathing?” Detective Jamison echoed, and raised a dubious eyebrow.

“Yes, and then he hung up, and when I called back, it went straight to voicemail.”

“He? Did he say anything?” He pulled a notepad out of his top drawer and tapped his pen on the paper to test its ink.

I shook my head, my zig-zag curls bouncing with it. “No, just the breathing. Could you track the phone’s location?”

The detective sighed, setting the pen down and leaning back in his chair. He scratched his stubble. “There’s not much I can go off of with just breathing.”

“But what if it’s his killer?” I narrowed my eyes.

A pause, then a heavy sigh, just as stale as the rest of the office. “We need a warrant to contact the phone provider Akuma used. And to get a warrant, we need a lot more than breathing.”

“Shouldn’t it be simple if it’s for a murder case?” I asked.

Detective Jamison blinked slowly.

“Why are you calling the deceased? Matter of fact… I don’t believe I’ve spoken to you yet. What’s your relationship to the victim?” he asked.

“He was my coworker.” I sank into the chair, the wood groaning beneath my weight.

Detective Jamison nodded, jotting down more notes. He tapped the pen against his cheek, rereading his chicken scratch.

“What did you hope to achieve by calling him?”

I had hoped he would move on from that question.

“I just wanted to hear him on the voicemail,” I said flatly.

Why on Earth would I ever admit that in the pit of my gut and the depths of my soul—I hoped Akuma would answer?

Detective Jamison put the pen to the paper. “What is your position at ChamberCorp?”

I almost scoffed. How was it I came here hoping to have Akuma’s number traced, and now was being interrogated? I mean, how was my position relevant?

“Office coordinator,” I said.

“I see…” The detective raised his eyebrows, a spark igniting in his espresso eyes. “Did Akuma have any known enemies? Angry customers, perhaps? Was there a hostile work environment?”

“Liam Chamberlain hassled him a few times, but I can’t really picture Liam being violent,” I said. I watched every stroke of the pen on the notepad.

Akuma stayed to himself. He hardly communicated enough to create issues with anyone. He appeared anxious around everyone, no matter how many years he had worked with them. Not to mention that if he’d harbored feelings for me for any length of time, I’m pretty sure he would’ve confided in someone else to save himself embarrassment. As for angry customers… he had the luxury of never having to deal with them as an accountant for ChamberCorp.

“He was the nicest guy I’ve ever known. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill him, if that’s what you’re asking.” I scooted to the edge of the seat, digging my nails deeper into my purse strap. “Why can’t you just track the call?”

“Like I said, I need more than just breathing. It could’ve been static or a product of your grief. Although, I appreciate you updating us with new information. If anything else comes up, please let me know. I’m actively working on Akuma’s case.” Detective Jamison’s swivel chair popped when he stood. He extended his hand, but I merely stared at it, remaining seated.

“So, you’re telling me that someone answering a dead man’s phone isn’t enough reason to get a warrant to track it?” I blinked rapidly as a new sheet of tears coated my eyes.

“I’m sorry, Miss Freeman, but we don’t chase ghosts.” He retracted his hand and hooked it around his belt buckle.

I chuckled wryly, slowly rose from my chair, and grumbled, “I know what I heard.”

I gripped the door handle, ready to storm out of the station.

“Miss Freeman.” Detective Jamison rubbed his shadowed chin, a grating sound in the bare office.

I paused, peeking over my shoulder with an impatient scowl.

“For what it’s worth, no one found his phone at the crime scene. We’re looking for his residence since the one listed on his license wasn’t current. Once we get that, we can start tracing his steps.”

“I can get it. We keep every employee’s address on file,” I blurted.

“Already got it. It’s the same as on his license. He must’ve moved recently and didn’t update his information with you guys. Don’t worry. We’re working on it, Miss Freeman. Trust me, he’ll get his justice.”

I glanced at the overflowing filing cabinet.

How long had they been waiting for their justice?

Chapter 9

Cara

I had been trained to be hypervigilant and quick-witted by my mother, honed to be fearless and lethal by my father—who I was certain had wished for a son instead—but now those skills served as a calorie-burning activity every morning on a yoga mat with a bokken in my second bedroom, which I had turned into an at-home dojo.

Battōjutsu wasn’t exactly a practical skill to have if anyone tried to mug me, since I refused to walk around with a katana at my hip like a wannabe samurai cosplayer. Krav Maga wouldn’t work if someone decided to shoot me either, unless they were within arm’s reach. But I had dedicated so many years of training in my childhood that completely abandoning them now felt like a waste.

So like any average person would, I kept my katana in a shadow box in my room and carried a concealed .380 pistol. It was more socially acceptable. A step toward normalcy. But the weight of my purse never quelled the anticipation of an attack every time I turned a corner. The nine-millimeter wedged between my headboard and mattress acted as an insufficient dreamcatcher for my childhood nightmares…

I returned to my apartment complex, listening to the various sounds emitting from my neighbors’ units as I padded down the carpeted hallway to the elevator. It was a cacophony of different stories. Loud music, crying babies, barking dogs, a couple people in various arguments—some units were filled with delight, some with pain, and some with malice.

Constantly searching for a threat woven in those sounds was second nature.

If one in twenty-two people are psychopaths, how many people within these walls harbored sinister secrets? How many of them had killed before?

I almost fell into that category once… when I was ten. I wished I could forget the time I nearly lost my dignity and my life to someone I thought I could trust.

The first step to forgetting was leading an ordinary, mundane life.

Maybe then I wouldn’t have to always be aware of every exit and escape route.

I finally released my grip on my purse strap as I approached my unit on the fourth floor. My hand trembled; the key missed the hole every time I tried to steady it. I inhaled sharply through my nose, exhaled through tight lips, and finally unlocked the door.

No fear, my father’s voice echoed in the back of my mind. There are far worse things to fear in this world than men.

I didn’t know what he’d been referring to, because in my experience—men were the only things to fear.

Crisp air conditioning and the scent of oranges greeted me once I stepped across the threshold, and I set my purse on the kitchen’s quartz island. I shuffled to the living room and flopped onto my couch, face down into a pillow. A knot formed in my throat. I pulled my phone from my back pocket and dialed my best friend’s number, chest swelling with the threat of weeping.

“Care Bear! What’s up?” Iris trilled after the second ring. Just the sound of her voice cured the burn in my eyes. Pop music played in the background, echoing as if she were in a store.

“Hey, Iris.” My voice rattled more than I wanted it to.

The light instantly died in her voice, like the implosion of a star. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t want to admit I’d called Akuma again. I didn’t want to keep burdening Iris with my grief. She was the lively flower that thrived in the sun, and all I had done for the past three weeks was rain on her.

“Are you busy?” I quickly muted my microphone so she couldn’t hear my sniffling. Even if she were in the middle of something, she’d swipe her keys and come running for emotional support at the slightest hint of distress. She was the sister I could always count on, even when I didn’t ask for it.

“Did something happen?” Iris asked, voice rising in pitch.

I chewed my bottom lip and cupped my hand over my forehead with shame. “I called again.”

“Oh, Cara⁠—”

“But someone answered this time!”

Iris paused, and all I could hear was the satirically upbeat music. “Are you joking?”

“No, someone picked up. I could hear their breathing for a couple seconds and then they hung up. I went to the police to see if they could track it. They, um… didn’t want to do it.” I hugged a decorative turquoise pillow and pressed my nose into its fibers. The ghost of my peppermint hair oil lived there, providing temporary grounding.

Iris loosed a heavy sigh. Not one of annoyance, but of concern. “Did they say anything?”

“No. I hate to ask you this, but wasn’t your ex-boyfriend a hacker?” I asked.

A sardonic laugh erupted on the other end. “West? The same guy who used those skills to stalk me two weeks after I dumped him? Not a chance.”

I gnashed my teeth with a severe cringe. Admittedly, it was difficult to keep up with Iris’ toxic exes, and I never thought the one who could potentially help find Akuma’s new address would be the one who bordered on psychopathy.

“God, I’m so sorry—I didn’t know he was the one who did that. I thought that was Jacob.”

“Jacob was the one who cheated on me. Just—ugh. We’ll talk more. I’m grocery shopping. I’ll be over in an hour.” Iris’s words had sharpened, cutting through my chest like razor blades. Had I known it was the guy who’d made Iris fear for her life, I would never have brought it up. Not in a million years.

I’m the worst.

She hung up and I stuffed my phone between the couch cushions, wishing I could bury the conversation with it.

An hour later, the thud of heavy knocks clamored through the apartment, jostling me out of a shallow nap. I rolled off the couch and staggered to the front door, rubbing my eyes and stretching the flattened side of my afro. A glimpse of two russet fishtail braids with electric blue streaks behind the peephole was enough confirmation to swing the door open.

Iris drifted past me with a scoff under her breath, carrying a bag of tortilla chips, salsa, brownies, ice cream, and wine.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t ask me that dumb question earlier. We’re gonna have a girl’s night and stuff our faces with junk and forget about all our problems, got it?” She eased the items on the counter.

“You have problems?” I raised an eyebrow, only partially teasing.

Iris rolled her eyes. “Yeah—you. Now why don’t we find a movie to cry over, huh?”

I shuffled to my living room without question, immediately turning on a streaming service, and scrolled aimlessly in the romance category. I desperately needed something lighthearted. Iris shortly followed with the snacks, wine glasses, bowls, and spoons.

We browsed for thirty minutes until we finally landed on a film about unrequited love. Midway through, the wine had bubbled up to my head and blurred Iris’ vision. I always knew when she was getting close to the point where she started squinting at everything.

“Iris… why am I still sad about this? We barely—hic—spoke.” My head dropped back and thumped against the wall. I was too numb to feel it.

She raised her hand above her head, wiggling her fingers and watching their shadows dance on the ceiling. “You always talked about him, though. You cherished those little moments like gold. You’ve gotta be fair to yourself, babes…”

I hugged my knees to my chest. “Everyone else at work moved on instantly.”

“So? Did any of them talk to him? You made it sound like you were the only one who ever noticed him.” Iris leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and blew her bangs out of her face.

I shook my head, and my thoughts sloshed like a waterbed was stuffed inside it. I leaned forward with a grunt, reaching for a broken tortilla chip to scrape the bottom of the salsa jar.

“He worked at ChamberCorp for three years, and yet Malcolm’s already put up a listing to replace him. Like Akuma quit rather than died,” I said, hissing as the chip cut the roof of my mouth.

“Life goes on, I guess,” Iris said through a long exhale. “Or maybe that’s just how he’s coping with it.”

A scornful chuckle escaped my lips at the thought of Malcolm having any sort of heart. I stood from the couch with a slight wobble. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Mind if I crash here? I got a headache and I don’t think I can drive home,” Iris grumbled, stretching across the cushions the second I moved out of the way.

“Why are you even asking? We drank a whole bottle of wine.” I wavered and braced myself on the wall until the floor stopped tilting, then continued upstairs.

As if a switch had flipped, the air dropped ten degrees, growing ever colder as I trudged to my bedroom. I paused at the door, staring at the brushed-nickel doorknob as the hairs on my arms and nape stood on end. Something tugged at my gut, begging me not to enter.

Chapter 10

Akuma

I stared at the cellphone for hours, palms braced over the granite kitchen countertop. I expected the phone to grow a head with sharp teeth and bite me.

Why would Cara call my number after attending my funeral?

The date glaring at me on the backlit screen appeared to be set three weeks too late. Which explained why many of the marigold and scarlet leaves had dulled to the color of old pennies. The leaves blanketed the streets and sidewalks in thicker sheets as autumn gradually ushered in the bleak winter. Lumis had yet to receive its first snow, but it wasn’t long before it would.

How is it already November? Have I really been dead for three weeks?

It had taken every ounce of strength not to answer the phone. But what would I have said? How would Cara have reacted? If she were grieving, hearing my voice could’ve created feelings of relief, hate, or betrayal. She certainly wouldn’t have believed me if I had said I died and came back as… something else.

And to make matters worse, she would have wanted to see me in person. As this monster.

Hearing her call for me on the phone, desperate and hopeful for an answer, just for me to remain silent anyway—it turned my heart into glass.

And it shattered.

I threw my phone on the floor with a deep roar, fracturing it into pieces. It left a deep gouge in one of the wooden planks. I sank to my knees, tugging at my hair while the walls closed in on me. While the phantom scent of that rancid orchid bouquet suffocated me.

After a moment, I raised my head with a trembling breath, and peered across my house at the narrow alcove next to my front door. I had dedicated the space as a tokonoma and kept Cara’s holiday cards on display. Everyone at ChamberCorp received them from each other during holiday office parties. They were charms of kindness, my emotional support after having endured Liam’s insults. Or Malcolm’s demands. Cara’s messages kept me company during my lonely nights. Now… they were relics.

I stood, approached the tokonoma, and opened each card, reading every message and committing Cara’s delicate handwriting to memory. My favorite one was from a Christmas party, when I had only been working at ChamberCorp for two months. I had caught her slipping a green envelope under my keyboard as I returned from the bathroom.

Even if Malcolm doesn’t say it… you’re doing an awesome job here and I’m glad you’re working with us :)

It was the first time I’d felt appreciation for my work. The first time I felt seen.

As I read through more cards, the dinner date that had never been slashed through my mind. I would’ve worn a dress shirt and trousers, holding yet another bouquet while I waited for Cara’s arrival at The Black Pearl. Butterflies would’ve twirled in my stomach, glasses sliding down my sweaty nose, and my heart would’ve run laps in my rib cage. Beautiful, anxious feelings as I entered a new chapter with her.

Feelings, I realized, that were now fading concepts.

A black light drowned the kitchen in violet, ripping me away from my thoughts. I gaped over my shoulder and blinked at the ball of dark radiance churning behind me, floating in front of my dining table. It hummed quietly—deep and rumbling—like a giant snoring beast.

I crept away from the tokonoma, captivated by the light’s movement. The air drew inward, pulling me toward the orb. I dug my heels into the tile at first, but the swirling purple luminosity had thrown me into a trance like a moth. I reached for it, tempted to see how it felt. Was it warm or cold? Would it shock me, burn me, or sting me?

My fingertips touched the light, and I was sucked into another black hole. The same crushing weight I’d felt when those hands pulled me into Sheol now dragged me into the unknown.

The floor was a rich walnut wood. A burnt-orange trench coat draped over an ivory sheepskin stool at a matching vanity. Various lip glosses lay strewn across the surface as if the owner couldn’t decide what color to use.

Yellow, orange, and magenta pillows provided a pop of color against a beige waffle-knit comforter on a queen-sized bed and matched the sheer tangerine curtains at the window. The curtains’ satin fabric draped from a gold curtain rod and hung an inch from the floor, as still as the silence of the room.

I observed every detail of the foreign bedroom until my spectral eyes landed on a shadow box containing a katana that hung on the far wall near a work desk. Below it was a framed certificate displaying a brown-belt status in Krav Maga.

A rock skipped in my stomach at the name embossed in gold.

“Impossible,” I mumbled. I hadn’t even known where Cara lived yet, let alone how impressively lethal she was underneath her gentle exterior. Behind the smiles and melodic laughs was a nuclear weapon waiting to detonate.

How did I even get here?

This is a dark power you will receive.

Perhaps I’d triggered this power by admiring Cara’s holiday cards. If only Death had provided an instruction manual.

My mind shut off at the sound of the stairs creaking. I darted across the room, disappearing into Cara’s walk-in closet. The footsteps paused at the door. Their breath shuddered, and they slowly twisted the doorknob as if they dreaded seeing what resided on the other side.

I watched through the slats of the closet door. The light flipped on with Cara subtly wavering. She scanned her room and hesitantly opened the bathroom door, peeking her head through before disappearing inside. She was only gone for a couple minutes before she returned and stopped in front of the closet, staring at the doors with narrowed eyes. I tensed, sinking further into her clothes. An array of silk, wool, and cotton fabrics brushed against me, all smelling like a mixture of crisp linen detergent and tropical body spray.

Cara rubbed her forehead with a quiet sigh, shut the light off, and collapsed diagonally across the bed. Sprawled on her stomach, her back rose and fell with each breath. I imagined her moving swiftly across a tatami mat, showing a rougher edge than the softness I had grown accustomed to. Breathless, sweat pearling upon her brow, warm brown eyes fierce with determination.

No. You already can’t contact her anymore. You don’t need another reason to be in love with her.

I waited until her breaths became steady before emerging from the closet, and crept toward her.

Take one last look and say goodbye for good.

I crouched next to her bed, gazing upon her with a soft, sullen smile. The tug of only one half of my lips beneath the mask chased my expression away. A harrowing reminder.

Loose auburn coils framed Cara’s face, and I reached to touch her cheek. Her lips parted with a quiet snore as she slept. Peacefully, I hoped, as she dreamed whatever dreams that could temporarily cure her of this reality.

I tentatively traced her jawline with the back of my index finger.

Images of Cara as a child on a swing invaded my vision, steeling my spine. Dark brown box braids ran down shoulders. Grass stained the back of her white T-shirt.

I jerked my hand back with a gasp, and Cara jolted awake at my frigid touch. I had already moved to the furthest corner of her room and shut off my breath. Static still crackled at my fingertips. I stopped my hand midway to my nose, resisting the urge to adjust invisible glasses.

Cara shivered, locking her gaze on the trench coat flung over her stool. Its draping sleeves still subtly swung from my swift movement. The vents hummed as the heat turned on, and she let her head flop back on the bed.

Cara didn’t seem to notice the shadow standing in her corner. She didn’t feel the monster watching with an unbearable ache. And that ice pricking her skin? It could’ve just been a dream forming, like the jolt from the sensation of falling as the mind teetered between states of consciousness.

She also didn’t react to the scratching sound now outside her window.

I swept across her room with a frown and peeked past her curtains. She lived on the fourth floor, nowhere near any tree branches that could create that sound.

I angled my head to peer beyond the window frame without opening it, and saw a spindly creature with gangly fingers try to pry it open. It was the size of a wolf, and its head lacked facial features—it had only shallow outlines of where eyes and a mouth should have been, as if a face lay trapped beneath its leathery skin. Its head swiveled in my direction and froze in place as if it could see me watching it. I imagined myself out there, reaching for its neck.

Cara’s bedroom flashed in shades of indigo and purple without warning, and I was outside, wobbling on her balcony railing until I found a steady balance. The creature released a ghastly screech before scurrying up the building’s brick wall, toward the roof. Without a second thought, I jumped off the railing and ran up the wall without the tug of gravity. The creature climbed over the gutter, kicking up pine needles and rocks in its wake. The grit landed in my eyes, and I shook the debris away with a grunt. Latching on to the gutter, I swung onto the roof and landed with a tuck and roll. A couple of shingles fell free with the impact of my feet.

The creature crouched, the bottom half of its face rippling until a mouth with multiple rows of fangs emerged. It growled with saliva dripping from its maw, daring me to come closer.

And so I did.

The creature pounced, and I jumped on its back and wrapped one arm around its neck, squeezing harder as it writhed. The foul beast howled, raking long claws across my skin. Fire lanced across my chest, but blood didn’t break free. With my free hand, I found its spine and dug my nails into the surrounding skin. The vicious snarls turned to whimpering yowls, like a chorus of dogs in agony. I kept digging until I had a firm grasp on its spine—then ripped it out.

A black substance splattered across my face and slicked down my arm, trailing toward the detached vertebrae in my hand. I tossed the creature’s flaccid body off the roof and watched it plummet to the ground. It dissolved into ash before it hit the sidewalk, as did the vertebral column in my hand.

Whatever that thing was… it wasn’t human nor animal.

And rather than attack a random pedestrian outside in the parking lot… it went through the effort of trying to break into Cara’s apartment.

I looked at the specks of pale yellow sticking to the black substance still coating my hand, curling my lip with a groan.

That same dark mass of energy appeared like a fallen star, and this time I walked into it without hesitation.

Chapter 11

Akuma

I washed the blood from my face and arm. I ran my mask under the water, using an old toothbrush to scrub the gunk out of the crevices, then dried it with a microfiber rag. If any blood had gotten on my hoodie, it blended in. I paced across the bathroom, attempting to rationalize what had happened.

If those men at the subway station were demons, then what was the creature at Cara’s apartment? Was that also a demon, but without a host? And how did I even get back home—in the same way I’d appeared in her bedroom? I couldn’t piece together what I’d done to trigger the portal’s appearance.

I rammed my fist into the countertop with an agitated shout, cracking the corner of the granite. A chunk of stone crumbled to my feet, and I gaped at it.

A meek voice in the back of my mind worried about the security deposit. Laughable.

Just like all the other things I used to worry about in my previous life. Malcolm’s tight deadlines, Cara’s preferences, Liam’s harassment, judgment from mere humans…

Demons walked among us, and I’d spent my life worrying about things like being late to work.

Until I’d stood in the face of literal Death.

But why me?

I threw the hood over my head and double-checked the mask around my nose before storming out of my apartment.

I needed answers, starting with my death.

The sky glowed with the light pollution of the city, but the streets gradually thinned as people retreated to their homes. Their stresses and fears stank of rust and charcoal, defiling the air as much as the exhaust.

I paused a crosswalk while Lumisians meandered around me. Keeping my head low under my hood, I peeked from beneath my brow to gauge how much farther the subway was. The crime scene had long been scrubbed, but I hoped I could track the men with my newfound power. If it worked for Cara, it shouldn’t be any different.

Whatever kind of power that may be.

I drifted down the subway steps. No one noticed me. That wasn’t new.

Only a few people stood scattered around the platform, waiting for the next subway train. I moved past them until I reached the dull, maroon stain on the concrete. Staring at it, I slipped back into the horror for the hundredth time. My pleas were louder here, as if they lived in the walls.

W-what did I do wrong?

You existed.

The train arrived, and everyone around me boarded the cars. I wondered how many of them had seen my attack and did nothing. Were they able to sleep at night? Did they post the gruesome details on social media? How many memes floated around the internet, making light of my suffering?

The dim lights flickered, as if my simmering rage possessed them. The patrons’ footsteps made the ground vibrate. The heavy weight of their presence pressed against my shoulders. I opened and closed my fists repeatedly, trying to make sense of the overstimulation of the public.

“Souls.” The melancholic whisper came from behind me. I spun, and Death sat on the roof of the train. She didn’t bear her mismatched angel and demon wings, nor did she wear a black cape like she had in Sheol.

Instead, Death donned attire that would blend in among Lumis civilians, clad in a black pantsuit with a maroon tie. The absence of her hooded cloak showed her hair styled in a twisted updo. The color was split down the center—just like her wings—with one half as white as clouds and the other as pitch-black as mine. The obsidian cross remained at the center of her forehead, glinting like feline eyes in the dark. Her colorless gaze no longer burned like the sun, and I couldn’t decide if it was because I wasn’t mortal anymore, or because she was walking among the living.

“What?” I called.

“That heaviness you feel comes from the mortal souls.” She dropped from the roof of the car just as the train shot off and floated toward me with soundless steps. “When it is time for you to harvest, it will be a call you cannot ignore. One that will drive you to insanity until you reap the soul.”

“What am I?” I glanced back at the bloodstain on the ground, and a sheer version of my human form appeared. Sweating and crying, he stared up at his attackers with wild brown eyes plagued with horror. Crimson bloomed across his chest like a spider lily and spilled over his lips.

“An extension of myself. A Reaper.” Death crouched beside the stain and traced her fingertips lightly over the edges, and my former self dissipated. “What do you hope to achieve by being at your place of departure other than inflicting further suffering on yourself?”

“What do you hope to achieve by following me?” I spat, then reeled at my own brash retort.

“I do not follow you. There is a gentleman on the verge of a heart attack above us, and naturally, I must harvest.” Glowing particles appeared in her palm, expanding and materializing into a staff with a curved blade atop it. Veins of energy churned inside the naginata’s blade like bottled lightning.

“You will have a weapon when your time comes. It’s what we use to reap souls,” Death explained as she stood, before I could even find the words to ask. “I wanted to see how you were adjusting since you were already here.”

A dark, bitter chuckle escaped my throat. “Why? To gloat after you twisted my wish and turned me into a monster?”

I wished I could snatch that naginata right out of her cold, dead hands—and drive it through her neck.

“No. You wished to be brought back here. You simply refused to heed my warnings, and it was my duty to fulfill your request,” Death said, and flicked dirt from beneath her nail as if she had just crawled from a grave to get here.

I bared my teeth behind the mask, not caring if she could see it with her otherworldly sight. “Who sent those demons to kill me then?”

“I cannot tell you that, Reaper.”

“Human,” I corrected in a growl. But even I knew that was ludicrous.

She chuckled softly. “I can say that you’re looking in the wrong place, for the wrong people. But if you take a step back, you will see the answer is right in front of you.”

“What does that mean?”

Death placed a bony finger over her black lips, covering the silver stripe down the center of them. She vanished in a blink, the naginata’s neon essence briefly striping through the air. I scoffed and peeled away from the former crime scene.

What better place to find my killers than the place where it started? All Death seemed to do was talk in riddles.

A familiar woman wrapped in blankets huddled in the far corner of the platform. She smelled of fire and sweat, shivering under three winter coats, five scarves, and six hats. Still, she was too cold to hold the wrinkled, handwritten sign pleading for food. She mumbled indistinctly to herself, and a sneering man in a luxury suit sauntered in her direction before I could approach her myself.

“Is this what you want? Hm?” The man dangled a single dollar bill in front of her. “I bet you’re willing to do anything for five minutes of warmth, aren’t you?”

The woman shrank further against the tiled wall, shaking her head.

“What are you willing to do for a dollar? Or twenty? I’ll even raise it to fifty, since I bet you got a pretty face underneath all those rags,” the man jeered.

My jaw clenched along with my fists. “Leave her alone.”

The stranger straightened, folding the bill between his index and middle fingers before putting it in his breast pocket. He slowly turned to face me, eyes shooting from my face to my scuffed sneakers.

“I swear, it seems like there’s more and more of you freaks every day,” he droned, rolling his eyes. He clipped his shoulder against mine.

My body jerked forward, vision going black. The second my limp knees hit the ground, images of the man standing over a weeping woman with a bloodied nose unfurled before me. She crawled across checkered tile floors, reaching for a broken wine bottle. A large diamond ring on her left hand glinted under a crystal chandelier.

Then it all vanished, replaced by the subway’s grungy ceiling. I slowly turned, fighting the ravenous urge to attack him. All I knew was that I wanted to snatch every molecule of life from his body.

“Oh, come on. I didn’t bump into you that hard. You people are always so desperate for a lawsuit,” the man sneered. The subway train returned, and he stepped into a waiting car, still grumbling and cursing to himself.

I swallowed my wrath as I always did, straightening out my hoodie and continuing toward the gaunt woman. I crouched in front of her, and the stench of her fear grew ever stronger. My mask was probably off-putting, but only I knew that what resided beneath it was much worse.

“Are you alright?” I asked gently.

“The sun shone yesterday, it thundered today, and it pours tomorrow,” she said with a quivering breath. My eyebrow twitched, but I held back my puzzled frown.

“Weren’t you here a few weeks ago?” I pointed at my bloodstain on the ground without breaking eye contact. “Did you see what happened?”

Her gaze followed my finger, and her freckled face blanched.

“Demon, d-danced with demons,” she mumbled, and pulled the scarves further up her face to cover her blistered nose.

“Is that a yes or no? Who danced with demons?” I shifted to sit on my calves and reached for her hand, but she slapped mine away with a yelp.

“They call, and they answer. They dance, and it pours. Hurry! Before the storm comes!” She leaped to her feet and dashed across the platform, abandoning the pallet of blankets she had created.

“Who!” I cried desperately. I watched the blackened soles of her bare feet as she retreated to the surface, shouting more nonsense.

“Who?” I whispered, curling into myself as defeat leaked into my chest like ichor. I wasn’t equipped for detective work, or for whatever power Death had given me. If I had known my killers weren’t going to just fall into my lap, or that my new supernatural abilities wouldn’t lead me straight to them… I would’ve chosen a different path.

Hindsight was cruel.

A wallet near the yellow line caught my eye. I cocked my head as I approached, wondering if it belonged to the callous man from earlier. I opened it, confirming his face on the driver’s license—Evan Clarke—and his address.

I’d never shied away from the opportunity to do the right thing when I was alive, and I certainly wouldn’t now.

It was only right to give the poor man his wallet back.

Chapter 12

Akuma

“Though they join forces, the wicked will not go unpunished.” —Proverbs 11:21, NKJV

There was only one way to see if the vision I saw was true, or if my imagination had been born from rage.

The first time had been strange. I’d seen Cara as a child on a swing. Two times might’ve been a coincidence. But… they were oddly specific, and both visions had brought me to my knees and drew the superficial breath from my dead lungs.

The wind chill used to bite through my clothes. I’d have to wear layers to achieve even a hint of warmth. Now, in just a pullover and joggers, not even the slightest shiver tickled my bones as I ran through Lumis against the wintry gust.

I stopped at the edge of a gated community. Thick stone walls dressed in red garlands and icicle lights welcomed me. I crouched and launched myself over the wall, silently landing in someone’s backyard. They had covered their kidney-shaped pool for the winter. The grass had long gone dormant with the sprinklers shut off, and the blinds were drawn in the pool house.

I sped around the front, greeted by villas of architectures ranging from modern to miniature castles lining the street. Double and triple-storied homes with driveways that could fit ten vehicles.

I continued my sprint until I crossed a marble mailbox with the numbers matching Evan’s license. I tossed his wallet in my palm as I ambled up the long driveway.

Don’t do it.

I staggered. It sounded like my voice in my head, but weak and terrified, and completely independent of my control. I pushed forward with a scoff.

If the woman from my vision was in trouble, I was fine with tabling my personal problems for a night. I was done sitting back.

Any man that put his hands on his own wife didn’t deserve any more mercy than the robber who’d attacked me did.

There’s no turning back once you do this.

There that voice went again.

The funny thing was, I had no intention of turning back.

Barren dogwood trees lined the long cobblestone driveway, stretching from the cul-de-sac. The brick house featured symmetrical colonial architecture, amber light pouring out from the bottom-floor windows and spilling onto the rounded marble steps like maple syrup. The driveway forked, sweeping to the right toward a triple-car garage, and narrowing straight ahead in a staggered walkway to the front door. I kept my head low as I approached the heavy wooden door, and pressed the doorbell.

The smell of roasted chicken and fresh bread wafted from inside, though it didn’t trigger any reaction from my stomach. I felt hollow for it.

The door cracked open, and a blonde woman peeked through with a quiet gasp. Her eyebrows climbed her forehead. “Can I help you?”

I lifted my gaze, lips parting with a quick draw of breath.

It’s her. She’s… real.

“Is Evan Clarke here?” I asked. At the mention of his name, she snapped her head over her shoulder. She seemed more frightened of what was inside than of the masked stranger at her doorstep.

“Who is it, Becca?” She flinched at the sound of Evan’s voice.

“Wh-whatever it is you’re selling, he won’t buy,” Becca muttered to me.

I pulled the wallet out. “He left this in the subway.”

Becca examined my palm, hesitantly opening the door wider. A black and blue blot stained her left eye. She peeked over her shoulder once more before taking the wallet, avoiding my gaze.

“Thank you. Have a nice⁠—”

“Becca!” Evan snapped, storming down the central hallway. “What, you got a secret admirer I don’t know about?”

I could’ve sworn the chandelier trembled at his fierce steps.

“Oh, you!” he barked, and rolled up his shirt cuffs to his elbows. He grabbed his wife by her upper arm, roughly pulling her away from the door. “You think you can just follow me home, freak?”

“Evan, he was just bringing back your wallet!” Becca cried shrilly.

“Shut your⁠—”

I rammed my fist through his teeth.

Becca screamed. Evan fell back, blood pouring from his gums. My knuckles split and immediately stitched back together like clay.

“Let’s see if you can beat me like you do your wife.” My calm, lethal tone contrasted against the wild beast clawing its way out of my chest. If I could bury the man beneath the house for the maggots to consume, I would.

But taking his soul would do just as well. The thought of it made my stomach twist with the ache of mortal hunger.

Becca ran into the kitchen—crying—and Evan sprinted down the central hallway. He disappeared into a room on the left, and I simply stood in the foyer, waiting.

“Do you have any idea who I am?” Evan shouted.

I picked a piece of lint from my shoulder with a sniff and muttered, “Scum.”

Frankly, I wouldn’t care even if he was royalty.

While Evan prepared to fight for his meaningless life, I ambled around the foyer, examining the seascape paintings, the shoe rack, the car keys placed on a console table.

The half of my lips still intact stretched into a serpentine smile when Evan returned with a shotgun.

“What did you do, Becca?” Evan screamed across the house. “You think you can hire someone to hurt me and get away with it? After everything I’ve done for you? I’ll do away with both of you!”

“She didn’t,” I said.

Evan raised the barrel. The second his finger twitched over the trigger, I was behind him. The spray of buckshot blasted a hole through his front door, rousing another scream from his wife.

“Boo,” I whispered, and shoved my hand into his back. Through bone and sinew, I held his heart. His wheezes diminished to airless gasps. I let his heart beat three more times before ripping it out entirely. Evan tumbled forward onto his face.

The heart still pumped in my hand, spurting onto the checkered floor.

Glowing particles levitated from Evan’s body, merging until they formed a ball of light. As if on autopilot, I threw it in my mouth and swallowed.

“Evan!” Becca shrieked from the entrance to the kitchen. Her phone clattered to the floor, displaying an active 911 call.

I fled.

I ran the hot water in the sink until it turned cold, and somehow there were still dried flakes sticking to my skin and pink water swirling down the drain. The lethal calm—and that roaring beast—morphed into an earthquake in the pit of my stomach.

It was an out-of-body body experience, watching myself do the unthinkable… again.

Still, I didn’t feel any guilt. Not even for the despair across Becca’s face. Half of me was proud to have liberated her, even if she didn’t realize it herself yet.

The other half despised that Evan’s blood just wouldn’t… come… off!

Even demon blood was easier to wash away than this.

Searing pain burned into my right wrist, then spread along the center of my forearm—like my skin would melt right off the bone. Similar to how it felt when Death granted me the powers of a Reaper.

I cried out, hunching over the sink while violet light and black smoke swirled from my right forearm—etching foreign symbols of whorls, triangles, and crosses. A brand puckered on my skin like the scarring that sometimes accompanies tattoo removal.

I held my wrist, gritting my teeth until the torment subsided. The brand illuminated, then dulled. I lifted my gaze to the mirror, and gasped at the image of Death standing behind me. I spun, pressing back against the counter.

Her wings dwarfed my bathroom, brushing against the ceiling. She once again donned her onyx cape, the top half of her face concealed by its oversized hood.

Clicking her tongue, she shook her head in disappointment. “I was hoping with your background as a virtuous mortal, you would at least last a week before deviating from your tasks as a Reaper.”

“What—how was I supposed to know I had tasks? You haven’t told me anything of use!” I held out my arm and demanded, “What is this?”

“The Mark of the Damned.” Death stepped closer, grabbing my wrist with one stilted hand and cradling my elbow with the other. She examined the symbols, her brow muscles shifting inward. “This happens when a Reaper interferes with the natural course of a mortal’s life. We do not trigger the cause of death, Akuma. We come after it has initiated on its own. Our sole purpose is to reap.”

“Yeah? So? He abused his wife!” I pointed toward the corner of my bathroom as if Evan stood there now.

“And he had twenty-five more years to live. You robbed him of the free will to change. That potential to become a better person, to repent… it is gone now. You committed Judgment upon him, and that’s far above our authority.” Death spoke in choppy sentences, like striking flint. They were useless reprimands that didn’t trigger any conviction on my part, though. I stood by my actions.

But that quiet voice in my subconscious wept.

“And now what? You revoke my power and reap me? I go back to Sheol and you send me to wherever I belong?” I leaned back against the broken counter, defiantly folding my arms even though the pit of my core trembled in trepidation.

“No. Redemption is possible for everyone. Even for you, Reaper. There are certain things you must learn on your own, but I will say this—” Death sat at the edge of my bathtub, folding her wings tighter as they knocked against the shower’s curtain rod. “The Mark of the Damned will make you more susceptible to a Summoning. And your power… if you’re not careful—it will eat you alive. That is, if the Dark One does not get you first.”

I rubbed my thumb over the rough edge of the cracked granite. I vaguely remembered her mentioning the Dark One in Sheol.

“This is a warning you must heed. For your own sake,” Death said, lacing her fingers together over her crossed knees. “You were quite witty as a mortal. Do not go dull on me now.”

Only then did I notice that her sharp nails were curved like talons, and they glinted like a black widow’s exoskeleton.

“If anyone performs the dark arts, and learns your name… you will become their slave until they either renounce your services or perish. A different Reaper must come to harvest their soul. You are bound to them until that point. And the Dark One? If he learns of your existence, there is no telling what he will do.”

I scoffed and raked my fingers through my disheveled hair. Where had all these disclaimers been in Sheol?

“Summoning is the single most significant cause of defilement in a Reaper’s soul.” Death pointed at the mirror. I followed her finger to see my former self and my current reflection standing side-by-side within the glass.

They stood rigid with blank expressions, independent of my movements.

“I thought I was dead. I thought I didn’t have a soul anymore,” I said, my shock contorting into a scowl.

“You do not… for the most part. You are fractured—a fragment of a soul until your fate is sealed. If you embrace your new role as a Reaper, you will not have any more issues.” Death stood again, fanning her wings as much as the small space would allow, then tucking them behind her back.

I blinked slowly. “How much time do I have left then?”

“Being Marked? There is no set time. Everyone is different. Your actions and choices determine when the evil takes hold.” She began to pace, curling her fingers together behind her back. Her wings dragged across the floor with a soft sweeping sound. “But at the rate you are going, you do not have long.”

I followed her every move. “How do I stop it?”

Death paused, scanning my body as if to calculate my odds.

“Give up this campaign for vengeance. Cultivate your skills. Use them for good,” she said.

I snorted. What did Death define as good?

A crack spread across the bathroom wall, paint chipping away until a bright purple portal surfaced.

Death approached it with a shrug. “The call of a soul for a reaping is normal. If you answer a call to reap, but no one in the room is dead, you are as good as condemned.”

I let her disappear without any more questions, caught by the memory of the homeless woman’s eerily similar responses. Words I had brushed off as incoherent riddles born from drugs or mental health issues.

They call, and they answer. They dance, and it pours. Hurry! Before the storm comes!

Perhaps the woman hadn’t been insane after all. The only questions left were—who were they, what were they dancing for, and what kind of storm was coming?

I watched the cracks in my wall repair themselves before starting up the shower. The scalding water beat my back while I traced my fingertips over the scarred mark on my forearm, bogged down by my roaring thoughts.

I leaned my head back, allowing the water to run down my marred face. I loosed a long exhale, and the steam swirled from my breath.

If my attackers were demons sent by some master, my murder wasn’t random.

You should’ve kept to yourself.

W-what did I do wrong?

You existed.

Not only was my death arranged, it was personal.

Chapter 13

Cara

Iris was busy living her dream as a fitness instructor at the all-women’s gym she’d recently opened, and I was left with my thoughts at home. No crazy phone conversations or shopping sprees. I couldn’t find any comedies to trigger laughter. I didn’t have the energy to go for a run or shadowbox on my balcony, nor did I have the energy to meet with my parents for lunch later. They were draining. I was just lonely, tired, and desperate for a real connection.

Even if it meant finding one in a granite tombstone.

So I peeled myself out of bed and showered, then dressed in casual jeans and an oversized sweater. I shrugged on a beige pea coat, a brown and a matching knitted hat with a pom-pom on the top. I put on makeup, which I normally wouldn’t do on a weekend, but I didn’t want to disrespect the dead by not putting any effort into my appearance. If the dead truly watched, anyway.

A crazy, silly thought.

I bought a single orchid stem to give back what Akuma had given me.

It was an overcast Saturday, where the sun was a hidden star and the silver clouds churned like folded silk, threatening to summon Lumis’ first snow. I parked at the edge of St. Augustine’s cemetery, because walking among the tombstones was the closest I could get to walking through a flower-strewn meadow.

It was both peaceful and harrowing.

The gnarled tree branches spliced the sky into puzzle pieces and cast broken shadows over the burial plots. I hiked through the tombstones and stopped two rows away from Akuma’s resting place when I noticed a tall, dark figure standing in front of the grave. His ebony hair swept the base of his neck in choppy wolf-cut layers, and a black overcoat draped over his wide shoulders and brawny arms.

My first instinct—danger.

But I recalled Detective Jamison struggling to find Akuma’s new address, and if that was a family member standing in front of Akuma’s grave… then I needed to ask.

Hopefully, it wasn’t Akuma’s killer standing there trying to relive the memory.

I slid my hand into my purse, fingers sifting through granola bars, loose change, and pens—until they found the smooth nacre handle of my pistol.

“Excuse me?” I called from where I stood, legs set to sprint back to my car if necessary.

The man raised his head, but didn’t turn around to face me.

I angled my body sideways, teetering between walking closer and running away.

Running would’ve made the most sense. But my legs refused to make a decision.

“Hello? Do you know Akuma?” I asked.

The man’s arms swept to the pockets of his coat, exposing leather-gloved hands. I swallowed around the knot in my throat, the strength in my legs melting away. It was cold out here, so the fact that he was wearing gloves wasn’t unusual, but his aura was much colder and I regretted speaking at all.

“He was my brother,” the man finally said. I could hear the rasp. Similar to the quiet tone of Akuma’s voice. It seemed slightly muffled, as if he had a hand cupped over his mouth or food in his cheek.

The backs of my eyes stung. Without seeing the man’s face, it was easy to imagine Akuma standing there instead, looking at a different headstone.

Akuma had never spoken of any family. Then again… he’d hardly ever spoken at all.

Some of the tension rolled off my shoulders, and I decided to take a chance and walk to the next row. At the end of the day, I still had my gun, and a set of skills that could hold up against the average untrained man.

“I didn’t know he had a brother,” I said with a squint. “Do you know where he lived? The cops are trying to figure it out for their investigation.”

Another pause, and the man’s head tilted downward as if searching Akuma’s headstone for answers. “Yes.”

My heart jumped, and I carefully closed the gap between us. Stepping next to the man, I drew in a sharp breath at the sight of the monochrome skull mask concealing the bottom half of his face. Four fangs jutted out of it like an oni, the lower ones forming an ogre-like underbite. The sallow olive skin on the right side of his face rippled like he’d suffered a horrific burn. The scars stretched an inch above the mask, over his cheekbone and under his eye.

His… eyes. His lashes were so thick that they made his lids appear lined in kohl. His irises were a deep violet one moment and then a pale, purple-grey the next. I blinked, but they remained lavender. They had to be the coolest contacts I had ever seen. I wasn’t sure if his gaze was filled with pain or devoid of feeling. He turned away before I could decide.

“I’m Cara. What should I call you?” I observed every inch of his face, idly twirling the flower stem between my fingers. His strong brow bone and thick eyebrows were identical to Akuma’s. The hair—the same shade of jet black. He could be a twin. But he also could look entirely different beneath the mask.

“Axel,” the man said. “He moved to 415 Rosewood Lane.”

“Thank you,” I said with a bright smile. “You have no idea how much this means to me. Let me repay you.”

“No need,” Axel said quickly, and took a wary step back.

“No, seriously, let me buy you lunch or a coffee or… something. I’d really like to know more about him, too. We never had the chance to go on the date we had planned and—” I had to slow down, take a deep breath and dissolve the lump that threatened to clog my throat again. I’d exhumed the memory of being in The Black Pearl, waiting for Akuma, having awful thoughts of him—only to find out the next week that he’d been murdered.

“You’re actually hurt about him dying?” Axel tilted his head with a dubious frown.

“Aren’t you?” I mirrored his expression. Thinking back on my coworkers and how Malcolm behaved, though, I supposed it was a valid question.

“Of course I am,” Axel said. “Akuma never really had friends, so I didn’t think anyone outside of the family would mourn him.”

“I haven’t been sleeping much since,” I said. “Please… let me get to know him more. Especially if he doesn’t have many people to carry on his memory.”

“Well, for starters… he hated flowers.” His gaze shifted to my hand. I had forgotten I’d brought it.

“Really?” I examined the orchid, thinking back on how he’d given me the bouquet. My cheeks heated.

“Yeah, if you want to put something here, a cactus would be better. Anything without a smell. But it’s probably best you move on anyway.” Axel’s voice cracked. He pivoted on his heel and sauntered between the tombstones, his steps barely crunching the fallen leaves and brittle grass.

“I can’t. Not yet,” I mumbled. “Hey, wait!”

I jogged after him, and pulled out my phone. “What’s your phone number?”

Axel froze.

“I don’t have one anymore,” Axel said, his eyes dropping to the space between his feet.

“Oh… o-okay then.” I put my phone away and chewed my inner cheek for a moment. “Do you like tea or coffee?”

“I’d rather not eat or drink in public. Food allergies,” he said.

“What about Waterford Park?” I went there every Sunday, walking the trail to reflect and mentally prepare for the upcoming week.

He paused, considering. I twisted my fingers in anticipation.

“What time and place works for you?” I pressed. It was clear he didn’t really want to meet, but my desperation superseded his consideration.

“Waterford is fine,” Axel said finally. “Noon works.”

I nodded quickly and held out my hand. His whole body stiffened like a corpse, staring at my outstretched palm as if I were pointing a gun at him. I slowly lowered my arm, clearing my throat.

“It’s nice to meet you, Axel. Seriously. Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, and walked the rest of the way to the parking lot. By the time I reached my car, I glanced over my shoulder to give him a final wave.

But he’d vanished just as mysteriously as he’d appeared.

I drove straight to the police station. Detective Jamison wasn’t there, but I left a note with the receptionist. Running into Axel in the cemetery was a blessing, because I’d really been contemplating risking my friendship with Iris and reaching out to West to try to find Akuma’s address myself. Of course, I would’ve kept her out of it as much as possible, and paid him as much as I could to convince him to stay away from her, but… the entire thing would’ve been horrific to deal with.

I sat in my car and hoped that the receptionist didn’t lose the sloppy sticky note she’d written my information on. Hoped that the address was correct, and Axel hadn’t given me a random place simply to appease me. I gripped the steering wheel, pressing my forehead against it in desperate prayer.

Lord, please guide them to Akuma’s killer.

My phone’s trilling ringtone sliced through my thoughts. I lifted my head and groaned at the sight of Liam’s name across the screen. I almost let it go to voicemail, but decided to answer at the last second.

“Hi,” I said dryly.

“Hey, Cara. Can we talk?” For once, Liam’s tone wasn’t bright. It was brittle like dead leaves.

I frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I just had a death in the family and I don’t have anybody to talk to,” he said, every other word getting lost in breaths. My heart sunk. Liam was annoying, but I never wished him ill. He was still human and capable of grief, too.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Do you want to meet up?” Whatever excitement I’d had about tracking down Akuma’s address diffused like the smoke of a blown-out candle.

“Please?”

“Meet me at Aroma’s?” I said. A simple coffee shop—nothing more, nothing less. We could sit in his car or mine for added privacy. Everything would be fine. It was fine.

But honestly, how could I help him pick up the pieces when I was barely holding mine together?

Chapter 14

Liam

Akuma was gone. I had spent three years trying to make his work environment unbearable so he’d quit, but him getting killed in the subway proved to be even better. With him in the ground, there was zero chance of him ever contacting Cara again.

I couldn’t be happier.

No one had died in my family—not recently, anyway—but having grief in common would surely bring Cara and me closer. If I switched our dynamic so that she became my emotional support, she would surely forget Akuma had ever existed.

I had already been sitting in my car in front of Aroma’s when I’d hung up the phone. She went there every Saturday, so it only made sense that it would be where she was most comfortable to meet. As I conjured fake tears, I watched the whites of my eyes redden in my rearview mirror. With a yawn, the watery sheen settled on my lids. I reached for the glove box and spritzed a cinnamon bourbon cologne over my neck, then waved the cloud of fragrance away.

I opened my trusty GPS tracking ap, and watched the red dot move across the map until Cara’s dented yellow car turned into the parking lot. The puff of her beanie brushed against the ceiling. As she backed into the space next to me, I put my phone away and stared at Aroma’s building vacantly, letting my face sink with the weight of dread.

I unlocked the door as Cara got out of her car. She settled into my passenger seat, keeping her hand on the door handle.

Always so tense, so anxious. It was understandable. I was wealthy, attractive, desirable. Intimidation was a given, but I couldn’t understand what it would take for her to realize that I wasn’t interested in any other women. I’d never go to the lengths of faking a familial death to get anyone else to sympathize with me.

Cara was special. From the moment I first laid eyes on her and found out which floor she worked on, I took a job in a lower tier just to be near her. And when she treated me like I was no different from anyone else? When she showed that she didn’t care about my money, she was sweet, non-confrontational, and had depth⁠—

“How are you feeling?” she asked. Her warm clove eyes traced the planes of my face.

“Empty,” I said quietly. “He was like a father to me. More so than my own dad.”

“Who?”

“My uncle.” He died before I was born, and he was never close to my dad. There’s no harm in faking a family death if they were already gone, right?

Cara’s face slackened. “I-I’m so sorry—how did he die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I paused, blinking rapidly. I hadn’t thought about that. I wasn’t sure how he’d died; my father never told me. This morning’s news coverage detailing a man with his heart ripped out in an opulent neighborhood flashed through my mind.

“A heart attack,” I said, and ran a hand over my face with a deep, exhausted breath. The media had said the wife had suffered a psychotic break, claiming to have watched a strange man with a demonic face drive his hand through her husband’s back and leave his heart at her doorstep.

“That’s awful,” Cara’s voice dropped. “I will say it does get somewhat easier every day.”

Even with my family’s long history of dealing with the unseen, only a select few would do such an act. It couldn’t have been a demon; they would’ve possessed the man instead. It couldn’t have been a Reaper; they were neutral and only appeared after a person died. It couldn’t have been a Guardian, because their sole purpose was to protect us.

I didn’t realize how far my mind had spiraled until Cara shifted uneasily in her seat, tugging at the door handle just before it would click open.

“I’m sorry—my parents are in town and I’m supposed to meet with them for lunch.” She smiled tightly, eyebrows raising to push her forehead into concerned ripples.

“No, no, you’re fine. Thanks for stopping by, even for just a minute,” I said with a restrained grin. Appearing too eager when I was supposed to be shaken by the death of my father figure wouldn’t be missed by Cara.

“If you need someone to talk to, I’m just a call away,” she said. My heart danced in my chest at the words.

This woman was most certainly going to be mine.

Cara eased out of my car and back into her own. Once she was out of sight, I glanced at my watch. I cursed under my breath. I was fifteen minutes late.

I pulled a ballcap and a thick white envelope from the center console before I stepped out of my car and entered the idyllic Gold Springs neighborhood. Tall, mature pine trees cloaked the streets all year round. Houses built from the thirties through the fifties were nestled between the trees, carrying years of wisdom. A cluster of kids rode their bicycles down the street without a care for traffic. A couple pushed a stroller as their dog lead the way around the block. Gold Springs was one of the few neighborhoods untouched by cheap prefab homes invading newer developments, aside from the doorbell cameras set up at a majority of the houses.

Because of this, I had returned home and switched from my bright blue sports car to an inconspicuous silver sedan. I kept my brim of my baseball cap low over my forehead and my head tilted downward as I walked to my contact’s house.

Westley Henshaw was his name. He went by West, and I was certain he thought he’d given me an alias, but I liked to be thorough.

Especially with hackers.

For peace’s sake, I let him believe I didn’t know anything about him aside from his address and the services I paid him for.

Oh, and that he’d dated Iris for two months. She’d brought him along a couple years ago when I’d coaxed Cara out to a bar with me and a couple colleagues. With a little bit of liquid truth serum, I’d found out what he did for a living—on paper, and under the table.

The gate was already unlocked. I slipped through it, ducking my head just enough to dip completely behind the fence. A white security camera hung just above West’s back entrance. Only when I reached the sliding-glass door did I lift my head and wave at the camera.

West appeared through the glass, jerking the door open. “You’re late,” he spat by way of greeting.

He was tall and lithe, wan from a lack of sunlight due to his affinity for the digital world. A sparse mustache hovered over his lip, which was accompanied by an equally sparse goatee, and his long brown hair was pulled back into an untamed bun. His eyes were bloodshot from either the blue light of computer screens or the beer that stained his breath, and he always kept a cigarette propped behind his ear.

“So? You got some place to be?” I asked, stepping inside with a contemptuous scoff.

West rolled his eyes and moved across his unlit house to the basement, where he ran his hub of illegal activity. His baggy basketball shorts swished with his long, swift strides. “You think you’re the only one with a life?” he said as he plopped into his computer chair, tapping along the keyboard and bringing up several pictures across six monitors.

My heart thumped so hard it hurt. Eight photos of Cara, all in different locations. Sitting in Aroma’s, dancing on her balcony, loading her trunk in a grocery store parking lot, shopping with Iris at Lumis Mall, and jogging in Waterford Park—clouds of ice puffing past her lips and with one earbud in. Then the last picture—her standing in St. Augustine’s cemetery at Akuma’s grave, with another man.

A visceral heat seeped out of my pores at the sight.

“Who is that?” I demanded.

“Your week’s report.” West handed me a stapled packet three pages long. “I don’t know who he is. Today was the first time I’d seen him. Chick’s pretty boring, if you ask me. I don’t get why you’re so hung up on her.”

“It’s not your job to know why. She’s not boring. She’s—” I inhaled deeply to pull myself together. “I need you to tail her with different people. Rotate each day so she doesn’t recognize she’s being followed, and find out who he is. I’ll pay however much it’ll take.”

West leaned back in his computer chair, steepling his fingers. “I have some people, but it’s going to bring you up to twenty Gs.”

“Done.” I slapped the white envelope against his chest, and he caught it before it fell into his lap. “That’s five for the month. Keep up the good work.”

West opened the envelope and fanned the bills out, licking his thumb before counting each one. “How long are you going to be surveilling her? I mean, from what I’ve gathered she’s pretty rigid in her routine and isn’t cheating.”

“Yeah, well, with her talking to that guy, that might change,” I said, and pivoted on my heel. “I want to know everything about him, and who he is to her.”

“You got it, boss,” West sneered. “That tracker on her car is about to expire, by the way. I’ll let you know when you need to update the app to get an accurate location.”

“Duly noted.” I ascended the stairs and let myself out through the back door. As much as I wanted copies of those photos, I couldn’t risk possessing any tangible evidence.

I already had enough of it in my spare bedroom at home.

Chapter 15

Cara

I instantly regretted offering emotional support to Liam. I already didn’t enjoy conversing with my coworkers on the weekends. And among all of them—Liam was the weirdest.

But he was hurting, and I didn’t want him to feel like he had no one while he mourned. The tears seemed to dry up rather quickly, but I couldn’t judge. Everyone dealt with grief differently. What I found most unsettling was the fact that he had already been at Aroma’s before I got there. I had only been five minutes away.

No, stop it. Don’t do that again. He was probably already in the area.

I brushed it off, promising myself that I wouldn’t let him ruin my Saturday. That was my parents’ job.

My parents chose to meet in a Mexican restaurant where the environment was loud enough for our conversation to get lost. Mom’s springy grey hair was tied in a topknot that poked above the booth, and Dad faced the front door.

Always minding the exits.

The lines in his face deepened as he waved me over. His goatee appeared whiter than the last time I saw him.

They both got out of their seats to hug me before we all settled in the booth. I couldn’t muster the energy to squeeze them as hard as they did me, because the day had already drained the life out of me. I wasn’t even hungry. I just wanted to go home and sleep, and I braced myself for whatever bull crap they had loaded in their barrels.

“How have you been, Cara?” Mom asked, gingerly adjusting some rogue coils around my face. I stared at the basket of tortilla chips on the table, debating whether I should give the scripted answer or the truth.

“Honestly… not great. Someone I really cared about died recently,” I said flatly. “Murdered, actually. I just met his brother today at the cemetery.”

Okay, a little too honest, Cara.

Dad stiffened, his bushy eyebrows meeting in the middle of his forehead. “That’s tragic… how did they kill him?”

I frowned. Why would he ask like that?

“A couple muggers shot him in the subway,” I said, images of Akuma’s uncensored body from the news article resurfacing. Dad’s shoulders relaxed.

“Oh, my…” Mom muttered, rubbing her thumb against the condensation of her water glass. “And you met his brother in the cemetery, you say?”

“Yep.” I picked up a menu and only focused on the appetizers. At least I wouldn’t feel as guilty for wasting a smaller serving. Thick silence blanketed our table.

Dad cleared his throat. “Are you still visiting us for Thanksgiving? You never come home anymore.”

“I don’t like going back there, and you know why,” I said.

“Fear, Cara⁠—”

“I’m not afraid, Dad. I just don’t like being reminded of what happened,” I snapped.

Mom gave my father a pointed look, as if to silently command him to stand down. Dad scoffed under his breath and refocused on the menu.

“What if you invited the brother over? Does he have any other family to celebrate with?” Mom asked. Dad flicked his gaze at her beneath his brow. They shared an unreadable look that made my shoulders tense.

“I don’t know if he even celebrates Thanksgiving, and we literally just met. Today, actually,” I said with a laugh. Surely, they wouldn’t want a complete stranger to know where they lived. It was a headache just to arrange sleepovers at our house when I was a kid.

The server arrived and took our orders. They got their usual standard tacos, and I opted for an empanada appetizer. In the brief intermission, I reminded myself to relax my jaw.

“What’s his name?” Dad asked once the server left.

I squinted. “Why?”

“Is there so much harm in knowing a name?” He leaned backward into the booth, folding his arms while my mother silently swirled her straw in her water.

“I’m almost thirty, Daddy. I don’t need you to do your due diligence anymore.” I pinched my nose with a sigh, willing the oncoming migraine to go away.

And they wondered why I hardly visited home. They still treated me like I was their isolated, homeschooled child.

“So…” my mother began, shifting in the seat. The cheap leather cushion squeaked beneath her. “I think it’s time we tell you about the family business, and that you should really consider⁠—”

“Not interested. We’ve been over this a million times. I’m not selling houses for a living or whatever it is you guys do. Can we talk about something else? How are you doing?” I swiveled my gaze between them, and they stared at each other as if urging the other to decide whether to push their legacy onto me again. I already had one foot hanging out the side of the booth, poised to cut the visit short if they did.

“We’re doing fine,” Dad said. “A lot of… hunting.”

I frowned. “Since when do either of you hunt?”

“We always have, you just never cared to ask about it,” Mom said. I scoffed lightly.

We ate in silence. They were full of crap, as always. I’d stopped caring about what they did in their free time without me a long time ago.

I just wished they’d done the same for me.

I jolted awake to the sound of pop music ringing from my phone. Drool painted the whole side of my cheek and stained my pillow. I used my sleeve to dry my face and smacked my lips before answering.

“Hello?” I slurred, rubbing my eyes.

“Yikes, did I wake you up?” Iris asked. “You’re off to bed awfully early.”

“Huh? Oh, no, you’re fine. I must’ve dozed off. Actually, I’m glad you called,” I said, becoming more grounded. I sat up on the couch, stretching out my flattened curls.

“What’s up? I was just calling to pass some time on the way home. How was lunch with the fam?”

“As expected. Uncomfortable. There’s also a couple more things…”

I bit my lip, contemplating if I should even tell her about Axel. Visiting Akuma’s grave was personal, almost secret. Like I wasn’t supposed to be there because no one else at ChamberCorp cared to be there.

“Uh-oh,” Iris breathed.

“What?”

“Usually when you lead off with a list, it’s not a good thing.”

“Shut up,” I chuckled, and forced my train of thought back on track. “I met Akuma’s brother today.”

The radio played quietly, almost long enough for me to recognize the trending pop song. “He has… a brother.”

“Yes! Crazy, right? We’re meeting at the park tomorrow to talk more about Akuma.” I rose from the couch, pacing the expanse of the living room.

“How did you meet him?”

I rubbed my neck. Meeting up with a stranger I’d met in a graveyard, who claimed to be a relative of a murder victim, was textbook stupid, and even Iris and all her recklessness would contest that. I paused in front of the fireplace.

“At Akuma’s grave…” I trailed, and began rearranging the photos and decor on the mantle.

Iris scoffed. “I’m sorry, what?”

I explained how he’d already been there before I arrived and how he gave me Akuma’s address for the investigation. When Iris insisted he could be a suspect, I described how uncanny his likeness was to Akuma. What were the odds that a killer would look exactly like his victim unless it was fratricide?

I wanted to believe he was telling the truth.

“Let me come with you,” Iris offered quickly. “Waterford is a wooded park! That’s like, the perfect place to end up buried alive. I mean, who works with someone for three years and doesn’t know if they have siblings?”

“Hey! Did you forget I’ve taken a ton of martial arts and self-defense classes for years and always carry a gun? I’ll be fine.” I laughed to mask the shivering in my voice. “Besides, the sibling thing never came up organically. It was a miracle if I could get him to open up about his favorite color.”

Iris sighed. “Is the brother hot at least? I mean… it would suck to get killed by a troll.”

The laugh that followed was genuine on my part. “I can say the top half of his face is, at least.”

“Sneak a pic if you can,” Iris said, then yawned. “So… cardio killed me. I’m gonna pass out. Te quiero un mucho!”

“Love you, too,” I managed to say before she hung up. I glanced at the clock. It was now midnight.

I took one more look at the fireplace mantle and put everything back the way it’d been before. I had a bad habit of fidgeting while on the phone.

I had forgotten to mention my uncomfortable meeting with Liam. That was arguably worse than lunch with my parents, being so close to him in a confined space. There was something about that conversation that felt… wrong.

By the time I was bundled up in my bed, my mind had returned to its cyclonic state. I tossed and turned, the clock on my nightstand practically frozen in time. I checked it every ten minutes, then thirty, then five—until eventually two hours passed.

When slumber finally tugged at my eyelids, and the murky corners of my room blurred to ink blobs, the temperature seemed to drop. Stuck between sleeping and fighting the cold, I curled into a ball and wrapped the comforter tightly around my body, with my nose poking out of a hole to breathe. I refused to go all the way downstairs to adjust the thermostat after finally finding the perfect position.

Finally, I slept.

My dreams used to be colorful. Full of life and hope and adventure.

Now—I walked in a field covered in broken bones, dead birds, and rotted teeth. Their sharp edges pierced the soles of my bare feet. The sky was the shade of sulfur, lightning blitzing across in wide arcs. Crows cried, swirling above me in a circle as if I were a carcass.

A frigid breeze drifted by, and with it a sickening feeling crawled along the back of my neck. I whirled—and a faceless creature stood behind me. Horns protruded from its forehead and cheekbones and ran down its emaciated arms and legs. I yelped and took off in the opposite direction, ignoring the pain in my feet.

The creature yanked me backward by my hair, then lifted me by the neck. It crimped the air from my lungs like a hose as it squeezed my neck tighter. I thrashed and slammed my fists into its arms. I would’ve reached for its eye sockets if it had any.

A familiar whisper, almost like Akuma’s. “Cara.”

The voice was distant, drowned out by the rumbling thunder and the snarls of the creature. It repeated my name louder as the creature’s hand melted onto my throat like hot wax, fusing with my skin. Its face rippled, taking shape as if a potter were molding it in their hands.

Burgundy curls sprouted from its head. Its grey skin deepened to medium brown, and its face morphed into mine.

And it mimicked my desperate and horrified expression without a sound.

An urgent cry. “Cara!”

I jolted awake, sweating and panting in the dark. I scanned my room frantically until I landed on a figure standing near my closet. I froze in place, widening my eyes to try to make out if what I saw was real.

Whoever it was, they were as tall as my doorway.

Without taking my eyes off the silhouette, I crept my hand under my pillow and slid it between the headboard and mattress. The cool metal of my pistol met my fingertips.

I blinked once, twice, and on the third time—the shadow became my coat rack.

Loosing a relieved breath, I slumped over my pillow and retracted my hand. My nightmare had only leaked into reality for a second.

Still… I felt a chilling presence in my room.

I mumbled a prayer until I fell asleep.

Chapter 16

Akuma

I had visited my grave out of curiosity about what was written on my headstone. It was bland, with just my name and lifespan. It didn’t even have “in loving memory” inscribed on it. Pathetic.

It hadn’t crossed my mind how insignificant my life was—how little impact I’d made on others. I became a memory forgotten before it was even created.

I hadn’t expected to run into anyone I knew in the cemetery, let alone at my burial. The sound of Cara’s voice calling out had sent a jolt of energy through my body, locking every limb in place as if she had shot a taser into my back. Seeing her up close, I remembered everything that could’ve been and now never could.

I didn’t mean to be so short with her, but I’d panicked. I blurted the name my mother had told me she had considered giving me. I couldn’t be myself, no matter how much I wanted to tell her that it was me and not my imaginary brother standing right in front of her, and that there was no need to mourn over me.

But there was a need. Akuma was gone. All that remained was his shadow.

A Marked shadow.

Cara was the spring that begot life—and I was the winter that begot death. The thriving blooms she’d leave behind would wilt at my touch.

Whatever fate had in store for me, I didn’t want to drag her down with me. I should’ve refused to see her again.

Cara lingered at her quirky yellow car for a moment before she finally drove off. I had already disappeared to the top of the hill, watching her from the same maple tree I’d woke up beneath.

When she turned around the corner, I returned to the cemetery and retrieved a stray petal from her orchid. I rubbed my thumb over its waxy texture. With the mask on, I couldn’t smell it, but I reimagined the bouquet I’d given her and the sun that had blazed in her eyes.

Then my mind ricocheted around the tombstones and pierced the memory of my attack, and the woman who’d seen it all.

Even though she’d spoken incoherently, I believed deep down I could get answers from her—one way or another.

There was an overpass known around Lumis to be overtaken by tattered tents, abandoned carts, and plastic litter. It was a street less traveled, if the weeds and potholes invading its concrete were any indication. Graffiti covered the concrete walls. A totaled vehicle sat parked on the other side, spiderwebs laying claim to its interior. Four people huddled around a fire in an old oil drum, shadows dancing across their haggard faces.

Despite their hardship, they smiled, passing around a can of soup and a water jug.

I ambled toward the group. It might not have been right to assume homeless people knew each other all over Lumis, but it was worth a shot considering how small the city’s transient community was.

“Excuse me,” I called with a short wave. They glanced in my direction and gathered on one side of the oil drum.

“Do any of you know a woman who stayed at the B train to Vienna?” I asked.

At first, it had been easier to blow her off as someone who’d lost touch with reality. But now, after seeing into the unknown, the woman seemed more in tune with what lied beneath the surface than the average person.

“Sera?” A teen with matted red hair, no older than fifteen, squeaked from behind a man who looked like her father. He was equally flushed, with ash smudged across his freckled cheeks and pinched nose, and deep lines trailing from the corners of his eyes and lips. The woman next to him had her hair pulled back into a tight, frizzy ponytail, revealing sunken cheekbones. A young man, possibly twenty, still held his palms over the fire.

“Small woman? Tan, with green eyes and freckles all over her face?” I added.

“If Sera owes you money, she doesn’t stay here anymore,” the man cut in. “She might be at one of the shelters downtown… why are you looking for her?”

“It’s not for money. She witnessed a murder and I’m trying to understand what she said to me. Did Sera always speak strangely?” I inched closer to the oil drum, its heat seeping into my skin. “What’s her last name? Which shelter would she be in?”

The four of them glanced at each other warily.

“Her last name’s Campbell. Um… what did she tell you?” the younger boy asked.

“She said the sun shines yesterday, it thunders today, and it pours tomorrow. And something about dancing with demons.”

“Sera mentioned demons?” The older woman’s eyes widened as she pulled the young girl closer like a security blanket.

“What are you getting so worked up for, Suzanne?” the man grumbled. He rolled his eyes and ran a hand over his face. “Look, sir—Sera left because she got hooked on meth. She stopped making sense a long time ago. If she mentioned demons to you, it’s probably because she’s high or because she’s finally lost touch with reality.”

“I don’t think so,” I countered. “I believe I’ve seen three demons already.”

“What did they look like?” Suzanne asked, voice wavering.

“Black eyes and veins. Grey skin.” I cut my eyes in the man’s direction, but his face hadn’t changed. “They broke their own necks and still walked around like nothing had happened. The last one didn’t look human in the slightest.”

Suzanne and whispered into the man’s ear, “That’s exactly like the ones she said forced her to try the drugs, Thomas.”

“More of ‘the devil made me do it’ crap? This guy is probably a druggie, too.” Thomas spoke with disdain, and scratched the stubble on his face. He waved his hand dismissively.

“If I were hallucinating, why would I see the same thing as a woman I didn’t know?” I asked quietly, tilting my head. “Let me speak to Suzanne alone.”

Thomas snatched a gun from his inner coat pocket and aimed it at me. Everyone else immediately took cover behind him. I didn’t balk.

“Leave us alone,” he demanded.

“Shoot me. Maybe then you’d know Sera didn’t lose touch.” I prowled around the oil drum.

“Back up! I mean it!” Thomas shouted.

I continued to move, pushing forward until the barrel dug into my chest. The gun trembled in his hand.

I narrowed my eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“How would shooting you prove anything?”

“I don’t bleed,” I said.

“Just leave us alone, man,” Thomas said, his voice dropping several registers. He lowered the gun. “Go ask Sera yourself. She always complained of having visions. Maybe she could translate whatever she said to you. St. Mary’s usually the shelter she goes to, but she’s also a frequent flyer at New Eden Psychiatric Hospital.”

I gave him a stiff nod. “Thank you.”

As I walked away, I heard Thomas whisper to his family that they needed to move again, because apparently everyone in this area was too crazy.

I visualized my living room in my mind, and a portal ripped open before me. Thomas and his family gasped, and I turned to see them watch in horror as I stepped through.

I didn’t bother hiding my abilities because now, if Thomas ever tried to tell his story like Sera, no one would believe him either.

Waterford Park in downtown Lumis was known for its rolling green hills, shady elm trees, and antique Victorian lamps lining its brick trails. Garden bridges arched over glittering creeks that ran throughout the park and brimmed with koi fish and waterlilies. During the winter, the flowers went dormant and the birds flew south, but it still had a beautiful charm in all its glacial silence.

It was one of the many places I’d dreamed of taking Cara. I had not imagined meeting her here under an alias, let alone as a sentient zombie, to talk about myself when I was alive.

What a crazy world.

Though I trusted her with my life, if my name held that much power as a Reaper, then I couldn’t risk her knowing who I was.

After this, I planned to search the shelters and New Eden for Sera.

As I waited on the bridge, I watched the vibrant orange-and-black koi fish swim along the calm current, and suddenly felt like a blemish on Waterford’s beauty—like a plastic bag hanging in the tree branches.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, I adjusted my mask, pulled the hood over my head, and tugged at my leather gloves to hide my burn scars as much as possible.

“Thank you again for meeting me,” Cara said by way of greeting as she stepped by my side. She leaned against the railing, wrapping her gloved hands around a paper cup of hot tea from a nearby café. She tucked her nose into her oversized scarf when an arctic breeze passed through the park, rustling the defiant, brittle leaves that refused to fall. The air passed right through me. It felt no different from the death already infesting my bones.

I should’ve accepted her offer for lunch or coffee. I didn’t have to eat anything. At least Cara would’ve been warm.

“No problem,” I finally said, clasping my hands together. “I’m sorry for making you come out here. We can go somewhere else.”

“You’re fine! Sometimes I like to jog in the cold.” Cara swatted the air with a chuckle. “So, um… how are you doing today?”

“I’m fine,” I said, a little more curtly than I intended. “You?”

“The day just started for me,” Cara said around a yawn, then took a sip of her tea. “Can we walk?”

“Of course,” I said. I noted the subtle shivers in her hands. I trailed behind her across the bridge, and we ambled along the brick path. It transitioned into a dirt trail snaking through more trees. By spring and summer, the area would be dense with flowers and leaves, but now it was just trees with lonely, spindly arms reaching toward each other for warmth.

“What did you want to know about my brother?” I asked, avoiding saying my own name.

“Were you two close?” She pinched a dead leaf from its branch, then rolled the stem between her thumb and index finger.

“You could say that,” I said.

“Did he ever… well—” Cara pursed her lips and shook her head. “Why didn’t Akuma like flowers?”

I think she’d had a different question in mind, and I wished she’d asked whatever it had been instead of that.

“Maybe it’s a guy thing. I don’t like them either,” I said, opting to leave my mother out of it. I still felt her death as if it had occurred yesterday. The worst, most pitiful thing about it? The cancer had been unrelenting, and I’d mentally prepared for the four years leading up to her death.

“I’ve known some men that didn’t mind them. You said he hated them,” Cara said, and brought the cup to her lips.

“Does it matter?” I frowned. A branch snapped, and I tracked a squirrel scurrying across the bed of leaves and launching itself up a tree trunk. Her shoulders tensed, and she mirrored my reaction, letting the leaf in her hand flutter to the ground.

Cara scrunched her nose at my response, shoulders relaxing. “I guess not.”

“What else?” I grumbled.

“What kind of hobbies did he have?”

“He liked listening to shakuhachi, reading fantasy books, cooking, and walking. Not really that interesting, but it gave him peace.”

Cara’s smile brightened, her cheeks reddening. “That’s so cool. What’s shakuhachi?”

“It’s, uh, instrumental music made from a bamboo flute.” I glanced down at my feet as my stomach quivered. I would’ve played it for her on my speaker during a candlelit dinner in my dining room. Would have rested one hand at her lower back, and latticed my fingers with hers in the other, swaying to the melody and savoring the scent of her hair.

The vacancy in my chest expanded, as hungry and merciless as a black hole.

“Oh! I’ve heard that before! It’s always so beautiful and soothing. I never knew the name of it. That probably explains why he had such a calming presence.” There was something melancholic in her voice. “Did he have any dreams?”

My steps faltered. Behind the mask, my mouth opened and shut. The answer rested just behind my teeth, dangerously close to slipping.

You.

“What’s wrong?” Cara tilted her head, and the broken light filtering through the trees made her skin glow. I avoided her deep brown eyes before my thoughts scrambled as they so often did when I was around her.

“Nothing, h-he… um…” The question caught me off guard. I used to be so focused on work that I never really took the time out to think about my own dreams until now. “He always thought it’d be nice to explore our family’s roots in Japan.”

Cara grinned. “That’s so cool! Has he ever been? Like just on a vacation?”

“No,” I said with a heavy sigh. “He didn’t do any of the things he wanted.”

This was agonizing.

I spent most of my time sacrificing myself for others’ happiness, like taking the extra shifts during college so others could spend time with their families during the holidays or party on the weekends. I hadn’t seen my mother as much as I wanted to, and she’d died before I ever could. Even after that, I still found myself doing the same things for my colleagues at ChamberCorp.

And for what? Validation?

Or was I just too soft to say no?

Cara’s shoulders slumped forward. She slowed to a stop, and I stood in front of her with a concerned frown. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to do this. I don’t even know why I’m still hung up on his death anyway. This isn’t healthy by any means.”

Her words sent an icy dagger through my chest.

I’m right here. It’s me!

I cleared my throat and kicked up some stray sticks. “What about you? What dreams do you have?”

She inhaled to respond⁠—

“Cara? Wow, what a small world!”

Her eyes widened, breath sharpening in a quiet gasp, and I spun around to see Liam strolling in our direction. His nose and cheeks were bright pink, and his hands were stuffed in an expensive sherpa-lined suede coat. His smile ran away.

“Who’s this?” Liam asked, refusing to break eye contact with me.

“Oh, this is Akuma’s brother, Axel. We were just hashing out some memories. Axel—meet Liam. We work together. It’s… funny to see you here.”

“Nice to meet you, man. I’m sorry for your loss.” Liam held out his hand for me, but I didn’t budge.

No, you’re not.

Liam laughed awkwardly, withdrawing his hand to point at his face. “Nice mask. Smart, actually. It’s freezing out here.”

I didn’t so much as nod in acknowledgement. I just continued to stare him down, searching for the will to resist snapping his neck. The leash holding me back frayed with each passing second.

“Not much of a talker, are we?” Liam’s sandy eyebrows knit together.

“Why are you here?” Cara cut in, as if sensing the growing tension between us.

“I come here to clear my head sometimes. I’ve been needing it a lot lately.” He turned to me. “Akuma’s brother, you say? Funny, he never mentioned you.”

“Yeah? Well, he mentioned you,” I said quietly.

“Ah, ladies and gentlemen, he speaks!” Liam jeered, throwing his hands up in the air like an announcer on a game show. “What did he say about me? All good things, I’m sure.”

I took a threatening step closer, but Cara grabbed my arm before I could respond. The icy rage building beneath my skin melted away.

“It’s nice seeing you, but we were just leaving,” she said quickly. She tugged me back along the trail.

“See you tomorrow!” Liam called after us, and I peered over my shoulder. He waved with a smug grin, then continued ambling down the trail, deeper into the trees.

We walked until we were back on the brick-paved path. She stopped at the edge of the garden bridge and tossed her tea in a trash can, still holding my arm hostage.

“What was that?” She frowned, and looked down at my arm and quickly let go. Her cheeks warmed to a reddish brown. “Sorry. I just noticed you two having some sort of alpha male moment and I wasn’t gonna let it go down. And what is it with you and not giving handshakes? You did the same thing to me. It’s rude.”

“I don’t like him,” I said. Man, did it feel good to say it out loud. I wished I’d had the nerve to say it when I was alive.

Cara scoffed. “How could you say that? You don’t even know him.”

“I—” I stopped myself. Axel. You’re Axel.

“Akuma was bullied all his life, and Liam was the most recent bully. You didn’t seem too happy to see him either,” I said. “And what are the odds that he runs into you here anyway?”

Cara folded her arms with a defiant shrug. “Lumis is not that big.”

“There’s five parks here, and the population is a hundred thousand people,” I pointed out. Cara opened her mouth to retort, but instead rolled her eyes and flicked her hand. I glanced over my shoulder one more time to ensure Liam was nowhere near.

Cara did the same, and hugged herself. “What’s your point?”

“My point is maybe you should switch your routine up,” I said, softening my voice. “Maybe even look into getting a different job.”

The blood drained from her face.

“I’m not trying to scare you. It’s just something to think about. It was nice seeing you again, Cara.” I crossed the bridge without looking back, and she didn’t stop me.

Chapter 17

Akuma

I watched Cara from across the street, hidden by the shadows of an alley. I didn’t follow her as she got in her car and drove away, but rather waited to see if Liam would.

To my surprise, he didn’t.

There were four homeless shelters in downtown Lumis. Two were anonymous safe havens for domestic violence survivors. Another was a rehabilitation program for those struggling with substance abuse. St. Mary’s was a standard homeless shelter, and it should’ve been my first target.

But Suzanne had confirmed that Sera had seen demons, and Thomas had blown Sera off as mentally unstable. It made more sense to go to New Eden. Sera didn’t keep quiet about the demons she saw, and it was only a matter of time before someone committed her against her will.

Or she committed herself for protection.

I returned home, researching images and videos of the facility to pass time.

I waited until late in the night, when the patients were asleep and the staff was stretched thin.

New Eden was no paradise. It was a harrowing campus, more like a prison than a home. A dull stone fortress behind towering barbed wire fences and an oversized wrought-iron gate at the end of a mile-long driveway. A speaker with a red button sat at the gate, but I didn’t bother pressing it.

I shuttered my eyes, picturing a bathroom stall from my research earlier. Light seeped through my lids, the familiar gravitational pull tugging at my body. I walked through the otherworldly gateway.

I appeared next to a urinal, and a patient in pastel purple scrubs gaped back at me, though he didn’t scream. I touched the front of my mask to ensure it was still snug against my face, as if my appearing out of thin air wasn’t what rattled him. I gave the patient a small bow before rushing out of the bathroom.

I followed the signs down the long corridors toward the women’s unit, a revenant on a haunt. Everything was white and beige, punctuated by plain posters on the walls displaying breathing exercises, inspirational quotes, and activity schedules.

“Come here!” a man growled, his voice trapped within a room in the next corridor. Whimpers mixed with his ragged breaths. I paused at the corner, listening.

“Not another word, or I’ll put you to sleep.”

“N-no more! No more! I-I promise I won’t write on the walls again and I won’t tell anyone!” a woman cried in a strained whisper.

“No one would believe you even if you tried. Now shut up and be a good girl. I’ll make it quick,” the man commanded.

I flashed down the hall, tearing a rift through the door and appearing inside the woman’s room.

The man was bald and burly, wearing black scrubs, a lanyard with a badge dangling around his neck. He had pinned the woman down on the mattress, clamping one hand over her mouth and constricting her throat with the other. His knees forced her arms at her sides. Her wild green eyes shot in my direction, torrential tears streaming from them in a desperate plea.

The man jumped off her at my entrance, the color running away from his face.

“What the hell⁠—”

I wrapped the lanyard around his neck, shutting off his voice, and suspended him in the air. The nurse’s feet dangled five inches off the ground, kicking as he frantically clawed at his neck. He gurgled and groaned, unable to let a wheeze escape. I watched the life squeeze out of his eyes and smiled beneath the mask, ignoring the rigidity of the marred half of my jaw. His suffering brought me the purest joy I’d felt since before I died.

His eyes rolled to the back of his head and his arms flopped at his sides. I let him drop to the tiled floor like a bag of garbage. I stepped over his body and moved to the woman, but froze.

“Sera?” I rasped.

She pressed her back tightly against the cinderblock wall as if trying to phase through it. Sera hyperventilated, clutching her sheets to her face.

I raised my palms in a placating gesture, stopping between her bed and the dead body behind me.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” I promised quickly.

“You… you’re the man who saw the unseen,” she muttered. Sera pulled the sheets higher, covering half of her face. Her fingers appeared to be stained with a black chalky substance. “P-please spare me!”

“I’m not here to hurt you!” I repeated in a hoarse whisper. I paused, taking a moment to observe the writing on the walls.

He’s coming for us, and we’re all going to die, was written repeatedly in cursive, striping all four walls in her room.

“Who’s coming for us, Sera?” I asked, tearing my focus from the writing. She lowered the blanket, examining me from top to bottom.

“You are,” she mumbled.

I frowned, and glanced down at the nurse who still lay on the floor. “What do you mean?”

I didn’t intend to destroy the whole world. I only sought to purge it of people like the nurse, the abusive husband, and the guy who’d tried to rob me.

Sera pointed a crooked finger at me. “You’re not alive, but you’re not dead either.” Her eyes were so wide that her irises were tiny pebbles—as if she saw something terrifying within me. Saw my past, present, and future.

And it was all dreadful.

An itch crawled beneath my skin, and I scratched the brand on my forearm beneath my sleeve. “Before, you said someone calls and someone answers. Who were you referring to?”

“Th-they move as one and call on the demons who readily answer. When they dance, it rains, and soon there will be a storm that none of us can survive.” She raked her fingers through her matted waves, lips twitching involuntarily.

“Who sent them?” The itch intensified into a burn. I clenched my fists, the leather gloves whining under the pressure.

“You were in his way, and he took care of it. He’s close to someone who works with a man with the tongue of a serpent, the smile of a wolf, and the heart of a fox. But you’ve caught his mentor’s eye. If y-you let him claim the last piece of your soul…” Sera’s breaths grew raspier. She hugged herself, rocking back and forth and shaking her head. “We’re all going to die!”

I took a few steps back, my restrained winces becoming less controllable. I tripped over the nurse’s body and tumbled. My head cracked against the floor and I held on to my arm, grinding my teeth with an audible groan.

“And I looked, and beheld a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him!” Sera wailed, covering her ears as more tears streamed down her face.

“What?” I bit out. The pain was blinding. I rolled my sleeve up; the Mark blazed bright as it singed my skin. I howled.

A rift formed in the floor beneath me, amethyst light pouring through like an aurora, and widened until I fell through.

Chapter 18

Akuma

I flailed in the void, spinning until I slammed into a wooden surface. Only then did the eternal pain in my forearm subside, and a tattooed black band appeared on my right wrist. I drank in the air, relieved to feel the calm, frozen outdoors.

Algid wind drifted across a still lake that mirrored the dimming sky, and worsened the shivers racking my body. I wasn’t cold, but for the first time since Sheol—I was afraid.

I had landed on a pier, and the powerful stench of rust mixed with cologne swirled around me. After gathering my bearings, I turned to face solid ground.

A man stood at the other end of the dock. Blood dripped from a deep cut sliced through his palm. His light skin, cobalt eyes, and dark blonde hair reflected the oncoming moonlight. I couldn’t decide if he was in his thirties or fifties. There were shallow scores around his eyes. He wore a sweater vest with a long-sleeved shirt underneath, a pair of khaki pants, and shoes fit for golfing. Beyond him, thick woods lined the shore.

I slowly rose to my feet and found I towered over him. He only reached my shoulders, yet the taut skin around his arms showed that his size wouldn’t be much of a disadvantage in a fight.

“What is this? Who are you?” I demanded. I squinted, examining his facial features. He seemed familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint where I might have seen him before.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said with a smirk, and wrapped his bleeding palm in a handkerchief. “I’m actually surprised you don’t already know. How disappointing.”

I followed the droplets of crimson to his shoes. A circle of tea candles surrounded him, a dead crow at its center. He kicked the bird and the candles off the pier. They plopped into the water, sending gentle ripples through the still lake. Tendrils of smoke trailed from the depths, the souls of the candles dispelling.

“Why am I here?” A visceral form of dread leaked into my chest as I anticipated the answer.

The man tapped his fingertips together pensively. “Let’s just say I’ve got some errands I need you to do for me. Akuma.”

I lunged, but fire sliced through my arm before I could reach him. Like a dog yanked by its leash, I fell backward, groaning and cradling my arm.

The man clicked his tongue. “Don’t you know how this works, demon?”

“I’m not a demon!” I shouted.

“Yeah, okay.” He held his hands behind his back as he circled me. “Just in case you don’t know—this is a Summoning. Therefore, you can’t hurt me. That little tattoo means you have a task that needs to be done.”

“How do you know my name?” I snapped.

A wry smile stretched across his lips. “A little birdie told me.”

Impossible. I hadn’t given my name to anyone. Could it be that Cara—no. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“And what was that birdie’s name?” I asked with a scowl.

The man laughed.

“We’re bound,” he continued, and held out his injured palm, the handkerchief striped in dripping scarlet. “With that being said, you will kill someone for me.”

“I will not,” I growled through tight teeth, trembling against the agony rioting up my arm.

I had no desire to end innocent lives, only the destroyers of such. This guy had just made the top of my list.

“You will because you don’t have a choice.” He tossed a brass ballpoint pen at me, and it rolled across the pier until it wedged between two loose planks. Crouching in front of me, he tilted his head as if examining an insect. “You’ll keep feeling that pain until you agree, kid.”

I rolled to my side, curling into fetal position. I gnashed my teeth so tight I thought they’d crack.

“It is my understanding that you can find anyone as long as you have one of their possessions, correct?”

I merely glared at him.

“That pen is hers. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to get the job done. I suggest you get going.”

“Who is she, and why do you want her dead?” I strained.

“Alexis Craft, and the details aren’t important. Don’t worry about getting any ideas, because I know exactly how to keep you in line.”

I growled in answer.

The pain subsided, leaving me in such euphoric relief I thought I’d pass out.

The man flashed a cheeky smile then turned on his heel. I watched him retreat to the demarcation line of the woods with a boiling wrath that could have melted iron.

By midnight, I was still on the pier, legs dangling above the water while I stared at the pen in my palm and the tattoo band staining my skin like a permanent bracelet.

Or rather… a handcuff.

I had no idea how to track someone I’d never seen before by an item they owned. Whoever that man was, he was well-versed in how the supernatural world worked. He had to have worked closely with someone who’d shown him the ropes. The same person who’d given him my name.

I had less than twenty-four hours to kill Alexis Craft. If I failed, I worried I’d suffer from that same excruciating agony. Maybe even a special kind of death for creatures like me.

And what did he mean by keeping me in check? Wasn’t the Mark already enough?

I shoved the pen into my pocket and ripped my mask off, then unleashed a roar across the lake.

“You’re going to wake the whole city, Reaper.”

“Death.” Her name left a bitter taste on my tongue. That sickening, slippery, slithering voice—I had grown tired of it. “Have you come to punish me further?”

“I never punished you to begin with. It is not my job.” Death’s wings were folded rigidly behind her back. She held her naginata as if my outburst had interrupted a reaping.

“Then why am I now a slave?” My voice cracked, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold it together.

Her voice flattened. “I already warned you.”

I released a frustrated shout. “I never told anyone my name!”

Birds fled their nests. A couple windows lit up beyond the trees, the light scattered by their silhouetted trunks. I inhaled sharply, regaining my composure. I peered beyond Death’s shoulder, ensuring no one had ventured through the trees to witness us on the pier.

“Did you give my name away?” I asked in a lower tone.

“Of course not. What would I have to gain from that?”

“Entertainment,” I said plainly.

“I get enough of that when I reap souls. It is difficult to become bored in this line of work.” She raised a nimble finger, pointing at my pocket. “Were you ordered to find someone?”

I pulled the pen out. “Yeah… why?”

“It is unfortunate that I did not teach you how to use your powers. I do not have the time, you see.” She plucked the pen from my fingers, and I watched her warily. I didn’t want to know what would happen to me if she threw it in the water.

“The mind is a powerful thing. Brute strength can build a bridge, but only the mind knows how to keep it from collapsing.” The pen began to levitate in her palm, glowing softly.

“Your point?”

“Use it.” She flung the pen toward me, and before I could process it, I’d snatched it out of the air. Except…

The brass pen wasn’t in my hand. It hovered right in front of my face, pointed at my eye like the tip of a knife. I gasped, and the pen tumbled to the wooden boards.

“See? As a human, your body would’ve reached to catch it. As a Reaper, with incomprehensible speed, your mind caught it before you could do so physically.” Death extended her hand, palm faced down. She drew the pen toward herself with an invisible pull, then spun it between her splayed fingers like a game of stabscotch.

“How does this help me find anyone?” I watched the pen orbit her fingers. Of all the fantastical things I had seen and done in my short afterlife, I still couldn’t help but be mesmerized by it.

“Visualize wherever you want to go, whomever you want to see, and your mind will take you there. If your will is strong enough, that is. You may have already done this accidentally.”

Cara. The holiday cards must have been the tether.

I had mulled over my memories of her, ached to be near her, and the holiday cards were the only tangible thing I owned of hers. The portal didn’t show up until after that, and then I wound up in a bedroom I’d never once stepped foot in. I hadn’t even known she lived in an apartment.

I folded my arms, turning toward the still water. This time, the horizon faded between the sky and the lake, forming a giant mirror.

“I have, but I already knew that person,” I said with a frown. “The person I need to search for now… I’ve never heard of her, let alone seen her.”

“How do you think I find souls to reap? Do you think I have every mortal’s face in my head, or have one of their possessions? I answer the knock on my door, and when I answer, I greet the face that stands behind it.” Death approached my side.

They call, and they answer.

“You’re still resisting your orders. Give in, and you will hear the knock.” She clasped her hands behind her back, the pen now hovering ten feet over the water at the center of the lake.

“What are you doing?” I’d only halfway paid attention to her words.

“Take the pen from me before I drop it in the water.” Death slowly turned to face me, those blank, phantom eyes staring back. She smirked.

“Please don’t⁠—”

The resistance in the air vanished, and the ballpoint pen began to fall. A horrified shout escaped my throat, and I lunged from the pier.

The water rippled from the pen’s nosedive, and a violet rift ripped open, forming a whirlpool in the middle of the lake.

I soared, then plunged into the watery portal before I could catch the pen.

Chapter 19

Cara

Axel left me standing in the middle of the garden bridge after successfully planting a seed of horror into my mind.

Maybe you should switch your routine up.

My back burned with the sensation of being watched. Instead of turning around to look, I ran to my car and didn’t bother letting it warm up before speeding off.

Maybe even look into getting a different job.

The only problem was that the job market in Lumis was practically nonexistent. So much so that I forced myself to find peace at ChamberCorp because I couldn’t land an interview anywhere else. I’d given up applying and had swallowed the toxicity of Malcolm’s reign. Getting a different job far, far away from Liam and Malcolm wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

No, that’s crazy. You don’t have any evidence that Liam’s actually stalking you.

Axel had already formed a negative opinion. Of course he’d paint something in a negative light when it was out of context. Who knew how many hours he’d spent listening to Akuma rant about how Liam treated him. He probably just said all that out of contempt.

I drove home in utter silence. No phone call to Iris, no music, not even a random podcast. I tried to convince myself that running into Liam was purely coincidental.

But… Liam had gotten at Aroma’s awfully fast, too. Almost as if he already knew I was leaving from the courthouse⁠—

No, Cara. Stop it. You’re overanalyzing again. He could’ve been in the area already.

I drove around Lumis aimlessly, keeping an eye on the models of the vehicles in my rearview mirror. It didn’t take long for darkness to blanket the city, so opaque the stars couldn’t shine. I finally felt safe to drive home.

Just in time for the coat rack in my bedroom to look like a person again.

Steam still wafted from my coffee mug when Malcolm approached my desk on Monday morning. He adjusted his narrow, frameless glasses and cleared his throat.

I’d been triple-checking the attendance list for the ChamberCorp annual company dinner next month. Even after securing the venue, setting up catering, and hiring decorators, my job was insufficient. I was going cross-eyed over the single-spaced list of two hundred staff members. One mistake, and Malcolm would fire me before I could take another sip of my coffee. I had to show him the list by the end of my shift, and the database was ever-changing with new hires and retires.

“Huh?” I blinked and rubbed my eyes, heart jumping at Malcolm’s presence this early in the morning.

“My office. Now.” He turned away and disappeared into his cave across the floor. I glanced down at the list, my heart now levitating. It wasn’t ready. Not by my standards and certainly not by his.

I shut my eyes tightly and took a long sip of caffeinated courage. Liam was already poking his head out of his cubicle, watching me take the smallest steps possible. He raised his eyebrows with concern, and I shrugged before disappearing behind the frosted-glass door of Malcom’s office.

Malcolm sat at his desk with his fingers laced and elbows propped on the surface, and a single sheet of paper face down in front of him. I slid the door shut behind me, but I didn’t step further inside.

“Have a seat, Cara.” Malcolm gestured to the suede barrel chairs in front of his desk. This was bringing me back to my childhood, to the memory of my father waiting for me with a switch behind his back when I didn’t clean the dishes when I was supposed to.

I held my breath as I sank into the chair, but kept my face blank. I refused to give Malcolm the satisfaction of intimidating me.

“What is this about?” I asked coolly.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” Malcolm said. “You’re being terminated.”

His words were gunshots right next to my ears, and tinnitus followed. I blinked rapidly, raising an eyebrow while I tried to process.

“For what?” I asked.

Malcolm flipped the sheet over and slid it across the desk. “Your insubordination and poor work performance.”

I took the paper and read it over. It was an official termination document with my name, employee number, date, and reasons for termination listed. Malcolm’s sloppy signature was already signed across the bottom, and a blank signature line awaited mine.

I scoffed. “You’re kidding.”

“Am I laughing?” Malcolm leaned back in his office chair, folding his arms.

“When was I insubordinate? When did I have poor work performance? I hit every deadline, created seamless presentations for you to pass off as your own in your meetings. I’ve been here for five years without a single write-up. I could probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve called out sick.” I slowed down, inhaled deeply to keep my voice measured. “You’re firing me because I embarrassed you once, when my friend was murdered?”

A simmering rage was rising, and the subtle smirk on Malcolm’s face only turned up the heat.

“It is time for your service with ChamberCorp to come to an end, Cara. I’ll need your signature, and for you to clean your desk.”

My eyes burned. I rose from the chair and ripped the paper into as many pieces as I could, slicing the side of my index finger in the process. “I quit. I’ve been wanting to for a while now. You never saw any of us as human, just numbers on a data sheet. But you know what? You’re nothing but a stepping stone, and I’m going to trample all over you.”

Malcolm stood from his chair, bracing his palms on his desk. He leaned forward with a deep glare. “I want you out of here in an hour.”

“Make it thirty minutes,” I hissed, and stormed out of his office. I couldn’t slam his door because it slid across a rack with a soft-closing mechanism.

I snatched a broken-down box from its spot next to a trashcan and slapped tape on it, and began piling my personal items into it with trembling hands.

The very last thing I needed was Liam poking into my space.

“What happened?”

“I quit. Malcolm was going to fire me.” I wiped a tear away with the back of my hand. “Everything I’ve done for this stupid company and he fired me for pushing him to show a little humanity.”

I didn’t know what I was going to do. At least I could use my severance to buy myself a month to find something.

“That’s terrible, Cara. Nobody likes him, I can guarantee you that. But don’t worry, everything is going to be fine,” he said.

I rolled my eyes, throwing a stress ball into the pile of junk in the box. That was everyone’s default answer.

“I haven’t been able to get an interview in years. I’ve been trying to get away from him⁠—”

“No, it’ll actually be okay, because I was already planning on giving you this.” Liam pulled a business card from his pocket. It was made of the thickest, most premium paper I had ever felt and yet—all it had was a phone number and an email address with ChamberCorp’s domain.

I frowned. “What is this for?”

He leaned against the partition separating my desk from the next. “It’s a new job opportunity. You did so much around here without recognition, and now you’re being forced to quit. I just… I don’t know. I figured there’s a lot more you’re capable of and you deserve a happy ending.”

I scrunched my nose, flipping the card over multiple times as if more information would manifest. My heart shuddered within my chest. This would be the ultimate bailout… but coming from Liam? It didn’t sit right.

“What kind of job is it?” I asked, sliding the card into my purse.

Liam peeked over his shoulder warily.

“Executive assistant,” he muttered.

My eyes widened. “Oh, Liam, I’m not⁠—”

“You’re most certainly qualified. And I have an in with the CEO. I can put in a good word for you. It’s double the pay you’re making here. Zero customer calls. The only person you have to concern yourself with is the exec. You’re the most organized person I know. You’ll be fine!” Liam still spoke in a hushed tone, but then his face darkened. “And don’t worry about Malcolm. He’ll be lucky if he still has a job tomorrow.”

“How—why are you doing this? Where do I even apply for something like this?” Axel’s warning still dangled in the back of my mind. If I allowed Liam to do favors for me, then he might think I owe him, and I was not one to enjoy debts of any kind.

Liam shrugged sheepishly. “You don’t. Just call the number. I’ve seen how stressed you are with the banquet coming up, and I thought this would be a nice way out. This is me being a good friend.”

I sighed and gave him a thin smile. Of course, he’d read my mind. A sickly feeling still warbled in my stomach, but I shoved it down as paranoia. This could be a blessing, a redirection. Malcolm didn’t allow room for growth for anyone, and I could make good on my trampling threat. “Thanks, Liam.”

Liam patted my shoulder and returned to his desk. I brushed the ghost of his hand off and finished packing.

It wouldn’t hurt to take the leap of faith.

I didn’t need thirty minutes. After fifteen, I didn’t bother to say goodbye to anyone other than Liam, strangely enough. I left my badge at my desk and sat in my car to call the number on the card.

“Good afternoon. Victor Chamberlain’s office. My name is Shai. How may I help you today?” Her voice was so proper and light—almost robotic. In the first half of her statement, I thought I’d reached a voicemail. I straightened in my seat, switching to my professional tone and finally processing what she’d said.

Victor Chamberlain.

Oh, God. They were definitely related. Having an “in” with the CEO was an understatement. But maybe this could play in my favor because of it.

“Good afternoon. My name is Cara Freeman and I’m calling regarding the executive assistant position. Where may I find the application?” I replayed the words in my head while I waited for Shai’s response, already cringing.

“Oh, there’s no need. We’ve been expecting your call, Miss Freeman. Mr. Chamberlain would like to speak with you in his office tomorrow morning at eight. It will be your interview. His office is on the top floor. Suite two hundred.”

The air drew out of my lungs. When did Liam have the time to put a good word in for me, and for the CEO to have already scheduled an interview?

What if… Malcolm fired me for other reasons that weren’t in writing?

You’re doing it again, Cara.

“Excellent! Thank you so much for the opportunity. Have a nice day, Shai,” I said, keeping my tone bright to stifle the growing list of worries.

“You as well, Miss Freeman.”

I hung up the phone and leaned my car seat back with a loud, trembling exhale. As I stared at the parking garage ceiling through the sunroof of my car, my mind descended into its rabbit hole of madness for the millionth time.

It was a great opportunity, and it was being spoon-fed to me. But it was Liam who held the spoon.

I couldn’t decide if it was a blessing in disguise from God or a brewing curse from the Devil.

I just hoped it was the former, because I didn’t have much of a choice either way.

The mirrored doors of the elevator forced me to stare at my anxious face. I had styled my hair into a high bun with spiraling framing tendrils to pair with my three-piece suit. I’d swapped my studded earrings for gold hoops, and even cleaned my diamond rings. I didn’t want to embarrass Liam since he’d vouched for me, no matter how annoying and creepy I found his presence to be.

Us underlings never set foot on the fortieth floor. The suits and ties going in and out of the elevator on my way up increased in quality, and I knew I was stepping into uncharted waters.

I kept my chin up and shoulders back despite the judgmental looks from higher-ranked employees, and strutted out of the elevator once I reached the top floor. Clutching the folder containing my resume and the significant performance reviews I’d collected over the years, I checked my watch and approached the large marble front desk ten minutes early.

Right on time.

The receptionist wore a crewneck sweater pulled over a button-down shirt, and I wondered if I’d dressed too formally. He smiled brightly at me.

“You must be Miss Freeman! I’m Henry. Have a seat, and Mr. Chamberlain will be right with you,” he said, gesturing to the white leather couches in the waiting area.

“Thank you,” I said, and settled in to wait. Only then could I finally absorb my surroundings.

Floor-to-ceiling glass windows surrounded the perimeter, providing a high-rise view of Lumis. Soothing jazz played on a speaker behind the front desk. The floor appeared to have his office, two more tucked in a short hallway near the elevators, and a conference room.

I watched a medical helicopter fly by, mesmerized by a closer view of the aircraft.

I could get used to this.

“Come on in, Miss Freeman.” A stocky man in a tailored navy suit appeared from behind a thick wooden door.

That’s gotta be Victor.

I stood and smoothed the wrinkles from my trousers. My palms immediately clammed up at the sight of him.

“Good morning, sir,” I said with a small nod, and stepped into his office. I stood at his height wearing heels, which made him around five foot seven.

The entire far wall was made of glass. From here, I could see the football stadium, the streets branching like veins, and—at this angle—the sweeping, suspended Emerald Bridge that crossed the Luminian Strait.

“Please, have a seat.” Victor gestured to the white leather chair in front of his large cherry-wood desk. I promptly complied, cringing at the squeal of the material under my thighs. Up close, the brassy stubble on his chin glinted in the sunlight pouring through the windows. His blue eyes were the same shade as the evening sky—the same as Liam’s. His skin was as smooth as satin, without a wrinkle in sight. There was no doubt they were related… but Victor’s youthful appearance made me wonder if they were brothers rather than father and son.

“How are you doing this morning, Cara—can I call you Cara? You’re free to call me Victor.” He plopped in his chair, rolled closer to his desk, and interlaced his fingers together. His left palm was wrapped in white gauze. “Or is it pronounced like car rather than care?”

“Care, so you were right the first time. I’m doing great. How about you, sir?” I smiled, recovering lingering on his hands a little too long.

“Excellent. I’ve actually heard great things about you, and to be frank… this interview is just a formality,” Victor said.

I stared at him with my mouth hanging open, buffering like a movie with bad internet connection. “Are you saying I already have the job?”

How is that possible?

He didn’t even ask me job-related questions yet.

Red flag. Red flag. Run. Run, Cara. Run!

“Yes. HR will email you the offer letter. I trust my son’s judgment, but I have also seen evidence that confirms his claims. I was told of your organizational skills, punctuality, deescalation, attention to detail… and your performance reviews sent up by HR have been glowing since the day you started here at ChamberCorp. No sign of burn out. Your tenacity is a rare trait, Cara.”

A quivering laugh escaped my lips, and some of the tension loosened its grip on my neck. “Wow, that’s amazing. I—thank you for this opportunity… seriously.”

This is too simple. Say you’re going to take it in another direction. Mention that Malcolm was going to fire you so he changes his mind.

I stood from the leather chair and extended my clammy hand to shake Victor’s, ignoring the screaming in my skull. This was a good thing happening.

He tightened his grip before I could pull away.

“I just have two questions,” he began, still holding my hand, “How would you handle sensitive and confidential information?”

“Oh, uh, I keep encrypted files. For physical paperwork, I leave them face down on my desk and store them in a locked filing cabinet before I walk away. For verbal information, I don’t tell anyone unless directed,” I said, squirming just a little as he held my hand hostage.

Victor nodded to himself. “And any familial commitments?”

“No…” I trailed. Why does that matter? Is this job going to eat into my personal life too?

His thin lips stretched into a wide, devious smile.

“Excellent. Now, I just need you to sign this contract. It’s the same paperwork you filled out when you first signed on with ChamberCorp. The only changes are what you see highlighted here—” He pointed at the neon yellow smears across the top paragraph, showing his name, my job position, and a two-month employment commitment.

Two months isn’t bad at all. If it’s not a good fit, I could power through and then quit.

A brass ballpoint pen rested on top of the stack. I swallowed around the knot in my dry throat. Something told me—no, begged—not to sign it. I didn’t have any more questions about the job. I didn’t really want it—not with Liam playing a part in it, Victor’s endless handshake, and the family question. Pretty sure that was illegal. Maybe not. It didn’t seem right.

But it was double my pay, and it had fallen into my lap. I wasn’t in the position to be picky.

Victor released my hand and it took every ounce of strength not to snatch it away. I picked up the pen and signed my name on the dotted line across each page.

“Wonderful! You should have the offer letter before the end of today. If you sign it and send it over by tomorrow morning, you can start Monday.” He tapped the stack of papers against the desk.

“Thank you, sir. You won’t be disappointed!” I feigned a beaming smile, then left his office.

The facade vanished when the elevator doors swept shut, and a realization emerged.

I had taken the leap—and plummeted into a pit of vipers.

Chapter 20

Akuma

The water didn’t touch me. The shadows didn’t greet me.

Plunging into the lake’s portal placed me in front of a gas fireplace made of slate and crystal. The pen rested at my feet, now a useless object on a herringbone floor I didn’t recognize. I picked it up and slid it in my pocket.

“I know! Can you believe he’d do that to me, Dana?” I flinched at the abrupt, shrill voice and ducked behind a large leather sectional.

“Honestly, Lex, I don’t understand why you didn’t take the money. You could literally go anywhere in the world,” another woman replied. Her voice was faint, as if coming through a cellphone.

“And do what? Raise a baby on my own?” the woman named Lex scoffed.

“I mean… it’s enough money to take care of it and then some.”

I crept through the living room to the archway, avoiding leaving shoe prints over the white bearskin rug that sprawled across the floor. I stopped just outside the entrance to the kitchen. Peeking around the corner, the woman paced around her kitchen island and chewed on her thumbnail. She’d occasionally stop and lean against the counter, or mess with the magnets on her stainless steel refrigerator. My focus, however, locked on her swollen belly, and the second, steady heartbeat emanating from it.

“He thinks he can just pay me off! I’m not some gold digger!” The woman swung her arm up as if backslapping a fly. “I thought we were in love!”

“Well, he could lose everything, because they certainly don’t want a guy with so much prestige and power sleeping with his employees… especially ones that are like, thirty years younger than him. It’s a bad look for a giant corporation bringing in tons of money.” Dana sounded like she was counting off each point on her fingers.

Lex bumped her head against the fridge with a groan, back slumping in defeat. “He wanted me to get an abortion, and I refused. I’ve always wanted a kid and he knew that. It was… it was like he didn’t care.” Her voice went brittle.

This was the woman I was supposed to kill. I rolled the pen in my pocket between my fingers pensively. Death’s advice must’ve worked.

I lurked around the living room until I found the woman’s wallet. I flipped through it and found her driver’s license, and my heart sunk—I no longer had to worry about how I’d find my target.

Now I had to worry about completing Victor’s order.

Dana sighed. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to expose him. I have screenshots,” Alexis said firmly.

“That’s a bold move. Are you sure you wanna risk it?”

Nothing she was saying justified murdering her. It wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t enough.

To go to these extremes to preserve his own image—there was no way I could bring myself to kill her for him. And if there was a point of no return, this was surely it.

I set her wallet back on the buffet table just outside the kitchen. My hand bumped against a vase with a clink, and I swiftly caught it before it toppled over.

“Hold on, Dana… I-I think someone’s here.” Alexis dropped her voice to a wavering whisper. By the time she peeked out of the kitchen, I was already across the living room, tucked behind the fireplace. She raised the phone to her ear again.

“Never mind, I guess. I’ll let you go, Dana. I need to get ready for bed.” Alexis tucked her phone in her back pocket and trekked upstairs. I trailed behind her like a shadow.

Of all people to put in the ground, that vile man had chosen her.

There had to be a loophole. To preserve myself, this woman, and her unborn child.

I paused at the top of the staircase as Alexis disappeared in her bedroom. The shower sprayed shortly after.

I felt no rage toward this woman. Not like I had toward the nurse, Evan, or anyone else. I couldn’t do this.

The Mark warmed against my forearm, a subtle warning. I scratched at it.

Think, Akuma.

I scanned her bedroom until I found her phone on the dresser, next to a mortgage bill. It was locked with a password, but the emergency button was still accessible.

“911, what’s the address of your emergency?” the operator answered promptly. I changed my voice to a deeper tone, then read the address off the bill.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” the operator said.

I should hang up. I can’t do this.

The Mark began to burn. My breath hitched as I stifled a whimper. I squeezed the phone hard enough to crack its touchscreen.

“Sir? Are you there?”

“A heart attack. She’s pregnant. Please hurry,” I said curtly, and hung up.

I held my palm against the bathroom door. The power was second nature—like when I consumed Evan’s soul without thinking about it. Violet sparks flowed from my hand, etching marks into the door as I pictured Alexis’ beating heart.

She began to hum in the shower.

“I’m so, so sorry…” I whimpered, pressing my forehead against the door.

I waited until I could sense the ambulance drawing near before curling my fingers into a tight ball.

Alexis grunted, shutting the water off.

A heavy thud. I hesitantly opened the door, steam slapping me in the face. Alexis lay sprawled on the floor, looking up at me with lifeless eyes as blood leaked from her head. Her lips were tinted blue. Crimson stained the edge of her porcelain bathtub. At the very least, she’d died before the impact.

And there went that glowing ball of life, materializing above her body like a second sun—waiting for me to consume it.

I stared at it, frozen in place and too afraid to touch it. Like it’d inflict the same hellish agony as the Mark if I did. Like it was a portal to Hell itself.

Whispers surrounded me, urging me to reap. The longer I remained still, the louder they became, and the tighter my jaw clenched at the grating noise.

I flinched as a cold hand clamped on my shoulder. I looked to my right, and Death stood next to me.

“You must complete the harvest,” she whispered gently, as if Alexis were only sleeping. “The child’s soul is spared, thanks to your wit.”

“The baby will live?” I croaked. “There’s no way to save her, too?”

“Yes, the child will be fine,” she said. “If she were to live, your contract would be incomplete and you would begin to disintegrate if you refused to finish the job.”

I swallowed dryly. “What happens if I don’t eat her soul?”

“She becomes trapped here. A wandering spirit that haunts this earthly realm, and later… a malevolent demon that will hunt any mother with an unborn child. And your sanity will begin to chip away.” Death extended her hand, and an obsidian ōdachi sword with a blade the color of glowing tanzanite emerged from thin air. Filigree feathers wrapped around the hilt.

“This is your weapon for reaping. You don’t have to eat her soul. Your blade will absorb it, and take it to Sheol for Judgment. Then I’ll send her on the designated path, wherever God decides.”

“Why can’t you do it all then?” I took a wary step back, staring at the weapon levitating in front of me. It followed my movement and maintained the same distance.

“Since you were bound and forced to end her life before her time by your master’s orders, her soul will only call you to reap. Only then will your contract be completed,” Death explained.

“He’s not my master,” I hissed through tight teeth.

Death sighed. “Eat it or use your blade. Your choice.” Then, she vanished in a swirling cloud of black smoke.

I closed my eyes, and cold tears escaped. I flinched at the sensation, like two ice cubes kissing my cheeks. I didn’t think I was capable of crying anymore.

I grasped the ōdachi and swung the blade through Alexis’s soul. The bathroom exploded in bright luminance like a supernova. Power coursed through me, my dried veins cracking open from the wrathful anguish shaking in a violent earthquake. I clutched the front of my shirt, sinking to my knees with a spectral howl.

The black band around my wrist faded. The foreign symbols on the door vanished. And the pain from the Mark dissipated.

Along with the last shred of my humanity.

Chapter 21

Cara

Liam stood by the elevators on the bottom floor as if he knew exactly how long the interview would last. I leaped out of my skin at his sudden appearance.

“Whoa!” I laughed nervously, hand over my chest to steady my heart.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“Perfect. A little too perfect,” I said, and tilted my head with a suspicious squint.

“Guilty.” He raised his palms in surrender with a chuckle. “My old man was very excited to hear about you. His last assistant was inconsistent, unreliable, and difficult to deal with. She put him in a sour mood more often than his actual work did, and that says a lot.”

“Your dad⁠—”

“Not so loud, please?” Liam looked around frantically, as if anyone in the lobby would be paying attention to our low-volume conversation.

I scoffed. “The whole building probably knows. I’d never met Victor Chamberlain before, but he certainly wouldn’t need to ask for a DNA test. He wasn’t very creative with the company name either.”

What I really wanted to know was why would Liam choose to work under Malcolm, and not in one of the upper levels of management.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Liam’s shoulders sank, his bottom lip poking out ever so slightly.

“Of course not. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You really bailed me out,” I said, finally stepping away from the elevator.

“So… I was planning a get-together at my place this weekend with a couple friends. Why don’t you come to celebrate your new job? It’s basically a promotion.” Liam’s previous pout had turned into something else—a childish hope that made it hard for me to say no… especially since he was the sole reason I wouldn’t have a gap in my employment history.

“Uh, yeah! Totally. Can I invite Iris?” I asked. Liam’s smile faltered, but he recovered with a quick nod.

“Of course! I’ll text you the address. See you at eight on Saturday!”

Liam walked off with his chest puffed up with pride, and I left ChamberCorp with mine constricted under a ratchet strap.

I still questioned my gut feeling, but after having processed everything that had unfolded in the past couple days, I needed another brain. Or at least someone who could talk to the police on my behalf in case I got murdered by Liam or Axel.

Ha, I’ve seen too many horror movies. I should probably stick to comedies for a while.

While I waited for Iris to arrive at one of our favorite ramen restaurants, I stared at the menu without truly reading it. I wasn’t even hungry, but I needed to get out of the habit of going hours on end without eating.

I also needed to stop bouncing my leg and looking over my shoulder, expecting Liam to be sitting across the restaurant. Watching me.

I occasionally popped my head over the divider to check the front door. Even facing the exit, I was too short to see through the wall of frosted glass.

Once I spotted Iris’s brown-and-blue streaked hair, I waved her over.

“Hey, babes! What’s up?” She tossed her little leather purse in the corner of the booth, plopping in the seat with an exhausted huff. Her pigtail braids were frizzy, and wispy baby hairs escaped from their usual pristine swoops at her temples.

“How was work?” I asked, pushing the menu to the side.

“It was great! These ladies are killing it in their strength training classes.” Iris leaned against the wall of the booth, propping her feet up across the seat. “I’m beat, though. How did the meeting with Akuma’s brother go?”

The waitress approached, and we ordered. Iris always got udon noodle soup and I always settled for egg drop ramen with a hard-boiled egg despite telling myself to try something new.

“It was nice, actually. At first. Then it got… weird.” I chewed on my bottom lip, trying to decide how I’d explain the situation. Iris already didn’t like Liam. She’d never met Axel, but I didn’t want her to think of him in a bad light when I didn’t know what to think of him myself yet.

“Weird how?” Iris tilted her head, tearing the paper off of her straw as soon as the waitress returned with our drinks.

“Well, Liam was there,” I said, stirring the syrup that had settled at the bottom of my mango bubble tea.

Iris frowned. “At Waterford?”

“Yeah, we ran into him. Then Axel started⁠—”

“Wait, is that the guy’s name? What was Akuma’s last name again?”

“Tanaka. Let me finish.”

“Okay, okay,” Iris immediately pulled out her phone, and I knew she was starting her investigation on Axel’s background, as she did with every new name I brought up.

“Yeah, so, I thought it was a coincidence, but Axel suggested that Liam could be stalking me. Can you believe it?” Saying it aloud sounded even more ridiculous. I waited for Iris to erupt into laughter.

But she didn’t.

She looked up at her phone with a disturbed expression. “Why would he say that? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I think Liam’s a weirdo, but how often do you run into him in public?”

“That was the first time,” I said, then dropped my voice to a whisper. “But he’s always in my space at work, and just the other day he wanted to meet at Aroma’s. I was already at the courthouse. It was like he knew I would pick that place. I go there a lot. But I’m pretty sure I would notice if he was following me. I’m always aware of my surroundings. Besides, where would he even find the time to tail me anyway?”

“The guy’s practically made of money. It’d be nothing to hire a private investigator,” Iris said, then pursed her lips into a thin line. She raised her gaze to the ceiling, as if my story was written there. Running it all back, just to make sense of it.

“That’s not all…” I continued, clasping my fingers tightly together in my lap.

“What?”

“Malcolm was about to fire me yesterday, so I quit. Then Liam got me a job as an executive assistant with his dad.”

“His dad? Jesus, Cara, are you trying to send him the wrong message? You talk about getting stalked and then you go and get further entrenched in the guy’s family?” Iris whispered harshly, throwing a hand up.

I shrugged with quiet exasperation. “It’s a huge promotion and double my pay. It felt a little dumb to say no, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, well, now he’s definitely going to expect something in return,” Iris droned.

“Not… necessarily.”

Iris pressed her hands together in front of her nose with a deep inhale. “When my parents kicked me out at seventeen, I met a guy like, ten years older than me who acted like he was rescuing me from the streets, but instead he was using my situation as leverage to make me feel indebted to him. He was a creep. I caught a bus that same night. We could’ve figured something out, Cara. You could’ve worked for me and taught self-defense classes.”

“You don’t think I know that?” I snapped. We stared at each other with a mix of frustration and worry as the waitress approached with our food.

Iris’s dream wasn’t to live in the limelight. It was to spite her family for shunning her when she went against their grain. To help women survive like she had when she spent two years on the streets, scrounging for money, finding a way to live after having the silver spoon yanked from her mouth. Her family had wanted her to join their malpractice law firm, and would have paid for all her college expenses. They compared her fitness influencer dreams to those of musicians, and were embarrassed by her aspirations. I respected her opinions, because by the time she was twenty years old, Iris had become a vigilant warrior in her own right, and now she’s here at twenty-eight, rising far above her family’s expectations with her own gym.

But the situation with Liam was nowhere near the same level of what she’d gone through. I wasn’t homeless, fresh out of high school with an empty resume. I might have been slightly desperate, but not that desperate.

I picked up my chopsticks and began swirling the noodles in my ramen. “I already signed a two-month commitment, anyway.”

Iris sighed. “I’m sorry, I just never had a good feeling about Liam. Maybe his dad is cool.” She blew the steam from her noodles before stuffing her face.

“I hope so,” I muttered. “Speaking of, will you go with me to Liam’s place on Saturday? He’s having a house party and I don’t want to be there alone. We can go for an hour, and then I can call it even for helping me get the job.”

“See? The obligation is already starting.” Iris said around the food in her mouth. “Fine, I’ll go with you. Wouldn’t want him spiking the punch.”

I laughed weakly, wishing it was a joke.

I went home feeling heavy. Maybe it was because I didn’t hear what I wanted from Iris. I needed someone to tell me I was tripping, that I had been granted a blessing and shouldn’t squander it, that there was nothing to worry about. Instead, she’d enhanced my paranoia and I’d lashed out at her for it.

To soothe my headache, I took a hot bath. I lit a candle and listened to quiet shakuhachi music. Ever since Axel had mentioned it, I’d abandoned most of my own music—especially on the rough days.

Which I’d had a lot of lately.

I closed my eyes, immersing myself in the haunting, resonating notes that made me feel closer to Akuma. The music quieted a part of me—the part that always feared of a sentient darkness lingering in the corner.

“Cara.”

I sat upright, eyes flying open at the sound of my whispered name. Water dripped from my hand as I reached for my phone on the floor and paused the music. Shadows danced in the candlelight, none of which were shaped like a person.

I guess I was falling asleep.

I decided to cut my bathtime short.

The tension finally left my body when I sank into my mattress and curled up under the comforter. The cooing of a pigeon outside lulled me to sleep, and then, I was wrapped in Akuma’s arms. He nuzzled his nose against my forehead, and I tilted my head upward. His glasses were gone, his inky hair mussed. He parted his lips, and our breaths mingled, his fingertips trailing up my spine until they tangled in my coils. He pulled my head closer, guiding my lips to his.

It was pure bliss.

Until Akuma’s arms squeezed tighter, and I couldn’t breathe.

I broke our kiss and squirmed, pushing against his chest. “What are you—Akuma, stop!” I strained, but his grip only constricted further like a boa. I thrashed my legs, kicking at him under the sheets. Akuma’s eyes had blackened to twin voids with iridescent white pupils, and a twisted grin stretched across his face. I cried out, wriggling my shoulders in a frenzy. I reared my head back, poised to slam my forehead against his.

A flash of purple light struck my bedroom, like a laser slicing through the dark. It pierced through Akuma and he released an animalistic screech, loosening his grip on me. I stumbled out of bed and fell to the floor. A scream caught in my throat at the figure standing at the foot of my bed, wielding a four-foot-long ōdachi. His eyes were burning nebulas, filled with the destructive rage of the universe.

It wasn’t Akuma on my bed, but instead, a skeletal creature with shiny skin like a black mamba, yellowed fangs, and a flattened bat-like nose. It crouched on all fours, its back arched.

My bones turned into rubber. I stayed in place on the floor, barely strong enough to keep myself propped up on my trembling elbows. Shadows rolled in billowing dark clouds from the man’s shoulders, like a cape made of ink. He raised his sword again for another strike, and the creature snarled before leaping to the ceiling. The man moved swiftly, his blade catching in the creature’s knotty back. The monster howled, falling to the floor and bounding toward me.

My body unlocked itself and I scrambled to the corner with a scream, snatching my coat rack to wield it like the katana I’d once brandished. But the man was too quick—his curved blade sliced through the beast’s neck before I could strike, and it dissipated into yellow ash.

I immediately began to pray, clasping my hands together with tears streaming down my face, and wished I had my grandmother’s cross in my hands.

“You’re safe now,” he said, speaking in a gentle, velvety whisper. I looked up with a frown, recognizing its allure. The same oni skull mask, and those morose eyes⁠—

“Axel?”

I blinked wildly, slowly lowering the coat rack. The glowing ōdachi dissolved into smoke as he stepped closer.

“Wh-what are you⁠—”

“Sleep.” He pressed two fingers against my forehead, and my body fell limp.

Chapter 22

Cara

I spent the entire week haunted by my nightmare. I didn’t think I’d ever had one so vivid my entire life. I could still feel the ghost of Akuma’s lips, and the thought of him turning into that creature made the contents of my stomach curdle.

Every day I contemplated sleeping in my car or checking into a hotel room. I stayed out for as long as I could, lingering around libraries, parks, and coffee shops just to kill time.

I spent Saturday morning searching for a suitable plant to leave at Akuma’s grave. A small activity to distract myself from Liam’s house party later tonight.

I knew it hadn’t actually been Akuma in my nightmare. He didn’t have a sinister cell in his body. But the terror was still fresh, and I still felt bruised even now, alert and awake. Until I got over it, I needed to distance myself from thoughts of him. I found a cute succulent with its swollen leaves tipped in scarlet to leave on Akuma’s grave for the last time—at least until I forget about the dream.

I walked through the cemetery with a numbing nose. Puffy snowflakes dusted my hat and shoulders. It had snowed every other night in the past week, indicating winter was in full swing.

Axel lay at the foot of Akuma’s headstone, staring up at the silver sky. He shifted his head ever so slightly when I approached, but didn’t remove his gaze from the clouds.

“Hey.” I tightened my grip around the ceramic edges of the succulent. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Cold is all I know,” he deadpanned.

I pursed my lips, then eased to the ground to sit on my calves, placing the pot next to his head. “I brought this for your brother since the orchid wasn’t a good idea the last time.”

Axel glanced at the plant from the corner of his eye before returning his attention to the sky. “I’m sure he would’ve loved it.”

“Thanks,” I said, and observed the strong brow bone, the curve of his nose, the sharp cheekbones molded to the mask. Pain shone behind those lavender eyes. Their color reminded me of clouds kissed by the dawn. He struck me as someone who mourned alone, but not necessarily by choice.

Perhaps inviting him to Thanksgiving dinner wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“What are you doing for the holiday?” I asked, breaking the silence that had settled between us.

Axel shrugged. “Nothing. I don’t exactly have anyone to celebrate with anymore.” His eyebrows tugged inward as he squinted at the sky, as if the words physically pained him. Or maybe it was just me that felt hurt by them.

“Would you care to join me and my family? I told them a little bit about you and they offered a space for you,” I said.

Axel’s head whipped in my direction. “S-seriously?”

I grinned softly, mini memories of Akuma tripping over his words flitting through my mind.

“This can be a very lonely time of year,” I said with a warm grin.

Axel’s mask shifted, as if he was moving his lips beneath it, struggling for words.

“I can’t eat in front of people,” he finally said. “I don’t want to be rude.”

I touched his shoulder gently. “I’ll explain all of that to them. Your company will still be welcomed.”

“Okay.” Axel’s voice shrank, and he turned back to the sky. His irises moved back and forth as if searching the clouds for answers.

I blew hot breath into my palms. “So this is gonna sound strange⁠—”

“I highly doubt anything you say will shock me,” he said, resting his gloved hand over his chest.

“I had an awful dream a few nights ago. Akuma turned into a horrible demonic monster thing, and then… you were there.”

“Oh, yeah?” He quirked an eyebrow upward with an amused grin. “What did I do?”

I stuffed my hands in my pockets with a sniffle that sucked the arctic air straight to my brain. “You killed it with an ōdachi, like some kind of superhero.”

A low chuckle rumbled in Axel’s throat, and his eyes squinted with delight. His laugh left goosebumps in its wake, like a feather brushing over my skin. I wished I knew what his smile looked like.

What are you thinking, Cara? That’s Akuma’s brother. Stop it.

“What’s so funny?” I nudged his shoulder. “It was terrifying.”

“It’s rare to hear anyone know the different Japanese swords… I’m impressed. I’ve never been in anyone’s dreams before either. Are you sure it was me you saw?” He propped himself up on his elbows and tilted his head.

“Absolutely. You’re unmistakable,” I said with a soft laugh.

Axel rubbed his thumb over one of the succulent’s smooth leaves with gentle care. “Interesting. You know, dreaming of being rescued means you just might be overwhelmed in your waking life.”

“I am,” I admitted. “I’m starting a new job with a new boss Monday, and I’m afraid I won’t last.” I’d talked a big game to Malcolm, but in reality I didn’t believe those words myself.

I shivered, suddenly remembering I was getting snowed on. Not even the slightest quiver shook from Axel’s bones. I guess he hadn’t exaggerated when he said all he knew was the cold.

“Why? I’m sure you’re very capable. You seem smart.” He sat up and removed his overcoat, revealing a long-sleeved Henley shirt sculpted to his defined muscles. The top two buttons were undone, a brief flash of scarring poking across his right pectoral.

My jaw dropped. I quickly closed my mouth before he noticed. “What are you doing?”

“You’re cold,” he said plainly, and extended the coat my way.

“Oh, I’m fine! I’m already wearing a coat!” I held my palm toward the skies, and bigger flakes landed on it, biting into my skin. “Why don’t we get out of here? There’s a café nearby with a fireplace.”

Axel hesitated, lowering his gaze to his lap.

“My place has one, too,” I added.

I wondered if he was leery of public spaces because of the scarring his mask covered. Perhaps he was just introverted, like his brother. I wished he were an open book, but maybe then I wouldn’t have found him so fascinating. After all, Akuma’s general silence had captured my curiosity, too.

“Aren’t you worried I’m dangerous?” Axel asked as he put his coat back on.

“Not really. You saved my life, remember?” I winked jokingly and stood from the frozen ground, then leaned backward to crack my lower back. “On a more serious note, I tend to have pretty good intuition.”

And yet, I ignore all the warning signs.

“A dream doesn’t count,” he mumbled.

I pretended not to hear him and began walking between the tombstones. “You can follow me.”

“I didn’t drive here,” he said, louder in our growing distance.

“Then ride with me!” I jingled my keys in the air. I watched Axel stand a moment longer by Akuma’s grave, shoulders rising and falling dramatically as if releasing a huge sigh.

I rubbed my hands together like I was trying to start a fire while I waited for him in the car. I held my palms over the vents while the air warmed up, just in time for Axel to bring a gust of cold wind as he settled in the passenger seat. His presence dwarfed the interior of my car.

“What kind of music do you like?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” he said.

I shrugged and left it on the radio.

I had already parked in front of my apartment building when I realized that despite a few conversations, Axel was still a stranger.

But the alarm bells didn’t ring for him like they did when Liam was around.

That’s how they got you.

“Are you alright?” Axel cut into my thoughts.

I smiled tightly and shut off the engine. “Absolutely.”

Axel trailed behind me through the apartment complex, and didn’t say a word as we hit the elevator. He scanned everything like a robot, demeanor unreadable as I tried to determine if he was impressed or disappointed by my living arrangement. Curious, even.

“Here it is.” I stopped at my unit on the fourth floor, unlocking the door. He entered, taking note of every detail like he had with the rest of the building.

“Can I get you anything to drink? Or…” I trailed awkwardly, setting my keys and purse down on the corner of the kitchen island.

Why would you offer that? Friggin’ idiot.

“No, I’m fine,” he said, and removed his boots before walking further into my apartment.

One of these days, I’m snatching that mask off your face.

I shuffled into my living room and turned on the gas fireplace with a series of clicks before the flames emerged.

“You have a nice place,” he finally said, sinking into my couch.

“Thanks.” I joined him, one cushion between us.

“You know, one of the last things Akuma was excited about before he died was your date,” he said, gazing at me with a softness I hadn’t yet seen from him. “He had planned to hold you, for just a few moments, before letting you go for the night. To kiss you, and finally stop spending his days at work wondering if you’d ever notice him or feel the same way. You were all he ever thought about, everything he dreamed of.”

My heart jumped, then crash landed. The words spilled over Axel’s lips with warm tenderness, almost as if he ached just as much as I that it hadn’t happened.

I reached for the box of tissues on the coffee table.

“He said all of that?” I asked with a wavering voice, and dabbed the corners of my eyes.

“Something like that,” Axel mumbled.

I held my breath, fighting the flood that threatened to break through. I always promised myself I’d never cry over a man, yet here I was, holding a tissue for the hundredth time since Akuma’s death.

This was different. I knew that. It just felt so wrong to cling to someone I hardly knew.

“Sometimes, I feel like he’s still around,” I said, and cleared my throat to strengthen my voice.

“Maybe he is,” Axel whispered.

“You believe in spirits, too?” I raised my eyebrows.

He frowned, looking down at his lap with a somber heaviness. “Wholeheartedly.”

Chapter 23

Akuma

It felt strange talking about myself in the third person. Even stranger to feel jealousy, as if I were truly discussing what some other guy had said about Cara. But it was also freeing, telling her everything I had ached to tell her for years. It was easier to pretend someone else had said it. The longer I lived as this thing, the more Akuma became a stranger to me.

Akuma believed in doing the right thing. He helped people. Death and destruction followed my wake. Alexis wasn’t a violent thief or a sexual predator. Her only mistake was getting too close to Victor. The price was her life, and it was Axel who came to take payment. In what universe could it be the same person?

Being around Cara, though… soothed some of my anguish. Warmth leaked into the grotto of my heart, and the thought of pushing Cara away hurt just as much as resisting the contract bound to the Mark. Akuma may have died, but was there really any harm in getting to know her as Axel?

She was the only light I could access, and I was starved of it. The idea of meeting her parents was something I’d once stressed over when my mind plunged into a grave of daydreams about our future together. A stressor that settled in my gut now, but for reasons much worse than simply appearing insufficient.

Cara curled into the corner of the couch, crisscrossing her legs. She had just asked me if I believed in spirits. She didn’t know the half of what existed beyond the naked eye, or of what currently sat in her living room.

“Have you ever seen any?” she asked, her warm, dimpled smile now a worried frown.

I sat up straighter, shoulders tensing. These were dangerous waters to tread. “I have.”

Cara reached for a pillow and hugged it. “Wh-what did they look like?”

“Like people. Sick, twisted, people…” I trailed, shifting my focus to the fake oranges sitting in a decorative bowl on her glass coffee table. Flashes of the men in the subway and the demons that had attempted to attack her flipped through my mind. If I described the demon from the other night, she’d immediately know it hadn’t been a nightmare.

And where would that leave me?

“This place…” Cara stopped herself, pursing her lips tightly to keep the words from escaping. She got up and went into the kitchen.

“Do you have plans this weekend?” she called in a brighter tone. She opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of water. I tugged at my mask, suddenly becoming hyperaware of the leather digging into my skin.

“Not really,” I said, and leaned forward, elbows digging into my knees. I ran a hand through my hair with a restrained breath. “Do you?”

“Ugh, I have to go to Liam’s party tonight and⁠—”

I cursed as lightning struck my forearm.

“Axel? What’s wrong?” Cara abandoned her water and rushed to my side. “Are you okay?”

I flinched away, cradling my arm.

“St-st-stay a-away!” My old stutter hit me like a bullet. I staggered toward the front door. I had only seconds, and I couldn’t let her see what I was.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” Cara was hot on my trail, and I swung the front door open, nearly hitting her with it. She jerked back.

“Axel!” she shouted down the hall, voice shrill with concern. I sprinted down the staircase, and tripped over the third step. A portal slashed open before I hit the floor.

This time, I didn’t pass through a void. The essence of Cara’s apartment still clung to me as I manifested in a luxurious high-rise office.

My body trembled as I struggled to hold myself up. I choked on my own superficial breath, heaving phantom vomit while I crouched on my hands and knees.

“Rough trip?” The man from the pier a couple of nights ago appeared in front of me with a wry grin. His fingers idly played with a puzzle cube, five sides already complete.

“What more could you possibly want from me?” I growled, and gripped the back of one leather chair in front of his large wooden desk and pulled myself to my feet. ChamberCorp business cards sat in a holder and it dawned on me that I was at the top floor—in a place I would’ve never had the privilege of seeing as an invisible accountant.

“I’m Victor. I wanted to say thank you, and to formally introduce myself now that you can’t report me when your hands are just as dirty as mine. Plus, you did such an excellent job completing your task that I don’t want to relinquish ownership just yet.” He extended his hand, and I merely glowered at it. This entire time, it was ChamberCorp’s CEO who Summoned me. I should’ve known.

“Shake my hand,” Victor demanded, and my body lurched forward. I grabbed his hand and shook it, and the thought of squeezing hard enough to crush his fingers wrapped a sleeve of fiery agony around my forearm. I let go and stepped back with a wince.

Victor chuckled. “That never gets old. Now take your mask off. I can’t have you scaring away my clients and staff.”

My jaw rolled as I pulled the mask down and let it dangle around my neck.

Victor’s lip curled in disgust. “Never mind. Put it back on. God, you’re grotesque.”

“What do you want?” I snapped. I didn’t have time for his power plays and insults.

“I have a new personal assistant, and I’d like to make you her bodyguard.” Victor retreated to his desk and sifted through a drawer for a pen. The same kind of pen that led me to Alexis’ house.

I stalked to the windows, peering at Lumis’ skyline with a pensive frown. It seemed too simple. Too… legal.

“Why would an assistant need a bodyguard, and why would you need a Reaper to do it?” I asked.

“She doesn’t. It’s just a way to keep you in check, and to make sure she doesn’t leave. On Monday, I want you to report here in the morning.” Victor set the completed puzzle cube next to his keyboard. He twisted the pen open, revealing a small dagger inside. He prowled toward me, and pointed the blade at my throat.

“Every time you look at her, I want you to remember that I can destroy her life just as easily as a fly’s… do you understand?” he said in a menacing whisper. “And I’m ordering you to never lay a finger on my son, in case you get any ideas.”

It has to be Liam. He’s a Chamberlain. How have I not realized this before? Does he already know about me?

Two new tattoo bands appeared on my right arm, beneath the Mark. I remained still, unflinching. “If she leaves the job, why does it matter? You can get anyone to work for you. What do you need her for?”

Something told me it wasn’t to arrange his appointments.

“Don’t worry about that,” Victor said, and lowered the blade with a thin smile. “Just don’t be late.”

I lay on the roof of Cara’s apartment building, waiting until I could follow her to Liam’s. I didn’t own anything of his, nor had I ever been to his home. Death may have been able to track anyone already dying, but she’d failed to mention if our kind could track depraved souls that still had plenty of time left on Earth without their property.

I was curious to see how close Cara and Liam had grown since my death.

Or rather… how far apart they had grown, because she hadn’t sounded too thrilled about attending his party.

I sat up rigidly when I heard Cara’s voice drift out the apartment building’s entrance. She left the building with a woman I didn’t recognize. She was shorter and of a muscular, athletic build beneath the edginess of her attire, and she had loose, curly brown hair with blue streaks that complemented her deep tan. She carried a warmth that brought me relief.

I hoped she was a better support system for Cara than I was.

Keeping a bird’s eye view of them, I portaled from building to building to follow their progress. The deeper Cara drove into downtown, the clearer it became that Victor’s son lived in one of the most expensive high-rises in Lumis.

No surprise there.

Hiding in the shadows of two SUVs in the parking lot, I watched the women walk inside with their arms linked.

“I really don’t want to do this, Iris,” Cara grumbled, pausing at the front doors.

“Don’t worry, Care Bear. We’ll get through this. Get in and get out, that’s the plan,” her friend said. “What floor is he on?”

Cara pulled out her phone. “The top one. Go figure.”

I portaled to the skyscraper’s roof, and teetered over the edge, planting my feet on the side of the building as if it were horizontal. I marveled at the impossibility of it—even though I had done it once before at Cara’s apartment. I stopped at windows exposing a wide open concept. Liam floated from the kitchen to his living room, talking with several guests dressed in designer clothing.

I needed to get inside and see if he shared any involvement in Victor’s control over me. Walking just above the window frames, I moved on to the next set and saw a game room dyed in emerald light. No one appeared to be inside, so I portaled through the glass.

There was an elaborate PC gaming system set up in one corner, and a flat screen and console in front of a plush chair in the other. There were a couple holes in the wall beneath the TV. I clenched a fist and fit it into one hole, and backed away from the wall uneasily.

Laughter and pop country music blared on the other side of the door. Multiple voices, glasses clinking⁠—

I turned in a small circle and stilled, amethyst lightning immediately sparking at my fingertips. A low hum thrummed from my palms with threatening power.

Dozens of pictures of Cara were taped to the wall, evenly spaced with a compulsive neatness. All were taken from a distance in various settings. From the grocery store to the mall to restaurants with the same girl she’d taken with her to the party, and…

A picture of us under the gazebo hours before I was murdered.

I stepped closer to the photo, examining the bright-eyed man in glasses presenting a bouquet of orchids with scarlet cheeks. Cara’s glittering eyes and her hands covering her mouth in shock. We were frozen in time. Our special moment—trapped in Liam’s game room.

My rage built in an unforgiving crescendo. I stormed toward the door to unleash carnage against him, but the Mark bit back in protest. I staggered away with a wince as footsteps crept toward the room, pausing at the threshold. The knob slowly turned with a hesitance, and the air vibrated behind me—a pinprick of a portal forming for a quick escape.

“Did you get lost?” Liam’s voice called on the other side.

The knob snapped back to its neutral position. With a rush of relief, I let the portal grow big enough for me to run through, the rush of frigid air pulling me to the safety of my own home.

I pitched a nearby vase across my foyer and rammed my fist into a neighboring wall, spewing plaster up my sleeve and on the floor. Knocking over a credenza in my wake, its glass doors shattered. I flipped my couches and threw my dining table across the kitchen, and the wood splintered against the fridge with a roar. The stainless steel warped from the impact. I broke, split, shattered whatever I could get my hands on until the edges of my vision cleared and the wrath diminished to defeat. I fell to my knees to look at the evidence of my own ruination. Cracks and gouges marred the walls, picture frames hung by their corners, stuffing punched out of pillows littered over what remained of the couch cushions, porcelain and glass glittered across the floor.

I didn’t bother cleaning any of it up. I ruminated in the chaos until nightfall, when I decided to return to Cara’s room. From the few times I’ve visited… I had learned that one to three in the morning was generally the time Cara was haunted by nightmares.

But the demon that had visited her was very real, and I feared another could return. The first demon couldn’t get through her window. Even though I diminished that one to ash, a second one had lain next to her, wearing my face, dangerously close to killing her.

If Victor needed her for something… perhaps the demons had something to do with it. In that case, how many more would come until they got her?

And was Liam in on it. Or was she just a secret obsession of his own?

I’m starting a new job with a new boss Monday, and I’m afraid I won’t last.

Cara must be Victor’s new assistant. She was the only person left on this planet I cared about—the only one Victor could have known to use to keep me in check.

I paced with silent steps at the foot of Cara’s bed, averting my eyes from her sleeping form as much as possible. I felt weird—creepy, even—for being here. To observe every detail of her room like it was a painting. To listen to her heartbeat and study its rhythm like a song. To watch her eyes move rapidly behind her lids. To notice the ghost of wine mingling with toothpaste on her breath.

How was I any different from those unwanted visitors? How was I any different from Liam, who hoarded an entire gallery of oblivious photos of her?

I couldn’t bring myself to leave her side, but I also couldn’t help thinking that I was the demon she needed protection from.

Chapter 24

Cara

I ran down the hall when I heard Axel’s shout echo in the stairwell, but there was no trace of him. He had an uncanny ability to disappear in a blink. Maybe I’d conjured up an imaginary friend rather than a real person.

Maybe I’d officially snapped.

“Cara? Why are you standing in the middle of the stairwell?” Iris cut into my thoughts, making her way up the steps. She didn’t believe in elevators.

“Oh, I… long story,” I said, shaking my head to snap myself out of my confused trance. Her sleek winged eyeliner and bright red lipstick reminded me of Liam’s party.

“We’re still going to that creep’s house, right?”

“Yeah,” I grumbled. “I still need to get ready.”

Iris fell into step beside me as we trekked back down the hall. “So, that guy you told me about? Alex?”

“Axel?” I corrected with an arched brow.

“Okay, whatever, I looked up both names with Tanaka as the surname, and he doesn’t exist anywhere on the internet,” she said.

“Yeah, that’s believable. He doesn’t own a phone,” I droned, reentering my apartment. It still bothered me that he’d left in such a hurry, and appeared to be in pain. I hoped that wherever he’d gone, he was at least getting help.

“You don’t think that’s a red flag?” Iris set her purse on the counter and followed me upstairs to my room.

I rolled my eyes with a sigh and swung my closet door open. “Maybe he just prefers to be in reality.”

“No phone in this era? It’s almost impossible to even function in life.” Iris plopped on the edge of my bed. She craned her neck to see the clothes I flipped through, none of which were really calling to me.

Then again, I didn’t exactly want to put that much effort into it. Liam could mistake me looking nice for wanting to impress him.

“I don’t think it’s enough to consider it a red flag. There was a time where people functioned without phones just fine,” I said, and turned with a rust-colored satin blouse with long sleeves in one hand and a pair of cream-colored pleated trousers in the other. I figured I could tie a paisley twilly scarf around my neck and call it a day.

“That’s cute.” Iris nodded at the outfit with an indifferent shrug, and I disappeared into my bathroom. “It’s a red flag when I can’t find him anywhere online. You know my investigative skills!”

“I don’t care if you’re Sherlock Holmes, if he doesn’t have an online presence, you probably won’t find him,” I said.

Iris groaned loudly behind the door.

Once dressed, I sat at my vanity and pulled my hair into a simple top knot, then began applying as little makeup as possible. Iris leaned back across my bed with a sigh.

“He’s hiding something.”

I dusted my face with bronzer instead of foundation. “Doesn’t every guy have something to hide?”

“Doesn’t that worry you?”

“We’ve been meeting to talk about Akuma. Nothing more, nothing less. I don’t need to know his business,” I said, smacking my lips after applying a matte nude color. I sifted through my jewelry box for a pair of dangly gold earrings. Ten minutes to get ready for an obligatory social event was a new record.

“Ready?” I asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Iris grumbled.

I slipped on a faux fur coat and grabbed my keys, already plotting to use “designated driver” as an excuse to avoid drinking—just in case anything was spiked.

Liam’s address led us to a high-rise building almost as tall as the ChamberCorp skyscraper. Iris’s eyes had grown as large as golf balls as she leaned forward for a better view of the glass structure through the windshield.

She whistled and said, “If he wasn’t such a weirdo, I’d say you’re the luckiest woman on the planet.”

“If only,” I mumbled, and circled an adjacent lot until I found a designated parking spot for visitors.

Iris and I strode inside with our elbows linked. I held my breath the entire time, shoulders sinking once we reached Liam’s penthouse. Muffled upbeat country music reverberated behind the door, and we both exchanged wary glances.

“It’s going to be okay,” Iris whispered, giving my arm a light squeeze. “We can try to have fun, even though it sounds like we’re stepping into foreign territory…”

I nudged her with a small laugh and immediately straightened when the door swung open.

“Cara! You made it!” Liam exclaimed, the music breaking free. He opened the door wider, arcing his hand to urge us inside. Beyond his shoulders were seven more people, all dressed in preppy casual outfits made of silk, cashmere, and wool—from Brontë Avenue, no doubt. Some lounged in his living room, others lingered in his kitchen. A diverse group on the surface, but their laughter all died, and their expressions stiffened like a set of synchronized robots.

I made a conscious effort not to gawk at any of the high-end decor like a tourist.

“Everyone, this is Cara! And her friend, Iris,” Liam announced. We waved, and I flinched at the cold touch of his palm settling on my lower back as he escorted me further into the penthouse. I was surprised he’d introduced Iris—he hadn’t exactly acknowledged her presence when he opened the door. She trailed behind us, already a third wheel.

Or rather, a tenth wheel.

In the kitchen, various bottles of wine and a maple wood charcuterie board were displayed on the largest marble island I had ever seen.

“So, this was originally just a random wine tasting party. Remember the vacation I took a couple months ago?” Liam grabbed a clean wineglass from their line next to the bottles.

How could I forget? It was the best two weeks of my life.

“Yeah, I think so,” I said with a short laugh, and noted each half-empty bottle.

Opened. Great.

“Ooh!” Iris butted her head in, squeezing between us and reaching for one of the bottles. I restrained a smile, stepping aside and willing myself to forget the impression his hand had left behind.

“I want to try this one,” Iris said, drumming her almond-shaped nails against the glass like an influencer. A scoff escaped Liam’s lips, but he cleared his throat in a failed attempt to cover it up.

“Sure thing,” he said. “This one came from France.” As the liquid rushed out of the bottle, Iris snuck a wink at me and plopped a cube of cheddar cheese into her mouth.

“Really nice place you have,” she said, and took a small sip. Her movements were slow and deliberate, as if she had been sculpted from birth for this kind of environment. Her eyebrows raised with delight, and she took a more confident swig of her wine.

He turned to me. “Which one do you want to try?”

“I’d rather not. I’m driving us back,” I said, and used a toothpick to pluck prosciutto and a Swiss cube from the board.

“Oh, come on, Cara. It’s just a tasting,” Liam said, and poured me a glass. I inhaled deeply and took his offer, but didn’t drink from it. If Iris was going to be the guinea pig, I might as well wait to see if she started behaving differently.

“I wanna introduce you to everybody.” Liam’s hand found its way again to my lower back. I loosened my grip around the bowl of the cup so the thin crystal rim wouldn’t shatter. As much as I wanted to demand he stop touching me and dislocate his wrist if refused, all I could think about was losing my new job before the weekend was over.

I never should’ve accepted his help.

Homing in on the voices constituting the din of the party, I desperately tried to find an interesting discussion.

“Oh, absolutely, Victory’s stock is going to tank after that dumb move Gordon pulled.” Three men dressed in sweater vests, chinos, and boat shoes gathered by a baby grand piano.

“I’m so desperate for a vacation.” Two women sitting on the couch across from Liam, Iris, and me flaunted soft pastels in their button-downs and sweaters. They wore sapphires and emeralds in their jewelry.

“Oh! You should come to St. Barts with me!”

“I wish, but I’m stuck touring all summer next year.”

Two more guys were engaged in a separate conversation on a neighboring couch, with one leaning over to look at the other’s phone with dilated pupils and an empty wineglass. “Check this out, Rand, I just placed a bet on the Jaguars.”

“What? No way! This is their worst season yet. You’re actually crazy, Tyler.”

Everyone’s faces began to blur together. They discussed experiences I could never relate to like skydiving and vacationing in the Maldives and how much better of an experience St. Barts was in comparison. Meanwhile, Axel was God knows where, agonizing over some physical condition. I should’ve been helping him instead of drinking wine and eating cheese in Liam’s living room.

Liam leaned into the arm he propped behind me. I’d lost count how much charcuterie I’d had, but I was still working on my first glass of wine. Iris seemed fine, even joining the surrounding conversation seamlessly with stories of her online presence and her travels sponsored by fitness fashion brands. I faded into the background because of her charm.

Everyone’s except Liam, whose gaze locked on to the half-full glass in my hand.

“Are you okay? Do you not like it? I have other stuff, you know. Whatever you want,” he said gently, and for a moment—he seemed like a genuine guy concerned about my comfort. But the fact that I could hear him beyond the abrupt guffaws of his friends told me he was way too close.

I shook my head and forced a sip, settling on the fact that if it was spiked, Iris would’ve been on the floor by now.

The wine was too dry for my liking.

Breathe, Cara.

“Where’s your bathroom?” I asked.

“Down that hall, take a right, and it’s the first door on the left,” Liam said, pointing across the great room.

“Thank you.” I set my glass next to Iris’ on an end table and made deliberate, slow strides to feign nonchalance. A gallery of paintings and sculptures lined the walls, each showcasing raised strokes and textures rather than ink infused into canvas.

Just pretend a camera is on you at all times. I repeated the words to myself until the darkness of Liam’s hallway swallowed me, and I disappeared around the corner.

There was the first door on the left, the sanctuary I needed to pull myself together and brave thirty more minutes of social torture. Then there was the one at the end of the hall with an eerie viridian light emanating from beneath it.

I peeked around the corner and saw Liam was still on the couch, smiling and laughing. It appeared the lounging guests had merged their conversations into one.

My shoulders sank a little with a relieved sigh, and I crept toward the last door. The closer I got, the colder the air became. A low hum pulsed from the room like a heartbeat. I reached for the doorknob and slowly twisted it, careful not to make it snick open.

“Did you get lost?”

I whirled around, stomach knotting at the sight of Liam’s silhouette at the opposite end of the hallway. He pointed at the door next to him before crossing his arms. “First door on the left, Cara.”

“O-oh! Right, ha! Sorry,” I said, and hurried to the bathroom.

Liam didn’t offer a smile, or laugh it off like he usually did. His jaw twitched, eyes darkened to a new malevolent shade I had never seen before. Almost like a look of betrayal. I hurried into the bathroom and locked the door with a ragged exhale.

It was impossible to relax, though. I was certain he was still standing outside the door, waiting and listening. I flushed the toilet and washed my hands, then finally glanced at my watch since I was too uncomfortable to do so with him beside me. I stepped out of the bathroom. Liam had returned to his friends, and I took a final glance at the room at the end of the hall. The warbling in my gut told me it was something I needed to see, and Liam’s sudden tension had only heightened my curiosity.

But before I made things worse, I joined the party and forced a smile, formulating an escape plan.

“You were gone for a while,” the woman going on tour next year pointed out. “Everything okay?” I couldn’t remember her name. It rhymed with Laney, Kelley, Callie—regardless, I was certain I’d never see her again after tonight.

I put a hand over my stomach as I picked my purse up from the couch with a grimace. “Yeah, actually… I think we should take off. I don’t do well with cheese and I ate a lot of snacks.”

The affluent group turned their noses up, and hope swelled within my chest.

This could work.

Liam rose from the couch, face contorting with concern. “Really? So soon?”

Iris didn’t waste any time to make her way to the front door. “Nice meeting you guys!” She wiggled her fingers with an exaggerated smile.

“I don’t feel so good, Liam,” I insisted. “Thank you for having us. Seriously. And thank you for the help.”

“Of course. I’ll see you out.” Liam followed us to the front door, and his friends resumed their gossip about a mutual friend rumored to have had an arranged marriage in order to merge two companies.

I stepped out of the apartment and turned around to face Liam. He leaned against the doorway, looking down at me with such intensity that he could probably see my lies. Iris stayed a few paces away, holding the elevator doors open with her shoe.

“I hope you feel better,” he muttered, shifting his focus to my lips. I gave him a nod, and quickly turned away before he gained any courage.

“I’ll see you around ChamberCorp,” I said louder, my voice echoing across the expanse of the hall.

“Good seeing you again, Iris,” Liam called with a short wave. His tone sounded obligatory.

“Yep!” Iris yipped, and rolled her eyes when we were both finally out of his sight. She leaned against the railing of the elevator, melting against the wall as if she’d left all her energy behind in Liam’s living room.

She turned to face me. “You know what, Cara?”

“What?” I focused on the numbers counting down as we descended. Gripping the railing behind me and leaning against my knuckles, I braced for Iris would say next.

“He’s worse than I thought.”

Chapter 25

Liam

There was no way she’d seen it. Right? I mean, from the second she’d left my side to the moment she disappeared from my sight in the hallway, I knew there was a risk. I had forgotten to turn the light off before she got here, distracted by all my friends. They already had a tour of my entire penthouse long before I hung the photos. They wouldn’t have cared to snoop.

When I had caught Cara with her hand on the doorknob, I had no way of knowing if she was in the process of opening or closing the door. I wanted to believe that she hadn’t opened it yet, but her sudden excuse to leave early gave me doubts.

Muffled talking and laughing surrounded me. I sank deeper into my thoughts, idly tapping my finger against my wineglass. I needed to taste something stronger.

Could she be going to the police right now?

Cara might’ve taken pictures of everything.

“Liam? You okay, man?” Rand snapped me out of my thoughts, and I sprung from the couch.

“Yeah, everyone? I’m sorry but I’m gonna have to cut this thing short,” I announced. Their voices shut off, the music echoing throughout the apartment while they all stared at me.

“Um… what?” Hailey scoffed and flipped her sable hair over her shoulder. “What’s going on, Lee? Is it because of those girls you invited? The party was just getting started after they left.”

“Yeah, you didn’t say anything until after Cara and Iris left, now all of a sudden you want to end it?” Stephen said, following Kail from the kitchen to join us in the living room.

“Something’s come up. I need you all to get out,” I said, my tone sharpening. “Now.”

“Wow, uh, okay.” Tyler grabbed his keys and wallet from the coffee table. “Yeah, I won’t be coming back for a while.”

“Bold of you to think I planned on inviting any of you back here any time soon anyway,” I hissed. “Cara didn’t ruin anything. None of you bothered to get to know her.”

“Why should we? You go through girlfriends like shoes,” Rand retorted. Solar ire flared through my chest, and I pointed at my door with a trembling finger.

I didn’t care what opinions they had about me. I wasn’t going to let Rand, Hailey, or anyone else disrespect Cara like that. They could’ve honored my wishes and kept their mouths shut. Now they’d forced me to be ugly.

I clutched my cellphone tightly, watching each person storm out of my door in a single-file line. I closed the music app on my phone. The sudden silence was jarring, magnifying the loud thoughts rampaging my conscience.

I sprinted to the game room and scanned every photo. None were missing or out of place. Unfortunately, Cara was smart. She would’ve just taken a picture.

But then again, maybe she wouldn’t have minded. Maybe it was the one thing she needed to know how I felt about her, and she just didn’t know how to process the information.

Or maybe, in the best case scenario, she honestly was feeling sick.

I went to my bedroom and sifted through the top drawer of my chest for my second phone, and called West. I’d committed his number to memory to eliminate the need for labeling his contact.

“Yo,” he answered, the sound of smacking food accompanying his voice.

“I’m checking in on the twenty-four-seven surveillance and I want to know exactly what’s going on right now,” I said, pacing.

West sighed with irritation. “Don’t you ever sleep? I give you a weekly report. It isn’t ready yet.”

“This is urgent,” I snapped.

“I’ll have to get in contact with whoever I assigned to watch her tonight,” West droned.

“Okay, please let me know immediately,” I said, and hung up before he protested. I ran my hands through my hair with a loud exhale, and left my bedroom when the walls felt like they were squeezing inward. Stepping into my great room, I gazed over Lumis. ChamberCorp was distant, the company’s neon blue sign the only source of light at the top of the skyscraper. I swept my focus across the various buildings and parks, the Emerald Bridge, and the water it arced over. Cara could’ve been anywhere. I just hoped she wasn’t at the police station.

I glanced at my phone and picked up a random glass that still had wine in it, and downed it.

Inviting Cara into my home was probably the most asinine idea I’d ever had. But what else was I supposed to do? I had the chance to rescue her from Malcolm’s termination. For once, my father had listened to my glowing recommendation and instantly gone with it. It was a win worth celebrating and… I really hoped things would shift to another level between us.

My ringtone didn’t complete the first note before I answered the phone.

“What did they say?” I asked quickly, setting the glass down on a side table.

“She went straight home with her friend, and she’s been home alone for the past hour.”

I flopped back on my couch with a sigh and cupped a hand over my forehead. “Thank you so much, dude.”

“Yeah… why did you⁠—”

I hung up on West, and returned to the game room to admire the photos with a newfound gratitude that they remained undiscovered. Soon, these photos would be replaced with ones of us together on dates and vacations, and Akuma would be completely forgotten.

Chapter 26

Cara

Words couldn’t describe the relief of taking the elevator to the fortieth floor of ChamberCorp rather than my old office on Monday. I didn’t have to face Malcolm or Liam, and that was enough to quell most of my jitters.

I admired Lumis’ skyline through the glass windows, the early sun glinting off thousands of windows like gold flakes. I wrapped my stiff hands around a steaming paper cup of green tea and inhaled its aroma.

I’m sure you’re very capable. You seem smart.

Axel’s voice echoed through my mind, and my face warmed. I rolled my eyes at myself and stepped out of the elevator once it reached the correct floor.

“Good morning, Cara!” The receptionist, now a woman with a deep, warm complexion paired well with her bright pink blouse and gold dog-shaped earrings, greeted me. Her brass nametag caught the morning light and drew my attention to the words “Shai Williamson” inscribed on it. I returned her smile.

“Morning, Shai,” I said, approaching the counter.

“Excited for your first day?” She slid a brown leather folder on the counter, along with a gift bag bursting with glittery periwinkle tissue paper.

“Yeah, I am,” I said with an anxious chuckle, and peeked into the bag. I caught a glimpse of a copper mug and a variety box of hot chocolate and peppermints.

“Don’t be nervous, you’ll be starting at the same time as another gentleman,” Shai said.

I raised my eyebrows, immediately hit with a wave of nausea. Did Liam transfer, too?

“Is there something wrong?”

I recovered my smile, grabbing the folder and the gift bag. “Oh, no! I just didn’t know I was going to be working with anyone else.”

“I think you two will work great together. Maybe you’ll even get him to relax a bit.”

“How so?” I frowned.

Shai’s eyes darted around the office, and then she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Well, he’s a bit odd with his⁠—”

“Good morning, Cara!”

I flinched and spun, expecting Liam behind me. Instead, it was Victor’s booming voice. Such an annoying greeting must’ve been genetic. I forced a grin. Beyond Victor’s shoulders stood a tall man in a black suit, his back facing toward the lobby as he gazed at the city. He was taller than Liam with shoulder-length ebony hair pulled into a messy half-up bun.

ChamberCorp’s CEO was so busy that he needed two assistants. That could work even better in my favor.

Victor waved me over. The clacking of my heels echoed louder than usual and I slowed my pace. He held the door open for me, and as I entered, the man in the corner didn’t bother to turn around. I made a mental note that Shai had called him odd before being interrupted.

“So, Cara, you’ll be having your own security since I deal with extremely sensitive and valuable information. This part shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise, but I have enemies. From disgruntled former employees to rival companies willing to go to any lengths to steal tech secrets. With you having access to my intel… I’d like to make sure you’re safe, too.”

Jeez, who am I working for, the president?

“Of course,” I said, easing into the chair in front of his desk. The new guy still didn’t turn around.

“With that being said, I hired a bodyguard for you.” Victor gestured toward the man. “His name is Ak⁠—”

“Axel.” The man pivoted on his heel finally, and I whipped my head at the name falling off Axel’s lips. “We’ve met.”

My breath vanished. We most certainly had met. There was no mistaking the morbid mask, the lethal musculature, the death in those comet eyes.

“Yes, Axel. My apologies—his brother used to work here and their names are… similar.” Victor slid a sharp gaze in Axel’s direction. “God rest his soul.”

The ball of Axel’s jaw flexed as he glared at Victor from the corner of his eye.

How was he here, after running away from my apartment in pain? How was he employed in the same place as me, under the chief executive and founder of ChamberCorp?

Who was the real stalker here—Liam, or Axel?

That sense of fight or flight in my legs heightened.

“Since you two have met, you’re already aware of his condition requiring him to keep the mask on, right?”

“Yes…”

“Great. Now, I’ve provided him with a cellphone and I expect you to exchange numbers. Also⁠—”

Victor reached into his desk and pulled out a small, black wooden container resembling a jewelry box. Relief carvings depicting snakes covered the surface, and a scarlet garnet glittered on the top. It had worn and chipped corners, but the wood shone like it was coated in fresh varnish. I had never seen an artifact that looked simultaneously new and antique. It certainly didn’t have the modern, sleek motifs of ChamberCorp as an infrastructure tech company. Matter of fact, it didn’t look business-related at all.

“One of my investors is looking for this box. I need you two to bring it to him. He left it in the conference room during one of our meetings,” Victor said.

“Oh, of course! What’s his name?” I reached for the box, and nearly dropped it from the unexpected weight. Jeez… why was it so heavy?

“Lucien Helel,” he said, voice dropping with a tinge of disgust. “He’s expecting it in about an hour at The Bumblebee Diner. Shai will help you get settled in your office until your ride is here.”

“I get an office?” I blinked rapidly, mouth gaping wide with disbelief.

“Of course! You’re not a receptionist hidden behind a bogus office coordinator title around here. That’s what Shai and Henry are for,” Victor said, flicking his hand in Shai’s direction as if she were a pest. I pursed my lips at the gesture.

“Well… I’ll get to it then.”

Axel had already crossed to the other side of Victor’s office, holding the door open. It reminded me of when Akuma did that for me whenever we left the breakroom at the same time. I shoved the memories away before my throat would constrict, and walked out of Victor’s office with Axel trailing behind me.

Shai led us to the other side of the lobby elevators and down a short corridor with only three doors. One of them was a supply closet, and the other two were offices. To my surprise, I was allowed to choose which one I wanted.

It was easy to pick the office with the breathtaking view of the city. It held a semi-circle desk, a leather swivel computer chair with a shiatsu massager embedded in it, what looked like a foot bath tucked away underneath, and a minibar on the other side of the room.

“Wow, Shai, am I going to be able to work?” I laughed.

“Victor takes special care of all his assistants,” she said, flats slapping against the marble floor as she searched for a remote. “Here, this is a dimmer, and it also controls the heat and air in here.”

“Thanks,” I said through a gasp, and dimmed the lights halfway. “Wow, I think I could live here.”

Shai laughed tightly and hurried out of my office when the phone rang at the front desk. The smell of her perfume hadn’t completely left the room before Axel finally spoke.

“You need to quit this job,” he said.

“Excuse me?” I scoffed, settling into my chair. I poked at the various buttons until the massager turned on, then began pushing more buttons to test the different modes. Metal spheres rolled across my back in circular motions, tempting me to sleep.

“It’s not safe.” He moved around my desk and sank to one knee in front of me. If we were lovers, anyone would have thought he was on the verge of proposing.

“Yeah, that’s why you’re here.” I pushed off his shoulder, rolling the chair away from him. “Speaking of which, how are you here? I understand I need a bodyguard for the job, but how is this possible? Of all people, of all places… why you?”

Axel’s posture straightened, clasping his gloved hands in front of himself. “There are forces at work here that you just—I can’t explain it to you, so you have to trust me when I say the Chamberlains are evil.”

“Trust you?” I folded my arms with a short, audacious laugh. “Who are you? Really? If you have a personal problem with them, why would you work for Victor? What makes them so evil?”

I was willing to hear him out, if he gave any legitimate reasons.

“Cara, please,” Axel pleaded, and held out his leather-clad palms. For a moment, even behind the mask, his voice sounded identical to Akuma’s. His eyes held the same hope and fear from when Akuma had asked me to dinner.

“I trust no one,” I said with a subtle waver in my voice. I couldn’t… not after what almost happened when I was younger. I couldn’t just take his word and run with it.

Axel moved closer and grabbed my hand. His body instantly jolted and he toppled, eyes rolling back until his irises vanished. I lunged out of my seat, cupping my hands behind the back of his head, and winced at the impact of my knuckles against the floor.

I’d seen this too many times with my grandma when she’d lived with us at home in her last days.

Axel’s limbs locked and trembled, his jaw clenched tight. I rolled him to his side with a grunt, and patiently waited, counting the seconds on my watch. No matter how many times I’d witnessed my grandma’s seizures and resulting weakened state that lasted minutes to hours after, it still made me sick. However, my mom had taught me how to remain calm.

I reached for Axel’s mask just in case he was in danger of choking on his own saliva, but he caught my wrist. Firmly, but gentle enough not to hurt me. He scanned my face with smoldering, agonized intensity. A rage that brought chills to my bones and made me wonder if reaching for his mask had upset him, even though I was only trying to help.

Axel’s body relaxed. With a sharp inhale, he rolled onto his back and sat up.

Where was the confusion and fatigue?

“Do you know where you are?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” he said through gnashed his teeth, and rose to his feet with solid strength, as if he’d merely tripped. He peered down at me with an unsettling calm. “Our ride is here.”

Chapter 27

Akuma

A flash of light shifted into the brightness of the sun. White, fluffy clouds drifted across the blue sky. The air was fragrant with fresh cut grass and honeysuckles. It took me a moment to realize I wasn’t in Lumis, but in the backyard of a large ranch house with an unobstructed view of an expansive, rolling prairie. Purple coneflowers, black-eyed Susans and wild bergamot peppered the plain, all swaying in a pleasant spring breeze.

I’ve never been here before. How did I get here?

No way I portaled right in front of Cara…

I turned away from the breathtaking sight and followed the sound of creaking metal. I paused before entering the front yard and hid behind a plume of lemongrass. Similar white-brick houses lined the street.

A young girl—no older than ten—swung slowly on a wooden bench hanging from a large oak tree. She wore a wrinkled white T-shirt and grass-stained Bermuda shorts, and a plastic tiara sat crookedly atop her box braids. The rusted chains squeaked in tandem with her quiet humming. A rusty ice cream truck crept down the street toward the cul-de-sac, playing a discordant lullaby like its music box was on its last leg.

The girl jumped from the swing and took off running toward the house.

“Mama! Mama, can I please get some ice cream from Mr. Dale?” she called out across the lawn.

Her mother’s voice was gentle and sweet against the clanging of pots and pans. “Sure, but you can’t have it until after dinner, Cara. Your dad should almost be home from his trip. Oh, and don’t forget it’s getting dark soon, so go ahead and wrap up whatever you’re doing outside.”

“Okay!” Cara giggled, the change purse jingling as she sprinted to the curb.

I vaguely remembered seeing her on that swing in a flash of memory when I’d first visited Cara’s house. This wasn’t a teleportation—it was the continuation of the same vision.

I stepped from behind the lemongrass and into the front yard, just as the ice cream truck slowed to a stop at the mailbox with chipped, childish rainbow handprints painted all over it.

“How are you doing today, little lady?” Mr. Dale pushed his smeared glasses up his bulbous nose, which was covered in angry red zits. He leaned out of the narrow window, crossing thick arms over the sill. He wore checkered suspenders over a grey T-shirt with a stretched-out collar.

“I’m great! I can’t wait for our piano lessons tomorrow. I’ve been practicing a lot.” Cara jumped giddily. She turned her focus to the menu. “Oh, you have new ones!”

“I have even more flavors back at my warehouse, if you’d like to try them. But you have to keep it a secret, because then other people might steal my ideas.”

Cara’s face lit up, but then she shrank back. She twiddled her thumbs sheepishly. “Can I ask Mama first?”

“Can’t tell anybody,” Mr. Dale said. “It’ll be just a quick ride down the road, just outside your little neighborhood.”

“Mama said I need to be inside before dark,” Cara mumbled.

“I’ll bring ya back before then! I promise.” Mr. Dale bared his teeth in a simian grin.

Alarm bells rang so loudly in my ears, I thought I’d go deaf.

“Okay,” Cara said lower, a little more tentative than before. She glanced back at her house before deciding.

“I know your parents real well. I’ll let them know you’re coming with me for a few minutes,” he promised, and went to the back of his truck to open the doors. I flashed across the yard to snatch Cara away from him, but my hands went through her like she was made of smoke.

“No,” I rasped, staring at my palms with powerless dread. The doors shut and the truck accelerated.

The Earth opened beneath my feet and I fell through, the sound of shattering glass and Cara’s screams whipping around me in a vortex.

A tug on my mask. My eyes flung open and I caught Cara’s wrist as her fingernails hooked under the seam at my jaw.

I wasn’t outside anymore, but lying on a hard, marble floor with artificial lighting blinding me instead of the sun.

Cara watched me with wide, wary eyes.

I rolled onto my back and sat up. The vision replayed incessantly in front of my eyes. There was nothing I could do to save her. Nothing I could do to rewrite history and save her from whatever Mr. Dale had done.

“Do you know where you are?” She asked with pinched brows.

“I’m fine,” I bit out. Slowly rising, I tried to hold myself together before all the rage writhing within my core spilled out. “Our ride is here.”

Cara gripped the edge of the desk to pull herself back up.

“What’s your name?” she asked, still testing me. It dawned on me that she must’ve thought I had suffered a seizure or blacked out.

“Axel. We’re at ChamberCorp, and we’re supposed to meet an investor,” I said.

“How are you⁠—”

A light knock sounded against the office doorframe. “Miss Freeman?”

We turned our heads in Shai’s direction. Hopefully, her interruption saved me from the any more questions.

“Yes, Shai?” Cara asked with a tinge of annoyance.

Shai glanced between us with a tight smile. “Your ride is here.”

I chewed my inner cheek—the good one—and stepped out of Cara’s office first. She trailed behind me to the elevator, her heels stabbing the floor with each step.

A knot formed in my gut the moment we stepped into the metal box.

“How are you fine? How did you know our ride was here already?” Cara asked, not a second after the doors slid shut.

All good questions, and for the first time I wished she wasn’t as sharp as she was.

“Lucky guess. It’s been thirty minutes and The Bumblebee Diner is fifteen minutes from here,” I said. As much as I wanted to ask her who Mr. Dale was, I couldn’t explain how I knew his name if he’d committed the vile sins I suspected, and I couldn’t explain that a man thirty floors beneath us was stalking her to the point he practically had her whole life documented on the walls.

I leaned on the metal railing in the elevator, facing the glass wall. I peered back at my own masked, beastly reflection—and tried to decide how to inflict the most pain on Mr. Dale before I diminished his soul to dust.

I had only ever been to The Bumblebee Diner once. I’d eaten alone, but the food wasn’t worth returning for.

Wooden hexagon shelves filled with books and draping with vines floated across the walls. Pendants shaped like dandelion plumes illuminated the space, their light reflecting off the white countertops and the emerald green subway-tile accent wall. A jukebox played retro music from the back, and the smell of breakfast food weighed heavy in the air.

Almost every table was full, and the line snaked from the front counter to the entrance. I supposed the lively environment alone warranted the Lumis hype. That, and the fact that thirty percent of the diner’s proceeds contributed to saving the planet. The city was known to be very green. People liked to think their choices were making a difference—it helped them forget their mistakes. On the surface, the city was everything anyone would hope for it to be. But the longer I lived in death, the more I realized how rotten Lumis was at its core.

I scanned every table until my eyes landed on a slender man sitting alone. His face was shaped like a diamond, with cutting cheekbones and a pointed chin. His eyes were so lightly ambered they almost appeared yellow, like harvest moons. His short, faded hair was the same shade as the garnet on the mysterious box we had to deliver. He wore a slim, charcoal suit that probably cost more than my mortgage, and a white-gold serpentine pendant around his neck that matched the box in its entirety. The gemstone flickered like an ember sparking to life, and I couldn’t determine if it was reflecting the lights or if it was breathing.

“Are you Mr. Helel?” Cara asked as she approached. The man stood from the table with a small bow, took her hand, and planted a kiss on the back of it. I tensed, swallowing a lump of hot coal that had immediately formed in my throat. Cara’s shoulders stiffened, along with the chuckle that followed.

“Please, call me Lucien. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cara.” He gave her a vulpine smile.

If I touched his shoulder like I had Evan’s—what depraved sins would I see?

Did I want to?

“And this must be… Akuma,” Lucien said with a smirk.

I flinched, the Mark sparking to life at my name.

“Oh, I’m sorry, this is actually his brother, Axel,” Cara cut in with an awkward laugh.

“My, you must be twins. Even behind that silly mask, I can see how uncannily you favor him,” Lucien said, and sank back into his chair. He gestured to the two seats across from him and crossed one leg over the other, eyeing me like a predator measuring its prey. Cara took a seat, but I hesitated.

I didn’t know how or what, but that man knew something.

“Are you hungry, dear?” he asked, and waved across the restaurant for a server’s attention.

“I’m fine. Thank you.” Cara set the box at the center of the table. “We were told you left this in Victor’s office?”

“Indeed. Thank you for returning it in one piece.” He grabbed the box, caressing its carvings as if it had been lost to him for good.

The question of what was inside crawled beneath my skin like maggots.

“If that was all, we should get going,” I said. I fought the urge to touch Cara’s back for fear of triggering another vision. The last thing I needed was to fall to the floor among dozens of people.

“It would be rude of me to have you two come all the way here for only two seconds. Please sit.” Lucien’s tone caught a subtle edge, the words becoming more of a demand than a request.

I eased into the chair next to Cara, keeping an eye on the space between our knees and arms. Her body heat seeped through the fibers of my coat.

“So I gather you’re Victor’s new assistant. Is this your first day? How are you liking it?” Lucien stirred two packs of sugar into his coffee, then leaned back.

“It is,” Cara said. She glanced at me, eyes roving over my face as if checking to make sure I was still fine before turning her attention back to the investor. “It’s going great. Victor gave me the most amazing office.”

“Love to hear it. I’m sure you’re relieved to have the annual company dinner off of your shoulders too, right?”

“Yes, but I was almost finished setting it up anyway,” she said, waving dismissively.

“Well, I’m certain you did an excellent job. ChamberCorp has never disappointed any of us throughout the years, and I know you were the one behind the scenes for a few of them,” Lucien said, his small grin stretching wide enough to show his straight white teeth.

A subtle shade of deep sienna tinted Cara’s cheeks.

Lucien paused with the coffee mug just below his chin. “How do you feel about attending instead of being in the background this time?”

“I never really thought about it,” she said with an anxious chuckle. Her leg began to bounce beneath the table, and I ached to reach for her knee to remind her of my presence.

“Well, you’re high enough in the ranks to attend now. You, too.” He shifted his sharp gaze to mine. “As her… bodyguard, you’d have to attend as well. It’s a bad look on Victor if his top assistant isn’t present.”

“You sure know an awful lot about the way things work at ChamberCorp,” I finally cut in. “I don’t recall investors being interested in the day-to-day operations of a company, only in their profits and losses.”

“I have a lot more invested than just money.” Lucien pulled out his wallet and placed a hundred-dollar bill on the table. “I suggest you find a date, Axel. It’ll make you look less abrasive. Just… try not to be a no-show.”

My nostrils flared, and I clenched my fists over my thighs.

Lucien stood from the table, adjusting his suit coat and cuffs. “A pleasure to meet you both.”

“It was nice to meet you, sir,” Cara said.

I didn’t reciprocate the sentiment, but instead scowled at the back of his head as he made his way out of the diner.

He knew something.

Cara and I stood outside to wait for our ride. She chewed on her bottom lip as she looked down at her feet.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“That company dinner. It’s… extremely formal and I’ve never gone before and it’s like right after Thanksgiving. I don’t have a dress or the social graces to deal with people like them.”

“They’re just people,” I said. “They can’t hurt you. And anyone you meet would instantly fall in love with you.”

Cara paused, lifting her gaze. I didn’t meet it.

Why would you say that, you idiot?

From the corner of my eye, I noticed her lips were parted; she drew in a breath as if she were about to respond—but nothing escaped.

I kept my focus on the street, counting the taxis that drove by as I always did to calm myself.

“Besides…” I cleared my throat for recovery. “My mask would distract them so badly, they wouldn’t notice if you used the wrong kind of fork.”

“For what it’s worth, I think your mask is cool,” Cara finally said. “I just wish I knew what was beneath it.”

A taxi slowed to a stop at the curb.

“If you did, your nightmares would never leave.” I stepped ahead and opened the door for her before she could respond. Cara’s eyebrows shifted inward, and she shook her head before scooting across the back seat. I settled next to her before directing the driver to take us to ChamberCorp.

We exchanged phone numbers on the way, but otherwise peered out of our respective windows the rest of the trip back.

Cara and I got out of the taxi and made our way into the first-floor lobby of ChamberCorp. Liam was last in line of our in-house café—and as if he smelled her presence, he turned around and jogged in our direction.

Her warm aura immediately froze over.

“Cara!” Liam exclaimed, his voice carrying upward toward the vaulted ceilings. I gritted my teeth at his loudness.

“Liam,” she said in a much less enthusiastic tone. “What’s up?”

“How’s your first day going?” He proceeded to ignore my presence.

I stepped in front of Cara, partially blocking her from him after having seen his darkest secret in his penthouse. My forearm warmed against my violent urges.

“It’s going great, actually. We were just coming back from a meeting.” Cara eyed me warily, moving out from behind me.

“That’s great. Hey, listen.” Liam tugged her shirt sleeve, pulling her farther away. He dropped his voice to a whisper, unaware that I could still hear him as if he were still standing next to me. I opened and closed my fists at my sides, fighting tooth and nail to avoid thoughts of inflicting every form of torture on him.

Liam ran a hand through his hair, flipping it to the side. “The annual dinner is coming up, and I was wondering if you’d like to go with me? Being that it’s in celebration of my father, I’m expected to show up.”

“Oh, wow, um…” Cara laughed nervously, taking a step back. She hugged herself, the same uneasy tension squeezing her shoulders as when Mr. Dale convinced her to get into the ice cream truck. “That’s really flattering, Liam, but⁠—”

“She’s going with me,” I blurted. Witnessing her discomfort was like stepping over hot coals.

“How?” Liam snapped, then reeled back with a curt laugh. “I mean, it’s a VIP dinner with shareholders, investors, board members and their families… you don’t even work here.”

“He’s actually my bodyguard,” Cara said, moving back to my side. “It just made sense to go together, you know?”

I smirked behind the mask, appreciating her going along with it. Something trembled in my chest. It couldn’t be my dead heart, but there was definitely something there.

“Your bodyguard?” Liam snorted. “Since when does Victor Chamberlain give his assistants bodyguards?”

Cara shrugged. “Policies change all the time. I think it’s thoughtful.”

“Well then, I better get back. See you around.” Liam’s excitement had fizzled out. He pivoted on his penny-loafer heel and stormed toward the elevators with wide strides.

“I-I’m sorry, I should’ve actually asked you first,” I mumbled, cringing at everything that had just happened.

Cara shook her head. “I would’ve said yes anyway. Thanks for that. I really didn’t want to go with him or try to come up with an excuse not to.”

I would’ve said yes anyway.

I thought I’d levitate.

Despite the vision, Victor, Lucien, Liam—despite everything—this was the first good day I’d had in a while.

Chapter 28

Akuma

The sky was angry, mirroring my rage in shades of vermillion. Even after everything that had happened, Mr. Dale’s ice cream truck and Liam’s surveillance never left the back of my mind. But with Victor’s orders, I couldn’t go near Liam.

I needed to track Mr. Dale down like I had Alexis Craft. There was just one problem—I didn’t have a pen to use this time.

I’d have to do it the old-fashioned way.

I walked Cara to her car in the parking garage in stony silence.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you…” I leaned into her driver’s window as Cara started up the engine.

“Yes?” She twisted the radio knob, turning the music down.

“Where are you from?”

Cara’s face twisted into confusion. “Mountainview, about three hours from here. Why? Where are you from?”

I shrugged. “I just thought it was a pretty basic fact that I should know, considering I’ll be meeting your family soon. Get home safe, okay?”

The tension left Cara’s face, replaced by a small smile. She might’ve noticed I hadn’t answered her question, but she didn’t point that out.

I waved as she backed out of her parking space, and waited until she pulled onto the street before opening a portal. The chill of the garage was shut off abruptly when I crossed the threshold and entered my foyer.

A foyer that no longer belonged to me.

Boxes littered the great room, auction tickets taped to furniture, trash bags stacked at the front door⁠—

“No,” I croaked, crossing each room at a faster pace than the previous. I was merely greeted with more of my belongings being packed away.

I ran upstairs and paused at the entrance to my bedroom. My mattress leaned against the wall, stripped bare of its sheets. They’d disassembled my bed frame and packed it away in a box that had yet to be sealed.

Then it dawned on me.

This wasn’t my house. It was Akuma Tanaka’s, and he was a deceased citizen with no family to take possession of his belongings. My mother was long gone, my father off with a better, less embarrassing family and completely unaware of his son’s death. The state had no choice but to take the property themselves.

The empty room was a snapshot of my existence’s erasure.

I searched through the boxes until I found one labeled with my clothes, then left. Unable to bear haunting my home another moment, I searched for a little-used motel and chose the Hanson on the interstate. It wasn’t ideal, but the fewer people, the better.

I portaled into an unoccupied room, tossed my mask on the bed, and set the box of clothes in the open closet. The bathroom light and fan ran simultaneously with a droning buzz. The paint chipped in the porcelain bath, the drain had an everlasting yellow ring around it, and the grout in the tiled floor was so dark it was impossible to tell if it was originally black or white in the motel’s prime.

I sat on the floor regardless, burying my head in my hands.

I knew exactly how to purge the wrath spreading across my chest with potent venom.

Rising from the floor, I held out my hand. Neon violet shards of glass appeared mid-air, clinking together and merging until my ōdachi formed. I cut upward, opening a jagged wound in the space in front of me.

I stepped through the gateway, and a star-ladened sky greeted me.

I stood in a vast prairie. Brittle tall grass replaced the lively spring of my vision. I turned and was met with the same white-brick ranch house nestled in a cul-de-sac, a picture-perfect match to what I had seen.

The night was still young as I roamed the neighborhood, with children still frolicking in playgrounds and residents still shopping around in small, square buildings with cracked brick coated in white mineral deposits. In a small town like this, I was certain rumors could spread like wildfire. A man like Mr. Dale targeting children… there was a good likelihood he hadn’t stuck around.

If he was even still free—or alive.

Mountainview definitely looked like the kind of town where everyone knew each other, so I couldn’t approach anyone and ask for someone else’s whereabouts. They’d probably gather their pitchforks and drive me away. Especially if Mr. Dale had somehow maintained his innocent reputation as the jolly ice-cream man who offered piano lessons.

I explored the town until I found a library, closed for the night, and portaled inside. It was about the size of a small gas station, with only five bookshelves, each housing dated texts.

I went straight to the computer lab—which only had two desktops—and pulled up several public record databases. I hunched over the keyboard, pushing up imaginary glasses as I dove into my search.

Starting with property tax assessment records, I searched every “Dale” in the county. I noted the first names, filtering out the women, and cross-referenced them with voter registration data since the search engine required full names.

An hour later, in a town with less than a thousand people, I had narrowed it down to one man.

Arthur Dale, still living at 513 Murberry Lane over three decades later, enjoying an unremarkable criminal history of parking and speeding tickets.

I didn’t waste another second before I portaled to his front yard. Arthur owned a quaint cottage, tucked away in a thin patch of woods set farther back than the rest of the houses in the small subdivision. Stone covered the face of the house, but the rest of it was made of a mix of vinyl and brick. Rose bushes lined the front of the porch, which was decorated with a pair of rocking chairs. Small handprints decorated the steps in colorful paint.

The contents of my stomach curdled, and I prowled to the only window illuminated by pale blue light and peeked through the cracked curtains. Piles of laundry crowded the couch and floors. Wallpaper peeled from the walls. Dirty paper plates and plastic cups littered the floor.

And sitting in a recliner in front of the TV was indeed the same ruddy face, stringy hair, and glasses belonging to the rotund man I’d seen in my vision.

He watched an animated movie with a beer in his hand and occasionally reached into a bowl on a tray next to him. He was missing his ring finger. Blood dripped past his lips and upon closer inspection of the food pinched between his fingers—it wasn’t food. It was broken glass.

Twisted in every way possible.

Arthur threw his head back in a guffaw at the television, slapping his thigh jovially.

I burst through the window. He screamed at my entrance. I held the tip of my sword at Arthur’s throat before he could jump out of the recliner.

“Before I kill you, I just want to know why,” I snarled lowly.

Arthur held his hands up, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Were there others? Did you murder any of them?” I demanded, the ōdachi glowing brighter with an insatiable hunger. Its hums were low and violent, as if the blade itself were growling.

Arthur leaped out of his chair with a monstrous screech, skin darkening to grey and neck rotating until his head was upside down. He leaned backward, spine cracking. His stomach rolled and bubbled as if something were crawling inside. Then his flesh unzipped, and spindly, shining obsidian arms climbed out of his body. A twisted demon similar to the ones in Sheol emerged, hovering over the mess of Arthur’s bloody flesh.

“We didn’t kill them. They were too young to be judged. It would’ve been like handing their souls over to God. No, no, no… we will claim them later in adulthood, when they further stain their own souls from their traumas,” the demon fleered proudly. “Ripe for harvest. The one that bit the mortal’s finger is a tough one to break. Cursed bloodline, that one.”

“I’m never going to stop enjoying sending you all back to Hell,” I snarled, and swung my blade.

The demon dropped to all fours and ducked, then swiped at my shins. I jumped back, its talons catching only the fabric of my pants. It lunged at my neck with an animalistic growl and I dove to the side. I fell on my back, knocking into the television screen. It turned to static before it fell off its stand and shattered. The beast pounced on top of me.

“You can’t destroy us! This world is ours, and you’re going to place it right into our palms, Reaper,” the demon growled in what sounded like hundreds of voices, laughing as if it had already achieved victory. It leaned its weight on my ōdachi, the sharp edge of the blade inching toward my face. My arms shook from the resistance.

Death may have called me a Reaper, but I had no intentions of taking the souls of just any dying person. No… I wanted to right the wrongs, tip the balance of good and evil in the world as much as I was able.

I would take the souls of those who were an invasive species, and find the one who had orchestrated my demise. If those souls were in the form of demons possessing humans… then I would rain fire and brimstone to cleanse the filth tarnishing the Earth.

The demon leaned further and the blade kissed my cheekbone, marking a bloodless incision. “Who are you to challenge us? You’re nothing but a puppet, a slave to your own destiny!”

A cool sensation snaked across my shoulders, like a python slithering over them. The purple luminosity of my blade dimmed to a malevolent scarlet as my wrath reached new heights.

“I am a Reaper of Sowers,” I growled, and overpowered the demon’s strength with such force that I impaled it with the blunt side of my ōdachi.

An unnatural wave of nausea hit me when I portaled into my motel room in Lumis, and the room rippled like water. I rushed to the bathroom, hurling up a tar-like liquid. My insides rolled and folded and twisted, as if my inactive organs were rearranging themselves. The bones in my spine cracked, skin splitting. I threw my head back with an excruciating yowl, clawing at my back but unable to reach the source of the torment. The pain intensified into razors, cat scratches, fire and lightning. I staggered to my feet and fell through the door, the wood splintering on impact. I peered over my shoulder in the mirror, four winged tattoos etching themselves across my upper and lower back.

More bones crunched, breaking and fusing back together in a vicious cycle until a force burst forth, and I released a phantasmic scream that shattered the mirror and windows. Spent, I crumpled to the floor.

My eyes flung open to a frosted touch over my forehead. I drew in a sharp breath, weakly lifting my head to see Death crouching in front of me with pinched lips. She used her naginata for support to stand straight, then cocked her head.

“Interesting,” she mused.

“What… what happened?” I croaked, blinking until the stars in my vision fell. I tried to sit up, but it felt like a boulder sat on my back.

Death’s eyes narrowed. “Have you taken another soul before its time again?”

“No.”

“You dare lie to me?” she bellowed.

“I’m not lying! It was a demon this time,” I snapped, my rattling voice stretched thin. “Not like I hadn’t killed one of those before anyway.”

“Our job is to reap souls. Not to fight demons, not to play vigilante hero for the mortals. Leave the demon hunting to the Guardians, Akuma.” Death spat my name. “Your very existence is an assault on mankind.”

I ignored the sting of her last statement lancing through my chest. “Who are Guardians?”

“Mortals describe them as angels,” she said, twirling her naginata idly.

“Where are⁠—”

Death reached down and yanked something from my back. I cried out, snatching her ankle out of reflex. It was like she’d taken a fistful of my hair and ripped it out. She jerked her leg away before crouching again in front of me, spinning a large black feather between her fingers. The same oily, black fluid I had retched coated the base of its stem.

“You know what is worse than a Reaper?” She brushed the feather against the tip of my nose. I crinkled it, only just realizing I’d never put my mask back on before I went to Mountainview.

“What?” I rasped, failing yet again to push myself off the floor. I rotated my head to peer over my shoulders, and gasped at the sight of two pairs of wings the color of charcoal. Two sprouted from between my shoulder blades, the other two from my lower back, just as the tattoo had indicated.

Death’s lips curled with disappointment. “An Angel of Death.”

Chapter 29

Akuma

Every movement felt like glass shards slicing into my back. Death gazed down at me, unamused as she continued to twirl the feather between her fingers.

“Four… feathered wings. With all your transgressions, I would have expected membranous ones,” she sneered.

“I can’t let anyone see this,” I said, and propped myself up on my elbows. I gritted my teeth, arms wobbling as if I had done hundreds of pushups.

“You can retract them. A brutal transformation, but it is possible,” Death said, and raised her palm to my forehead. It sizzled against my skin like a branding iron. I flinched, and though the weight still anchored me to the floor, the wings had vanished.

Death rose from her knee.

“What did you just do to me?” I rasped.

“I gave you a temporary cloak. It’ll lift by sunset. That gives you ample time to figure out how to hide your wings,” she said with a nonchalant shrug. Death pulled her hood over her head, casting darker shadows over the hollows of her gaunt cheeks.

“Ample time?” I barked. “I’m supposed to learn how to hide my wings in less than a day? How?”

“You are really becoming a thorn in my side, Reaper. Figure it out.” Death’s asymmetrical wings flared outward before she took flight, exiting through the motel room’s gaping window.

I crawled back to the bathroom and gripped the edge of the counter to pull myself back up. Only a couple shards of glass stuck to the mirror frame, revealing a fragmented reflection of myself. Weight tugged at my knees, on the brink of buckling like the phantom weight of water after swimming for hours. Black blood striped along my oblique muscles.

I hunched over the sink, trembling.

I’d ruined my life. I had even managed to ruin my death. The gates of Heaven had waited for me, and I had turned away. And what could I do now? Pray? Wasn’t it too late to pray?

As if a veil had been shed from my eyes, the guilt finally hit me. An Angel of Death? Was that truly the fate I had created for myself?

I was no different from the demons I’d condemned.

The weight of my invisible wings only felt heavier as I showered the blood away, picked at the dirt beneath my nails, and changed into a fresh set of clothes.

I trudged through Lumis, the soles of my shoes scraping against the ground. I hadn’t felt such exhaustion since my mortal life, and I partly wondered if it was real or merely psychological.

I stopped at the curb of an abandoned church, on a side of town where most of the land remained untouched by developers and tourists. Most of its concrete sign had eroded, the lettering thin and distorted. I managed to make out enough to read “New Bethel.” Its denomination was illegible, but I considered myself non-denominational anyway.

Or rather… I used to. I didn’t have much of a choice now.

New Bethel had long lost its flock, as moss and brambles overwhelmed the stone. Desilvering stained glass windows ran along the length of the building and its domed roof.

I brushed my hands over the lettering, expecting the stone to scald my wretched skin, but was only met with damp coldness.

“You walk these hallowed grounds, yet the church does not reject you.”

A honeyed voice. Sweet like spring. If pastel colors had a sound, it would’ve been her voice.

I froze in place, fingertips stilled over the church’s name. It couldn’t have been Death. Her voice was the drastic opposite—deep and hollow and filled with impending doom.

“Shouldn’t it?” I muttered.

Light flashed in the corner of my eye, illuminating the night engulfing the city, then dimmed like a candle. I blinked until my eyes adjusted, and gasped at the radiance.

A six-foot-tall woman made of brass stood before me, like a living statue. A halo braid was sculpted onto her head. She possessed four wings like me, except they were made of metal and carved into feathers, engulfed in perpetual flames that didn’t scorch the grass they brushed against, and her face—four eyes stared back at me like miniature suns.

She reminded me of a statue overlooking one of the tombstones at the graveyard, like she had left her post to make sure I didn’t desecrate these holy grounds. I leaned against one of the sign’s pillars, growing more exhausted in her presence by the second.

“Shame clings to you,” she said gently, more to herself than to me.

I blinked slowly. “Who are you?”

“My name is Selah. I am a Guardian. Come.” She swept her hand toward the church doors.

I hadn’t set foot into a church since my mother’s funeral. And as a Reaper-turned-Angel-of-Death… I figured I’d turn to sulfuric ash the second I crossed its threshold.

When Selah opened the doors, the weight of my wings vanished and New Bethel greeted me in all its golden glory. The walls shimmered like honey, the angelic paintings in the high Baroque dome moved like characters on film. Sunlight poured through the now flawless stained windows—despite it being nighttime outside—and spattered color throughout the nave. Queen’s wreath and Kentucky wisteria vines draped across the pews and spiraled around the columns. Shallow, crystal-clear water coated the floors, sloshing gently against our feet as we walked. And the strangest thing—my shoes didn’t appear to get wet.

White doves flew around the space and bathed in a babbling fountain, and other songbirds chirped their lullabies. A nightingale landed on my shoulder, and Selah giggled with a tone just as sweet as wind chimes. I gently smoothed my fingertip over the nightingale’s small head, and to my surprise—it didn’t fly away.

Selah tilted her head at the creature. The bird mirrored her movement. “You’ve suffered quite a bit, haven’t you, Akuma?”

I flinched at the sound of my name, expecting my Mark to bore further into my skin. But no harm fell from her lips.

“What is this place?” I breathed, turning in a small circle. My presence was a blot in its beauty. I glanced back at the doors, the urge to flee growing ever stronger.

“A temple for lost souls,” Selah said, and held out her finger. The bird flew from my shoulder to perch on it. “You didn’t find this place by accident. You belong, even as a Reaper.”

“How?” I frowned.

Selah explained how New Bethel was a hidden temple that only revealed itself to those who were close to giving up on themselves.

“Mavet—you know her as Death—gave you a choice in a vulnerable state. You had just been murdered by demons. This opportunity is given to a select few who fall under certain criteria. Descendents of Job—ones who have the potential for possessing the purest of souls, or those who inherited special gifts and prematurely died from unnatural causes,” Selah explained. The nightingale flew from her finger and joined the doves crowding on the crown molding.

I tracked the bird’s movement. “Which one was I?”

“You had Sight, the ability to see into our realm. You saw the very demon sent to kill you on the subway hours before it did. When you became a Reaper, the Sight manifested as visions of the wretched and weary. I am certain those visions will surely intensify as an Angel of Death.”

“How do you know⁠—”

“How do fish know how to swim? Power is intuitive.”

Selah grabbed my right hand and rotated my wrist to expose my inner forearm. The cursed Mark stared back at us with ghastly defiance. I tugged away subtly, but her metallic grip held firm.

“What if I told you God could use your plight for the greater good?” She traced my brand, cool metal triggering goosebumps I didn’t know I still had.

“God doesn’t hate me?” My throat tightened, the words leaving a bitter tang in my mouth.

“Oh, no!” she gasped. “No, of course not. He forgives us well before we forgive ourselves or others, love.” Selah pulled me to one of the pews. Even as we settled onto the bench, she didn’t let go of my arm. “Mavet may have scolded you for committing Judgment, and she was right.”

I stared at the cloak of purple flowers coating the bench. Any other time, I would have recoiled at their scent. But now… I wanted to lie in a bed of them. I’d done nothing but roll around in thorns since I had returned to the land of living.

“She called me an Angel of Death after I grew four black wings. She made it sound like something I can’t come back from,” I said, and dropped my gaze to the banded tattoos around my wrist. I rubbed my thumb against the harsh black ink. It couldn’t be much worse than the contracts Victor kept binding me into. “I don’t even know how to hide my wings, and I need to show up to work in the morning as per my contract.”

“An Angel of Death isn’t worse. They’re simply more dangerous. Mavet is neutral. It doesn’t matter if a soul is good or evil. She reaps, and sends them off when it’s their time. When God is ready to deliver His vengeance, it is an Angel of Death He sends to complete the task. From smiting a single person to destroying entire cities, they’re the ones that carry out the Judgment when mercy is no longer an option. They are His swords. Think of the Four Horsemen. One day, it will be their hour. One day… it will be yours.”

My breath hitched.

Who’s coming for us, Sera?

You are.

I shook the memory from my mind, running a trembling hand through my hair. Sera was only a human. She had just gone through a traumatic incident. She could be wrong.

“What do you mean by that?” I finally asked. “I’m not a Horseman.”

“You’re a weapon to be wielded whenever God sees fit.”

Little orbs of light manifested in Selah’s palm like fireflies, materializing themselves into a scroll. When she unrolled the paper, I saw drawings of various angels and their responsibilities. Seraphim relayed messages directly from God to everyone else. Cherubim guarded Heaven’s gates. The angels who ensured the planets, seasons, and other elements of nature in order were known as Virtues. Those who were responsible for governing the natural order of good and evil within the universe were collectively known as Powers. Death, other Reapers, and warrior-angels like the Guardians, who fought against demons and protected mortals from danger belonged to that category. I suppose I did now, too.

Selah’s kindness and patience was like none other. She didn’t dismiss me, or speak in riddles like Death often did. It didn’t matter that I had the Mark of the Damned, the face of a monster, and hands stained with crimson. She didn’t treat me like a swine who had wandered into a room full of pearls.

At least here, my existence wasn’t an assault on hers.

Selah closed the scroll and it dissolved in her hands.

“As for your wings,” she began, and raked her fingers through my invisible feathers. “Flex your back muscles, pinch your shoulder blades, and tense your lower back.”

Chills spidered along my spine and I flinched away, but followed her instructions. Instead, the deadweight returned, but the wings remained cloaked.

“You may have a tattoo replicating your wings on your back. Imagine it as a portal for them to enter, a gateway to pass through your skin,” Selah said, withdrawing her hand.

I nodded with a heavy sigh. I closed my eyes, attempting to picture my skin yawning open to welcome them. Another impossible task.

“You mentioned God using my plight for the greater good. How?” I finally asked.

Selah smiled, revealing more brass teeth. “Sever your bond from your oppressor, and you will be born again and able to join us in our war against evil.”

“And if I fail?” I slowly rose from the pew, tensing as I braced for her answer.

“If you fail, the one you hold dear will be lost to you. You will become Fallen, and the Dark One will siphon your power. He will likely use you to unleash chaos among the living until Archangel Michael is forced to send you to damnation.”

Of course. No pressure at all.

Selah stood as well, and cupped my face. This time, her hands were as warm as a hearth. “Do not fret, love. There’s a reason you crave to purge the demons. Your purpose awaits you. Evil forces are trying to alter your fate and use it to destroy the world, but you can back control.”

Sera’s words clanged through my mind.

If you let him claim the last piece of your soul, we’re all going to die!

If my fate was tied to the fate of the world, then everyone was already doomed.

When I finally left New Bethel, the stars had been replaced by a sea of sunlight and cotton clouds. Incessant itching plagued my forearm, and I raised my sleeve. My Mark was obnoxiously inflamed. I scratched at it with a frustrated groan.

Glancing at a nearby clock tower, I realized it was well past the start of my shift with Cara at ChamberCorp.

Chapter 30

Cara

When I returned home, a red envelope sealed with black wax in the shape of a heart was wedged in the doorframe. My first instinct was to grab it, but I stopped myself before my fingertips made contact. People laced objects with toxins all the time. I looked up and down the hall, my heart lodging itself in my throat. My purse strap flopped from my shoulder to the crook of my elbow, and suddenly I became hyperaware of the persistent buzzing of the hallway’s lights.

I pulled out my phone and took a picture, then called Iris.

“Hey, babes! What’s up?” her voice rang out.

“Hey…” I couldn’t match her energy with my gaze fixed on the envelope. “Can you come over and bring a set of latex gloves?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

I groaned. “I need you to⁠—”

“Why do you need me to bring gloves? Are we hiding a body?”

“No, no, no,” I said quickly. “This might sound extra, but somebody put a weird fancy envelope in my door and I don’t want to open it with my bare hands. I also don’t trust going inside alone.”

“I’m on it!” Iris hung up, and I sunk to the floor with my back against the wall. Blood roared in my ears, and my father’s voice intercepted my thoughts.

Fear, Cara, is beneath you. What do you have to fear after surviving your worst nightmare? You’re a fighter. You’re a weapon. Never forget that.

I leaned my head against the wall with a long exhale. Somehow, recalling his encouragement made me feel guilty for feeling anxiety at all.

Fifteen minutes flat, and Iris jogged down my hall with her car keys jingling at her hip and blue nitrile gloves flapping in her hands. She paused at my door, staring at the envelope with the same mix of fear and intrigue.

“Do you know anyone who could’ve left this?”

She tossed a pair of gloves onto my lap before putting a pair on herself, snapping the rubber against her wrist. I did the same, then rose to my feet.

“Liam doesn’t know where I live. This could be Axel’s doing. O-or a neighbor.”

Liam shouldn’t know where I live.

I pulled the envelope from the doorframe and inspected the wax seal. It wasn’t uniform. Someone had taken the time to melt the wax, pour it on, and stamp it. The envelope itself smelled of spiced cinnamon and bourbon.

“Axel, the guy who claimed to be Akuma’s brother—the one you met at the grave?” Iris asked.

“Yes. The one who isn’t chronically online,” I said, rolling my eyes. Dread crawled up my spine. I really hoped he wasn’t secretly insane, projecting suspicion onto Liam when he was the one stalking me.

“Can you take my keys? I don’t want to do this out here or touch the handle,” I said.

Iris dug through my purse and grabbed my keys, then unlocked the door. I set the envelope on two paper towels in the kitchen. With this level of cautiousness, the only thing missing from our investigation was a pair of yellow hazmat suits. Iris leaned over the counter with wide eyes, watching my every careful movement as I peeled the wax seal away. Inside, there was a cream-colored card with a credit card taped to it, and six words written in elegant calligraphy.

For the dinner. Courtesy of ChamberCorp.

I frowned at the card, turning it over as if more instructions would appear. I removed the gloves, the tension in frigid shoulders only partially thawing.

Iris curled her lip and scrunched her nose. “So… they gave you a credit card to buy food?”

“I think this is for a dress, but I was going to ask to borrow yours again…” Although, I wasn’t sure how much I’d stomach wearing the dress I’d worn to the date that never happened. Just by mentioning it, I was reminded of that horrible night at The Black Pearl.

“Psh, why do that when a big, fat, rich corporation is giving you money to get a new one? My only thing is… why would they do it with such a romantic card?”

“I don’t know, but I can rule Axel out.” I felt relieved in that regard at least, and brought the paper to my nose with a deep inhale.

Iris’s face flattened. “Why does it smell like the scratch and sniff samples out of magazines? Are we certain this was ChamberCorp?”

Liam?

No. He doesn’t know where I live.

But if he was stalking me…

No. I would’ve noticed his flashy blue sports car.

“Cara?” Iris cut into my racing thoughts.

I held the letter inches away from my eyes, examining the handwriting. “They probably do it for everyone. Look, the calligraphy has slightly pixelated edges around the strokes. This had to have been printed. The perfume is probably just to add to the elegance.”

“Okay… so are we going to Brontë Avenue, or no?” Iris held a straight face, but slowly did her lips stretch into a mischievous grin.

“Are we ignoring the creepiness of the letter?” I asked. Playing into it felt… wrong. At the very least, I should wait and verify with Victor the next morning. The last thing I needed was to get fired over misuse of company funds.

“No, but it could be a tomorrow problem,” Iris said.

“Tomorrow it is. How about, depending on what Victor says, we go on a shopping spree when I get off? I don’t think I should ignore my gut this time.” I set my purse next to the card on the counter so I wouldn’t forget to bring it with me in the morning. Iris poked out her bottom lip, and I patted her back.

“Ugh, lame. I guess I walked right into that one.” She flopped her arms across the counter like a rag doll before straightening, then spun her keyring on her finger as she ambled to my front door. “Alrighty then. Tomorrow. Are you gonna be okay by yourself tonight? Do I need to call and request someone to patrol?”

“Ha, ha, very funny, Iris.” I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for helping, though.”

“Just making sure. Te quiero mucho!” She wiggled her fingers in a dainty wave.

“Love you too!” I called out as she left.

Waiting for Axel in the main ChamberCorp lobby was a big mistake.

Liam slithered around the coffee bar without a drink in hand and hurried to my side as if I’d run for the elevators.

I should’ve.

“Morning, Cara!” He grinned brightly.

“Good morning, Liam,” I droned with a yawn. I thought about asking if he’d delivered the letter, but opted to stick with my original plan of asking Victor first. It was too early in the morning to open that conversation with Liam.

“So listen, I was thinking… since we couldn’t really hang out the other night—” Liam followed me across the lobby. “How about dinner?”

“Dinner?” I echoed with a nervous chuckle. “Um, how about lunch?”

“Really?” Liam frowned, pinching his lips into a thin line. “You wouldn’t want to go to The Black Pearl with me?”

I paused mid-stride, almost tripping. I rolled my shoulders back as rage iced over them.

“What did you just say?” I hissed.

“I-I just asked if you wanted to go to The Black Pearl with me.” Liam took a half step back with an anxious smile. But even his textbook charm couldn’t douse the ire choking the air from my lungs.

I squeezed my hands into fists. “I get you had problems with Akuma when he was alive, but how dare you?”

“I just thought⁠—”

“Stop. Thinking!” I snapped, my voice puncturing the din of the lobby. Liam’s ears and cheeks reddened.

But I wasn’t finished.

“I’m not interested in you! Never was, never will be! To compete with an innocent man is low, but to suggest a date at the same restaurant he wanted to take me after he was murdered is even lower. You are not Akuma!” I didn’t take a breath, but when I finally did, my voice went brittle. White-hot tears warped my vision. “He was sweet! He was genuine! He was pure and thoughtful and so many other things that you will never be! And now he’s gone! Leave. Me. Alone!”

The black dots faded from my sight. I panted and wiped my cheeks. Liam’s wide gaze scanned the lobby with shame. Only then did I look around to see a couple people watching us with their jaws dropped.

“I-I’m sorry, Cara. I-I didn’t know! I just wanted to give you a good dinner in Lumis’ finest restaurant because I… I love you,” he said, voice cracking like an teenage boy. He stepped toward me with his palms facing upward and a single tear pathetically tumbling down his cheek.

I jabbed a firm finger at him, stopping him halfway. “Stay away from me, Liam. I mean it.”

The tear clung to the bottom of his chin, but the sorrow had long left his face. His eyes darkened, his jaw hardening. He curled his fists at his sides, then straightened out his fingers.

I stormed to the elevators with my heart rioting in my chest.

As soon as I reached the top floor, the adrenaline was snatched from my body, leaving nothing but overwhelming shivers and weak knees.

My leg bounced under my desk while I worked. I still needed to ask Victor about the credit card and letter, but I couldn’t bring myself to face him. Not when Liam was his spitting image. Not when I still felt like a Jenga tower that would topple the second I stood up.

And where was Axel, my supposed bodyguard? Was he not here because I didn’t have any meetings outside of ChamberCorp? Had he called out sick?

Had he been murdered, too?

This was by far the worst day for Axel to be absent, because even being thirty floors away from Liam… I didn’t feel safe. Not that I ever truly felt safe, but now my fear was actually specific.

Please don’t be dead, too.

I set my pen down and pressed my forehead into my fingers, inhaling sharply through my nose. My second leg bounced in tandem with the other, and my chest inflated, building and building and⁠—

“Cara?”

I lifted my head, breath hitching with the threat of hyperventilation. Axel crowded my office doorway, shutting the door behind him with concerned, furrowed brows. I leaped from my desk and ran to him, hugging him as tight as I could.

Screw boundaries or professionalism.

Axel’s strong arms wrapped around me, and he rubbed my back gingerly. I melted against him and my face crumpled as I released more stifled pain, pain that apparently still hadn’t healed after Akuma’s funeral. I hadn’t realized how starved of comfort I was until now.

Axel waited until my ugly weeping ebbed. “What happened?”

He stepped forward, and I moved with him, as if we were slow dancing to a somber ballad. The back of my knees hit the futon in front of my desk. I sank into the seat and he passed me a tissue box. He patiently waited for me to gather myself, settling beside me.

I glanced back at the door to make sure no one was listening, then slumped against his chest with a tissue balled in my fist.

“I just had a bad morning,” I whispered.

“Must’ve been an absolute nightmare.”

Axel squinted slightly. He was just as perceptively studious as Akuma. It was hard to get a read on him. If I mentioned Liam by name, I wasn’t sure how far he’d go to defend me.

“I’m here for you to rant, you know. Not just protection from kidnappers seeking company secrets and ransom money.”

“Thanks,” I said, sitting up. Swiping the dusted powder I’d left behind on Axel’s black shirt, I mumbled, “Sorry.”

I crossed to the far side of the office where a decorative mirror hung on the wall and examined my face, the smeared mascara and streaked foundation. Makeup sucked.

I found the travel-sized wipes I kept in my purse and began erasing my face. Through the mirror, Axel watched me. The skin around my neck tightened, and he looked away—almost as if he sensed my discomfort.

“I’m sorry I was late, Cara. I had some… complications this morning,” Axel said quietly.

“No, you’re fine, you don’t have to explain yourself. It was something that was long overdue anyway, so don’t worry about it.”

Once I gathered myself, I left my office to speak with Victor. I think Shai said good morning, though I wasn’t sure. I didn’t respond to her on account of my tunnel vision.

Victor sat at his desk, typing away on his computer. The glass door to his office was ajar and I knocked lightly against the frame.

“Come in,” he said without taking his focus from the monitor. The morning light gilded his skin and hair.

I tentatively walked further inside. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, no. What can I do for you?” He swiveled forward, facing me with a kind smile that contrasted with his son’s.

I inhaled deeply. “I received a company credit card with a note last night at my apartment. What am I supposed to use it for regarding the upcoming dinner?”

I wanted to mention the nature of the letter with the cologne and the heart-shaped wax seal, but I didn’t have any more energy to care. I just needed to get through the rest of the day.

Victor blinked slowly, as if my question didn’t quite process. Then his eyes ignited with awareness. “Oh, yes! That’s just so you can get yourself something nice. As you probably already know, it’s a black-tie event. I understand it’s your first time attending, so I wanted to make sure you could comply with the dress code without needing to purchase anything out of your own pocket.”

I dipped my head with a smile and said, “Thank you, sir. I just wanted to confirm.”

I returned to my office and continued work while Axel remained on the futon. His somber eyes were fixed on the city beyond, sunlight brightening them to a magnificent silver.

I buried myself in reading over reports for Victor and reorganizing the chaotic calendar his previous assistant had arranged until the stress of this morning melted away. I’d catch him stealing a glance in my direction before his head would swivel back toward the cloudless sky above, and the traffic below.

Even in the silence, Axel’s presence alone was enough to calm my nerves, just as his brother’s once had for me.

It was strange. The more I spent time with Axel, the more it felt like Akuma had never left.

The traffic crawled as it always did after work.

Except this time, the gas light of my car dinged. I’d had such a hectic week that I had forgotten to fill up, and now I didn’t have enough to carry me home. To make matters worse, the city started road work and I had to take a detour. I tensed my grip on the steering wheel, chewing my lip as I searched through my phone at a stop light for the nearest gas station.

Which happened to be on the same side of town of Akuma’s murder.

It was an empty lot, the company logo only half illuminated. I circled the pumps until I found one that didn’t have a yellow bag over the handle. The buttons were faded and the screen was hardly reactive to my touch as I paid. I leaned against my car with my hands tucked in my coat pockets as the numbers rapidly ascended.

Another vehicle pulled up and parked in front of one of the defective pumps. They didn’t move to a functional pump. I turned so my back wasn’t against them, noting the tinted windows.

A man dressed in a sweaty white tank top and basketball shorts stepped out of the vehicle, and I scanned him from head to toe before glancing back at my pump to see how much farther it had to go.

Where was his coat? It had to be thirty degrees outside, yet he was sweating as if it were mid-July.

My eyebrows pinched together at the sickly cyan skin and dark veins branching up his neck to his jaw. His eyes were bloodshot, pupils magnified and making his eyes nearly appear completely black. He locked on to me with recognition, though I had never seen him before. He growled, and stalked in my direction.

I snatched the gas pump from the tank of my car and sprayed fuel across his face. He merely shook his head and lunged. I ducked to the side with a yelp and slapped at his ears. He staggered. I gripped the sides of his head and rammed my knee into his face. His skin split at the bridge of his nose. Thick, dark blood striped his upper lip. I kicked him in the chest then dove into my car, tires squealing as I raced out of the lot.

The strength in my hands was nonexistent; I could barely turn the wheel.

What just happened?

I pulled onto the shoulder of the highway. I didn’t turn on my flashers in case someone wanted to play hero.

Drugs. It was just drugs.

I reclined my seat and pressed my hands against my cheeks, forcing slow inhales through my nostrils and extended exhales through my mouth.

My cellphone rang, and I jumped at the vibration in my back pocket. I sighed with relief at the caller ID.

“Hey, Mama,” I rasped.

“Hey—what’s going on? You sound stressed.”

“I’m always stressed,” I said defensively, and shook my head. “I’m sorry, I just… I’ll tell you later. What’s up?”

A long pause. “Do you promise?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, banking on her forgetting this conversation by the end of the week. What would I even say? That I got attacked by a random guy high on something at the gas station, just to hear them praise me for surviving yet another life-threatening situation and condemn me for literally shaking in my boots?

“What did you want to talk about?” I sat up in the seat.

“Mr. Dale was found murdered in his home,” Mom said.

His name was a razor blade sinking into the grey matter of my brain. But the rest of my mother’s words finally seeped through, and something inside me broke free.

“He’s dead?” I wiped away a rogue tear.

“Yeah, actually, I wanted to talk to you about the way he died⁠—”

“N-no, that’s okay. I don’t need details. Thanks, Mom. I gotta go, love you, bye!” I quickly hung up. I rolled the windows down to let in the winter air, picked a playlist on my phone, and pretended everything was fine as always.

After all, according to my powerhouse parents, survival meant getting over it.

Chapter 31

Cara

“I ought to key that pompous creep’s car,” Iris seethed as she drove us to Lumis’ most notable shopping district—Brontë Avenue. I had spent the afternoon catching her up to speed on my outburst in the middle of ChamberCorp, and the amazing emotional support Axel had given me. However, I didn’t talk about the gas station or the nightmares that had followed. I could tell myself to forget about it, and then it’d just join the rest of the ulcerative torments I’d accumulated over the years. I had postponed our shopping trip another day, just so I could finish pulling myself together.

“Let’s not? If he’s crazy I’d rather not give him even more of a reason to come after me,” I said, fidgeting with the end of my scarf.

Iris flipped her visor down to apply lipstick while we were at a stop light. “Well, isn’t that the whole reason why you have a bodyguard?”

“Not for him to attack the CEO’s son.”

“We should invite him to shop with us. I’m sure he needs a fancy suit for the event, right?” Iris smacked her lips and examined the burgundy shade, then smiled deviously. “I’d love to meet this mysterious guy.”

“I thought you wanted a girl’s shopping trip,” I grumbled.

“I changed my mind,” Iris said with a half grin. “Call him!”

“I’ll text him.” I gnawed on my lip, hesitantly taking my phone out. We had exchanged phone numbers after our meeting with Lucien, and I hadn’t used it yet. Not even yesterday morning during my mini meltdown.

Hey. This is Cara. Are you busy today? My friend and I are going to Brontë to buy me a dress for the dinner.

Maybe if I made the outing sound unappealing for a typical guy, he’d decline.

But did I really want him to?

The architecture of Brontë Avenue was more upscale, with alabaster high-rises and six-foot fountains. The patrons alone were more upscale with their Louboutin shoes, Louis Vuitton handbags, and Cucinelli clothing. As Iris swerved into a parallel parking space with the confidence of a NASCAR driver, I sunk into my seat.

“Iris, do we have to be here? I’m pretty sure I can find a dress at the mall,” I grumbled.

She shut off the engine. “Um, no? You’re going to be around a bunch of snobs that can smell cheap fabric a mile away. Did Axel ever respond?”

I glanced at my phone again. At first, there was nothing on my screen and I felt… heavy.

Until his name popped up.

Maybe. Where are you going to be?

My heart seized. That wasn’t the answer I expected, but elation took form as butterflies in my gut.

“Well?” Iris tilted her head impatiently.

Diamant, I responded.

Almost instantly, as if he were sitting with his screen open like I was, he said—Okay.

Iris’s leather seat squeaked as she leaned over the console to peek at my phone. “Is that a yes?”

“I think so…”

“Hell yeah! Come on,” she said, and jumped out of the car and skipped to pay the meter. She linked her arm with mine, and dragged me to the first store displaying elegantly adorned mannequins.

Gowns of varying colors and lengths floated on clear acrylic posts along the wall, trailing up the sweeping glass staircase. The high-gloss porcelain tiles mirrored the bright LED lights running down the ceiling.

My jaw fell open.

Iris elbowed me. “Act like you’ve been here before,” she whispered.

“Welcome, ladies,” a sales associate dressed in a tailored suit with a gold name tag greeted us. Nadine’s smile was just as dazzling as her diamond jewelry. “Can I help you find anything?”

“Hi, um, where are your dresses?” I asked.

“Upstairs. What’s the occasion?”

“A black-tie VIP dinner,” I said. I desperately wished Iris could come, too. She was the life of any party, and would make this one less suffocating.

I hoped the party atmosphere I imagined was just a stereotype formulated by my poor brain.

“Oh, lovely! Follow me, we have a section dedicated to floor-length gowns fit for any highly sophisticated occasion.” We followed Nadine upstairs, where she took our measurements for tailoring, and left us alone to wreak havoc on the dressing rooms.

Iris and I flipped through the racks, taking turns changing behind the curtain and flaunting the dresses in front of the mirrors on a platform. Iris captured photos and videos of every one for her followers. None of the dresses I tried on looked as attractive as they did on the hanger.

Until the tenth dress.

“Iris, this might be it,” I called. The gown’s navy blue silk cascaded down my body, hugging my waist and flaring past my hips to pool at my feet. Sheer fabric attached to a sweetheart neckline flowed into a sheer floor-length chiffon cape that draped down my back, bedecked with fine sequins that shimmered like stars.

I emerged from the dressing room and stepped on the platform in front of the mirrors.

“Beautiful.”

The velvety whisper prompted me to look up. I drew a sharp breath at the sight of Axel standing at the edge of the communal area through the mirror, and spun to face him with a gasp.

I cupped a hand over my warm cheek, then released a nervous chuckle. “You scared me.”

“S-sorry, weren’t you expecting me?” He stepped further into the section, glancing at the pile of dresses draped over a nearby chair.

“Yes, I just didn’t hear you.” I rubbed my arm, still standing on the platform. His compliment continued to replay in the back of my mind.

Today, a solid black neoprene mask covered the lower half of Axel’s face. With his ebony hair tousled, he also wore a dark green long-sleeved button down and jeans. Despite being indoors, his hands remained concealed in leather gloves. At this point I was convinced he was hiding his hands.

It was the most casual I had ever seen him.

We stared at each other in silence, my heart pounding so loudly I feared he could hear it if he came any closer. Unspoken words hung low between us like thick fog, though I wasn’t sure what they were saying.

“He’s here?” Iris popped her head around the clothing rack and returned with five more gowns slung over her arm. “You’re Axel?”

Her eyes scanned him from head-to-toe like a cyborg.

Axel gave her a slight bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She glanced at me with raised eyebrows and a chuffed smile when he wasn’t looking.

“Iris. It’s nice to meet you, too. Cara talks about you all the time,” she said with a smirk.

Axel straightened with a low laugh, eyes crinkling. “Is that so?”

“Iris!” I chided, then rolled my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

I wished I could shrink and hide within the dress, like Alice when she drank that potion in Wonderland.

“No, it’s fine. I’m flattered,” Axel said.

Nadine returned to our corner. “Can I assist you with anything, sir?”

“Oh, no, I⁠—”

“He’s going to the same event. Do you have a tuxedo, Axe?” The nickname unintentionally rolled off my tongue, and I wanted to morph into the wall.

Why am I suddenly becoming stupid?

He paused, then shook his head.

“Are you two going together? Is that the dress you’re choosing?” Nadine asked.

“Yeah, I think this is the one,” I said.

“It’s exquisite—navy is always an excellent choice for a black tie event.”

“Thank you, I thought so too.” I didn’t want to dress for a funeral if I could help it. It’d be nice to go a week without Akuma interrupting my thoughts.

Nadine grinned and turned to Axel. “Follow me, sir. I know just the tuxedo for you.”

She led him downstairs. Through the small gap in the dresses between us, our gazes met, and his eyes roved over my body briefly before he descended beyond the glass railing.

I curled my fingers in front of my lips, hiding the stupid smile spreading across my face. Iris rushed to my side.

“What a specimen! A little goth, but like… not a weird goth. Actually kinda hot, if you ask me,” she said.

I touched her forehead with the back of my hand. “I think I finally have a diagnosis. You’re suffering from insanity.”

Iris nudged my arm with her elbow. “Don’t act like you don’t agree. I saw you guys staring at each other. And don’t think I didn’t hear him call you beautiful. Friggin’ swoon, Cara. Own it.”

“He just said that because he has to. Any guy with common sense knows not to tell a woman otherwise while she’s trying on clothes.” I swatted the air nonchalantly.

Iris groaned. “He technically didn’t have to say anything. But he’s right. That dress is beautiful on you. Aaand I think I’m going to buy this one just for funsies. Maybe wear it on a cruise or something.” She held up a red high-low cocktail dress with a plunging neckline.

“Don’t you have enough dresses?”

“There’s never enough dresses, Cara.”

I held my hands up in surrender, then gathered my skirt before ducking into the fitting room to change back into my ordinary sweater and jeans. It was nice to be a princess for a couple hours, but it was time to return to reality.

Iris and I went downstairs to check out, and Axel was already standing by the front doors with a receipt.

“You picked one out that fast?” I asked, stuffing my receipt into my purse as we strolled down the sidewalk.

Axel shrugged. “I’m not hard to please. I kind of like the look Nadine chose.”

I wish I’d seen it.

No. What was I thinking?

“Did Victor give you a credit card, too?” I asked, face scalding as if my thoughts were on display.

“Yeah,” he said, then mumbled, “I should’ve maxed it out.”

“Didn’t you just start working with him? How can you already hate Victor?” I frowned.

“Oh? Is that tea I hear?” Iris chimed in.

“I have a problem with his whole family,” he said. “It’s… personal.”

Why would he work for someone he hated so much? Surely there were plenty of security jobs to choose from.

“Ooh! Let’s go look at the jewelry!”

Iris’s squirrel brain had already forgotten our conversation and her excitement pierced the growing awkward silence. She pulled me across the street by the wrist. Axel trailed behind us without looking both ways before crossing.

We shopped for hours, with the sky turning to a dusky ombre of marmalade and plum. By now, tension had flooded Axel’s neck and shoulders, as if he was poised to pounce at the smallest ripple of shadow in our peripheries.

“It’s getting late,” he said, glancing at his watch. He tugged at the hem of his gloves with a deep inhale. “Are you two leaving soon?”

“Late? The night is just starting,” Iris said. “Aren’t you hungry? The three of us could grab a bite.”

Axel fell silent, glancing at his watch again.

“You don’t have to stick around. If you need to leave, then that’s okay. No hard feelings,” I said, though I found myself hoping he wouldn’t.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I can spare an hour.”

We decided on a sports bar called Kickin’ It, known for its chalkboard tables, abundant television screens, and wall covered in dollars from each time the Lumis Bulls won a football game.

The host led us to a table, but Iris intercepted and requested a booth, then flashed a wink at me.

More fluttering shook my stomach as I scooted to the far end of the seat, and Axel sat on the outside. Up close, his leather and mahogany cologne was more apparent among the aroma of burgers, fries, and beer permeating the atmosphere. I wanted to press my nose against his shoulder, but instead picked up a menu, scolding myself for even dreaming of the wild notion.

Iris sat across from us, the corner of her lips quirking into a subtle smirk. She perused the menu, but with the devious glint in her eye, I knew she was going to embarrass me at least twenty times within the hour.

The second the server approached our table, I had my ID ready and ordered a margarita to brave it all.

Axel declined food and drink, and that opened the door for more shame from Iris.

“So, what’s with the mask?” she asked, and crossed her arms over the table.

“Iris!” I chided.

“I have a condition that I’d rather not show the public,” Axel said flatly, as if it were the same verbatim answer he gave everyone who asked. Detached and numb.

“What kind of condition?”

“Iris.” I spoke more firmly.

She held up her hands with a shrug, and leaned back. The server returned with our drinks, and she pensively stirred hers with the skinny black straw.

“It’s a new day. There’s no body shaming or anything. I’m sure you’re harder on yourself than anyone else would be.”

Axel’s eyebrows quirked together, but he said nothing.

“New topic,” I demanded.

Iris tapped her chin. “Okay. Have you met Liam Chamberlain yet?”

I choked on my drink and fell into a fit of coughs, then swung my foot into her shin beneath the table.

“Ow!” she snapped, and rubbed her leg. She groaned frustratingly as her phone began to ring, and she slid out of the booth to answer it outside. “Give me a sec.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said to Axel with a nervous laugh. “She can be a bit much.”

A loud pop, similar to that of a bone cracking. Axel winced with a stifled groan, and shifted in his seat, then checked his watch again. “She’s fine. I understand the curiosity.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t need to voice it.”

“M-maybe… one day I’ll show you,” he muttered, gazing at me with eyes that held the cosmos. At certain angles, they were grey like an overcast, snowy day. Then they’d shift into shades of wisteria and the milky way. How was any of that possible?

Incredible.

Another loud pop.

He lunged from the booth with a panged grunt.

“Axel—”

“I-I gotta go,” he croaked, then ran for the bathroom.

I glanced through the windows to see Iris still talking on the phone, just in time for the server to return with our burgers.

“Is there anything else I can get for you, ma’am?” he asked.

“No, this is fine, thanks,” I said with a feigned smile, and turned my focus back to the bathrooms. This was the second time Axel had left in a hurry experiencing some kind of pain… and I wondered if he’d disappear again.

Something in my periphery fluttered across the seat. I looked down, greeted by a large black feather resting on the red leather cushion, and an inky substance smeared across it.

Chapter 32

Akuma

I had run out of time.

I hurried as fast as humanly possible to the single-stall restrooms, the skin on my back splitting and prickling as feathers began to sprout. By the time I slammed the door shut, the same pain from the motel room resurfaced. Then a high-pitched wail pierced my eardrums.

I pressed my hands against my ears. The last thing I needed was for every window and liquor bottle to shatter within the sports bar.

The voice was equally within the bathroom and outside the restaurant. Disembodied, and desperate. Pounding accompanied it, growing deeper and more rapid by the second.

“In a minute!” I shouted, though the other side of the door remained devoid of a heartbeat.

I rammed my fist through the mirror before falling to the floor, writhing until my wings escaped the cocoon of my body and shredded the back of my shirt.

My brain seized in a flurry of panic, and I frantically picked stray feathers off the bathroom floor. I unraveled paper towels and attempted to wipe away the black blood that had splattered across the floor and walls, but only managed to smear it.

When it’s time for you to harvest, it’ll be a call you cannot ignore. One that will drive you to insanity until you reap.

The voice was unrelenting, the banging now deep, resounding knocks like that of an old church door.

I ripped a portal open and jumped through it.

Just when I thought I’d finally understood the laws of the supernatural, I appeared in the middle of a garage I had never seen before, and couldn’t pinpoint whose item I potentially possessed.

The cacophony was loudest here. A vehicle idled with the windows rolled up and the garage door closed. A young man sat in the driver’s seat, head leaning against the window. With black hair, wire glasses, and damp cheeks, he bore a slight resemblance to my former human self. His heart was silent, floating in front of him in the form of a flickering star.

I answer the knock on my door, and when I answer, I greet the face that stands behind it.

A bitter taste invaded my mouth, my head swimming at the sight and the overwhelming discordance.

Had he lost someone he loved like I had? Had the world turned its back on him?

I remembered a time when the lines between grieving for the deceased and envying them blurred.

How many times had I paced in front of the gun shop after my mother died? How many times had I climbed the clock tower’s overlook and leaned over the railing, waiting for the wind to give me the nudge I needed to follow through?

How long before this man found a light worth living for, and I wouldn’t be standing outside his car door with his soul screaming at me? Perhaps it was only hours away, just like mine had been before my murder.

I furrowed my brows with a somber sigh, the ōdachi materializing in my palm. I walked around the vehicle and opened his door, catching the man by the shoulder to prevent him from falling out of the seat. I stepped back for enough space to drive the blade into the light. It absorbed the cries and shut off the pounding, leaving behind deafening tinnitus.

“I hope your Judgment is favorable,” I mumbled, and clicked the car door shut before opening a portal.

I perched on the roof of a boutique across the street from Kickin’ It. The ringing in my ears had faded, but the soul I had reaped still haunted me, as if it had latched on to me rather than departed to Sheol.

I removed what was left of my shirt and tossed it through a smaller portal that led to the motel room. I embraced the arid night air, rolling my neck until it popped. Goosebumps unfurled across my skin, and my feathers fluffed up like a bird in the snow. I flexed my back muscles as Selah instructed, wings stretching and folding with the unsteadiness of a toddler. Perhaps, if I could figure it out, I could teleport back inside Kickin’ It and pretend everything was fine.

But by the time I had a handle on moving each set of wings individually, Cara and Iris were bursting out of the restaurant, calling for me. With their purses and keys in hand, they left the sports bar and continued down the sidewalk.

I was nowhere near being able to hide my wings, and that same anchor of despair sank in my core—a feeling I had grown too familiar with.

It had been a lovely night. I’d been a human again, and seeing Cara in that dress at Diamant had brought a light that refracted and shone on every part of my fragmented soul.

Then Death’s cloak over my wings had expired, and darkness refilled every fissure.

With bleak reality reemerging like a storm surge, I portaled to Victor’s office.

Lumis presented a new level of beauty at night from Victor’s high-rise view. Pinprick lights flickered across the silhouettes of skyscrapers and historic neighborhoods, as if all the fallen stars had settled there.

I tore my gaze away and stalked to Victor’s desk, sifting through his drawers for any sign of a sinister connection to Lucien Helel, or proof of Liam’s involvement in whatever Victor had planned.

“It’s rude to go through other people’s things, you know.”

Death’s voice settled in the air like caustic gas.

“What’s your problem?” I slammed the drawer shut and rounded the desk. “You’ve been more callous toward me.”

“You have become increasingly more of a problem.” She floated toward the windows, her cloak whispering across the marble floor.

“Do any of my actions affect you personally? Why should it matter what I do?” I leaned against the desk, crossing my ankles and arms. “Mavet.”

Through the window’s reflection, Death’s lips quirked into a half sneer.

“Have you learned to fly yet?”

“I’m busy,” I said curtly. “What do you know about Lucien Helel? What does Victor want with Cara? Why is Liam stalking her?”

Death’s expression remained blank, but the skin around her jaw tensed. “I am not at liberty to say.”

“You’re not at liberty to say, or you just don’t want to since my existence is such an insult to yours?”

“To do so would be meddling in human affairs. If you seek to find the truth yourself, you should at least learn how to fly.” The glass in the window warped and melted as a prismatic portal formed. “Come.”

I rearranged Victor’s desk to look as it had before I rummaged through it, then followed into Death’s portal.

I stood at the top of the ChamberCorp skyscraper, the wind snatching at what remained of my clothes from all directions. If it weren’t for the weight of my wings, I might have blown away.

Death balanced at the top of a lightning rod that jutted out of the roof.

“What’s the point of flying when we can just teleport?” I shouted over the howling gusts.

She dropped down from the structure and sauntered toward me with her cloak whipping behind her. “Portaling takes a lot of energy, and the luminosity makes it impossible to maintain stealth unless you know exactly where you’re going. As an Angel of Death, you no longer need possessions or to already be familiar with the location.”

As the space between us closed, I began to walk backward. “Control your flight, and you will have the ability to command your wings to conceal themselves.”

“What are you⁠—”

Death pressed her cold palm against my bare chest. Devious amusement flickered across her face before she shoved me with a force that knocked breath from my dormant lungs.

The wind became hollow. Gravity pulled me down, my throat swollen with a stifled scream. Death gazed down at me, wiggling her nimble fingers in a condescending farewell.

I twisted and tumbled in the air, streaks of the colorful ground and the black sky alternating in a nauseating Ferris wheel. What had once looked like toy cars rapidly grew in size. I extended my wings, but the powerful wind resistance made it difficult to flap them. Before I was impaled by a streetlight, I ripped open a portal. Instead of returning to Victor’s office, my plunge restarted at the top of the skyscraper.

An alluring laugh escaped Death, resounding as I continued to fall through portals in a vicious cycle until I could figure it out. Trepidation expanded in my diaphragm as I waited for one of the portals to close and gravity to finish the job.

“You’re letting your fear disrupt your progress!” Death shouted.

I clawed at the air, and pinched my shoulder blades until my wings obeyed and locked outward. Wind filtered through my feathers. Gravity lost its grip. For a moment, I was weightless and free.

I glided over the portal that was supposed to catch my fall with a bright laugh, but it was cut short when I looked forward.

I soared straight for the top floor of the building across from ChamberCorp. My wings flinched, and I descended.

A new gateway—a swirling mix of amethyst flame and blue lightning—swallowed me whole. I slammed into the concrete of ChamberCorp’s roof with a grunt.

“Again,” Death commanded.

“There must be another way⁠—”

“Again.” Her naginata appeared in her hands, and she pointed her blade at the ground. I fell through another gateway, and plummeted in yet another cycle of endless descent. After a few more laps, Death brought me back to the roof again. She snatched the mask off of my face, tossing it to the side.

“Again!” she shouted, driving her staff into the concrete.

At this point, my feathers were ruffled and my frozen skin was wind-chapped.

“Can’t we do this another time? It’s been hours!” I pleaded breathlessly.

The symbols across Death’s forehead, cheeks, arms, and collarbone flashed. Without warning, the ground disappeared beneath me.

This time… I fell from the clouds.

And they were so much bigger up close.

The cold dampness tickled my skin as I broke through the misty fog. The clouds tasted like rain, soft and sweet. I closed my eyes with a deep inhale of the petrichor, embracing the wind’s push and pull.

Push and pull.

That’s all I’d experienced when I was alive. People pushing me to do favors for them, who could never follow through on the rare occasions I needed them. My father and my bullies pulling me apart until I questioned every thought, word, and decision I made. Bosses pushing me until my job became my only identity—a mindless pawn in the pursuit of their own agendas.

Until I became no more.

Then in death, I had been pushed to commit immoral acts for another’s benefit. Pulled into a world of wickedness and dragged down a path where I was destined for doom.

I’d brought a curse onto myself. A curse that Selah said had the potential to become a blessing. A chance to be free, and to truly make a difference in this evil world, even in the shadows.

A chance to be forgiven, and change my destiny—if I could take back control.

I tensed my back and swept my wings forward. My body was pulled backward. I lifted, then dragged them downward, propelling myself higher. My first genuine, hearty laugh escaped my chest and exploded across the sky like fireworks.

Chapter 33

Cara

I grabbed a napkin and picked the feather up by the stem. I kept it below the table to avoid catching anyone’s attention. It was roughly fifteen inches long—about the size of a raven’s feather. Surely, there wasn’t a raven in the restaurant, and the feather wasn’t here when we arrived. I would’ve pointed it out to the host if it had.

“Whoo! Sorry that took so long. One of my girls called off and then I had to find someone to cover her cardio class and—ugh, just a mess. It’s not looking like I’m going to have a day off. Where did Axel go?” Iris sat and pulled her food closer, looking around the bar.

I glanced at the feather again, and quickly moved my purse over it without concern for the substance staining the leather. I wanted to keep it out of sight until I had time to look at it myself.

“He’s having a lot of pain right now. I think he went to the bathroom.”

He probably went out the back door.

“Aw, is he okay?”

She poked her bottom lip out, and I cringed because I just knew Axel wasn’t here anymore. It would’ve been better if I just said he’d left. But then I would’ve had to explain why.

I pushed my food around my plate, taking small bites.

It had been twenty minutes of Axel’s absence and Iris ranting about a girl she’d recently hired who had yet to show an ounce of reliability.

“Why did you ask him about his mask?” I asked once she took a breath.

“I didn’t think it was really that bad of a question, considering.”

“Now I’m beginning to wonder if he just up and left. That’s like asking someone why they have their disability or something. It doesn’t matter how or why—if he’s self-conscious about his face, let him do whatever he needs to do to feel comfortable.”

Iris ran a hand over her face, then downed the rest of her drink. “You’re right. I suck. I’m gonna apologize to him as soon as he comes back.”

“I’ll be back,” I said, and slid out of the booth, careful not to stain my jeans. I headed for the bathrooms and noted the vacant and occupied signs on the door handles. Single stalls.

And the men’s was still occupied.

I knocked on the door lightly. “Axel? Are you okay?”

I flinched and stepped back when the door opened to reveal an adolescent boy scowling at me.

“Was he the one who left this mess in here?”

The boy threw his hand behind him, revealing a shattered mirror. More smears of black dragged down the wall and stained the white tiled floor. Ignoring the perplexed look on his face, I hurried back to the table without causing a scene.

“Iris, we need to go find Axel. I-I think he’s badly hurt,” I said, slapping cash on the table. Forget hiding the feather, I grabbed it and stuffed it in my purse.

“Is that⁠—”

“Yes, I found it.”

“Ew, why did you touch it?”

“I used a napkin! Would you stop wasting time?” I exclaimed.

It was a crazy thought.

No, an impossible thought.

We hurried to the front counter to pay and hustled out of Kickin’ It, cupping our hands around our mouths and calling out Axel’s name. I searched for a trail of that black substance.

What was that anyway?

It was too dark to be blood. Too thick to be ink.

Iris, in all her athleticism, was breathless by the time we circled back to Brontë Avenue and found her car. We stood under a pool of light cast by an antique street lamp in front of it, catching our breath.

“I don’t think I’ll ever appreciate cardio,” she said, leaning against the pole as I dialed Axel’s number.

As dreadfully expected, he didn’t answer.

“Why would he just leave? I get if he felt bad but…” Iris hooked her vibrant blue-and-brown hair behind her ears with a huff.

“This isn’t the first time,” I mumbled.

I lowered my phone, the voicemail box crackling through the speaker.

Who was this guy? What was he?

No. Impossible.

 “Let’s just go home… I’ll talk to him at work,” I grumbled. We moved away from the lamp and I rested my hand on her car door handle, waiting for her to unlock it.

 Iris paused at her door, looking down. Her face slowly contorted into wrath.

“You have got to be kidding me!” she yelled, stamping her foot. I hustled around the hood to see what had happened.

Jagged wounds ran along Iris’ front tires. I scoffed, and stalked around the car to see the rear tires also slashed.

“No way Axel would do this just because of what I asked him, right?” She crouched beside the tire, angling her head at the hole.

“No… are you sure it’s not your ex, West, again?”

“I haven’t spoken to that hacker dweeb in months,” Iris said through gritted teeth. She pulled her phone out, thumbs dancing at lightning speed across the screen. “I have roadside assistance, but they always take forever so I’m probably stuck here for four hours. You can catch a cab home if you want, Cara. I’m sorry.”

“No way! I’m not leaving you out here by yourself when someone clearly took a knife to your tires. I don’t care how nice of a district this is.” I leaned against the trunk with an exaggerated huff, my breath kicking some of my curls upward. My nerves vibrated, eyes darting to every shadow and tree branch tremor.

Of all Iris’s past relationships, West was the most likely to slash her tires. But he had long stopped his harassments and moved on, so who else?

I would’ve been the first to know if Iris had started dating someone new.

The one person I knew who had been most recently pissed off… was Liam.

We both reclined our car seats. Iris frowned at the ceiling while I checked my phone for a message from Axel.

“I just don’t get it,” Iris said after a long beat of silence. “I’m finally learning to enjoy being on my own and focusing on my business. Unless, a random guy did it out of spite because I own a women’s gym?”

I shrugged, guilt poking at my chest as I withheld that Liam was a potential suspect. Iris was the type that if I uttered the first syllable of his name, she’d immediately hunt for his car to slash all his tires and maybe knock a taillight out for good measure, with or without evidence.

I ought to key that pompous creep’s car.

Was there a bug in the car?

“There’s plenty of gyms like that,” I said, sitting up with unease. Holding my breath, I stared at the car vents, the glove box she never locked, the center console she rested her arm on top of, and the hedges behind the parking meter.

“Not in Lumis,” she mumbled.

I nodded in concurrence, and eased back in the seat with my hand wrapped around the pistol in my purse.

“My life’s been messy, Cara,” Iris muttered. “I thought this breakthrough with the sponsors and my gym was finally going to clean it up. But this…” She inhaled deeply and loosed an unstable exhale.

“It’s going to be okay, Iris. This is just an annoying inconvenience, okay? A slashed tire can’t take away your achievements.”

I turned to face her, and saw Iris’ lower lashes glimmering. She smiled and swiped the tears away before they fell.

“Te quiero mucho, Cara,” she rasped. “One of these days, we’re gonna get away from this place.”

“Love you too, girl,” I said, and shifted in my seat to tuck my phone away. “I hope so.”

Iris wasn’t lying about roadside assistance taking forever; I was exhausted. At one point, we both fell asleep waiting. When they finally showed up, they changed Iris’ tires to donuts that could carry her to the nearest tire shop in the morning. I didn’t get home until two in the morning.

With the nightmares I kept having since Akuma’s death… I wasn’t tempted to collapse on my bed immediately, despite the exhaustion. The line between my dream world and my apartment actually being haunted was blurring rapidly.

Scratching noises raked across the ceiling. I froze. In the silence, I set my purse on the counter.

Then it started again.

I crouched low and prowled across the kitchen to the pantry and grabbed the pistol I kept hidden in an empty cereal box. I left the door open, then slowly crept up the stairs.

The hair on my arms stood. Blood pounded in my ears in the dramatic rhythm of bass drums, the pressure building so great that my fingertips throbbed against the gun’s rubber grip. I paused in the middle of the staircase.

Why didn’t you call the police?

The police didn’t care about what happened to people like me. Not in Mountainview when I was a child fighting a man three times my age and size. They were more concerned about what a ten-year-old was wearing, and what rules she was breaking.

I ascended two more steps.

Why didn’t you wait outside your door to see if anyone would leave your apartment?

You had ample time to use your phone and get to safety.

You should’ve called Iris.

You’re being stupid. You deserve whatever happens to you.

Just like how I never should’ve talked to strangers, or gotten into a man’s ice cream truck even though I’d trusted him as my piano teacher. Everyone in Mountainview trusted him.

At the top of the steps, I raised the pistol and held it close to my chest, elbows tucked.

The scratching continued, and before I could crane my neck upward⁠—

Something crashed on top of me. I screamed, tumbling backward down the stairs. My head whipped in the opposite direction of my body as I twisted over the edges of the steps. Each corner jabbed into my ribs, spine, face, thighs—until the back of my head cracked against the front door. A tall, blurry silhouette slowly descended the staircase, my gun right by their feet.

I gritted my teeth, forcing my body to sit upright. A sharpness lanced through my rib cage, pinching my lungs with every shallow breath. The floor tilted, and I staggered with it until I caught myself on the edge of the kitchen counter. I reached behind the toaster oven for the .380 pistol I kept there and waved it unsteadily at the predator.

And then I realized it didn’t have a face—like the creature from my nightmare that had shifted into a replica of me. It had the emaciated body of a man, skin molded to the shape of its bones like leather, and it stood there with slender, taloned fingers that stretched to its knees.

Not human.

Not human.

Not human!

I shrieked, and darted across the kitchen and into the living room. I snatched my grandmother’s cross from the wall.

The creature growled lowly in its throat, a hole forming in the bottom half of its face until a fanged mouth formed. It opened its maw, drool dripping from its teeth.

No amount of self-defense and combat training could overcome this thing. A gun probably wouldn’t work against it either—and I would have a lot of explaining to do if I opened fire in an apartment building.

“Get back!” I shouted, jumping onto my couch as if confronting a mouse skittering across my floor. “You get back, demon!”

I swung the cross like a sword, and the creature’s low growls grew to a higher hiss. It dropped to all fours like the beast from my nightmare, arching its back as it readied to pounce.

“I rebuke you in the name of Jesus!”

The creature released a high-pitched, ghostly wail that shook the walls. It lunged, its talons catching onto my flesh. The cross glowed like heated iron in my hand. I drove its pointed edge into the demon’s skull, through the shallow divot where its eye socket should’ve been.

The beast threw its head backward, steam rising from the boils bubbling all over its skin. It shrieked and clawed at itself, the boils growing until they burst with a corrosive substance that scorched the coffee table and ate through the carpet. Its skin flashed red like a torch lived within it, illuminating all its veins and arteries. I ducked for cover just in case it exploded.

But it didn’t. Its howls were abruptly shut off.

Peeking around the corner of the couch, I saw the demon had turned into yellow ash in the middle of my rug.

I pressed my trembling, clammy palm over my forehead with a ragged breath and gripped the couch for the support to stand. As I leaned against the wall, warm liquid and cold fabric simultaneously clung to my stomach. My hand slid across my skin when I laid it across my abdomen. With a sharp wince, I looked down⁠—

My own crimson essence flowed from four jagged slashes across my stomach. Too deep to patch up on my own; too shallow to disembowel me. The skin around the edges began to decay, fiery agony burning through my core. I whimpered at the sight, a quivering fragility threatening to surface in my throat—and I swallowed it down.

I left a trail of bloody handprints across the wall as I grabbed my keys with the intention of driving myself to the hospital.

I limped out of my apartment barefoot and detached, as if wading through a lucid dream.

Chapter 34

Akuma

It wasn’t until I was soaring across Lumis that I truly appreciated my sharp vision. I could lock sights on the smallest detail—from gum on the sidewalk to the fire ant hill building at the base of a resident’s mailbox. From the sky, the city was a sparkling rectangular grid.

I circled until I found Cara’s apartment complex, then landed on her balcony. Gripping the railing, I hunched over. As I flexed, each individual muscle in my back rippled, twisted, and tore until my wings folded into themselves and absorbed into my tattoos. A soothing warmth expanded across my back as muscular tension unfurled in a euphoric release.

The balcony opened to Cara’s second bedroom, which was made up of gym mats covering the floor, dumbbells, a pull-up bar, and a bokken training sword. I leaned over the railing and peeked into Cara’s bedroom through the window next to the balcony.

Her bed was empty—and it was four in the morning.

I didn’t know her schedule—only a lowlife watched over her as much as I did to begin with. To preserve what little conscience I had left, I drew the line at memorizing her routines.

I couldn’t hear Cara’s heartbeat. And she couldn’t have fallen asleep on the couch downstairs, otherwise I’d hear her familiar soft snoring. Portaling past the window, I was greeted by only the hum of her air conditioning and the whirring of her refrigerator downstairs. I removed my glove and ran a hand across her sheets. They were devoid of her warmth.

I descended the stairs with increasing panic.

The acrid tang of soot and sulfur polluted the living room. Blood smeared across the living room wall, stretching to the front door. A pile of sulfuric ash stained her rug, and her coffee table was destroyed. Glass shards and melted metal littered the floor. A cross lay abandoned in the center of it all.

“No!” I rasped, and tracked drops of blood outside of her apartment, down the hall and to the elevator.

Cara’s body was nowhere to be found on the first floor. The blood trail stopped at an empty parking space.

My wings burst out of my back in a torrid explosion of ink and smoke. I portaled to the skies, then flew across Lumis in search of her car in the hospital parking lot.

I landed behind a dumpster to conceal my wings. Looking down at my bare chest, I wondered if I could pull a shirt from my motel room without being there.

I closed my eyes, picturing the box of clothes in my motel room. A small gateway big enough to fit my arm through appeared right in front of it, and I reached through to grab the maroon long-sleeved shirt at the top of the pile. I did the same for my oni mask resting on top of the bed. The puffy scarring from the Mark chafed against my sleeve, but I ignored it as I rushed inside.

“Repeat the name for me, please,” the receptionist said, eyes glued to my mask whenever he lifted his gaze from the computer.

“Cara Freeman,” I said, a hair’s breadth away from the edge in my voice sharpening.

“She’s in room 103. They just got her stable,” he said, and handed me a visitor pass.

I took it, then briskly stalked to her room. I swung the door open, and halted at its entrance.

White-hot rage flashed through my body as Victor stood over her bed, holding Cara’s hand while she lay unconscious. A smug smile tugged at his lips.

“How sweet, you came to visit her, too,” Victor said plainly.

“Why are you here?” I demanded, fully entering the room. I fought the urge to lock the door and close the curtain for the privacy to rip out his heart. The thought triggered a hot lashing from the Mark.

“The poor girl called me, said she wouldn’t be able to come into work. She was barely coherent. I decided to pay her a visit because I care about my employees.”

He patted the back of her hand before easing it onto the bed. Her oxygen mask fogged with every breath.

“What happened to her?” I eased the callousness in my tone in hope of his cooperation.

“Shouldn’t you know, bodyguard?”

I bristled, his words slicing through my chest.

No. There was no way I could’ve known. I’d had to leave, or that entire bar would’ve seen what I was. I couldn’t afford to dig myself into any deeper holes. Not to mention that I’d gotten caught up with Death’s flight training.

“What. Happened. To her,” I repeated, slower, through gnashed teeth.

“She claims a mountain lion attacked her while hiking, but I think we both know what really happened.” Victor moved away from her bed and drifted closer to me, dropping his voice to a menacing whisper. “Careful, Akuma. The dead can hear us.”

“She’s not⁠—”

“She might as well be.” Victor patted my shoulder before heading for the door, sending shockwaves of ice through my pores.

I looked down at the tattooed band around my wrist, then at Cara and her pallid skin, the purple crescent moons beneath her eyes, and the tangled, distressed coils imitating the chaos she had just endured. I moved to her bedside, grabbing her hand to erase the sensation of Victor’s in her palm.

“I-I’m so s-sorry,” I croaked, leaning forward to press my forehead against hers. I dropped my voice to a whisper to conceal its quivering. “I’ve done many terrible things, and I should’ve t-told you sooner. This wouldn’t have happened if I had.”

I needed to tell her.

Even if it meant her recoiling in disgust. Even if it meant… letting her go for good.

Cara needed to know what she was up against, because the veil between the dead and the living was thinning, and for some reason, she was becoming a bigger target. Axel—Akuma—whoever I was—it didn’t matter what I wanted if it meant she’d die over it.

“Who are you?”

A brown-skinned woman with a peppered, flat-ironed bob entered the hospital room, carrying a bouquet of lilies and a “Get Well Soon” balloon. A tall gentleman of similar complexion with white hair and a long goatee stood behind her. The woman shared Cara’s round, dark chestnut eyes and full lips, and the man had her same low cheekbones and rounded nose. They both wore tactical gear and shared the same white-gold necklace—a cross made of swords encapsulated in a circle of thorns.

“Axel—a friend of Cara’s. And you are?” I noted the stains on their weathered leather boots—mud and… dark, dried blood.

“Her parents.” The man’s knuckles cracked when he squeezed his fists, but then he extended a hand toward me. “Zyon. This is my wife, Morgana.”

My eyes lingered over his boots longer than I intended. I swallowed a knot in my throat.

“We just left a fantasy convention,” he said, flashing his ivory teeth in a wide smile. No sparkle flickered in his dark brown eyes.

I shook his hand firmly. “I’m sorry about your daughter. I should’ve been there to prevent it. I… I wish we could’ve met under different circumstances.”

“Don’t blame yourself, young man. I’m sure it was beyond your control. We were hoping to meet you over Thanksgiving dinner.” Morgana shuffled to the table and set the flowers down. “It’s just time our daughter learned her lesson. It’s been long overdue.” The balloon danced on its string, swaying as she tied it to the metal bedframe.

I arched an eyebrow. It wasn’t my place to ask what lesson Cara was meant to learn, but the question was corrosive on my tongue.

“She’s going to be good as new.” Zyon sat at the edge of the bed, running his fingers through her curls tenderly. The lines in his face deepened.

Morgana shifted her focus to me. “So, you must be the guy she had grown close to over the years.”

I blinked, butterflies returning to my gut. I’d never thought she had mentioned me to her parents in the past. “We actually just met this past month. My brother died recently… you might’ve heard her mention Akuma.”

“Ah, yes. A lovely young man from what I’ve heard. Such a tragic ending. You must be in so much pain.”

While Morgana spoke, Zyon reached into his coat and removed a vial of amber liquid, then put a drop on his finger. He drew a cross on Cara’s forehead and muttered something under his breath before placing the vial back in his inner pocket.

“I’ll give you some privacy with her then,” I said. Their presence seemed to choke the air out of the room—or maybe it was my paranoia. They had an aura about them that smelled like they could read my innermost thoughts. That they could sense I was lying about my identity. Maybe sense that I wasn’t even human.

“It was nice to meet you, Axel,” Morgana said, with finality in her tone.

“You as well,” I replied as I left the room, but Zyon’s hardened expression didn’t change.

The grey dawn arrived, dusting the streets in powdery snowflakes with grim promise. I only had three hours to continue my search of Victor’s office before staff and Victor himself would arrive to work.

Morning light poured through the windows, plating Victor’s desk and bookshelves in silver.

Everything was in its same place. I went straight to his desk, sifting through drawers and flipping through paperwork until I came across Cara’s employment contract. I picked up the packet, electricity sparking at my fingertips as I read it over. Ringing punctured my ears, and a heatwave scorched the soles of my feet and rose to the top of my head.

I shoved the contract into my pocket.

Then proceeded to tear Victor’s office apart.

Chapter 35

Cara

A soft, warm hand held my own, shortly followed by one that was cold and rough—ribbed with scarring I could map out with my thumb if my limbs weren’t made of lead.

Then a gentle pressure against my forehead, and the soft, melancholy whisper of unintelligible words that caressed my ears.

At some point, the beeps from the EKG machine transitioned to the tolling of church bells. I convinced myself I was imagining it all; it was just one long, strange, blind dream.

That is, until I woke up to cold water dripping on my face, and my body swathed in a white robe. I smacked my lips, tongue feeling too dry and awkward to fit behind my teeth. The ceiling was coated in cobwebs and fogged pendants that hadn’t given off light in decades. The air tasted like mildew.

When my vision adjusted to the dim lighting, I recognized my mother and father on either side of me.

“What are you—” Dry coughs interjected my hoarse voice.

My mother held a brass chalice, clinking the family ring on her middle finger against it. She smiled. “Hi, sweetie.”

She caressed my cheek, and I sat up with a grunt. I expected lightning to strike through my body and send me flat on my back, but nothing happened. Just the rigid popping of bones that had been in one position for too long. She offered the chalice. I rubbed my eyes and chugged the lukewarm water.

Candles illuminated the stone chamber we were in. I lay on a thin pile of blankets on the floor, at the intersection of four hallways segmented into ornate archways and stone columns. More candles, books, and bowls of oil and water surrounded me in a circle. And my parents—they weren’t clad in their usual business casual attire. They wore leather jackets, black cargo joggers, and combat boots.

“What is this place?” I asked quietly. “Wh-what’s going on?”

Even in the presence of my parents, something felt wrong. Like when I dreamed of Akuma holding me in his arms, just for him to turn into a monster that tried to kill me. I lifted my shirt, and what should’ve been freshly stitched and stapled wounds were now shining, puckered scars.

“The crypt of New Bethel,” Dad said, the rich timbre of his voice bringing warmth to the uncanny halls. “You were healed with holy water and oil anointed by a Guardian.”

Always so attentive. Perhaps not a monster in disguise after all.

“I don’t understand—” I whimpered. “What’s a Guardian? How are you two here? How long have I been out?” My diction quickened as every question competed to escape my mouth. The room spun and I lay back on the blankets, covering my face with my hands.

“Slow down, hon. We, um… we’ll explain everything,” Mom said, kneeling next to me. “It’s time we introduce you to the family business. To your true purpose, which you have refused to acknowledge since you were a teen.”

“I already know about the real estate. I had no interest in it. I still don’t! What does selling property have to do with me being in this creepy place and being magically healed?”

“No, Cara, this has nothing to do with any of that,” Dad said more firmly. He removed his necklace and held it closer to my face. Tiny embers of light glinted against the cross and thorns. “Our bloodline—among many others for centuries—are Venators.”

“What?”

“Demon hunters. We work with the Guardians to fight demons.”

I laughed deliriously.

I had no doubts of their existence, but I’d always pictured demons as being invisible. Manifestations of evil through people’s sinister actions. Not literal creatures that invaded my apartment and tried to kill me on multiple occasions.

But if Akuma turning into a demon wasn’t a nightmare, did that mean Axel really…?

My laughter trailed off. I sat up and hugged my knees to my chest.

My parents’ faces didn’t change.

“You’re serious?” I asked quietly.

“Why do you think we had you training so intensely? Why your father and I alternated going on so many business trips?” Mom asked, placing her hands on her hips. “Every time we tried to tell you about your future, you shot us down with your decision to go to school for business administration.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed all of it, I just… I don’t know. You had my whole life planned out and I didn’t appreciate that. I didn’t want fighting to be my only identity, and it wasn’t like I was training competitively anyway.” My nostrils flared as my nose burned. I would’ve never guessed that the real estate business was a front for demon hunting.

“Oh, honey, that never mattered. We wanted our child to be strong, prepared, and ready to take on the next line of defense when we retired,” Mom said. “But we didn’t tell you immediately because we still wanted you to have a little bit of normalcy.”

I stared at one of the candles, watching the wax build at its base while I tried to process.

“So… there’s demon hunters, and what is a Guardian?”

“Venators. We hunt anything evil, not just demons,” Mom corrected. “Guardians are angels on the front lines of the spiritual war in our realm and theirs.”

One moment, I was working an ordinary office job and shopping for dresses with my best friend. The next—I was sitting in a crypt with my parents who healed me with the power of an angel, after having been attacked by a demon. Again.

“You’ve been ignoring your instincts and your purpose. Haven’t you felt like something’s been missing your whole life, Cara? It’s in your genes.” Dad crouched in front of me, clasping his calloused hands together. “Do you always want to be a victim?”

A whip of rage cracked through me. I loosed a bitter chuckle and jumped to my feet, shoes tangling in the blankets until I kicked it away. “I don’t need to listen to this crap.”

I stormed down a random corridor, and my father called after me.

“Let her go. You know you were wrong for that, Zy,” Mom chastised him, her voice a quiet but lethal whisper weaving through the shadows like a black widow.

I had no idea where I was going. The baroque archways and columns echoed each other, and I couldn’t tell if I was walking in circles. I hugged myself, the damp air colder than the snowy day outside. Death seemed to cling to every molecule, or maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me.

I rounded a corner and paused in an alcove. I inspected the sandstone bench for spiders kicked them away with a disgusted groan before taking a seat. With my face buried in my hands, I urged myself to cry but was cursed with a dry well. My parents’ voices carried indistinctively despite how far I’d walked. Maybe I really had walked in a circle.

Do you always want to be a victim?

How could he say that, after what I went through? After what I survived?

I’d fought Mr. Dale with all I had. Before he could overpower me—when I had nothing else left to defend myself with against his crushing weight—I bit his ring finger clean off. Even now, seventeen years later, I can still feel the flesh between my teeth, taste the metallic tang of his ring mixing with his blood. I still spent five minutes brushing my teeth every morning and night and flossed every chance I got throughout the day.

And the demon? My mind hadn’t gone to all my training. I’d never faced a monster that was neither human nor animal. I couldn’t think straight, I just grabbed my grandmother’s cross and shouted the prayer my mother taught me, never expecting to actually need it. My usual prayers were general, asking for safety and wisdom and fortune and anything else that didn’t involve warding off demonic activity.

I supposed that was where I had messed up. The hypocrisy of it all. It’s easy to say you believe in something, but the depth of that belief isn’t revealed until the moment it’s tested.

And I’d failed.

Scrapbooks of memories flipped through my mind, of helicopter parents honing their daughter into steel. I’d always thought they were forcing extracurricular activities on me to keep a hyperactive kid occupied.

Instead, I’d become a soldier who went AWOL.

Soft steps scraped against the stone floor and I leaped from the alcove, trembling.

“This is holy ground, Cara,” my mother said, and placed a hand on my shoulder. She eased me back onto the bench. “A demon cannot enter unless there’s corruption present and the veil becomes weak enough for it to break through.”

Mom wrapped her arms around me, and I leaned into her with a quiet sniffle. “Why did this happen?”

“Someone is targeting you, my dear. You need to be mindful, and stay strong.” She rubbed my arm tenderly. “Selah will guide you. Your dad and I will train you.”

“I’m so tired of being strong,” I griped. “I have work—I don’t have time for this. And you guys are merciless.”

“God will carry the weight,” she said. Her voice was as comforting as peppermint tea, cool and soothing. “Your job isn’t your purpose. The Venator legacy is.”

I sniffed and rubbed my nose. Sure, real estate had been a front. But I still didn’t want to go into the family business of demon hunting. That was the most terrifying experience I’d ever had, and now I would have to work up the courage to wear a swimsuit that exposed my new scars.

Mom chuckled, breaking the silence and the swell of my worrisome thoughts. “So, Axel is quite interesting.”

I frowned, raising my head from her chest. “When did you meet Axel?”

“He was at the hospital, visiting you. He appeared gravely concerned. Is he the brother we talked about?”

Something in my chest did a backflip.

“Y-yeah… he’s one of my friends. I need to see him, actually.” I chewed my inner cheek, wondering what he was doing. What time was it even? There wasn’t a window in sight.

“I see. Well, think about it, hon. Give us a call and tell us what you decide. We should get going—duty calls.” Mom rose from the bench. “Zy! Let’s go!”

“How do I get out of here?” I asked with a whimper.

“I think you should take a gander upstairs first.” Mom pointed at a spiral staircase at the end of the corridor, gave me a kiss on my forehead, and linked arms with my father once he emerged from the adjacent corridor.

As expected, he didn’t apologize.

I sulked for a few more minutes before I went to the staircase my mother pointed out. Torches illuminated the corridor walls, and my warped shadow danced against them. I ascended the column, reaching a heavy wooden door at the top. Gold light leaked from beneath it. I slowly opened the door with a loud creak.

The light stung my eyes and cleansed all the dirt and grime that covered me. Once my vision adjusted to the brightness, everything came into focus.

Birds gathered around fountains and ledges. Flowers, marble, and gold—so much gold—bedecked what looked like the nave of New Bethel. Shallow, crystal-clear water decorated with lily pads and lotus flowers covered the floors, but my shoes remained dry as I walked. Perched above the doors on an interior gable was a brass angel statue, similar to the one I had seen at The Black Pearl.

Not a statue—I was pretty sure her head just moved.

The angel’s metallic wings ignited and extended to a ten-foot wingspan, and she swooped down to meet me. I gasped, stumbling back at her magnificence.

“Welcome, Cara.” She smiled warmly and extended her hands.

My mouth dropped without any sound leaving it. The angel was a living work of art.

Maybe the statue at The Black Pearl really did move.

Did they all look like this?

“I am Selah,” she said with a slight bow. “A pleasure to meet you, fellow Venator.”

“I’m not⁠—”

“Yet, but it is written.” Selah grabbed my wrist and gently pulled me toward a mirror. Our reflections didn’t appear. The glass rippled like mercury until moving images formed within it like a film.

There I was, wearing a cuirass made of riveted leather. I wielded a katana as if it were another appendage, fighting a hoard of demons in a graveyard. Fury was carved into my face, black blood splattered across my skin like warpaint.

I was the sword, and the sword was I—and the headless demons kneeled at its blade.

“That’s not me,” I said, taking furtive steps back. I couldn’t picture myself doing any of it. The floors tilted again, and I turned away from the mirror to sit in one of the pews.

“Gideon was fearful and believed himself to be weak. How many signs will it take for you, Cara?” Selah folded her wings behind her. They towered over her head and dragged on the ground behind her, but they didn’t scrape as metal should have.

I chewed on my lip, fidgeting with my hands. “I arrange appointments, review reports, make memos, and use spreadsheets. I’m just a glorified secretary.”

“You’re more than that, always have been. You will see.” Selah held out her palm, forging a necklace like the ones my parents wore out of it. I took the necklace, examining the chain and charm. I pursed my lips, then clasped the chain around my neck and tucked it in my shirt beneath the robe.

“Thank you, Selah,” I said.

She nodded, briefly shuttering her eyes. I pulled the robe from my shoulders and shuffled to the doors, taking one last look of the hidden paradise hidden within New Bethel. Then I crossed the threshold, where all the heavenly colors dulled back to grey.

Chapter 36

Akuma

I stood at the center of Victor’s office, admiring my handiwork. The chair cushions were slashed, his computer pummeled, the cords tangled, the desk toppled. Nothing remained intact, yet I didn’t find evidence of the dark arts or witchcraft.

If anything, this entire endeavor had served as an outlet for my rage. The binding contract may have kept me from killing Victor, but it didn’t say I couldn’t destroy his precious items.

“What a mess.”

Lucien blocked the doorway. He scanned the office with a curled lip, refusing to enter as if he’d get dirty by stepping inside.

I narrowed my eyes. “If you’re looking for Victor, he isn’t here.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Lucien tilted his head with a mild, insolent smirk.

I inhaled sharply, charging up for an insult—when Cara appeared in the doorway behind him. Her eyes were wide and sparkling, her skin back to its deep bronze, as if she hadn’t been balancing the rope between life and death in the hospital hours ago. Lucien stepped aside, eyes roving over her body as if reading a love letter.

I narrowed my eyes, a swirl of emotions raging within. Of course, I was elated to see Cara alive and well… but how was that possible?

“What happened in here?” she exclaimed, her purse falling from her shoulder to her fingers.

“I think someone broke in overnight,” I said curtly, then moved to the door. “I need to speak with you privately, Cara.”

I pushed past Lucien, deftly swiping a handkerchief from his pocket as I gently eased her across the lobby, away from him.

“Well, wait, I think we should call security first!” Cara hardly resisted, gaze still glued to the chaos I had created.

“This is more important. We’ll do all of that when Victor gets here,” I said. “Morning, Shai. Would you show Lucien where the coffee bar is downstairs, please?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Lucien crossed the foyer toward the couches.

“I insist,” I hissed.

Shai walked around the reception desk and gave Lucien the brightest smile I had seen from her, then escorted him to the elevators.

Cara’s face was contorted in a blend of confusion and annoyance.

I locked her office door and shut the blinds. I turned to face her, mouth hanging open behind my mask as I stopped the overflow of truth about to spill from my lips.

Now wasn’t the right time.

Not today, at work, when Victor would arrive at any moment and wreak havoc on the office.

Not when she appeared to be completely normal, and I had no logical explanation as to how I knew she had been in the hospital in the first place without admitting to being in her apartment without her knowledge.

“It was me,” I said. “I found your contract and I just… I-I lost it.”

“My contract?”

“Yes. Do you have any idea what you signed?”

I pulled the packet out of my pocket and flipped to the last page. Cara frowned, nearly snatching it from my hands but restraining herself. Her expression remained neutral as she read it over.

She set the papers down. “What is the problem, exactly?”

“You signed a two-month commitment with ChamberCorp,” I said. “I’m telling you—quit this job while you still can.”

“Quit—Axel, it’s just two months, and if I did, I’d owe a ton of money for breaking the contract.”

I lost my grip on a low, scornful laugh and shook my head. “It’s better to owe money than endure whatever it is he has planned. Don’t you think it’s odd he’s requiring this from an assistant? And why only two months?”

Cara put her hands on her hips with a squint. “It’s just a probationary period. What’s wrong with you this morning?”

“What is this?” Victor shouted, rattling the windows of the ChamberCorp building.

Cara rushed out of her office and I hurried after her.

Victor’s ordinarily tanned skin was the shade of a maraschino cherry, sweat glistening over his veined forehead. He turned in a small circle, absorbing the destruction. The rubber soles of my sneakers squeaked against the marble, snapping Victor’s attention to us. His twisted glower softened to a calm, restrained wrath in Cara’s presence.

This was the first moment I wished I didn’t have to wear a mask, just so he could see the gloating smirk across my mangled face.

Victor ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat, then took a deep breath.

“Cara, dear, will you call IT and have them recover my hard drives, and call maintenance and janitorial services? Oh, and can you get all that done before the meeting at two? I don’t want the investors to see this mess.”

Cara didn’t ask any questions, just hurried off to make the calls.

“You don’t go anywhere.” Victor pointed at me with a growl, and my body locked in place against my volition.

“I’m going to skip the scolding and simply ask—why?” he said through a locked jaw.

“Why did you make Cara sign a two-month commitment?” I shot back, glaring at him from beneath my brow. “What are you and Liam planning, huh? What’s happening in two months?”

The pain from my Mark might be worth it if I could get a couple hits in.

“Liam? That failure of an offspring has nothing to do with my business. You serve me, understand? I ask questions. You answer!” he shouted. “Until the end of time!”

I laughed sardonically. “When you die, I will dance on your grave.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Victor said smugly. “Now clean this mess up, and not a word about it to Cara.”

A third tattooed band appeared on my right wrist, above the previous one. It came to life and constricted like a zip tie, cutting off my circulation until I gave in to reset his desk.

“Have this office back in shape by the time I return.” Victor stormed off, beelining toward the elevators. While I was banned from discussing the contract with Cara, it was a small victory that I had already told her about it—even though it didn’t alarm her.

As I cleaned Victor’s office, the handkerchief I stole from Lucien thrummed in my pocket like hummingbird wings. The burning anticipation I had to use it to track him to wherever he lived seared holes through my thoughts until it was all that occupied my mind. Whatever evil Victor was involved in, Lucien was, too. If I couldn’t find the evidence in Victor’s office, then maybe Lucien had something of use.

Chapter 37

Cara

The look in Axel’s eyes when he told me about my contract had been a mix of wrath and terror, like an earthquake desperate to shake the sense into me.

I still didn’t want to perceive it as a threat. Yes, it was strange to have a two-month probationary period when most places offered six months or more. But it wasn’t enough to quit and Axel didn’t offer any supporting arguments.

I needed this job, now more than ever. I wanted—no, needed—the normalcy. At the very least, to save up enough money to move to a different city entirely and start over. Maybe then my parents would stop pushing me.

It is written.

I barely held my own against that demon in my apartment.

There’s no way.

Was my first attack really a nightmare? Was that really Axel?

There was that feather…

No. It couldn’t be.

Axel remained in Victor’s office, cleaning until maintenance arrived to finish the job. Technical support spent the morning setting up a new computer, and I could only partially focus on my phone calls.

Shai entered my office with a box of chocolates and a card while I ate a granola bar. I scraped the crumbs off my desk and into my palm, then dusted my hands off in a bin.

“Sorry to bother you, but a guy left this for you.” She presented a carmine heart-shaped box with a silver tulle ribbon and a matching red envelope with another black heart-shaped wax seal.

“Oh, thanks,” I said. The words seemed to take physical form—too big and sharp to completely pass through my throat.

“Of course! You have quite the handsome admirer,” she said, flashing a wink before rushing back to the front desk.

With trembling hands, I raised the envelope to my nose, recognizing the same cinnamon bourbon cologne. I sliced it open with a letter opener, careful to remove the card as if it were sharper than the letter opener itself.

Cara,

Please give me another chance. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel uncomfortable. I just want you to be happy. Let me make it up to you at the annual dinner, and I promise you won’t ever have to worry about me again. If you still want me to go away after that, then I will.

—Liam

My stomach twisted, and bile corroded my throat.

I took notes for Victor in a brain-dead meeting that should’ve been an email. At noon, I practically sprinted out of the office for lunch. Axel didn’t protest. His eyes alone looked haggard. We both needed to take advantage of the hour of freedom.

As Axel settled in the passenger seat, I started up my car and adjusted the radio volume. “I’m meeting Iris at Farley’s if that’s alright.”

“I will go wherever you want to go, do whatever you wish to do,” Axel said gently.

I would’ve told him about the letter, but I figured it would be easier to talk about it with both him and Iris. A third witness might make him less likely to resort to violence. His silence was as unnerving as a time bomb.

Farley’s was an old, quick sandwich shop with foggy windows, sun-bleached displays, and thin plastic seating. Regardless of its rundown atmosphere, the restaurant was known for having the best hoagies around Lumis.

I joined Iris in line while Axel chose a table.

She arched a manicured brow. “You have to bring him even when you’re just out for lunch?”

“What if I get abducted while off the clock?”

I honestly wished I could take him home. I hadn’t been back since the attack—I’d gone to the store and bought business clothes after I left New Bethel, then straight to work. I’d forgotten to remove the tag from my shirt, and it scraped between my shoulder blades. I was running on only a couple hours of sleep, which was during my unconsciousness. Did that even count?

“Fair enough.”

We returned to the table with our food and a couple smoothies. Axel’s eyes merely slid back and forth like a security camera, scanning every face that entered and exited Farley’s. A task that I ordinarily would’ve done myself because it’s what my father would expected me to do. Trusting Axel to catalog every potential threat in my stead was strange, and forcing myself to be oblivious to my surroundings was just as foreign.

“So, how’s your day going?” Iris asked, cheeks stuffed with bites of her cheese-steak sandwich.

“I got another one of those letters. This time, it was from Liam. I think he might’ve left the first one.”

I wiped the grease from my hands before pulling the card out of my purse. Iris did the same. Her eyebrows cinched closer together as she read, and by the end of it—her face was twisted in disgust. Axel tensed next to me, and held out his hand. He didn’t say anything after reading it himself, but the silent rage emitting from him was molten.

Or maybe we were just sitting under a heating vent.

“Fine, if it’s gonna be like that,” Iris began, tilting her chin upward with defiance. “Give him the date he so desperately wants.”

“What?” Axel barked.

“Cara goes with Liam to the dinner, and I’ll go with you,” Iris said. “If this guy promises to leave you alone after this, it’s worth trying. Especially if you make it horrible.”

I sucked in my lips, teeth bearing down on them. Axel was already gazing at me with soft eyes.

Just by his expectant expression, I knew he wanted me to make the decision. He’d follow, even if it was against what he wanted. That made my heart sting all the more.

Unlike Liam, Axel never tried to bargain with my discomfort. He didn’t see me as some pretty bird to put in a cage. I was a lioness free to do as I pleased.

“Okay,” I breathed. My eyes lingered over his mask, where his lips remained achingly hidden.

“Alright! Then it’s a plan.” Iris drummed her palms against the table, then balled up her trash. “When is this thing again?”

“Saturday,” Axel said flatly, slouching in the seat.

“I guess it’s settled then,” I said with a defeated sigh.

If all went well, I could finally show up to work without worrying about running into Liam. If he was a man of his word.

Chapter 38

Akuma

Caution tape crisscrossed over my motel room door and plywood patched the window. The few clothes I’d gathered from my house were gone, and I had found myself transporting to a new motel.

One thing I didn’t lose, though, was the handkerchief I had stolen from Lucien. As I sat on the edge of the stiff bed, I ran my thumb over the obsidian silk until I discovered a different texture. I curled my lip at the inverted “L” and “H” monogram embroidered with red thread.

The lights flickered before I closed my eyes, summoning a portal to take me to wherever the handkerchief would lead. The portal’s formation sound like glass shards clinking together as the air cracked open.

“I would stop this while you still can, if I were you.”

Death’s smoky voice strangled my focus. When I opened my eyes, ominous emerald, topaz, and ruby light frayed behind Death as she blocked my path.

“Why? Am I going to be successful?” I sneered.

The gateway collapsed before I could see what was on the other side. In a glimpse, the sky looked yellow.

Death scoffed.

“Such power wasted on you,” she said. “Have you any idea who you are messing with?”

I rose from the bed, towering over her menacingly. “Enlighten me.”

Death didn’t balk.

“Or get out of my way,” I said after the long pause, my soft tone polluted with poison. I moved to the other side of the bed where she couldn’t block another portal.

“It’s a trap,” she said. “Enter his domain in your weakened state, and he has you. Victor is nothing compared to him. He’d surely obtain the last ingredient he needs—and this mortal realm would be forsaken.”

I let the handkerchief flutter onto the bed before weaving my arms over my chest. “How is it a trap? An ingredient for what?”

“You think you can deceive the Deceiver?” Death tilted her head. “While you stole his cloth, he could have already stolen the last piece of your soul. He let you take it.”

I chuckled darkly, nails digging into my arms as I tried to suppress my building anger. “Who is he?”

Death blinked slowly.

“Why won’t you ever tell me anything of substance?” I bellowed, throwing my hands out. My fingers bent sharply as I imagined wringing her neck.

“If God told everyone their futures, their actions would no longer be born of free will,” Death said.

“Why bother telling me it’s a trap then?” I asked with toxic calm.

“Are you daft? Because that trap would bring all creation to its ruin, Reaper,” she spat.

My ōdachi materialized in my hands. I tightened my grip around the staff, its power flowing through me as if I were its conduit. Its violet blade brightened, illuminating the room.

“You’re not God. So, I think you’re gonna tell me everything I need to know, Mavet.”

I rolled my neck, cracking it. My back ruptured, wings breaking free.

“Oh?” Death’s spine stiffened as she raised her chin, her naginata solidifying from a cloud of coal dust. Her contradictory wings flared. “I’d choose your next actions wisely, Reaper.”

Please don’t do it.

It had been awhile since I’d heard that small, trembling voice. The soft-spoken one that had pleaded for demons to spare him in the subway. To no avail.

My grip loosened around the hilt. She swung her blade, and paused at my throat.

I didn’t flinch either.

“Do not seek him out,” she warned in a low hiss. She lowered her weapon, snatching my jaw to hold my face close to hers. Her black claws dug into my mask as she growled, “And do not challenge me again.”

She pushed my face away and spun around, whipping her cape. She sliced the air with her naginata, tearing open a portal before the atmosphere swallowed her whole. When it closed, it seemed to suck all the life out of the motel room, including the subtle hum of the heating unit.

Selah had told me to sever my bond, but every effort I made to do so was intercepted by Death. At this point, I wasn’t sure if she had my best interests at heart.

If Lucien was as dangerous as she alleged, how could I stand idly by either way?

I stared at the cloth on the bed.

He let you take it.

It’s a trap.

I grabbed the handkerchief from the bed and stormed out of the motel room, then launched into the skies.

I burst through the church doors of New Bethel with the cloth balled in my fist. But the second I crossed the threshold, it disintegrated into ash. I paused in the middle of the aisle, watching the particles flutter into the shallow water.

“No!” I dropped to my knees, sifting through the water for perhaps even a thread of the handkerchief. This was the only item I had that belonged to Lucien. The only ticket that could lead me to freedom.

Selah approached. “Akuma, what is this?”

I rose to my full height. “I came here to show you what I got from a man who I believe is involved in my contract. Death stopped me from tracking him, and then told me not to seek him out.”

“A good call on her part,” Selah said, waving a hand over the water. White rays of light spilled from her palm, and the water rippled and boiled as she purified it of evil. When she lowered her arm, lotus flowers sprouted and bloomed in place of the ashes.

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t pursue him, even if he’s the cause of my bondage?” I frowned. “I thought you wanted me to sever the bond. It’s weakening me.”

“No, I am saying you must find another way,” she said. “You will need to outsmart them. This man… if he learns of your status as an Angel of Death, he will try to use you for treachery beyond your comprehension.”

A scream suddenly erupted from beyond the church doors.

Selah and I flew outside, and I stumbled over the sidewalk. The traffic came to a screeching halt as a woman’s spine bent backward in the middle of the intersection. She crawled on all fours upside down, snarling and hissing. Her grey skin was riddled with black veins. The woman’s shirt rose, exposing the crimson letters carved into her stomach.

The church doors slammed shut behind us, and the woman snapped her neck in our direction. She bounded across the intersection and jumped over car hoods like a quadrupedal. I summoned my sword and crouched low in a battle-ready stance, but Selah gripped my shoulder.

“No need,” she whispered.

The woman stopped just outside New Bethel’s grounds, unable to cross. The foam around her mouth bubbled like tar. Her neck twisted and cracked until her face became visible. Sharp cheekbones, eye sockets completely hollowed out, and long brown hair that swept the ground. A walking, twisted husk.

The sores on her face were scabbed over, and there was something about the gauntness of her freckled face and petite frame that struck me as familiar. She smiled with blackened teeth before releasing a chorus of disembodied, maniacal laughter.

Sera.

And cut deep into her stomach with the precision of a scalpel, each letter still actively gushing blood⁠—

Her grave.

Already made.

I roared, sending a murder of crows into the streets, and sliced my ōdachi’s blade through her abdomen. The two halves of her body divorced, flopping onto the sidewalk in a squelching thud before sizzling into ash like Lucien’s handkerchief.

“Akuma, do not⁠—!”

Before Selah could finish, I shot into the sky with a force that shook the ground and made the church bell ring with a death knell.

Luckily, being bound to Victor meant I didn’t need any possession to find him.

I landed next to a luxurious black SUV, the gust generated from my wings giving its metallic body a slight tremor. Victor stood at the edge of the same lake where he’d first summoned me, drying his hands with a rag stained scarlet. To my right, in the front seat of the car, was a woman with her throat slit, still blinking and wheezing as her eyes gaped in horror. Her blood stained her elegant dress and the smell of rust mingled with her perfume. She turned to me with a grimace, mouth moving silently like a fish out of water, and reached for me with a limp hand. Her soul wept, echoing as if it were trapped somewhere vast—and begged me to free it.

“What did you do?” I gasped, tearing my focus from Victor’s latest victim.

“I see you got my message,” he said, turning to face me. Specks of the woman’s blood spackled his face before he ran the rag over it. He then began cleaning the intricate, curved dagger he’d used against her.

“What did you do?” I demanded more firmly.

“She’s just someone who saw too much. It’s unfortunate—I thought our date went well. I’ll need you to make her go away, while you’re at it.” Victor tossed the bloody rag to my feet, and I stepped back before it landed on my shoe. The weeping soul grew louder, and I moved away from his car as if it’d lower the volume.

“I think your new status as an Angel of Death has made you forget our dynamic,” Victor said, and moved to the passenger side of his car. “And the whole bodyguard assignment with Cara isn’t sufficient to keep you tame. I don’t take kindly to threats, Akuma.”

Victor pulled the woman out and let her fall to the gravel without grace. Her soul evaporated from her chest in the form of an illuminated orb, and the weeping rose to a tormented scream. Victor didn’t react.

“I’m going to sweeten the deal. You’re no longer prohibited to keep the contract secret from Cara,” Victor said, and the second band around my wrist faded from my skin. “Not that it should’ve been a secret anyway, if she had read it before she signed.”

“And what made you decide to be so generous?”

I approached the woman, my sword materializing in my palm. I let the curved blade meet the glowing orb, and it hummed with satisfaction. The banshee shrieks ceased.

“Let me finish,” Victor said. “Instead, I’m going to prohibit you from telling Cara anything about our situation, whatever Liam is doing, and your involvement with the supernatural. If you do—you will have to kill her, just as I had to with this woman.”

Ice frostbit every inch of my veins.

“Don’t bring her into this. She did nothing wrong, you evil⁠—!”

I raised the ōdachi and charged with a roar rising from the darkest depths of my fragmented soul.

Victor didn’t move.

As if he were surrounded by an invisible brick wall, I bounced back. Fire deluged down my body. Forcing myself to stand, I growled and lunged forward with my fist raised. I trembled violently against the force, as if I were a mortal attempting to lift a car. The Mark on my forearm burned away my sleeve, and my sallow skin began to peel away to reveal the rotted muscle beneath.

Victor stood just a foot away from me, gloating with a smirk that kept feeding the bottomless pit of my indignation.

I was throwing myself onto a pyre. A kamikaze missing his target.

My legs collapsed beneath me and I let the sharp rocks dig into my knees. I curled my fists over them as my mind tempted me to throw the rocks into Victor’s eyes, but my body begged me not to.

This powerlessness…

It was worse than during the subway attack.

The fresh burns from the Mark began to repair themselves. I watched the second band dye my wrist once again as Victor’s orders solidified.

An Angel of Death—capable of destroying nations, yet incapable of freeing himself from his own prison.

Axel’s brute strength and wrath wasn’t going to get me out of this one.

For the first time since my death, I needed to look within and seek Akuma’s help.

Chapter 39

Cara

Axel and Victor spoke privately in his office for a long time, their voices rising to a booming bass. When I peeked across the lobby, Axel was storming away, holding his forearm tightly with the same pained panic he’d expressed at my apartment and at the sports bar. Only this time, I didn’t show my concern. I isolated myself in my office, trusting that he’d handle whatever he had going on.

Axel didn’t return for the rest of the week, and as each day went by, the knot in my stomach grew tauter. He must’ve gotten seriously sick.

Every hour gone was an hour closer to enduring Liam’s clinging at the annual ChamberCorp dinner tomorrow.

A dinner that I had no business attending.

I texted Axel twice after the first couple days he was gone, with no response, and I left it at that. I refused to appear desperate or dependent—and I refused to think the worst.

Victor entered my office without knocking. I jumped out of my seat and spilled white correction fluid all over a memo. I cursed and frantically grabbed a tissue.

“Hi, sir, I’m sorry⁠—”

“You’re fine, Cara. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. I heard you’re going with my son to the dinner?” He angled his head, and my heart trembled.

Please tell me it’s not allowed—I’ll gladly comply.

“Y-yes…”

Victor clasped his hands in front of himself. “I just want to tell you how thankful I am that you’re giving him a chance. He always had the most superficial girlfriends, but you… your soul has depth. Perhaps you could nudge him in the right direction to take over the company when it’s time for me to step down.”

My eyes burned at his words, and it wasn’t because of how heartfelt they were.

I didn’t need validation.

I needed help.

On Saturday, Iris and I spent the day getting our hair and nails done, and I helped her do some last-minute shopping for a pair of shoes that we both knew she didn’t need, but pretended she did anyway.

Afterward, we went back to Iris’ modern steel-and-glass house in the lush Genevieve Valley neighborhood to finish getting ready.

I still hadn’t heard from Axel, and his disappearance brought on a suffocating anxiety that even Liam couldn’t trigger. I kept checking the news on my phone for shootings, car crashes, or any other tragedy that could’ve befallen Axel.

Iris leaned over the sink in her bathroom with the door open, taking extra time on her makeup. I laid across her bed on my stomach, careful not to mess up the elaborate three-bun mohawk she’d helped me style. I was dressed and ready to go, but the softness of her silk comforter made me want to go to sleep.

Iris blended the contour lines on her face. “So, is Axel coming or…”

“Hopefully. I sent him your address,” I said, resisting the urge to chew all the lipstick off my lip.

“Is the country club goblin picking you up?” Iris asked.

“Yeah,” I said through a loud sigh.

“I guess this is why they say beauty can be a blessing and a curse.” Iris widened her eyes, jaw stretching downward as she applied mascara.

“No kidding.”

The doorbell rang, and a whimper found its way out of my throat before I gathered my dress and descended the floating staircase.

I opened the front door, only for my breath to be taken away.

Axel stood before me with his midnight hair slicked back, damp and shining under the street light. His neck was dressed with an ascot bunched. He wore a cavalier vest embellished with monochrome black damask patterns over a solid ebony dress shirt. Ornate, triangular silver pins decorated the tips of his collar. His pleated trousers were tailored to his powerful legs and garnished with a silver double-loop wallet chain that contrasted with the regal outfit. Velvet loafers finalized the look. He appeared to have walked straight out of a Victorian aristocratic magazine—aside from the chain and the oni mask.

Nadine had excellent taste, although I suspected Axel had made some changes on his own as a silent rebellion.

“Whoa,” I breathed. Butterflies raged in my stomach, threatening to carry me away. “You look… amazing.”

Suddenly I felt underdressed, despite my sweeping gown and cape.

“And you look absolutely radiant,” Axel replied, and extended a single stem of a strange white flower with wispy tendrils for petals.

“For me?” I raised my eyebrows.

“Yeah. It’s an endangered ghost orchid,” he said. “A symbol of mystery and the supernatural.”

I paused, thinking back on my recent demon attack. Did Axel know somehow? Or was he simply captivated by the ghost orchid’s rarity?

“Where did you even find a flower like this? It’s gorgeous.” I gently rubbed my thumb over the petals, then brought it to my nose. It smelled sweet, almost like apples.

“The Bahamas.”

I laughed. “When did you go to the Bahamas?”

I wouldn’t answer my phone if I was vacationing either.

“I flew there yesterday,” he shrugged.

Axel gently took the flower back, then tucked it behind my ear. As he withdrew his hand, his fingertips lingered over my jawline in a soft caress. But something solemn flickered in his eyes.

“Jeez, Cara, are you gonna let the man in?” Iris appeared at the bottom of the staircase, putting on her last diamond earring.

Heat rose to my cheeks as I stepped aside. Axel reached behind his back, seemingly pulling another flower out of thin air. A purple iris, in fact.

“Aw, you’re just the sweetest, aren’t you?”

She admired the flower, and tucked it in the bun of her chignon. A pop of color against her black satin A-line gown with long sleeves and a plunging neckline. Axel squinted, and I dreamed of the smile he wore beneath the mask for the millionth time.

Light taps sounded through the door, and the butterflies morphed into moths.

There was no mistaking who was on the other side this time.

I opened the door, and Liam grinned widely, holding a slender, rectangular red box.

I would have preferred flowers over committing to jewelry.

“Hello, Cara. Wow, you look beautiful!” he exclaimed, and let himself inside. “I got this for you.”

“Thanks…” I glanced at Axel before opening the box. Liam’s compliments didn’t pour warmth into my heart. I actually felt rather repulsed by them.

A garish gold and emerald bracelet that didn’t even match my midnight-blue dress rested within the velvet interior.

Axel’s presence extinguished Liam’s excitement once he noticed him standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter nonchalantly.

“What is he doing here, and why is he dressed like it’s the 1800s?” Liam frowned.

“He’s my date,” Iris cut in, and strutted to Axel’s side. “And at least he wanted to be more creative than picking out some basic rent-a-tux like you.” She looped her arm in his, flashing a brief glance in my direction that most likely said, the audacity of this guy.

My shoulders eased. At least she could say all the things I couldn’t, since this whole thing would hopefully get Liam off of my back once and for all.

Liam’s jaw hardened. “I didn’t know you were coming, too, Iris. Doesn’t really seem like something you’d enjoy.”

Iris drew in a sharp breath⁠—

“Ready?” I forced an eager grin, hoping to douse her rising rage.

“Yeah, let’s get this over with,” Iris griped.

ChamberCorp’s venue was at the same five-star hotel from a couple years ago, known as The Bordeaux. It had a large, French-styled ballroom where we’d all meet for dinner. Then later, everyone would split off to mingle and network with other executives throughout the ballroom, or visit its lavish terrace on the rooftop. It had ample seating surrounding multiple fire pits beneath verandas, a miniature golf section, and a pool.

I only knew how things went because Liam had rambled about it on the way there, and I remembered seeing the pictures online when preparing the event for the first time. At least I wasn’t going into it completely blind.

Axel drove Iris in the car behind us, and I found myself watching through the rearview mirror in an attempt to see their faces beyond the headlights.

“Cara,” Liam began after a long moment a silence, “Thank you again.”

“No problem,” I muttered.

When we reached The Bordeaux, I took Liam’s arm. We walked toward the regal hotel, its windows and revolving door glowing with honeyed light. I peeked over my shoulder. As Axel opened Iris’ door, he looked in my direction, and I quickly turned forward with a sharp inhale.

That should’ve been me.

A live orchestra played down the hall, luring guests to the ballroom like a symphony of sirens. Even though I already knew what to expect, being here to see it in person still left me speechless.

Suits and gowns flooded the floor, crowding the round dinner tables set with crisp white linen tablecloths. Axel and Iris emerged from the doorway behind us, chasing the smile from Liam’s face but beckoning mine to return.

“Should we go find somewhere to sit?” Iris asked, craning her neck in every direction to absorb the grandeur. Axel pointed at a table off to the side, having already scoped the place.

“Perfect,” I said, scratching at my wrist. The bracelet weighed heavily on my consciousness and I couldn’t wait to remove it once the night was over. The crowd, the jewelry, the length of my dress being an inch too long—everything was a sensory nightmare.

“Lee!” A group of three men waved Liam over. His face lit up.

“Give me one second, Cara. I’m gonna go say hi,” he said, then rushed over to them. “What’s up, fellas! Is that a wedding band I see, Stuart?”

“Take all the time you need,” I mumbled. Take the whole night if you want.

They all looked more like the Secret Service than businessmen. Brown hair tamed in expensive haircuts, black and white tuxedos, shining leather Oxfords. The only things missing were the spiral earpieces.

I followed Iris to the table. Axel pulled the seat out for me and I faltered.

Wow.

I glanced at Iris, whose expression mirrored my own. She’d already sat down before Axel had the chance to do the same for her—if he’d ever planned to. He hardly looked in her direction, as if he had forgotten our plan at Farley’s.

I shrugged off my fur coat and hung it on the back of my chair. Iris immediately picked up the drink menu. Axel didn’t touch anything—instead his gaze remained fixed on Liam and his group, occasionally sweeping the rest of the ballroom. Based on his scowl, if his hatred toward Victor was surface level… it ran at the ocean’s depths for Liam.

Servers drifted across the ballroom and took orders as people settled at their tables. My shoulders sank when Liam left his friends, their laughter dying as they split off.

“Sorry about that. I hadn’t seen those guys since last year,” he said.

I chuckled anxiously and swatted the air. “There’s literally no hard feelings about you talking to your friends around here.”

I encourage it.

An hour in, and my ears were bleeding from the incessant conversations and music that punctured the ballroom, and the flat ramblings Liam spouted. Some people at nearby tables whispered about Axel’s appearance, speculating who he was, what he looked like, and if Victor was aware of his unconventional attire. I bit my tongue and let them keep guessing.

Axel’s silence was equally deafening, and I wondered if he paid any attention to what they were saying. Iris’ expression was flat as she attempted to tie a knot with a maraschino cherry stem with her tongue.

When our food finally arrived, steam swirled from the plates of fish, steak, and chicken. I wasn’t even sure if I was hungry. I just wanted to go home.

Liam turned to the empty space in front of Axel, the napkin still neatly folded in place. “You didn’t get anything to eat?”

“Kind of hard to eat with the mask,” he snarked.

“You can’t take it off for a second?” Liam raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of champagne.

Axel blinked slowly. “Defeats the purpose of wearing one if you see my face, doesn’t it?”

Liam scoffed, and grumbled under his breath, “You and Iris are made for each other.” He continued to eat in silence, his tanned skin deepening to scarlet as he simmered.

I bristled at the statement, shifting uneasily in my seat. I glanced at the pair. Axel was certainly someone I could trust to treat my best friend right, and she more than deserved someone like him. But… just seeing them sit closely together made my throat tighten.

Glass jingled, commanding the quiet din to complete silence. Victor rose from a table on the far end of the ballroom and raised his glass. Everyone did the same, aside from Axel, whose kohl-lined violet eyes darkened to slaughter.

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” Victor began. “Without all your hard work and dedication, ChamberCorp wouldn’t be the leading tech giant in the country. It’s a milestone I wouldn’t have dreamed of reaching. This dinner is not only a celebration for the company, but for you as well. Without you, I couldn’t have dominated the industry. So, here’s a toast to domination!”

“To domination,” everyone echoed. I tilted my champagne flute and downed the rest of it. Axel’s eyes sharpened, and I could’ve sworn I caught his low growl weaving within the applause.

“Enjoy the rest of your night,” Victor said, and returned to his seat at his table. The din grew louder, with people beginning to step away from their tables and visit others, forming clusters.

Liam stood, holding his hand out. “I’d like for you to meet some of my people.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay⁠—”

“It’s important for you to make connections as executive assistant, Cara,” Liam insisted. “Come on.”

“If she doesn’t want to, she doesn’t have to,” Axel said with a visceral glare. “You’re more than welcome to run along and go play.”

“Insult me one more time, Axel,” Liam threatened.

“I need air.” I shot up from the table, gathered my skirts, and whisked away to the lobby. I vaguely remembered seeing a set of elevators out there, and I wanted to see the terrace anyway.

“Cara—”

Liam called for me, and Iris was already poised to follow.

“I just need a moment. Alone!” I shouted back, and picked up an unstable speed. These cursed heels!

“See, this is why I never liked you.” Iris’ voice was barely loud enough to hear over the cacophony of the ballroom. I didn’t want to know what came of that conversation, and I regretted leaving Axel to be subjected to it, but my head was swimming with overstimulation.

Once I reached the terrace, I exhaled loudly as if I had been held underwater.

And somehow, already standing there with his gloved hands braced over the wrought-iron railing—Axel.

Chapter 40

Cara

My ankle rolled in my stiletto at the sight of the man who should’ve still been sitting in the ballroom.

“How are you…”

Axel didn’t turn. If it weren’t for his distinct outfit, I would’ve thought I’d mistaken him for someone else.

“There are things I need to tell—no—show you.” His voice was less muffled. A much clearer, soothing rasp, like chenille.

Like Akuma.

Blinking rapidly, I looked to the stars to let the wind dry my tears before they dropped. I probably should’ve bought waterproof mascara. Goosebumps prickled my arms and I hugged myself, wishing I didn’t leave my coat behind.

“What are you talking about?” I crossed the terrace, stopping just a couple feet behind him.

If we both stayed gone for too long, I could kiss any chance of being rid of Liam goodbye. Then again, maybe he’d hate me so much from the idea of Axel and me together that he’d finally leave me alone for good.

Axel turned, the left side of his profile completely unmarked. The distinct high cheekbones, full lips, sharp jaw—they were Akuma’s markers. Uncannily identical, aside from the desaturated skin and the absent glasses.

But what made me gasp was the fact that he didn’t have his mask on.

“Promise me you won’t scream,” he said, holding his hand up. He kept his right side concealed, shifting his body before he faced me directly.

“I promise,” I said, palms instantly turning slick. I clasped my hands in front of me, squeezing my interlaced fingers over my knuckles. This was the moment I had been dreaming of, but why had he decided to open up to me here, of all places?

Axel turned, revealing the scarring that his mask couldn’t completely cover, and his lips⁠—

The corner of his lips tugged upward in a perpetual grimace, his marred cheek revealing half of his teeth and gums, and the skin that had fused and warped around them.

The urge to scream never surfaced.

I felt utterly melancholic. Hollow, because I couldn’t imagine the self-loathing he’d suffered through to go to such lengths to hide his face, or the amount of pain he’d experienced before such a wound had healed.

Axel looked down at a random spot on the ground. I inched closer, grabbing both sides of his face and forcing him to look into my eyes. I traced every scar with my thumb, every ridge with my thumbs. He twitched, as if my touch sent waves of agony through him.

He was the embodiment of fog enshrouding a weeping willow, a decayed rose, a thunderstorm over a roaring sea.

He was haunting.

And he was absolutely beautiful.

Axel gently grabbed my wrists and pulled them from his face with a ragged breath, and I caught a glimpse of something brutally scarred into his right forearm. “Th-there’s something else I need to show you.”

He began to unbutton his cavalier vest. My eyes widened, my heart running away from its cavity.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” I exclaimed in a whisper,. “I don’t think this is the best place⁠—”

“Showing you the truth,” he said, and dragged his dress shirt off his shoulders.

I rested my hand at the base of my neck, observing the dulled burns across his chest and torso, and the scars that branched along his right oblique muscle like a lightning strike.

A torrent of black brume and feathers exploded from his back.

I cried out, staggering until the back of my knees hit a bench. It caught me as I lost balance.

The smoke dissipated, revealing four magnificent wings as pitched as a raven’s, protruding from Axel’s shoulder blades and lower back. He stretched them out to a twelve-foot wingspan.

Touching my forehead, I licked my lips and retraced how much champagne I’d drunk.

I swallowed, unable to formulate words.

If this was actually happening, then the demonic attacks had definitely been real. He had truly saved my life.

And my parents hadn’t been lying about Venators.

“Axe—” I tried to stand, but flopped back on the bench.

Axel crouched at my knees, folding his wings behind him. The top pair towered over his head, and the bottom ones extended behind him like a cape. Wind rustled his feathers and dried my tongue.

I touched one of his wings, just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming again. They were a mix of delicacy and strength, soft plumes attached to solid pinions, and capturing only the harshest of lights from the nearby buildings.

“Are you an angel?” I finally managed to get out. It explained how he’d beaten me to the rooftop, if nothing else.

“I’m a prisoner,” he said, and turned his arm over to expose his forearm. I lightly brushed my fingers across the scarred shapes. “You’re not safe, Cara.”

My breath hitched and that hair-trigger urge to kick my shoes off and run for safety returned. Not away from Axel, but from a hidden danger like the demons in my apartment. “Why am I not safe?”

“I can’t specify. But—” His head snapped toward the door across the terrace and he began to gather his clothes with haste.

“Axel?” I frowned, tensing at his spastic movements. With his clothes bunched in his arms, he sprinted to the edge of the building and launched in a spiral, disappearing into the navy clouds. The cold force from his wings almost knocked me back down.

“There you are, Cara,” Liam called from the door.

My heart rattled, and I hid one of the stray feathers under my garter before he approached.

“Hey,” I said with a trembling exhale. Electricity still crackled across every inch of my being. “I was just about to come down.”

Liam scanned the terrace. “It seems we swapped dates, and the one I got isn’t as pleasant as the one I came with. Have you seen Axel?”

“No, I’ve just been up here getting air.” I shifted uneasily on the bench, leg bouncing up and down.

Liam sat next to me and grabbed one of my hands. “I’m sorry. I never want to push you to do anything you don’t want to do, alright? It’s just… you’re so special and I like you so much that I want to introduce you to some important people. I only want the best for you, Cara,” he said. “And those two bring the worst out of me.”

Screw this.

I yanked my hand away. “This whole date came from you pushing me to do things I didn’t want to do. I was supposed to come here with Axel, and instead he had to come here with my best friend,” I said with a bitter laugh. “What is it going to take for you to get over the fact that I don’t want you?”

“Why though? What did I ever do to you, other than be there for you? I was there to hold your hand during Akuma’s funeral, I got you this job⁠—”

“Is that it? Do I owe you now?” I shot up from the bench, my voice rising along with my intolerance. My growing rage turned the numbing cold into summer heat.

“No, of course not!” he exclaimed. “I’m just trying to understand what it is about me you don’t like.”

“Your personality! I don’t care about your looks or your money. From the moment you opened your mouth to give Akuma a hard time when he first started at ChamberCorp, I knew I’d never want anything to do with you beyond work,” I spat.

“My personality.” Liam’s voice flattened with a subtle fry.

“You’re arrogant, rude, and inconsiderate. I can’t breathe when you’re around. You don’t make me feel safe—quite the opposite, really.” The barrage of honesty pouring out of me felt like removing shackles that had rubbed my wrists raw. I had been sinking underwater, and now I’d finally managed to swim to the surface.

Liam’s nostrils flared as he stared straight ahead. The golden radiance from the city lights likened to wrathful flames in his eyes. “I don’t make you feel safe.”

“Why are you just repeating me?” I snapped. “Are you actually listening?”

Liam slowly shifted his dark gaze to mine, turning my spine to stone like a gorgon. He rose to his full height, looking down at me without a twitch of a smile or pout. “I don’t think you truly know what unsafe feels like.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you threatening me?”

Then came his thin, wry smile.

“Of course not. I could never hurt you, Cara.” Liam briefly touched my chin with his thumb and forefinger before he stalked off, leaving me alone on the terrace. Mountains of fear crumbled in my chest.

I exhaled shakily, looking to the heavens in the hope that Axel was still watching.

He never came back down.

Chapter 41

Cara

Iris was stuffing her face with white cake when I finally gathered the courage to return to the first floor. I waded through the crowd to reach her, just for someone to grab my arm.

I raised my fist, expecting my knuckles to meet the cartilage of Liam’s nose, but froze when I saw it was Victor instead.

“That would’ve been a nasty jab,” Victor laughed, eyes glittering with the luster of the night’s glamour and champagne. “How are you doing, sweetheart? I didn’t expect you to still be here since Liam left.”

Good.

“I’m fine, I was just looking for Iris,” I said, pulling away from his grasp.

“That friend of yours is quite the specimen. She’s already caught Lucien’s eye.”

Victor pointed toward our table, where Lucien was now chatting with Iris. The only other time tonight there had a glow on her face was when she’d first applied her makeup. They shared a laugh, Lucien touching her shoulder and Iris leaning into his hand. I raised my eyebrows, wondering what they could be talking about. Certainly nothing ChamberCorp related, since she wasn’t even an employee—let alone a VIP.

I didn’t appreciate Victor’s comment, implying she was some rare mineral mined out of a cave.

I thought I’d had enough of the Chamberlains for one night.

With Iris’ affinity toward the most toxic of men, and her intrigue with Lucien, the queasiness intensified in my stomach. But who knew. Maybe she’d decided to give stability a chance… or maybe his money made his poison worth trying.

Victor could also be exaggerating.

“Victor! Is this the new assistant you’ve been telling us about?” A few older men crowded me like a pack of wolves, women half of their age clinging to their arms. Some smiled at me, others turned up their noses.

“Yes! This is Cara. She does an amazing job.” Victor swiped a couple mints from a platter as a server floated around the ballroom.

“Are you finally going to keep her around?” one of the women asked, and the rest of them laughed tightly.

“What do you mean?” I joined in with weaker laughter.

“Oh, Victor here can never keep an assistant around. We have a running joke that he’s cursed.” A man with glasses who was probably in his late fifties nudged Victor with his elbow.

“Don’t mind that nonsense.” Victor flicked his hand“None of them delivered as well as you do, and it might be because none of them have been so close to my son.”

Another man arched a bushy, silver eyebrow. “Oh? Is that how you got the job?”

“No!” I snapped with disgust.

“Come now, David… that’s quite low of you,” Victor chided.

David pinched his lips together, face seemingly blanching at his disapproval.

“I should get back to my friends.” I moved away from the vultures and returned to my table, where Iris idly folded a cloth napkin into as tiny of a triangle as she could.

“Where did Lucien go?” I asked.

Iris’ boredom was immediately replaced with excitement. “Off to talk to more guests. He’s super charming—he even asked for my number.”

“That’s great,” I said with a laugh. “Are you ready to go? I think both of our dates ditched us.”

Iris tossed the napkin on the table. “Totally, I just had the driest cake of my life.”

A familiar, silky cadence sounded behind me. “I only stepped outside for a bit. I’m sorry, Iris.”

I turned to see Axel adjusting his cuffs and the mask on his face. I exhaled with relief, reminded of the feather under my dress.

I think I’d keep it forever.

Iris shrugged. “I still had an alright time while you were gone, so no hard feelings.”

I wished I could tell Iris, but it wasn’t my place. I doubt she would’ve believed me anyway.

We peeled our heels off as Axel drove us back to Iris’ house in her car. Iris sat with her feet across the back seat, and I reclined my seat.

I was so, so tired. Of everything.

The circle of multi-story contemporary houses came into view. Once we pulled into Iris’ driveway, Axel got out of the car to open our doors. I swung my feet over the threshold.

“Wait,” he said quickly, and lifted me into his arms.

I raised my eyebrows, heart fluttering and face warming. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“You almost stepped on a nail,” he said. “I’ll come back for your shoes.”

A stupid grin splayed across Iris’ face, and she strutted ahead of us.

My legs dangled as he carried me up her driveway and to the front door. His hold was firm, like being cradled by a statue.

Axel’s grip tightened while Iris worked to unlock the front door. His gloved fingers dug into my arm, and a quiet, strained groan escaped him.

“Are you in pain again?” I asked warily.

Iris glanced back at us with a concerned frown, then finally got the door open. Axel rushed inside and set me down on a bench in her antechamber.

“I-I have to go,” Axel rasped, grasping his forearm. “I’ll bring your shoes another t-time⁠—”

He cursed and sprinted outside. My shoulders sank, and Iris poked her head out of the doorway to watch.

“Jeez, he’s already gone. That guy must be a track star,” she exclaimed.

“Yeah, he’ll be okay,” I said somberly. At least I somewhat understood why, even though I still didn’t know what specifically caused him so much pain. It must’ve had something to do with what he was, and that mark on his arm. I wished I could explain it to Iris.

Iris placed her hands on her hips and exhaled loudly. “Well, tonight was… something else.”

“It was,” I said with a small grin. Full of surprises, ups and downs.

“Let me go change real quick and then I’ll drive you home,” she said, then disappeared upstairs.

I untucked the feather from my garter beneath my dress and set it down next to me, then removed Liam’s bracelet. One of the emerald gems tumbled out of its setting.

“Are we for real?” I grumbled, and reached for it on the floor.

I didn’t think he’d give me a cheap bracelet...

I picked up the gem and zeroed in on a tiny black rectangle attached to the back of the stone. “What…?”

A loud crash, followed by a scream, sent me flying off the bench and dashing up the stairs.

“Iris!” I shouted.

“Cara! OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod!” Iris shrieked.

Scuffling. Another scream. A heavy thud. Snarling grew louder on the other side of her bedroom door, but I couldn’t open it. My breath caught in my throat as I rammed my shoulder into the wood.

“Let me in!” I cried shrilly. “What’s happening?”

Glass shattered, a high pitched pierce that could’ve came from Iris’ vanity mirror.

I took a step back, tensed my core, and kicked the door hard enough to crack it open. Her dresser had fallen, blocking the doorway. I drove my shoulder into the door again, moving the dresser by an inch. Iris wielded a jagged piece of a broken mirror against a demon with long, lanky limbs and four blunt horns on its hairless head. I rammed my shoulder again, biting down on the sharp pain lancing through my arm from the impact. I squeezed through the crack, tripping over my gown as it snagged on a drawer.

As I tumbled to the floor among the rest of the glass, I snatched up a large, irregular piece. The razor-sharp edge dug into my fingers. The demon raised its talon hand, poised to swipe at Iris. Lunging, I sliced the shard across its back, and it howled.

“Go! Get out of here!” I shouted, and jabbed my makeshift weapon into the demon’s protruding ribs. The demon jerked back, the glass slicing my palm as it was pulled out of my hand.

“No way!” Iris grunted as she slid the dresser out of the way, allowing the door to open fully.

The lights flickered with the demon’s roars, and I snatched a pair of scissors from Iris’ desk. I slammed them through the demon’s skull and it latched its claws into my thigh through my dress. Iris jumped onto its back, wrapping her sculpted arm around its neck. She grasped one of its horns and leaned backward with a strained scream until the demon finally let go of my leg with a pained hiss.

Then its facial features sank into its flesh, like quicksand. The demon’s face resurfaced at the back of its head and plunged its teeth into Iris’ neck. She dropped from its back.

No sound escaped my lips as I repeatedly jabbed the scissors through the demon’s temple. Its lipless mouth shined crimson when it pulled back. With one more strike, I left the scissors embedded in its head. It lurched away with agonized howls, writhing with its head in its hands.

Iris staggered backward with her hand at her throat. Blood spurted past her fingers, and she stumbled as I dragged her downstairs by the wrist.

“Stay with me! You’re fine! You’re gonna be fine!” I exclaimed, and pushed her out the front door. I pulled her to her car, yanking on the front and back doors. Iris moved away from me, leaned against her hood and still holding her neck.

No, no, no, no⁠—

I sprinted back inside for the keys. The demon crawled down the staircase and roared at me before lunging from the railing before I could grab the keys. I ducked, dashing to the living room instead. It slid across the island countertop. I seized an iron fire poker from the fireplace. The demon bounded across the room with feral growls and bared fangs. I drove the poker through what should’ve been its chin. It yowled, thrashing as its skin turned white and began peeling. Dodging its claws, I sprinted to the kitchen and snatched Iris’ keys and my phone from the counter. The demon’s shrieks turned brittle as I burst outside.

Iris slumped against her car tire, head hanging limply to the side. The flesh around her neck had begun to rot and fester, like the demon’s bite was laced with venom. The same scorching pain from when the demon slashed my abdomen had returned to my leg. My knee threatened to buckle as I struggled to lift her.

“Get up! Come on, g-get up, Iris!”

I hooked my arms under her pits and she leaned against me. She draped one arm across my shoulders, still attempting to hold the laceration marring her neck closed with her free hand.

The street lamp exposed the color leaving Iris’ tan face as I eased her into the back seat of her car. In the driver’s seat, I angled the rearview mirror to keep tabs on Iris more than the traffic itself, and sped out of her driveway.

“Stay with me. Oh God, Iris, please!” My voice was hoarse, throat burning along with the tears pearling at the corners of my eyes. “You’re not dying on me!”

Five minutes. Only five minutes away.

But she had seconds.

I swerved corners, wove through lanes to cut drivers off to beat the weekend traffic.

“I’m… just gonna nap for a sec…” Iris’s voice was garbled, and her eyes fluttered shut.

“No! I need you to stay awake! How about some Delaney Duval, huh? Your favorite indie singer!” I turned the radio up, hoping—praying—it was enough to get her to at least hum to the melody.

Blue and purple uplighting washed over the face of the hospital in the distance, like a beacon of hope. The final traffic light was a steady green.

“It’s cold, Cara,” she whimpered. I twisted the knob to maximum heat. “What… was that…?”

“Stop talking, you need to save your energy! We’re almost there!”

The traffic light turned yellow, then red. I slammed the gas, blowing through the intersection. A driver laid on their horn when they nearly T-boned us. I could get fifty tickets and never care if it meant getting my best friend to the emergency room. Every second counted.

I swerved into the lot. Iris’ car tipped but then righted itself, and I hit a curb as I made another sharp turn into the drop-off zone.

“Someone help me! HELP!” I cried, jumping out of the car.

Security guards peered through the sliding glass doors then scrambled to grab someone’s attention at the front. Four nurses emerged with a gurney. I hooked my arms under Iris’ armpits again. Her body felt different this time.

It lacked resistance.

“Iris—!”

I was lifting an anchor.

Her legs flopped from the back seat, and the weight of her body knocked the air out of me. She didn’t move.

She didn’t move.

She didn’t move!

Her hand had fallen away from her throat, and a waterfall of scarlet ran down her front. Hospital staff crowded me, their faces blurred and voices distorted.

They took her away.

My best friend. My sister.

They took her away.

I trembled uncontrollably. Someone crouched at my side, asking me something. All I could hear was the blood rampaging in my ears, the exhaust puttering from the idling car, and the upbeat tunes of Delaney Duval playing on the radio.

Then I was inside, lights glaring in scattered bokeh. Hands sticky and flaking like dried leaves. Dress stiffening like too much starch.

And a doctor in a long white coat already heading my way.

Glossy pink lips pressed thin. Hands clasped. Weathered face drawn. Haggard hazel eyes with an apprehension I’d break the second she opened her mouth.

Before she said anything, I knew. Just from that look, I knew.

That demon had taken Iris away.

Chapter 42

Liam

I learned two things on The Bordeux’s rooftop tonight. One, Cara was extremely ungrateful, and two—my father was a liar.

Akuma had never been a match for her. His brother? Even less so.

But when I saw those feathers scattered around Cara’s feet, I knew she was dead to me—and Dad was hiding something even more valuable than the deal he’d made to stay young and wealthy forever.

He had been working against me this entire time, and why? Because I had no interest in taking over a company he never intended to let go? He’d only retire so the public wouldn’t ask too many questions about his lack of aging.

I drove to the edge of Lumis, where my father’s contemporary mansion was nestled in the middle of five acres with no neighbors in a ten-mile radius. As expected, the passcode to his front door remained unchanged due to his false sense of invincibility.

I wandered around the house, absorbing the various Renaissance paintings hanging on the dark green walls, the eclectic furniture and decor, and my old room. There were still shelves lined with my mechanical robot and superhero action figures, video games arranged alphabetically in their DVD cases, mini golf clubs and tennis rackets, and posters of pop singers that I never listened to but simply admired for their beauty. It was all foreign to me, as if this room belonged instead to a brother I never knew I had.

I descended to the basement, where my father kept his altar. It was embellished with a goat skull and a little black book of spells he claimed was gifted from a friend of the family, as well as a squealing cage of rats and a bowl of human teeth and blood fit to be a cannibal’s cereal. I tucked the book in my back pocket and stood at the podium, tracing the curves of the goat’s horns with a sigh.

There were a couple times when my father and I weren’t so distant. When his gold hair began to dull to grey, and the sunspots returned to his cheeks, he’d take me down here to watch him gut a rat with his favorite curved dagger with snakes carved in its hilt, and add to the blood in the bowl. A shadow in the shape of a man would appear. They’d converse in another language, and I would watch my father’s biological clock reverse with so much fascination.

“This is how we get generational wealth, Lee. It’s nothing but magic tricks, you see? A little sacrifice is all it takes,” he’d once said. He’d flip to a page in his spell book and show me the procedure. “And if you ever find one of these creatures, learn its name. It’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Like a genie?”

“Even better than a genie, Lee. You get unlimited wishes.”

The security system dinged in approval as the front door opened upstairs, interrupting my thoughts. The simmering wrath from earlier, when Cara had treated me like I’d been anything but good to her, returned tenfold.

I emerged from the basement, and my father flinched at my sudden appearance. He pulled his bow tie loose, recovering from the fear he hadn’t meant to display.

He cleared his throat, removing his cuff links. “Liam, what on Earth are you doing here?”

The stiff soles of his shoes clacked loudly against the marble floor as he headed for the kitchen. I trailed behind him as he grumbled, “I keep forgetting to change those locks.”

“When were you going to tell me you had a Reaper in your back pocket, Dad?” I slid my hands into my pockets.

A short laugh puffed from his chest. He grabbed an empty glass and poured water from the fridge’s spout.

“I’d sooner win the lottery. What gave you the impression that I own a Reaper?” He raised the glass to his lips.

I chuckled scornfully and waved my forefinger in disapproval. “Don’t do that. I’m not stupid.”

My father grunted. While he drummed his fingers on the counter pensively, I moved to the silverware drawer.

“I didn’t realize I was obligated to tell you I had a Reaper, son. Ownership can’t be shared, you know,” he said, leaning over the counter with his hands clasped together.

“I know.” I reached for the meat tenderizer and flipped it in my hand to test its heft. I glanced over my shoulder. He had moved on to the great room.

Beside the grand piano on the credenza was a decanter of twenty-year-old whiskey and an antique record player. I spun the meat tenderizer in my hand as he picked a jazz record and let it play.

“What would you have done?” He glanced at me and the mallet in my hand, then focused on refilling his empty water glass with two fingers worth of whiskey. “Planning on having a temper tantrum? Smashing my heirlooms?”

I gritted my teeth. “I would’ve asked you to send him away, not hire him as a bodyguard. It’s your fault she still couldn’t forget about him. That only let them get closer!” I said, tightening my grip on the handle. “You said if we ever found a rare creature like that, we could get whatever we want, and what I wanted was Cara. But what am I supposed to do if she’s in love with that thing?!”

“That’s not how that works, and I couldn’t care less about your romantic life or your latest obsession. What you’re supposed to do is be a man, move on, and focus on taking over ChamberCorp. Women are expendable, and your mother was a prime example,” he said coolly, and turned away, moving to the piano.

I struck the back of his head with the spiked side of the meat tenderizer. The glass shattered, and he dropped to the floor next to the spilled bourbon. I jumped on top of him before he could recover, hammering the spikes into his face. He pushed against my chest, his cries distorting to gurgles as his skull caved in with every strike.

“I knew it was you! You selfish—” I screamed, losing the ability to formulate words as each swing led with more force than the previous. I didn’t stop until I couldn’t breathe anymore, until my arm became too heavy to raise and there was nothing left of my father’s face to smash.

Something within me knocked loose. The fog lifted from my mind, a liberation I never thought possible. Cara wasn’t a flower I craved to adore—she was a weed I needed to uproot.

I looked at the glistening mess of red, ripped skin and dislodged teeth. I smiled with a weak chuckle and patted my father’s shoulder gently, leaving behind a bloody handprint on his shirt.

“I’ll take it from here now, Dad. Rest in Hell.”

Chapter 43

Akuma

A portal had ripped open the second Iris’ front door shut, swallowing me like a black hole.

Classic jazz music sounded through an antique record player, rich and full from its velvet quality. A soul wasn’t screaming, and I didn’t open this portal myself.

Something felt… different. I rolled my sleeve up, and watched as the Mark’s symbols rearranged themselves. The tattooed bands around my wrist were gone.

I turned slowly, absorbing the fluted ceiling, elegant pendants, Renaissance paintings probably worth millions, and marble flooring of a stately dark green kitchen—then followed the music.

Crimson flowed toward me in a narrow stream. I took a small step back before it met my shoes. My eyes followed the trail until they locked on to a body silhouetted by the fireplace’s glow. The face was smashed in, diminished to brain matter and broken teeth.

And sitting in a claw-foot chair next to the body—was Liam.

Blood freckled his face and stained his ivory dress shirt. He sat with his elbows braced over his knees, clasping his hands together with a lethal calm I had never seen him exude. A meat tenderizer lay on the floor between his shoes, painted in a visceral red.

“You’re a slippery one,” Liam said, leaning back in the chair. He kicked his ankle up over one knee and grabbed a glass half full of liquor. A deep slice marked his palm, staining his shirt cuff, and my heart sank. “Tell me, did he ask you to rip Evan Clarke’s heart out, or did you do that on your own, Akuma?”

The Mark hummed with life. The air turned thick and stagnant, seeping into my pores until every inch of my essence was poisoned with trepidation.

This can’t be. Not him.

Anyone but him.

Liam laughed derisively and rubbed the side of his nose with a loud sniff. “I mean, I guess it doesn’t matter at this point, right? I just would’ve never thought you, of all people, would have it in you.”

“Like how you could just murder your own father?” I finally said, voice steady and cool despite the storm rioting within.

“Oh, please. He was never my father. Just some guy who happened to knock up my mom, would occasionally pop in and ask the nanny how her day went, and sacrificed his assistants to stay young.” Liam spat on his father’s corpse. “Killed my mom, but she wasn’t the sweetest angel either.”

He picked up the mallet, flipped it, and caught it by the handle. “You know what the best part about this is? I own you now. Even in death, you’re still pathetic and useless.”

“If I’m useless, then why do you need to control me?” I cocked my head and narrowed my eyes.

Liam pointed the mallet at me. “When I sent those demons to kill you and I saw the news, it was the best day of my life. I thought I’d finally get a chance to win Cara over. But then his brother shows up⁠—”

He feinted striking me in the face, holding the mallet inches from my nose. His scowl worsened when I didn’t react.

When I sent those demons to kill you.

My knuckles cracked, my breaths turning thick and ragged through my nostrils as I attempted to bridle my rage. I’d rip his heart right out of his chest and hammer it with the very mallet he’d used against his father if I could.

“I had my suspicions. The mask, your dealings with my father, showing up at Akuma’s grave… but it was all confirmed when you revealed your identity to Cara on the rooftop. Thank goodness for that bracelet, because you two were conveniently gone for a while. You just couldn’t stay dead, could you? Even after being murdered, you were chosen to come back as a Reaper?”

“So let me get this straight,” I began, keeping my voice measured, “not only did you stalk Cara and put a tracking device in her bracelet, but you sent two demons to kill me? For what? Because I asked her on a date? You hated me that much?”

A stupid question. I stood in Victor’s living room, talking to Liam as if his father’s corpse wasn’t lying on the floor behind him. How long ago had he killed him? A soul hadn’t materialized nor had another Reaper shown up.

If Victor even had a soul.

Liam held up a finger when the music picked up tempo, closing his eyes and twirling the mallet like a conductor would a baton.

“Of course. You were always in my way,” he said. “She was almost mine. I only tracked her to make sure she got home safe, to learn her likes and dislikes so that we’d have things to talk about on our dates, and to make sure she didn’t start any new relationships.”

I wanted to peel his skin layer by layer and stuff the pieces down his throat.

I shoved him away, and surprisingly, the Mark didn’t awaken. “She’s not some property to own, Liam! Just let her go. You could have any girl you want, and she’d probably would be more than happy to be with you. But you deserve to die alone without even the maggots to consume you!”

Liam growled, his knuckles whitening around the mallet.

“We always had our differences… and whatever grudges you have, let them just stay between us. Leave Cara out of it,” I said, and walked around the furniture to Victor’s body. I stared at the scar across his palm. It matched Liam’s fresh cut.

I had craved killing this man, and I hadn’t been able to even fantasize about how I would do it without the Mark burning me. Then Liam did the work for me, but only to transfer the binding to himself. The urge to dance on Victor’s grave as I’d promised dissipated.

“Oh, no, you don’t get to win. You don’t get to tell me what to do either,” Liam said with another sharp laugh. “I sent a little friend to pay Cara a visit because… fair is fair.”

I snapped my head in his direction.

“What are you talking about?” I demanded.

“Oh, you know… if I can’t have her, I’m certainly not letting spineless Akuma the Accountant have her.”

My wings ripped out of my tattoo, tearing the back of my shirt and vest to a gaping hole. I pivoted on my heel, readying to burst out of the window.

“Ah-ah! You’re staying here,” Liam commanded. My feet planted in place, legs detached from my brain as I tried to will myself to move forward. Every tug sent shards of pain slicing up my arm.

Liam sauntered to my side, still flipping the mallet nonchalantly.

“She’s dead to me now. I tried to be nice and give her another chance to come around…” Liam inhaled deeply, shaking his head with disappointment. “It’s okay. She’ll go to a better place. Hopefully as far away from you as possible. Now—I want you to clean this mess up, make it spotless. Don’t forget the broken glass over there by the decanter.”

The stiffness left my body, and I was able to move again. But a puppeteer still pulled my strings, forcing me to raise my hands. Amethyst sparks ignited in open my palms until Victor’s body dissolved into ash. Any remaining blood evaporated.

Liam patted my back, finished off his drink, and checked his watch. “Thanks, buddy. Go make sure Cara’s dead, then report back to me. Come back in an hour or so, though. I need to shower.”

I planted my feet, and the Mark sent whips of fire across my skin as Liam sauntered away. I opened a rift in the floor and jumped, immediately falling through Iris’ kitchen ceiling. I hoped Cara wasn’t here, but the likelihood of her surviving a demon attack without me there to stop it was slim to none.

The smell of sulfur polluted the entire house. Furniture had been toppled and shredded, glass shattered, claw marks slashed through the drywall…

For every room I didn’t discover a body in, I should have been more relieved. But like last time, she could be in the hospital.

Her condition could be worse. She could be lying on a table with a sheet over her body.

Blood adhered to the front doorknob. I ran my hands through my hair, glancing at the clock on the stove. I had thirty minutes left.

As much as I wanted to stop searching, I needed to know if Liam had been successful. But if I found her alive, then I would be the cause of her death.

Think, Akuma. Think. There’s always a loophole. There has to be.

“The Chamberlains have proven to be quite the nasty family, no?” Death appeared behind me, naginata aglow and wings in full form. “In all my millennia, I have never seen a Reaper go through two masters in less than six months.”

“Please, not now.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, pacing in front of the door. “Can you tell me if Cara is okay?”

Death scanned the kitchen and living room, chewing her lip. She focused on the pile of sulfuric ash on the rug by the fireplace. “Two souls were involved, but only one was reaped.”

Pins and needles invaded my chest. “Was it Cara?”

“Do you really want to know, Reaper? Or is it best that you… use what little information you have?” She tilted her head, and the dullness of my heart brightened.

“Thank you,” I said, running up to Death. She tensed as I shook her hands with desperate gratitude. She stared at her palm as if I stained it.

I jumped through a portal that lead to the skies above. The wind carried me in a listless descent before I took control of my wings, then I flew to Victor’s home.

Liam’s damp blonde hair appeared brown. Dressed in a set of satin pajamas that appeared slightly too small, he lounged on a leather couch with a bowl of popcorn. A sitcom was playing on the TV as if his father hadn’t been lying dead next to it an hour ago.

“So?” He waved me over. The crackling pops from the food being mashed between his teeth were grating. I imagined pulling each tooth out by hand, and winced at the Mark biting back.

“She’s dead,” I said, pausing in front of his television for the sheer inconvenience of it. “Happy? You’re gonna go and kill every woman that tells you no?”

“It wouldn’t be me per se.” He plucked a kernel from the bowl and flicked it at me. It bounced off my mask. “You can leave now. I have to get up early due to a death in the family.”

I laughed scornfully, and vanished from the premises before he could change his mind.

Death had bought me some time, but now I really needed to find out the full truth… before Liam could.

Chapter 44

Cara

“I regret to inform you that your friend didn’t make it. She died before we even reached the operating room.”

The creaking chair had a flattened cushion and the wooden base dug into my tailbone, but the pain wasn’t strong enough to mask the internal bleeding caused by the doctor’s words.

“The trauma was too great.”

I didn’t rise from the chair, or even look at the woman. Instead I caught my reflection in the vending machine window across the lobby. Blood soaked my navy blue dress, making it appear brownish-black.

Black like the dress I’d worn to Akuma’s funeral.

Black like the blood that had dripped from the demon’s head.

My three-bun mohawk was barely holding together. I missed an earring. The orchid was gone. My feet were still bare.

“Do you have any of her emergency contacts?” she asked.

The clock above the vending machine indicated it was one in the morning.

I finally looked at the doctor. “Probably just me. She… wasn’t close to her family.”

I bumped my head against the wall with a grimace, nose burning and nostrils trembling.

No, not here. Not yet. Keep it together.

I inhaled a shaky breath.

The doctor finally sank into the chair next to mine. “Are you injured? Do you have any idea what attacked her?”

I didn’t feel… there. I was watching myself on television, or in a dream, or was seeing through someone else’s eyes. I ignored the burning sensation in my thigh, which stung like I had fallen into a fire ant hill. Maybe the demon’s venom would take me out, too.

“A dog? I don’t know. It was dark. It got away,” I said flatly, like reading a script.

Who would believe that a demon attacked us?

Not a woman of science.

“Where were you?” she asked.

“Just walking to her house from a party.” I slowly rose from the chair, and the ground shifted beneath me. My leg sang. “I… need to go.”

“Ma’am, I need you to wait⁠—”

“I’m fine,” I snapped. “I’m exercising my right to refuse medical care.”

The sliding glass doors opened for me as I limped outside, almost in a trance. The rough, frigid asphalt dug into my feet. I walked, leaving a bloody trail behind me, and stopped at a small footbridge in a nearby park. I leaned over the icy railing, and screamed.

Screamed until my throat burned more than my eyes.

Screamed until I couldn’t feel my face anymore.

Until my very own soul left my body and merged with the billowing ice clouds rising from my depths, and I was nothing.

I sank to the ground, shivering but not truly feeling the cold. I pulled out my phone, staring at my mother’s number. I circled my thumb around the call button.

If I’d killed it sooner, Iris would still be here.

I was too weak to open the door right away.

I should’ve driven faster.

Iris didn’t deserve death. She wasn’t a part of any of this.

If she’d never come to that party, she would’ve been safe at home.

Axel hadn’t been there to stop the demon.

I should’ve known how to stop it sooner.

I should’ve prayed more.

I pressed the call button, raising the phone to my ear with stiff, bright red fingertips.

“Hey, baby!” Mom chirped on the other end, loud soul music blaring in the back.

“Mama,” my voice cracked at the sound of her warmth.

“Cara?” Her tone dropped, as did the music’s volume. “What’s wrong?”

“Iris—”

The words wedged themselves into my throat. I clamped my hand over my mouth, stifling a whimper. My vision blurred, and more hot tears thawed my frozen cheeks.

“What about Iris?”

“Iris is dead.” The words sounded foreign. The shapes my mouth formed to say them felt unnatural.

“What?” The music shut off entirely. “What happened? Where are you?”

My breath hitched, the winter air slicing its way up my nose. “Waterford Park, I think. Are you still in Lumis?”

“No, but your daddy and I can be there in thirty. Zy! Let’s go!”

I pressed my hand over my forehead with an uncontrollable hiccup. “A demon killed her, Mama.”

“Where?” Mom’s voice hardened. “We’re on our way right now!”

I heard shuffling and slamming on the other end of the line. I forced a slow exhale through my tight lips. “Her house. I think I killed it, b-but I was too late.”

“What did you kill it with?”

“A-a fire poker.” Clouds puffed past my lips in quicker succession, more from fear than the cold.

“What was it made out of?”

I blinked, formulating pictures of my desperate fight to remember. “Iron.”

“You killed it, Cara,” Mom said through a sigh of relief.

You’ve been ignoring your instincts and your purpose.

Do you always want to be a victim?

I should’ve carried that cross everywhere with me.

“I thought about what you said at New Bethel,” I said, squeezing my numb hand between my thighs. As the adrenaline seeped out of my pores, the cold finally sank in.

“What?” Mom asked.

“I-I’m ready to learn. I want to become a Venator.” My leg twitched as pain shot up my lower back.

“That’s my girl!” Dad shouted in the background. I could envision him punching the air, as he so often did whenever he was proud of me.

But I didn’t feel excitement or a sense of achievement.

Concentrated wrath leaked into my veins, poisoning my very essence.

I hung up the phone, and lay flat on the bridge. The shivering intensified. I gazed at the stars, the bridge’s cold metal and wood stiffening my joints. It seeped into my bones, finally numbing the pain in my leg.

Soon, the shivering stopped.

Maybe I’d die of hypothermia, and I’d catch up to Iris on the other side. Maybe I’d float high above and be able to touch one of those stars.

A large bird flew across the face of the moon. It began to dive toward me. I didn’t move—just accepted my fate and welcomed the freedom that’d follow.

Until I recognized the four wings, the massive, chiseled body, and the masked face.

“Axel,” I croaked.

“Cara!”

He reached down, lifted me from the ground, and folded his wings around me. They shut me out from the rest of the world, enveloping me in an intense warmth that sent pins and needles through my frozen body. I shifted my weight to my uninjured leg.

“You’re alive…” he whispered shakily. “Oh, thank God… you’re alive…”

“Iris isn’t.” I leaned my head against his chest. “I didn’t save her in time.”

“No, no this isn’t your fault. I should’ve told her at least… I didn’t even think—Cara, it’s so much more complex. I couldn’t tell you on the rooftop because Victor kept me from speaking on it, and as a Reaper, I was forced to do whatever he said. And now he’s…”

I raised my head with a deep frown. “He’s what? You’re a Reaper? Like the Grim Reaper?”

Axel shut his eyes tightly, shaking his head. “He’s dead. Liam killed him to end the contract, and then took over. You need to get as far from this place as possible. Leave Lumis entirely. Liam can’t find out that you’re still alive, or he’ll send more, and I won’t be able to protect you.”

“Why? What contract? What are you talking about, Axel? He’ll send more of what?” My voice rose with each question, the volume matching every increasing level of apprehension, confusion, and frustration.

“He sent that demon to kill you, and⁠—”

Axel went rigid when we heard distant tires crunching over gravel. “Research a Summoning as soon as you can. Get as far away from me as possible, alright?”

He set me down, removed his mask, and kissed my forehead with trembling lips.

His voice dropped several registers. He mumbled against my forehead, exposed teeth scraping at my skin. “Pray you never see me again, because the next time you do… it may be to take your soul.”

“Axel, wait, please don’t go! I don’t understand!” I grabbed his hand, but he yanked it away and rocketed into the sky. More feathers scattered around me in a vortex, fluttering onto the frozen water beneath the bridge. I leaned down to pick one up, since I didn’t plan on returning to my wrecked apartment ever again.

I hugged the feather against my chest, sinking to my knees with a wince.

My parents came running across the turf. My father swept a pistol from side to side, scanning the area.

As if bullets would do anything to a demon. Scissors to the head multiple times hadn’t.

Mom wrapped a blanket around me and rubbed my arms rapidly, then pulled me toward the car with haste. I limped behind her as fast as possible, and flopped into the back seat. As I bathed in the heat pumping within the vehicle, the pain intensified to the point of nausea. I brought Axel’s feather to my nose as a distraction, inhaling the scent of petrichor, night, and winter—and lamented how lackluster the car’s heat was compared to his embrace.

It was apparently always sunny in New Bethel, even when the outside world was shrouded in darkness. The light stung the backs of my eyes when my parents helped me inside. Selah met us at the door, her metallic face contorted with concern. She grabbed my arms, sending waves of warmth through my body that eased the pain in my leg, but couldn’t come close to the misery in my heart. I let the blanket fall from my shoulders and sank into one of the pew benches. The shallow, cool water grounded me.

“I’m sorry about your friend, Cara,” Selah said with a voice so sweet and solemn. She crouched between the pews, cupping her hand in the water and pouring it over the puncture wounds in my leg. I slumped listlessly as the wounds puffed into scars.

“I think… it was supposed to be me,” I murmured, thinking back on Axel’s words.

If Liam had killed Victor, his own father, then I had severely underestimated his capabilities.

And if Liam had somehow sent a demon to kill me… then Iris had died for nothing.

“Why?” Dad sat on the bench in front of me, his thick silvery eyebrows sinking over his hooded eyes.

“I—my friend⁠—”

I pursed my lips. Incandescent ire coiled in my chest. “It should’ve been me.”

The songbirds in the nave were a mockery of the crows screeching in my mind.

“Oh, don’t you dare say that!” Mom chided, and swatted my shoulder.

“Why are we just sitting around here?” I jumped from the bench, and shimmied into the aisle. “I need to start training. I need to know what I’m up against so I can stop him!”

“Cara, you’re not going to become a Venator by morning and declare war against Satan and the Sevens overnight. I don’t care how much you maintained your training over the years, combat preparation alone didn’t prepare you for demons.”

“What are the Sevens?”

“See, you don’t even know the basics, girl!” Dad threw a hand up with an incredulous laugh.

“And whose fault is that?” I spat, a hand on my hip.

“There will be no discord within these walls,” Selah commanded, striking a brass staff against the floor. The sharp tone punctured the nave like thunder. She circled me with slow, calculated movements. Even without defined pupils in her sculpted eyes, I could sense she was examining my every detail. The blazes engulfing her wings flickered as if they, too, were sentient and watching.

“The path of a Venator can be a lonely one. Though you have your family, and a wide community of warriors, you must be willing to accept to lose them, wield your grief as a weapon, and continue your work until the day you perish,” Selah said. Despite her harrowing words, her voice maintained the sweetness of apple blossoms and the tranquility of a babbling brook. “Do you accept these terms?”

How could I continue a mundane life behind a computer screen, taking phone calls for trivial appointments, when insurmountable evil existed in plain sight?

I raised my chin and squeezed my fists. “I do.”

“When your training is complete, you will take the Oath. You will be obligated to purify any demon you are made aware of, no matter the result. Your ultimate mission is to protect as many souls as possible and eliminate as many demons as possible. Understood?” Selah said.

The vision she had shown me before—where I had decimated demons left and right—flashed before my eyes, and it only aggravated my thirst for their destruction.

“Yes,” I said impatiently.

“You will need to spend six months at Sinai Monastery. This is the main headquarters for all new Venators. The program usually lasts four years, but with your previous training, it’ll mainly be a refresher course as well as a time to learn the origins of our realm.”

I loosed a shaky breath, and nodded. “Where is Sinai Monastery?”

“A remote location. It is a fortress that you cannot arrive at while conscious.” Selah finally paused her laps around me, and turned to my parents. “Morgana, Zyon—are you prepared to be there for the duration of Cara’s stay?”

“Of course,” Mom replied. She threw an arm around my shoulders and squeezed, and my stomach twisted.

Tonight’s carnage still clung to my hair, my skin, my dress. The stench of sweat and the copper of Iris’ blood polluted my lungs.

“Before we go, there’s something I need to do.” I picked my phone up from the bench and immediately set up a pickup from the closest cab.

“Do not be foolish,” Selah warned, narrowing her eyes. “You cannot afford the price of vengeance.”

My parents’ heads swiveled warily between me and the four-eyed angel of brass.

“Where are you going? Whatever you need, we can get it for you. This is the safest place for you to be while we prepare to leave for Sinai,” Dad said.

“Cara, wait!” Mom shouted.

“I’ll be back!” Water sloshed loudly as I ran to meet the cab already pulling up at the curb.

I had killed two demons.

If Liam had really targeted me and gotten Iris killed instead…

I’d make him my third.

Chapter 45

Cara

The winter morning sliced through my lungs like razor blades, but I didn’t slow my stride. I ignored the gasps and the cameras as I stormed barefoot into ChamberCorp’s lobby, still wearing the bloodied and tattered ball gown from last night.

Still carrying Iris’ mortality with me.

“Cara? Jesus, are you okay?” Shelley cried from the information desk. I reached over it for a letter opener.

“I’m doing great. Just forgot a few things in my office,” I said with a saccharine grin.

“Do I need to call the police?” she called after me.

“Nope!” I shouted with a wave, and disappeared behind the elevator doors.

As the metal box ascended, I spun the knife, deftly cutting and jabbing the air as I had with mannequins and sparring partners in the past.

At the top floor, I stormed toward Victor’s office, barely giving the elevator a chance to open. Through the glass walls, I saw Axel standing in the far corner and Liam sitting at Victor’s desk with his feet kicked up. His mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying.

The viper within me stirred—and struck.

I wrenched open the door.

“What the hell?” Liam exclaimed, eyes wide as if staring into the face of a phantom.

I lunged for Liam, vaulting over his desk and arcing the letter opener from the side, targeting his jugular.

“Akuma, kill her!” he shrieked.

Axel flashed across the room and tackled me. I fell backward.

Cold wind passed through me and the endless tug of gravity made my stomach levitate.

Akuma?

I was still falling, wrapped in a cocoon of wings.

“What have you done?” Axel cried, voice straining in agony as the symbols on his arm shone through his shirt. He squeezed tighter, and I wheezed at the crushing weight around my ribs. “He thought you were dead!”

“I was going to… kill him for Iris!” I strained. “You’re hurting me!”

“He’s compelling⁠—”

Axel loosed a thunderous, anguished roar, losing his grip around my waist and writhing in the sky. I shrieked, clawing at the air as if an invisible rope would manifest. My dress tangled around my legs as I rapidly plummeted to the unforgiving earth.

Axel’s skin began to burn and wither like a decaying flower, his wings faltering and losing their grasp on the wind itself. He swung his arm as if pitching a baseball, and the wind shut off abruptly as I slammed into a shallow puddle of water.

I sat up, coughing and reorienting myself. A window hovering in the air above me showed Axel still crumpling in the sky before it disappeared, replaced by New Bethel’s elaborate ceiling and moving paintings.

Somehow, I had landed in the middle of the nave. One moment, I was plunging to my death and the next—I was safe. Axel must’ve created that hole in the sky.

My lips quivered, my shallow breaths growing deeper and heavier until I couldn’t breathe at all. I sprinted for the front doors, but they wouldn’t open. I jerked on the handles, then slammed my fists into the wood with a scream.

“Selah, let me out! Axel’s in trouble!” I cried hoarsely.

“You put him in an impossible situation, Cara.” Selah swept down from a stained glass windowsill. “He deliberately disobeyed his master’s orders to save you. Have you any idea what that does to a bound Reaper? You acted foolishly without understanding the powers that be. I tried to warn you.”

“You didn’t warn me! You just said not to be foolish, but how could I avoid that without knowing what was at stake?” I rammed my foot into the door with a loud grunt. “We need to save him!”

“Saving him means letting him kill you. We must strategize.” Selah held up two fingers, then tapped my forehead while muttering in a foreign language.

Everything went static.

There were no images, only sensations. Did that still count as dreaming?

Strong winds carrying sharp grains that cut my skin. Blistering heat that scorched my face. Heavy, rhythmic thrums like flapping wings.

I woke up swathed in burgundy silk sheets, my head cradled by six satin pillows and my body dressed in fresh linen pajamas. Terracotta-colored gossamer draped above my queen-sized bed. I scooted to the edge of the mattress, but tumbled to the medallion rug. I bit my tongue at the jarring pain that shot through my knees upon impact, and took in the rest of the room from the floor.

Walnut wood paneling enclosed what looked to be a bedroom. A chaise lounge upholstered in dark leather sat in one far corner of the room, near a window with maroon curtains held back by brass fixtures. A heavy mahogany desk was nestled in an alcove, accented with an arrangement of succulents and an Edison lamp. Shelves of old, leather-bound books lined the wall on both sides of the desk. The room smelled as if someone had lit dust-scented candles.

“Welcome to Sinai Monastery.”

Selah’s voice punctured the silence. I flinched, snapping my head back to the chaise. She hadn’t been there before.

“How long have I been out?” I asked, rising with unsteady legs.

“Only a night. This is your room. You have clothes in your dresser, but if you need anything, you can ask me or any other Guardian.” Selah raised her arm and beckoned with her hand. “It is time for your tour.”

I found a pair of moccasins set out on the ottoman bench and fell in stride behind her.

The bedroom opened to a hallway illuminated by antique sconces lit with soft flames. Low coffered ceilings and dozens of wooden doors were evenly spaced.

“This is the dormitory. Sinai Monastery used to have shared living spaces, but there have been renovations over the centuries to keep up with the growing Venator community,” Selah explained, walking with her spine straight and her hands clasped behind her back. Her wings alone provided more light than all the sconces combined.

“Why is it so… dark?”

“You cannot fear the dark if you wish to battle evil,” Selah said.

I nodded, and one of the verses my parents drilled through my head during my lessons returned to my thoughts.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me,” I mumbled.

Selah smiled, the light of her flames bouncing off the planes of her face. “Precisely. You will do well here.”

The hall opened to a wide helical staircase made of stone. We descended, passing three floors before reaching the bottom. We entered an airy cloister with rib-vaulted walkways and a colonnade that opened to a courtyard. Above the archways were breathtaking stained glass windows decorating the clerestory, depicting various Archangels and spilling rich color across the limestone floor. Similar to New Bethel, vines wrapped around the colonnade’s columns. Bird baths were posted on opposite sides of the courtyard, and I was delighted to see doves frolicking in the water.

People of all ages scattered in clusters across the grass. Those who sat on blankets reading or eating breakfast were dressed in solid black or white poet shirts, wrap belts, and leather pants. The sound of clanging metal punctured the air, and I saw a couple more students sparring with katanas. Few glanced in my direction—some waved, others remained focused on their activities.

“Wow,” I breathed.

I rested my hand over the ribbed stone pillar. Above the cloister were flying buttresses supporting steep gables that perforated the cloudless sky. A plume of sand blew over the courtyard, but it seemed to curve against an invisible dome over the campus.

“This is where most students come to practice their lessons or eat their meals. Some dedicate this space to pray and meditate as well. There’s a firmament over this place, protecting it from the harsh environment of the desert. However, much of your training will take place out there,” Selah said.

Continuing through the cloister, I saw more brass Guardians meandering in the hallways. They ranged from bright, shiny gold to deeper reddish brown metallic and from six to eight feet tall.

“Amazing,” I mumbled.

Selah turned down another corridor that carried us deeper into the monastery. She opened a set of oversized doors, revealing a long dining hall.

“This is the Refectory. While lunch is permitted to be eaten anywhere, breakfast and dinner will always be held communally here. It is important to begin the day in prayer and end it in reflection, in the midst of many,” Selah explained.

I nodded, taking in the enormous chandelier that seemed to swallow the vaulted ceiling and still somehow kept the hall dim. It hung over four long banquet tables with continuous bench seating. Scarlet table runners decorated with evenly spaced candles ran along the center of each table. Each space had a placemat for dishes. More students assisted the staff, who were dressed in oversized linen shirts, harem pants, and moccasins. They worked swiftly, placing dirty dishes into grey plastic bins and carrying them assumedly to the kitchen.

Selah had already resumed our journey down the hall, metal fingers latticed behind her. I jogged to catch up.

Our next stop was the west wing, in the wash house. The bathrooms were separated, with the women’s having showers separated by stone walls and curtains. Toward the back, rows of bathtubs were likewise concealed.

“This used to be the lavatorium, but with the renovations, the Guardians and I created more private stalls,” Selah explained. “The laundry is also done just beyond that door, updated to keep up with the times.”

I loosed a relieved exhale. For a minute there, I thought I would have to scrub my clothes across a washboard.

“Come, we are almost done,” Selah beckoned.

Sinai Monastery had seemed simple at first, until we left the cloister and made more turns. I wasn’t sure I could remember how to get back to the dorms.

We reached another enormous set of oversized doors, which Selah opened with a graceful flick of her wrist. “The library, where you can study. I suggest you spend more of your energy in here than in the dojos, because knowledge of various demons will get you through your final trial before you take your Oath.”

Shelves climbed to the vaulted ceilings, filled to the brim with books like the ones in my room. More wooden desks were arranged at the center of the room, but unlike the libraries back home, there wasn’t a computer in sight.

Wow, Cara! This place is so pretty. I HAVE to take pictures, my followers are gonna go insane, Iris’s voice trilled in my head, and I blinked away the tears before they could form. I wished she was here.

I observed a group of friends huddled at a table with a mess of textbooks and notebooks open before them. A picture depicting what Iris and I used to do in college.

“What kind of trial?” I asked.

“You must brave the condemned desert and battle the demons on the way to the cross. There, you will meet a Guardian who will read you the Oath, bless you, and bestow upon you a weapon. Typically, it is the one with which you excel during your combat courses.” Selah paused at a tapestry hanging on the wall, pinching her brows at the tear in its fabric.

She jerked her chin toward the exit, and I followed.

A heavy weight sank on my shoulders. For six months… this was going to be my life.

No emails, no meetings.

No more shopping trips or rant sessions or movie nights with Iris.

No more Iris.

And what of Axel? Could he even survive six months if I remained hidden away, where he couldn’t follow through with his orders?

Why had Liam shouted Akuma’s name when I attacked him in Victor’s office?

“Selah—” All my many questions were caustic against my tongue, and they burned holes through my brain. “How can I speed this up?”

“Six months is speeding it up, my dear.” Selah flicked her wrist at the thick sheet of dust coating a banister before we reached another set of helical stairs, now made of polished wood. She paused at the first step, looking at me with a pensive frown. She clicked her tongue—a sharp sound closer to that of swords clashing.

This descent became even darker. Only one torch illuminated each level, exposing just a few steps at a time. Shadows swayed against the limestone walls, and even with Selah’s fiery wings, I couldn’t see more than three steps ahead. It was as if the darkness had come alive and was attempting to choke her light, but her wings were unrelenting.

As was my determination to cut my time here as much as possible.

The walls reached a harsh demarcation line, replaced with skulls of various size. More shadows spilled out of their hollow eyes and mouths, and the torches created the illusion that they were speaking.

“Catacombs?” I rubbed the goosebumps flooding my arms.

Selah nodded her head once. “Indeed.”

“Why?”

“Privacy from prying ears. Your friend’s situation is delicate, and even some Venators may be wicked.”

“What? Why not kick them out if they are?” I spoke louder than intended, my outburst reaching the bottom of the catacombs before we did.

It’s gonna suck trudging back upstairs.

“Venators are still human, given the same amount of free will to choose as everyone else. Just held to a higher standard. Think of all the pastors who have abandoned or abused their flock. Venators are no different. Some will give into the deceit of the enemy, study from forbidden books that darken the soul, and try to spread their corruption like a virus—just as Lucifer did with some angels in his Great Rebellion.”

Selah eyed the skulls with a somber longing. My heart crumpled as it dawned on me that she probably had cataloged every death, attended every funeral—maybe even arranged the bones herself.

When we finally reached the bottom, the catacombs flared into various tunnels of endless bones. We stood at the center, and Selah summoned a table to appear with a book as thick as a cinderblock atop it.

“Sit. This will be your first lesson, and it’ll be a long one.”

Chapter 46

Akuma

Liam’s call pulled me back to the middle of Victor’s office. I contorted on the floor, screaming as my skin peeled back and floated away like paper in a bonfire. The pain was worse than in Sheol, when Death’s power had first consumed me.

Liam remained seated with his feet kicked up on the desk and his fingers tented, watching my affliction with a blank expression.

The tattooed band around my wrist squeezed tighter, feeling as though it was made of concertina wire. I was going to lose my hand. Sharp pangs pierced through every inch of my wings as if my feathers had become blades, repeatedly slashing the skin of my back. I watched my own ruin through the reflection of the expansive windows. Black ichor oozed from my eyes, nose, and ears. It filled my mouth with a viscous texture and acerbic taste, and I choked on the tar.

“You let her get away,” Liam said finally. “You’d really sacrifice yourself for her? Give up all that power for a woman who never cared about you and never will? How pathetic could your life be, to be so desperate for one person’s approval?”

A chuckle broke through my strained groans. Liam jumped from his desk and surged toward me like a tsunami. He stomped on my wings. Lightning flashed through every fiber of my being, triggering a pained howl. He struck my face with his boat shoe. My nose crunched, and white light blinded me. I snarled and reached for his leg until I caught his ankle, snapping it in one jerk.

The satisfaction alone quelled some of my own distress, but only for a fleeting moment.

Liam howled, stumbling and crashing against the desk. Gripping his ankle with a grimace, his face turned scarlet. A bulging vein stretched in his forehead.

My Marked arm went limp, and I flipped supine, arching my back as my bones began to splinter. A scorching brilliance flashed within me, leaving no dead cell untouched.

I was breaking one rule after the other—and if I was going to die in the middle of ChamberCorp, I might as well try to drag him down with me.

Call on Him.

A foreign voice in my head. Similar to Selah’s, but in my anguish, I couldn’t pinpoint the source.

I rolled over again, crawling toward Liam with my functional arm.

A second voice, this one cool and bored, spoke from the doorway. “My, you’re reckless, Liam. I didn’t have this issue with your father.”

A man with the features of a honed blade and the charisma of power personified had entered. He removed his suit jacket, draping it over the back of one of Victor’s chairs, then rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

Lucien Helel.

“Who are you?” Liam snapped in a strained tone.

Lucien crouched between us. “Your late father’s advisor, and the one who brought your family’s wealth and influence. I’d tread lightly with that tone.”

By now, I had grown used to the pain, sitting in a pile of ashes as my existence continued to rot away like my corpse in its coffin across Lumis.

Liam slammed the back of his head against the desk with a grimace. “Bastard broke my ankle!”

Lucien rolled his eyes with a sigh. He waved a finger, and Liam’s uneven breaths leveled as the joint straightened.

“How is that possible? I thought a Reaper couldn’t hurt its owner.” Liam stood, glaring at me.

It.

“An Angel of Death is a little more difficult to tame,” Lucien said, turning to examine me with the fascination of an archeologist observing a fossil. His smile maximized the real estate of his face. “Incredible… this actually can’t get any better.”

There came the cold pull of Sheol again, with Death waiting on the other side to take back her power and my weapon, to diminish me to the soul I once was. I’d probably pass on to an even worse fate, but at least Cara would be hidden away from this psychopath.

Lucien pointed at Liam without looking away from my decay. “Cancel the contract before you lose him.”

Liam scoffed. “Are you kidding? I want Cara dead!”

“How will that be possible if you lose the only Reaper at your disposal? And not just any Reaper. An Angel of Death. Cancel it!” Lucien hissed.

Liam braced himself on the desk, his nails burrowing into the wood grain, and ground his molars.

“You’re relieved of your duty to kill Cara,” Liam droned through tight teeth.

Bit by bit, the ashes surrounding me merged with my bones, like flipping an hour glass upside down. From my nerves to the muscle fibers, Liam’s words knitted my body back together. Death’s reach was severed, and I became whole again.

As whole as I was allowed to be as a dead man walking with a fragmented soul.

I stood, eyeing both men warily.

How much damage could I have done to him if I didn’t have to resist killing Cara?

“Now… I will offer you the same gift as I did your father.” Lucien turned his back to me, facing Liam squarely. “If you bring Cara to me alive before the blood moon, I will grant you immortality.”

Tongue of a serpent.

“What do you need Cara for, of all people?” Liam scrunched his nose. “And why before then? That’s only in a week.”

Lucien folded his arms. “Need I remind you that when you take ownership of a Reaper, you partake in the dark arts, therefore sealing your fate in Hell?” His tone was measured and gentle, as if offering fatherly advice.

I lingered by the sitting area of Victor’s office, watching every microscopic change in their body language. Liam crossed his arms over his stomach, shoulders rounding forward and cobalt eyes glueing to the floor. Lucien’s back remained straight, chin tilted upward with unreciprocated eye contact.

I needed to know who he truly was. What he was.

And the significance of Cara being captured for that specific date.

Liam chuckled. “There’s no such thing as Hell.”

“You wield demons like weapons, but you don’t believe in Hell? Are you dumb, in denial, or just delusional?” I chimed in.

Liam cut his eyes in my direction, but his jaw feathered and his pulse quickened. “Get out.”

I gave him a mocking bow with a hand over my heart, then sauntered out of the office to hang around the corner. I peeked from behind a vending machine.

Lucien’s jewelry box from The Bumblebee Diner materialized in his palm. He flipped open the lid and offered the contents to Liam, who hesitantly pulled a scroll from inside, removed the red ribbon, and unfurled the paper.

“So… if I’m immortal, I really can’t go to Hell?” he asked, looking up from the scroll.

“In its simplest terms, yes.” Lucien peered at me over his shoulder, much more aware of my presence than the idiot he spoke to. “And you’ll be rewarded with more riches than you could ever imagine. I can even give you any other woman you desire, so long as she isn’t a Venator.”

“Well, how am I gonna bring Cara to you alive? Clearly Akuma’s willing to sacrifice himself for her, so I can’t compel him to do it,” Liam said.

He just threw my name around like it was nothing, and every time it pierced the air, the Mark throbbed like a butler waiting to be given an order.

“Don’t worry about that. I can push him in the right direction.”

I’d like to see him try.

The groundskeeper shoveled snow along the walkways of St. Augustine’s cemetery with his face wrapped in scarves and a watch cap pulled over his ears. He paused his shoveling and offered a wave with a grunt, and I gave a nod in return. My boots crunched across the snow as I crossed between the headstones until I reached my own. At this point, I could walk these grounds blindfolded.

I stared at my name etched into the stone like a placeholder for someone else more important. The succulent was still there, its outer leaves shriveled, yellowed, and frosted. I crouched, swallowing a knot that was more akin to a tumor in my throat.

I hoped Cara was safe, that Liam hadn’t somehow found out where I had sent her.

“I thought I saw you fly away from my daughter the other night.”

My hand froze in place over the succulent’s leaves as footsteps sifted through the snow, pausing right behind me.

I peeked over my shoulder. Morgana stood there, dressed in a long black parka. The hood over her head was lined in grey fox fur, dusted in powdery snowflakes as the wind knocked soft layers of snow from rooftops and tree branches.

My fingertips thrummed—one twitch and I could disappear through a portal.

“It was dark,” I said, and rose to my full height. “It’s easy to see things that aren’t there.”

Morgana’s lips pulled into an amused smile. “I came to say thank you for bringing Cara comfort, and for keeping her from dying of hypothermia until we arrived. Oh, and for saving her this morning. That girl really lost her mind.”

Acknowledgment would be an admission, but something foreign cracked inside me from the appreciation.

Breaking the thickening silence, Morgana continued, “We’re working out a way to return the favor, but you need to hold out until she’s strong enough.”

The question sat at the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask it. Not if her mother would easily give me the information. My near death from defying Liam’s orders would be for nothing.

“She doesn’t need to save me. I’m not worth any of you risking your lives,” I said, dropping my gaze to my shoes with a bitter taste in my mouth. “I damned myself the minute I chose to become this beast. There’s no saving me.”

“You made a stupid choice. A human choice. But… God is a lot more forgiving than you think, and has an excellent way of turning the bad into something good.”

Morgana sifted through her coat pocket and pulled out a pin depicting a cross at the center of a ring of thorns. I took it, turning it between my fingers with fascination.

“You can be saved like anyone else, as long as you call on Him,” she added.

Call on Him.

I narrowed my eyes. “Who are you, really?”

“We come from a long line of demon hunters—Venators. Some marry into it, others are born into it.” She pointed at the pin in my hand. “That is our insignia. Since Zy and I were both born into it, Cara is even more entrenched in our world than she might’ve hoped. We are often granted gifts that can be used against demonic forces. Those demons would’ve attacked her one way or another,” she said, and turned to gaze at the sea of death surrounding us.

The groundskeeper was closer now, still shoveling. Morgana dropped her volume in his presence. “I just wish we had told her about the demons when she was younger. We just… we still wanted her to be a kid, you know? Let her keep some of that innocence while we gave her daggers and swords instead of dolls. But everything happens for a reason. No sense in dwelling on it now.”

Easier said than done.

“You should know that two men named Lucien Helel and Liam Chamberlain are now conspiring to capture her alive. Lucien needs her for something, but I don’t know what,” I whispered.

“Did you just say Lucien Helel?” Morgana snapped her focus back to me with wide eyes, the richness of her brown skin fleeing her face. Little clouds puffed past her lips in short, quick bursts before she inhaled deeply and steadied her breath. She shook her head, as if shaking off the fear that had trickled in.

“Yeah, who is he?” I asked, passing back the pin. Electric hope crackled in my chest. She wasn’t bound by the same restraints as Death. I could finally get answers.

Morgana ran a hand over her face, dragging her cheeks downward with a long, weary sigh. She kissed the pin before dropping it in her pocket. “Baby, that ain’t nobody but the Devil himself.”

Chapter 47

Akuma

Morgana’s words struck me like a guillotine to the neck. She grabbed my forearm with a gentle squeeze, softening the blow.

“Why don’t we talk on the way to Iris’ house? You can help me investigate.”

“Lead the way,” I said quietly, and trailed behind her.

The headlights of Morgana’s navy SUV flashed yellow when she unlocked the car. I rounded the hood and cracked the passenger door open. The stench of rotten eggs broke free from inside.

“Wait,” I said quickly.

Morgana’s hand froze on the handle, her gaze darkening with understanding. She backed away from the car and unzipped her parka just enough to reach into an inner pocket, and removed a small obsidian rectangle resembling a flash drive. She rolled up her sleeve, exposing a leather bracer with steel brackets. She secured the device in one of its notches.

I looked around the graveyard, searching for the groundskeeper. He was gone, the shovel propped against a monument. The wind picked up, sweeping more thin swirls of snow across the cemetery. A crow cawed, settling on one of the brittle tree branches.

Except… it wasn’t an ordinary crow. I tilted my head with a bemused squint, nudging Morgana’s shoulder. I jerked my chin in the bird’s direction.

“Since when do crows have horns?” I asked.

She raised her arm like a hunter would raise their rifle to aim at a buck. “That’s a Familiar.”

The device she placed in her bracer snapped and unfolded until it formed a slim crossbow, clicking into place. With a steady breath, she shot. The arrow hissed as it cut through the air.

The crow took flight just before the arrowhead spliced through the branch.

I didn’t know what a Familiar was, but I didn’t want it to escape. I let my wings rip out of my back.

“Don’t—!” Morgana shouted, but I was already soaring, my eyes locked on the crow.

The bird remained just out of my reach, and I summoned my ōdachi to close the gap. I swung, but only succeeded in shaving off a couple tail feathers. The crow screeched, diving toward the street. I remained above the civilians’ sightlines, watching the Familiar mix with a small flock of ordinary crows near a storm drain. They all pecked at breadcrumbs, occasionally fluttering their wings and blocking my view of the Familiar.

I flew down an alley, settling on the ground so my wings could fold into my back tattoos. The arctic winds pressed into my skin through the torn fabric of my shirt as I ran out into the street. A cluster of birds found an abandoned hot dog, and pecked at the wrapper and surrounding crumbs.

Not a single one of them possessed horns. I observed the powerlines, the sidewalks, the utility boxes, the outdoor seating at a nearby café—nothing but ordinary avians.

Morgana’s boots slapped the concrete in rapid succession as she caught up to me. Her SUV was parked haphazardly with all the windows down across the street. “Did you get it?”

“No,” I said with a tight jaw. “What was that?”

“Familiars are monitoring demons. Lucien probably sent it to keep tabs on you… we need to tread lightly. Never chase a Familiar, only kill them on sight. You’re lucky it didn’t lead you into a trap.” She waved her arm toward her vehicle and I followed. “Come on, we don’t have time to waste.”

The sulfur smell had dissipated from Morgana’s vehicle, and she rolled the windows up for the heat to concentrate.

I cursed myself for failing to capture the Familiar. But if Lucien had sent it to watch me, I was certain I’d get another chance.

The front door to Iris’ house was still unlocked, smeared with crimson on the inside. It was unclear whose blood it was, but the sight of it twisted the knife of guilt already lodged into my chest.

“Fan out, look for sulfur deposits.”

Morgana put on a pair of disposable gloves, the latex stretching over her knuckles and popping against her skin. I stood by the front door, still absorbing the claw marks in the walls and the trail of blood leading beyond the antechamber.

There was a long black feather on the bench near the front door. I smiled somberly behind my mask. I must’ve left it behind on the terrace and Cara had… kept it.

Next to it was the bracelet Liam had given her, and an emerald that had fallen from it with a tiny, black plastic square attached to the back of the gemstone. I pinched the square between my thumb and index finger, recognizing the inorganic copper lines etched into its surface.

A microchip.

Visions of Liam shaking hands with a guy in a bun who wore a baggy T-shirt and sweatpants blinded me. It was brief—not nearly long enough to send me into a seizure or coma. I rubbed my eyes with a frown.

Morgana had already moved to the living room, crouching over a pile of pale yellow ash. She removed a glass vial from her inner coat pocket and swept some of the material into it. She paused before a fire poker lying on the floor, the tip of it coated in a dried, black substance that was darker than the metal itself.

I brought her the microchip as she tied a plastic bag over the top of the poke. “I already suspected she was being tracked, but I think this confirms it.”

“Toss it in here,” she said, and I dropped it into another bag.

A thud coming from above made the lights flicker. We both fell silent, turning toward the stairs. My wings crept from beneath my tattoos—slow and controlled for stealth, but sharp, like dragging a scalpel across my back.

Morgana removed a dagger with a curved blade from her boot as she rose from the floor.

“You can play demon hunter all you want.” A deep, gravelly voice emitted from the stairs, weaving between each heavy step as the voice’s owner descended. Against the front door, a distorted shadow grew into a hunched man. “It won’t patch the hole in the veil.”

But when he emerged, it was the groundskeeper in double.

He had one set of legs, two torsos, and four arms. The groundskeeper’s former face was still attached, flaps of his skin dangling on the demon’s cheeks as if it hadn’t completely shed the groundskeeper’s skin.

Each hand held a different weapon—a hammer, a pocketknife, a sawblade, and a screwdriver.

“I come bearing gifts,” the demon said, turning to me.

It licked its lips with a reptilian tongue and extended the palm holding the hammer. There was a handkerchief wrapped around the handle. I stared at it, recognizing the familiar inverted L. H. monogram on the corner.

Morgana flipped her dagger so the blade curved downward, away from her wrist. “Don’t take it. Never take a gift from a demon!”

“Oh, but this isn’t just any gift.” The demon inched closer, urging me to take the handkerchief. “Selah destroyed the first one… and you’re still dying to see where it leads, aren’t you?”

“Axel—”

I chewed my cheek beneath the mask.

“Hasn’t Mavet told you there’s a way to sever the bond?” The demon tilted its head with a smile.

“Don’t listen! Demons mix lies with truth, Axel!” Morgana exclaimed.

“He lives in a castle in the Nether, just outside of Hell. Similar to Sheol. He keeps a catalog of all Reaper contracts. Find yours… and you can simply rip it up.”

The answer was right there. From the mouth of a wretched beast, the handkerchief pulsing in its palm like a heart.

“Enough!”

Morgana released a battle cry, lunging for the demon with her dagger before I could react. It swung the hammer and knife at once, and Morgana dropped, sliding between its legs. The demon howled when her blade met its thigh, smoke and black blood swirling from the cut. Another hand jabbed the screwdriver downward, piercing Morgana’s shoulder. She cried out, and swiped her dagger defensively.

My mind shut off, the Mark blazing bright without pain. The lights flickered faster, some bulbs burning brighter until they burst.

My feathers hardened. I stretched my wings, then snapped them forward, shooting razor-sharp feathers across the living room. Morgana rolled behind the counter as my feathers embedded into the demon’s body. It shrieked, spinning around. A second face was attached to the back of the first demon’s head. I flew forward and tackled it, bursting through the front door. Its talons sank into my shoulders with unrelenting vengeance. I kept my head tucked against its chest, just out of biting reach.

We tussled in the front yard. I wrapped an arm around its neck and rammed my fist into one of the faces.

“Move!” Morgana demanded, gunmetal glinting in her hand with lethal warning.

I launched into the sky just before she pulled the trigger, a violent crack snapping through the neighborhood. The bullet cut through the demon’s protruding ribs and landed with a sickening crunch. Its neck broke at an unnatural angle, its arms and legs contorted and fractured as if made of glass.

I began my descent, still reeling but catching my breath.

I didn’t know my feathers could harden, let alone become knives.

There was something intoxicating about it—gazing upon the demon’s twisted body like a vanitas painting. It evoked a certain kind of peace I hadn’t felt before, knowing I had rid the world of one more evil vessel.

Morgana leaped over the porch railing and approached the body. I noted the deep puncture wound in her shoulder. The woman moved as if she hadn’t been touched.

“You need stitches,” I said, landing soundlessly beside her.

Morgana waved her hand nonchalantly. “I’ll be fine, hon. This ain’t my first time getting a little scuffed up in this job.”

I crouched in front of the demon, waiting for the slightest twitch before I separated its limbs from its body.

“I wouldn’t expect an ordinary gun to put it down,” I said.

“It’s not ordinary.” Morgana raised the pistol, revealing ancient inscriptions along its barrel. They were nearly identical to the ones written across Death’s arms and forehead. “You can only kill demons with iron and blessed weapons. Help me get this thing somewhere we can burn it.”

I nodded, hoisting the demon over my shoulder with one hand. I imagined a field on the outskirts of Lumis, one that I had driven past on multiple occasions when I used to own a vehicle.

Snapping a portal into existence with my free hand, Morgana and I walked through, and I banished the demon from the mortal realm with violet fire.

Chapter 48

Cara

I ran my palm across the rough leather cover of the textbook, tracing the debossed title with my fingertips. No author’s name claimed a space anywhere on The Otherworld.

So many questions boiled to the surface, each one a bubble ready to pop.

“What exactly is Axel?” I whispered, almost afraid of the answer.

Selah waved her hand and the book opened at her command, pages flipping on their own until they landed on a drawing of a cloaked figure with one demon wing and an angelic one. The figure held a heart with one hand and an ornate naginata in the other. In a bold blackletter heading, it read, “Mavet, Maiden of Death.”

“Reapers are different. They work with Mavet in bringing souls to the afterlife to be judged. They’re neutral, maintaining the balance of life and death.”

“So he’s a Reaper then? Why does he look so different from her?” I traced the shape of Mavet’s incongruous wings and noted that she lacked a second pair.

“Only when a Reaper begins to meddle with life and death or deviate from neutrality do they begin a demonic transformation. They wither away until they’re reprobate, and become a mindless low-ranking demon wielded by one of the Sevens or Lucifer himself. However, if they stop before the transformation completes, they can reverse the effects.”

Selah waved her hand again, and a misty cloud churned until Akuma appeared in front of us. He smiled at me, pushing his glasses up his nose with the same admiration in his eyes as when he’d met with me under the gazebo.

My breath caught in my throat.

“This is only a projection of the past. It’s not actually him,” Selah said, and rubbed my shoulder gently.

I stood from the desk and approached the foggy projection of Akuma, reaching to touch his face. My hand fell through, breaking the cloud before it reformed. I moved side to side, and his gaze followed mine as if he were truly aware of my presence.

With her hands clasped behind her back, Selah drifted to my side. The flames on her wings made the swirling particles within Akuma’s projection sparkle. “He possessed the Sight, which means he could see through the veil. He helped a man on the subway the morning he died, thinking the man was merely an innocent human. Unfortunately, it was a demon in disguise sent by Liam, assessing its target. It later notified the Dark One. A Gifted murdered by demons is more likely to be offered the chance to return as a Reaper by Mavet.”

“Did you just say Liam?” I snapped, clenching my fists. “As in Liam Chamberlain? Are you kidding me, Selah?”

“I do not make jokes,” Selah said. The air huffing out of her nose was low and resonate.

Akuma.

Iris.

His own father.

My hand inched its way up to my mouth. I had worked ten feet away from a serial killer. For years.

The smile dropped from Akuma’s lips, his right cheek splitting until half his teeth were exposed and the scarring spread from his chin to his cheekbone. His hair grew from its tapered cut to an untamed, tousled style, his eye sockets became stained in shadow, and his irises gleamed like nebulas. He became Axel, the man behind the mask, whose eyes carried torrential torment.

I had mourned a man that walked and talked right in front of me… but he was nothing like Akuma. The only things they had in common were a gentle voice and good manners.

And Liam’s obsession with me had driven him to send demons after Akuma.

I sniffled, holding my breath to try to pull myself together. Selah rubbing my back in motherly circles didn’t help.

“Mavet gave him the choice, as predicted. His anguish and love for you blinded his reasoning, and his pain… well, it made him vulnerable.”

His anguish and love for you blinded his reasoning.

I pulled away from the holographic figure, the words clattering in my mind.

I turned to Selah with knitted brows. “If it was Akuma the whole time, why didn’t he tell me the truth?”

She flipped the page and I returned to my seat. A drawing of a hooded figure stood with a goat skull at their feet and their hands cupped around a bowl. This page was labeled “The Summoning.”

I gasped and slammed my finger on the heading. “Akuma told me to ask about this!”

My eyes sped through the paragraphs, and my excitement shifted to dejection. I slouched.

“That is why he did not tell you. Knowing his true name puts him at risk. What if you told your friend or family? What if Liam found out sooner? Even with his cautiousness, he was still Summoned.”

I curled my fists next to the book. “How?”

“Your former boss, Victor, was a long-time practitioner of sorcery. For three generations, he has consorted with evil for wealth and power. He must have entered another deal to request Akuma’s name for the ritual.”

“From whom?” Dread washed over me.

Trust me when I say that the Chamberlains are evil.

Akuma had been trying to tell me the whole time.

“Lucifer.” Selah tracked my every move, clasping her hands together. “You may know him as Lucien Helel.”

I had sat right across from Satan himself to hand off a jewelry box, none the wiser. Only God could have kept me alive for this long with how ignorant I had been.

The darkness in the catacombs became charged with life, fear rising up my throat until there was no more air left. I searched the shadows for more demons.

“Where’s your faith, Cara? They aren’t welcomed here,” Selah said, tone hardening with a sharp edge.

I relaxed with a quivering inhale, and the wood groaned under Selah’s grip when she grasped the back of my chair. The flames on her wings flared. “As a Venator with God on your side, you are above demons.”

“Y-yes. Yes, of course.” I nodded quickly, and flipped the page in the textbook again. A silhouette with white eyes and four wings carried two sickles on the paper. The ghostly projection of Axel shifted, his wings rippling into existence. He didn’t carry sickles, but the indomitable ōdachi blade. The heading: “Angel of Death.”

Selah focused on the page. “As I said, Akuma’s case was a unique one. When he meddled with the balance of life and death, he inadvertently targeted demons. This went against a Reaper’s code as a neutral entity. A soul is to be reaped whether they are good or evil, then sent to the same place to be judged and directed to their respective resting place. When his Sight evolved into visions of the wretched and the wicked, it pushed him further from neutrality.”

A man in a suit holding a disheveled woman by her arm appeared next to the projection of Axel. Axel pierced his hand through the man’s back, ripping his heart out. He fell to the floor and dissipated like steam upon impact.

“Battling demons is in alignment with God’s mission for Guardians. Akuma didn’t have the title or the directive as a Reaper. This began a rare transformation. Like… transferring to a different department, so to speak. He earned more power, but he can’t access his full potential with evil forces like Lucien and Liam still having their grip on him. He is⁠—”

“Their puppet,” I finished bitterly.

“Precisely.” Selah took a step back, closing the book.

“Why can’t you just kill Liam and sever the contract?” I stood from the desk, turning to Selah. “Akuma didn’t deserve any of this!”

“Guardians are forbidden to harm mortals unless they have been possessed, and even then we must first perform an exorcism to save the human soul.” Selah marched toward the stairs, pausing at the base. The light followed her, and her warmth left my side. “We also can’t interfere with contracts.”

“But I can, right? So take me back to Lumis and I’ll deal with it,” I said, quickly moving around the table. “Selah, please! Akuma doesn’t have six months!”

“Hmm.” Selah pursed her lips, then soared up the stairs and snuffed the torches in her wake.

“Wh—Selah!” I cried out.

The light dissolved. I was left with no choice but to find my way back in the dark.

Careful not to turn, I dropped to my knees and carefully swept my hands across the stone floor as I crawled in the general direction of the staircase.

I shimmied to my left until I smacked my shoulder into the wall. I groaned, rubbing away the sting, and returned to my feet. Tracing my hand against the wall, I pushed forward.

A rock sunk in my stomach.

My fingers brushed against a brittle dryness, slipping across curves and through holes that could only belong to the cheekbones and hollows of the stacked skulls.

I stubbed my toe against a solid surface and staggered forward, hitting another jagged surface.

The first step of the staircase.

I laughed anxiously, and finally began my ascent.

The nausea in my stomach finally faded once the curvy surface of the wall flattened to stone. One step after the other in the dark, with no sliver of light beneath a doorframe or other stimulus—time felt endless.

Come on, you can do better than that. What happened to warrior Cara?

Iris’ voice taunted me. I shook my head, brushing off the delusions that threatened to hurl me into the deep end.

You’re at Sinai to fight demons but you’re gonna let a little bit of darkness defeat you? You need a night light?

“Shut up,” I sniped aloud, breathless.

Imagine a demon chasing you right now. Oh! Look… it’s coming…

I snapped my head over my shoulder, feeling a presence that I had most certainly concocted myself, and picked up the pace. I braced both hands on either side of the passage, and snatched one of the torches off its sconce. I swung and jabbed at the dark, but felt without impact.

Iris’ mischievous laugh echoed in my subconscious. I wiped the dampness from my eyes. Even in death, my best friend was there for me. A literal diehard.

I chuckled at the thought, this time letting the tears fall as I fought my way to the surface.

My heart was a lead weight by the time I reached the main level. I wheezed from the sheer number of stairs. I had crawled up the last half with my legs barking in protest.

Leaning my back against the door, I sank to the floor. All those Sunday jogs at Waterford hadn’t prepared me to climb Mount Everest. A few passing students gave me odd looks, some even giggling—probably at my apparent lack of fitness.

I sat there with everything Selah had told me repeating in my mind, each loop sounding more distorted than the last.

Detective Jamison would never find Akuma’s killers because they were more than just human muggers.

If Liam had sent demons to kill Akuma, had he also been behind the demon attacks at my apartment?

If the demons sent to kill Akuma had notified Lucien, then what stopped him from giving Victor his true name, so he could capitalize on having a Reaper under control from the beginning?

And if Akuma turning into an Angel of Death hadn’t been part of the plan… the surprise was shaping up to be in Lucien’s favor.

But to what end?

“Cara, dear?” My father’s voice traveled down the corridor and I pushed myself to stand.

He met me halfway, and I threw my arms around him tightly. “You made it! Where’s Mom?”

“She’ll be here soon. She went to your friend’s house to see what kind of demon attacked you both,” he said, scanning me from head to toe with a mild frown. “Were you just in the catacombs?”

No, no, no, no⁠—

I grasped my father’s arm. “Did you just say her house? What if another one is there?” My voice cracked against the stone walls like a whip, catching the attention of a few bystanders.

“Your mother will be fine. She’s probably killed more demons than I have. Trust me,” Dad promised, placing his warm, calloused hand on top of mine.

My breaths grew thinner, shakier. This time, I held on to him for balance as my knees threatened to buckle.

“If you don’t trust me, then trust God,” he said. “Everything happens for a reason.”

I turned my back against him, pressing my palms against my cheeks as I drew breath in through my nose, and out my tight lips to calm down.

What if losing Iris wasn’t enough?

What if I lost my family, too?

My dad led me back to my room. Clothes folded in neat squares, school supplies, and water bottles sat on my bed.

“These are your uniforms for all of your classes. When you attend Combat and Strategy, they’ll provide you with one specifically for that class. And as you can see… we encourage hydration here,” Dad said. He glanced at his watch. “If you hustle, you’ll make it to Exorcism 101 on time. It starts in thirty minutes.”

Uneasiness invaded my chest. I hadn’t even processed being here, let alone mentally prepared myself to sit through a lecture. On top of that, how was I supposed to focus on learning anything when Mom was still out there?

But I needed to learn as much as I could—as quickly as possible—if I was going to have any chance of saving Akuma in time.

God, what if Liam sent Akuma after my mother?

Lord please, please keep her safe.

I reached for a uniform with a subtly quivering breath. “Which classes do you teach?”

“Which one do you think?” Dad smirked. “I hope you’ve been practicing.”

“I have,” I said, holding the shirt up to gauge its size.

“We’ll see about that,” he said with a doubtful grunt.

“So, do I get a schedule or am I supposed to just automatically know where to go?” I asked, seething at his lack of faith in me.

“You’re grown. I’m not gonna hold your hand,” he said, then left my room.

I scoffed, then changed into the uniform. The flowy white shirt with bishop sleeves was made of breathable linen, soft and lightweight and perfect for the harsh desert environment. The black leather pants snapped and formed against my legs like a second skin, but was flexible and soft. Not ideal for the desert. The black wrap belt finished the look, snug enough to support my back and abdomen but forgiving enough to still allow me to breathe. I held on to the bed post to perform lunges, testing the material’s limits.

Gathering a notebook and a couple pens, I decided to give the classes a chance. Perhaps I could learn the basics.

But Akuma’s life on the line with only days to spare. Maybe even less.

And I learned better hands-on anyway.

Chapter 49

Akuma

Morgana and I stood in the middle of a snow-covered field, watching hypnotic flames dance across the demon’s body.

“Why didn’t this one turn to ash like the others?” I asked over the popping of the demon’s sinews.

“You must’ve killed demons before they found a host to possess. They start out faceless until they can take on the victim’s identity. A human soul binds the demons to this realm, so it takes a little extra work to fully dispose of them.” Morgana raised her palms, rubbing her hands together over the fire. “This one right here was a Vari, a descendant of one of the Seven Deadly Sins.”

I watched the demon’s four arms wither and flake away like curled spider legs. “Which one?”

“Avari, the queen of greed,” Morgana said nonchalantly, and reached into her inner coat pocket for a small flask. She took a quick swig before stowing it back inside. “Nasty, that one.”

“How could so many demons get into Cara’s apartment so easily?” I asked as the flames tinted in hues of green and red. I could hardly take my eyes off them.

“When one demon enters, it’s easier for others to follow.” Morgana winced when she moved her hands to her pockets. “The veil in Cara’s apartment got thinner when she grieved your death. Depression made her vulnerable, and vulnerability opens doors.”

Clouds stuttered past Morgana’s lips, and I wrapped my left wings around her.

“You know, for an Angel of Death, you’re awfully kind,” she said, leaning into my feathers. “Cara is blessed to have you around.”

My smile was fleeting.

“She’s in danger around me,” I countered, glancing at the wound still oozing on her mother’s shoulder.

“That’s not what I’ve seen. Sometimes… we punish ourselves long after God has already forgiven us,” she said. She inhaled deeply and pulled away. “Well, I better get going. Zy can check Cara’s apartment for more evidence. I need Selah to heal my shoulder and frankly, I’m exhausted. Thanks for all the help, Axel.”

I paused for a moment, reaching up to my mask.

My fingertips rested against the hard plastic at my jaw. “Do you think Selah could heal my face?”

“If I recall correctly, the old saying is ‘ask and ye shall find’ right?” Morgana patted my back with a warm grin and retreated to her SUV, boots crunching across the hardened snow.

My lips tugged outward as I watched her drive away.

I portaled to Liam’s game room, still greeted by the invasive photos and green ambient lighting. There wasn’t much time before he left ChamberCorp for the day. I hoped that with his father’s death, he would take extra time making funeral arrangements to keep up appearances. Regardless, I needed to make this visit fast.

Liam’s alibi was airtight. Some of the photos of Cara had timestamps from when Liam was on vacation, or when we were all at work. Whoever had taken the photos had also used a high-quality camera with an advanced lens.

I started with the game room’s desk and end table drawers, searching for receipts, contacts, business cards—anything that indicated a private investigation service. Running a hand through my hair, I snatched my mask off with a frustrated sigh. I shut my eyes tightly with my hands braced over Liam’s desk.

God, help me. I can’t do this alone. Please.

A low hum began to resonate through the wall.

I put my mask back on with a pensive frown. Turning in a small circle, I homed in on the sound and moved closer to the wall, pressing my ear against it and following the sound until the humming grew louder near the holes Liam had punched through the drywall. One of the holes seemed deeper than it had been the last time I was here.

I reached inside. My fingertips brushed over a palm-sized, black leather book, and shock lanced through my hand as if I had touched a live wire. I snatched the book out of the wall and flipped through several pages before I realized it was flipped backwards, pictures of rituals on the right page and the steps to perform them on the left. Most of the spells were labeled for various results such as love, wealth, control, and knowledge.

But then I stopped on a page with a sketch of a scarlet moon, the watercolors bleeding outside the black lines. It didn’t offer anything vapid, but rather—to merge two worlds.

It required the sacrifice of a Venator during a total lunar eclipse. When the veil was at its weakest and darkness was at its peak, the consumption of the Venator’s soul within that hour would grant the actor enough power to rip a hole between two worlds entirely.

Since Zy and I were both born into it, Cara is even more entrenched in our world than she might’ve hoped.

The front door clicked open and slammed shut across the penthouse.

Before I could tear a gateway to escape, a hole opened at my feet and a pale blue hand reached through, dragging me down.

I had been here before—falling at the mercy of an endless gravity, stuck somewhere between rapid timelapse and slow motion. I remembered the thick air filling every inch of my dormant lungs and the rough, grasping hands climbing up my torso to drag me down further.

But the velvet blackness began to brighten with stars, as if I were plummeting to the center of the boundless universe.

Instead of clawing desperately to grab on to something, I summoned my wings and manifested my ōdachi. I swiped the blade with a bellowing kiai.

Faceless, twisted spirits screeched and fell away from my feet, dissipating into the vacuum of stars and space.

Or rather… I thought it was space.

“You sure have come a long way, Reaper,” Death called from below, standing on what appeared to be invisible ground. I continued to hover over her, taking another look around at the expanse.

“Where am I?”

“Sheol.” She chuckled and gestured around herself with her arms extended, as if the answer was supposed to be obvious.

I gaped at its magnificence. It had never been a world of nothing; it had always been a world of everything. “How?”

“This was always here. You see with the eyes of the supernatural now,” Death explained.

I slowly lowered myself to the ground. The stars were uniform, an ethereal glow against a noir backdrop. “Sh-Sheol is outer space?”

“Those aren’t stars—those are souls waiting to be delivered to their rightful place,” she said. An orb appeared in her palm. She lifted her hand above her head, sending the orb to join the others floating in the sky.

My mouth went dry. “Why am I here?”

Death quirked her shoulders upward in a nonchalant shrug. “You stole a grimoire. Since Familiars were tailing you, I simply did you a favor before one caught you taking it, and before you could do something reckless again.”

 She paused, clicking her nails against the staff of her naginata. “What are your intentions with a cursed text?”

I reached in my back pocket for the small book. “I think I know what Lucien is planning.”

“He is always planning something.” Death narrowed her glowing eyes. “Which plans?”

“I need your help first.” I tucked the book away again.

“I do not make personal bargains, Reaper,” she said firmly.

I raised my chin. “When I tried to kill Victor, it was like a force field blocked me from touching him. The contract belongs to Liam now, and I managed to break his ankle. What changed?”

A long, simmering exhale rushed out of Death’s nose. She placed her hands on her hips and chewed her inner cheek. Even though she had blank eyes, I could see the calculations running through her mind as she weighed what information she should give or withhold.

Finally, she said, “Victor summoned you as a Reaper. Liam summoned you as an Angel of Death. The bond is weaker because of your power. If he also harmed you physically, it opens a small window for you to draw as much blood as he did. Victor was much more versed in the dark arts than his son, so I imagine he never tried to put his hands on you.”

Hope skittered along my arms like goosebumps and fluffed my feathers.

“Now… your turn.” Death folded her arms, shifting on her feet.

Fair is fair.

“Lucien wants to consume Cara’s soul during a total lunar eclipse and⁠—”

“Create a collision. This is worse than I thought—I need to warn the Guardians.” She flared her wings outward and crouched, poised to shoot into the abyss above.

“You need to break your contract, Akuma. If he needs a Venator’s soul during the eclipse, Lucien will use you as an Angel of Death under his control through Liam… he’ll force you to hand every mortal over to his demons.” In a swift sweep of her wings, she launched into the sky.

“Wait!” I shouted. “How do I break the contract?”

“The rules are rigid,” Death said, peering down at me as her wings flapped in a steady rhythm. She tapped her pointed chin pensively. “But… there are gaps.”

“Which are?” I swept my wings downward, lifting myself to her level in a single motion.

“I cannot say. To expose the weaknesses goes against neutrality.”

She flew higher, and I caught her wrist before she could fly out of reach.

“Mavet, please⁠—”

She yanked her wrist away, and a portal illuminated the void above. “Mortals are inherently arrogant. They have their miniature grimoires and believe they have a complete understanding of our world. Exploit that.”

Death flew in a spiral into the portal, and disappeared on the other side.

I tossed the grimoire into Sheol’s abyss, then fell through a rift at my feet. I barrel-rolled through misty clouds dyed twilight, locked my wings outward, and soared over Lumis in search of Liam.

Chapter 50

Cara

Exorcism 101 took place in a rotunda, with four rows of tiered seating arranged in a semicircle. Unlike New Bethel, the angelic paintings on the dome ceiling didn’t move. The front of the classroom didn’t have a whiteboard, but a drawn crimson curtain and shelves of bottled substances containing powdered and liquid materials.

The professor was a tall, lithe woman with short, pastel-purple hair styled in a pixie cut. She wore a bright yellow T-shirt beneath paint-stained overalls, as if she had just finished embellishing the ceiling before class. Her glasses magnified her turquoise eyes and wide pupils as she failed to contain a gapped grin. She waved at each student as we filed inside. I slipped to the top row, in the farthest corner.

Everyone sifted through their bags, pulling out and opening notebooks and textbooks. Some students didn’t take out anything, others lined up several colored pens neatly on their desk. I didn’t have a textbook, only a single notepad and a black ink pen.

“We’ve got some new faces around here, I see,” the professor said rapidly with a giggle, and I slumped in my seat.

I wasn’t a fast writer.

“For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Professor Beale! I’ve been teaching Exorcism 101, Angelology, and Demonology for over thirty years.” Her hands moved just as quickly as her words.

Quiet snarling reverberated from behind the curtain, and I tensed, leaning forward.

“I also prefer to teach with visuals.”

Professor Beale dragged the curtain open and held out her nimble arms as if showing off a science fair project. The majority of the class gasped, others whispering among themselves.

“No way!”

“Killian didn’t reach the cross…”

“I’m supposed to start my trial tomorrow. If Killian didn’t make it…”

A young man no older than twenty sat bound to a wooden chair with handcuffs around his wrists, surrounded by a circle of amber rocks like resin. His alabaster skin glistened with sweat, charcoal foam bubbling at his beryl lips. His tousled sandy hair clung to his temples in bloody knots.

“This is what happens when you don’t keep your faith strong during your trial,” Professor Beale said, and she circled the border with a pinched brow, scanning the student with disappointment.

“Venators are powerful warriors working alongside Guardians, but that doesn’t mean we are immune to temptations, attacks, or possessions. One could argue you’re more susceptible, especially in that desert. Those demons feed on your deepest fears and insecurities.”

Professor Beale pointed at the rocks. “The first step of an exorcism is always containment. A circle of myrrh will hold back a demon. How cool is that?”

I looked up from the notebook, arching an eyebrow.

“Step inside the circle…” She placed one foot over the rocks and Killian jerked at his chains, growling and snapping his teeth. “And the demon can attack you if they’re not restrained.”

I scribbled notes across my notepad feverishly.

“For those of you who have been attending my courses, what stage would you say he’s currently in?” Professor Beale withdrew her foot from inside the circle and scanned the crowd.

She gestured to a woman with copper waves pulled back in a high ponytail on the bottom row. “Jewels?”

“Stage four: possession,” Jewels said, tilting her head up with a proud smirk.

Professor Beale grinned brightly and clapped. “Correct! How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Well… he’s acting like an animal.” She frowned mildly, as if the question was too easy.

“What else? Remember, some symptoms of possession can appear in stage three, but in spurts as the person’s spirit still fights the demon for autonomy.” Professor Beale removed one of her dangling cross earrings and stepped back inside the circle, triggering Killian’s feral rage again.

Jewels looked around the classroom sheepishly. “Um… he’s sweating, so maybe a high fever and the paleness?”

Professor Beale nodded, and pressed the cross against Killian’s forehead. Even from where I sat, I could hear it sizzle against his skin like a branding iron. He shrieked, jerking away from her hand. But Professor Beale grabbed his head, pressing the cross deeper into his forehead with her thumb and counting the seconds. The acrid stench of burning flesh infested the classroom.

When she reached five, she tore the cross earring away from his forehead. The edges of the wound turned dry and flaky like ash. Spit flung from his mouth as he breathed heavily between tight teeth. Professor Beale turned to face the class.

“When in doubt of what stage the victim is in, do a quick test. Touch their skin with a cross or holy water for five seconds. It’ll burn them, usually resulting in boils or a rapidly decaying wound.”

I loosened the grip on my pen. My fingers ached. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by asking questions, but staying silent wasn’t going to get me across the desert. With a shaky inhale, I raised my hand.

“Ah, yes!” Professor Beale skipped to her desk, glancing at a sheet that I assumed was the roster. “Miss… Cara Freeman?”

I lowered my hand and cleared my throat. “How can Venators—or anyone, really, restrain a demon to begin with? How did you chain him up if he can hurt you when you’re both in the circle?”

Professor Beale grinned widely. “Excellent question. See, stage four means the demon has only partial control of the victim. We recommend coaxing the host into a trap while the demon is dormant—but this only works when the victim hasn’t welcomed the possession and still seek deliverance. Some people are exhilarated by the demon’s power. In which case, the fifth stage—domination—begins much sooner.”

Killian’s growls weakened to whimpers. His breaths became more controlled as tears ran down his face. He raised his head, scanning the audience with a new spark of recognition as if seeing us for the first time.

“P-professor?” he croaked, voice rattling and broken.

Professor Beale didn’t acknowledge him. Her smile shrank. “You can’t trust the host either, though. The demon can make them return and act like themselves to try to get you to sympathize, maybe even stop the exorcism altogether if it can convince you they’re normal.”

“W-what? That’s not me! Professor Beale, let me out!”

“Let yourself out.” She finally turned to face him.

I frowned. If it was so easy to escape the handcuffs, why bother restraining the demon at all?

“Oh, come on! Let me out!” Killian shouted, his previously rotted teeth now pearly white. “Look! I’m fine!”

The grey pallor in his skin lightened and the reddish hue returned to his lips.

Professor Beale, in all her bright colors, glanced back at us with darkened eyes.

“If you’re fine, Killian, break out of the cuffs. You’re a senior, you’ve had extensive training in escaping restraints. Handcuffs are the most basic restraint. I’ll even make it easy—dislocate your thumb and pull your hand out.”

She stepped into the circle and crouched in front of him. Killian’s skin reverted back to the shade of decay and rot, his teeth appearing to be lined in dirt. He snapped at her.

“You can’t break out because the handcuffs are blessed. Your soul is still at war, kiddo.” Professor Beale reached into her overalls’ pocket and removed a dark bottle. She twisted the cap and filled the dropper with an amber liquid, then held it over her head.

“Anointed oil,” she announced, and gripped Killian’s hair to force his head back. He screamed, and she dispensed the oil down his throat. He writhed in the chair, his screams deepening to roars as Killian’s voice broke through in a vortex of two voices. A second face stretched out of his own as if his skin were made of rubber, and the entity within him couldn’t break free.

“What’s your name?” Professor Beale demanded.

“Every last one of you will be going to Hell very soon,” Killian threatened. He looked up. Even with thirty other students in the class, there was no mistaking that he looked right at me.

“Count your days… you only need one hand to do it, Cara June Freeman. And then your pet is going to cut it off.”

Chills overwhelmed my spine and I gripped the edges of my desk. I kept my face neutral, refusing to let fear float to the surface.

Professor Beale paused with a puzzled expression on her face. She pushed her glasses up her nose, blinking excessively before regaining her composure. She adjusted her grip on his hair, pulling it in a tighter fist, and her smile returned. “Of course, demons never make it easy. After you contain it, you must interrogate it for its name. Don’t worry about injury—a Guardian can heal them after the ablution is complete.”

Regaining focus, I scribbled as much as I could.

“If you can’t get its name, that’s fine, too. You can burn it out of them with holy water.” Professor Beale reached into her pocket again and pulled out a palm-sized bottle. She flipped the cap open with her thumb and poured it over Killian’s face, triggering plumes of steam to rise from his skin. He thrashed his legs, gurgling and choking. He tipped the wooden chair, but Professor Beale caught the back of it.

“Let the boy go,” she demanded. “You will let Killian go! In nomine Iesu!”

Professor Beale let go of his hair and he flung forward, retching tar down his chest and onto the floor. She slathered anointing oil on her palm and smeared it across his forehead, and black smoke billowed out of his ears, nose, and mouth, then dissipated. Killian hunched over, a string of saliva hanging from his lips. His breaths were shallow, his trembling arms stretched taut as the handcuffs kept him from falling off the chair.

Professor Beale scratched her head with an exaggerated exhale, catching her breath. Her wide, proud grin returned. “And that, my friends, was expulsion.”

Chapter 51

Akuma

Liam wasn’t in his high-rise nor at ChamberCorp, but he was at St. Augustine’s Cemetery.

Desecrating my grave with spray paint.

I nosedived, ramming my shoulder into his back. He shouted, crashing onto a neighboring grave. The spray can rolled across the snow. I glanced at the headstone, locked on to the bright red paint that spelled out “In Hell.”

Before I could react, Liam tackled me and my mask was flung from my face.

“Where’s my book?” he screamed. “Tell me where my book is or I swear I’ll make you kill everyone in Lumis and then yourself!”

Snow bit into my eyes as his fists hammered into my face. I kicked him away, but he sprung forward again.

Liam pinned me down and curled his fingers around my neck. I froze.

“Where is it?” Liam shouted, squeezing tighter.

My breath rattled, my fingers slipping over his knuckles as I tried to pry his hands away.

Then I smirked. “You can’t choke me.”

I threw him off, flexing my wings against the ground to push myself upright. Liam’s head cracked against stone, and I grabbed his ankle before shooting into the sky.

The higher I went, the hotter the Mark burned.

Liam reawakened from his brief blackout, shrieking and thrashing. “Put me down! Put me down, you insane freak!”

“You might want to be more specific.” I let go of his ankle, triggering another shrill cry, then caught his foot again.

Liam twisted in the air, veins bulging in his neck and his skin ruddy from all the blood rushing to his empty head. “Are you an idiot? If you kill me, you die, too!”

I paused, hovering in place.

The thought of loosening my grip on Liam made the Mark scream. Pain bloomed across my back and chest and shot up my neck. But for once, I didn’t fight it.

Cara was somewhere around the world, hidden away to become someone who would hunt creatures like me. I was a slave to the guy who’d made my life miserable when I was alive, and still did in death. And his mentor was Lucifer, who sought to use me to destroy the world.

If I was officially dead, Lucien wouldn’t have access to an Angel of Death. If Liam was dead, he couldn’t send demons to try to kill Cara or her loved ones. The Guardians could handle the rest.

And ultimately… I had nothing left to live for.

“Good,” I mumbled, and splayed my fingers apart.

Liam screamed, helpless panic replacing his flippant smirks. He flipped uncontrollably and hurtled toward the skyscrapers of Lumis.

Charcoal clouds gathered quickly in the sky, bringing with them the strong winds of thundersnow. Lightning struck my body from every angle as if I were made of copper. I writhed, my howls stifled by the thunder.

My joints locked and my wings fell limp, feathers floating above me as I plunged to the ground.

I only had one last thought before a murder of crows swarmed around me, turning the world into a void.

I’m sorry for making you mourn me twice.

I lie on a bed of something prickly that dug into my wings and back. I sat up with a string of coughs, choking on the thick smell of rotten eggs weighing heavy on the humid air. The sky was dyed yellow. Dark volcanic peaks bled golden lava across a landscape with columns of ash striping the horizon. I looked down; the sharp points and rounded lumps beneath me were skulls, broken bones, and teeth. They stretched for miles across the field.

The Mark still marred my forearm.

“Ashes to ashes… dust to dust,” a slick voice crooned. “Unfortunately for you, that’s a luxury you can’t afford.”

I spun around, kicking up dry dust at my shoes.

Lucien stood before me donning large, ebony membranous wings like a giant bat. His stark white teeth with eight fangs flashed against his shiny black-widow skin. His hair was still red, but a pair of black ram horns curved around his cranium. The sclerae of his eyes were the same shade of scarlet and his irises were inverted—black with white pupils.

The suave mogul in a suit had shed his human form to reveal a beast like none other.

I stepped back. “What did you do to me? Where am I?”

“The Nether. It’s not very nice to drop your master from thousands of feet in the sky. He’s safe and sound, but I think you’ve gotten a little out of control,” Lucien said, then clicked his tongue. “We need to fix that.”

“I don’t answer to you,” I growled, and took flight without looking back. I flew higher, violet energy undulating from my palms as I prepared to rip open a portal back to Earth.

But before I could, the sky opened up with an avalanche of winged demons. I couldn’t dodge them, and shackles materialized around my ankles. Chains extended from the cuffs and locked into the ground. I pulled, straining against them before more shackles appeared at my wrists. I roared, and the surrounding volcanoes spat lava in response.

“You will,” Lucien said under his breath, before his voice was completely drowned out by the shrill demons swarming me.

I hardened my wings and sent a flurry of razored feathers at the demons, but there were too many. Woven through their disembodied howls was Lucien’s gloating laughter.

They tore at my wings, clawed at my skin, and then, one by one⁠—

They turned into swirling onyx smoke that invaded through my mouth and nose, filling every empty cavern of my being.

Chapter 52

Cara

A Guardian resembling a Greek statue wearing a chlamys over a chiton entered the classroom, scooped Killian in his arms, and carried him away.

Students began to file out of the classroom. I gathered my notebook and pen and hid among them with my head ducked.

“Cara, dear, hang back for a second,” Professor Beale said.

My heart jolted.

The students dispersed into the cloister, leaving me alone and feeling bare like the classic nightmare about forgetting to wear pants. I slowly turned to face her.

Professor Beale adjusted her circular glasses and put on a floral knitted cardigan. “You can come closer. I don’t bite. I just have a couple concerns.”

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked as I approached her desk.

“No. You were fine. As a matter of fact, here’s the textbook for my classes.” Professor Beale removed a thick, black leather-bound book from a shelf and flopped it on top of a stack of papers. “What worries me is what that demon said to you. It told you to count your days. And who exactly is the pet it mentioned?”

Cotton was jammed in my throat, but I refused to swallow it away. “I thought demons couldn’t be trusted, and spouting threats was normal.”

“Of course not, but that one in particular singled you out, and that indicates—” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re Morgana’s daughter, aren’t you?”

I nodded, tightening my grip around the spiral of my notebook. The metal rings bit into my fingers. Exorcism 101 had served as a great distraction from the fact that Mom hadn’t arrived at Sinai yet, and Professor Beale had just snatched the curtain from my mind.

Professor Beale’s face fell, her eyebrows curving with pity. She squeezed my shoulder. “Oh, I’m so sorry, kiddo. I heard about your demonic attacks. Most Venators come here by respecting their legacy, not because evil forces drove them to it.”

The sweat on my palms reminded me of the fresh, slippery blood along Iris’ arms.

“You’re on a six month program, but given the nature of your attacks, I don’t believe your trial should be so soon,” Professor Beale said. “You need time to fully mourn and strengthen, or you’ll end up in a worse condition than Killian. Demons strike when we’re at our weakest.”

“With all due respect, Professor...” I pulled my shoulder away from her grip, grabbed the textbook, and took a small step back. “I’d appreciate it if you let me deal with my grief however I want.”

Professor Beale let me storm away without another word.

I wasn’t going to lie down and cry for hours like I had for Akuma.

I wasn’t going to bury my head in weeks of work, or turn away from the problem and hope it went away on its own.

No… this grief was the sword I would wield against the demons that took everything from me.

The stares in the corridors were worse now. Some of the faces I recognized from the exorcism class—but it was obvious everyone had already heard the whispers.

“That’s the woman the demon called out,” someone would say.

Another would barely move their lips, as if they were a ventriloquist and thought I couldn’t pinpoint them. “Yeah, it said her full name and everything.”

“Since when do we allow pets here?” another asked.

“Never, dum-dum. Some people are saying she performed a Summoning. I guess Killian predicted her demon’s gonna turn on her.”

“A Summoning is forbidden. How is she still here? She’ll curse us all.”

“It doesn’t matter if she’s a witch. She’s a Freeman.”

I recognized the last voice from class, and shot a nasty look at Jewels before passing through the cloister and entering the courtyard.

Once I settled on the grass, I opened the exorcism textbook and attempted to ignore the twists of my stomach from the lack of food. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten.

I read over the exorcism process a dozen times, immersed in every word. It was much easier to connect with it all laid out in front of me than try to keep up with Professor Beale’s hyperactive speech patterns.

The stages of possession, or rather the journey of the soul breaking and losing to a demon’s influence.

Infiltration. Oppression. Obsession. Possession.

Then there was the fifth stage. The point of no return.

Domination.

Then came the list of universal demonic weaknesses. Blessed weapons, iron, and holy water.

The desert trial might not be as hard as I had initially thought. This book alone could be the key to get me across, and Selah could take me back to Lumis.

I flipped the page to one that detailed the process of saving the soul before it was too late.

Containment, interrogation, expulsion.

The key Latin phrase that must be said, or everything the exorcist did would be moot—In nomine Iesu.

I memorized all of it like a song, repeating the lists in rhythmic chunks.

I turned to a new unit that discussed the phenomenon of a supernatural entity becoming possessed. I traced the picture of a four-winged angel with black ink scribbled over their heart.

“Cara!”

I looked up to see Mom crossing the courtyard. I darted from my spot and tackled her with an embrace tighter than my father’s.

“Wow, I don’t think you’ve hugged me like this since you moved away for college,” Mom said with a hearty laugh. I pulled away and rolled my eyes, but the smile didn’t wane.

“I was just worried you’d run into more demons looking for evidence,” I said.

Mom scoffed and swatted the air. “Girl, if you knew how many demons I’ve killed in my lifetime, you would’ve slept like a baby.” She craned her neck to look at the book I was studying.

“How’s Axel? Did you see him at all while you were out there?” I asked before she could start asking questions about the class.

“As a matter of fact, I did. He helped me a lot. He’s a sweet man,” she said. She glanced over her shoulder and dropped her voice. “I spoke to Professor Beale… and she told me what happened in class today.”

Mom walked over to my textbook and crouched in front of it, checking the page I’d left off on.

“And?”

“Given the circumstances, and our weakened states during grief… I think she’s right. I don’t think six months is enough time,” Mom said, and shut the cover.

“Oh—we’re doing this now, okay.” I huffed air out of my nostrils and snatched the book from the ground. “I’m not staying here longer than six months, Mom. Aku—Axel doesn’t have that long.”

“What did Selah ask you in New Bethel?” Mom followed close behind me across the courtyard.

“Remind me,” I grumbled, turning down a hallway and following the dim sconces to the stairs.

“She asked if you could accept losing people close to you when you choose to become a Venator,” Mom said.

I paused in the middle of the staircase that led to the dorms with rage billowing from my core. I didn’t turn around for fear of the look on my face.

“This could be your first test to prioritize your destiny over a man who was already lost to you from the start,” she added.

“He’s not just a man, Mom. That right was stolen from him, and I refuse to turn my back on someone just because it’s easier.” I continued up the stairs and isolated myself in my room.

Hunching over my textbook at the mahogany desk, I continued scribbling notes. One chapter mentioned a Covenant—a mutual agreement between a mortal and their assigned Guardian promising eternal loyalty and protection. It was extremely rare, as Guardians never revealed themselves to humans unless directed by God Himself.

Hours passed. I was running out of paper.

I was also running out of hope, until I came across a chapter discussing the time Solomon commanded demons to build a temple. Blessed weapons, iron, holy water, and recited verses could harm demons, but the latter only worked if the speaker’s heart was strong-willed.

I didn’t write notes for that one. I committed all of it to memory, already plotting what supplies I needed to fill my backpack once the entire monastery was sound asleep.

The sound of a trumpet rang in my room. I jerked awake and peeled my face away from the open textbook, dried drool gluing the paper to my cheek.

“Rest is a part of your training, you know.”

I jumped out of my seat with a startled “Whoa!”

Selah stood rigidly at my door with her hands clasped.

“The first trumpet indicates waking up. You have an hour to get ready, and then the second trumpet announces breakfast in the refectory. I also came to bring your class schedule,” she said, and placed a sheet of paper on top of my book.

I smacked my dry lips and rubbed crust out of my eyes, then rolled the crick out of my neck. “Thanks, Selah.”

She gave a simple nod before leaving my room, and I examined my schedule for today.

After showering and changing into the uniform, I joined the rest of the monastery residents in the refectory as the trumpets rang. Students gathered along the banquet tables, beelining straight for specific seats as if their names were inscribed into the benches.

I found a seat at the edge of a table, next to a pair of twin women somewhere in their twenties. One girl glared at me, scooting closer to her sister as I settled next to her.

A Guardian stood at the front of the refectory. He extended his hands and his wings of fire. The voice that rang from him was deep and authoritative.

“Everyone join hands and bow your heads,” he commanded, closing all four of his luminous eyes. I held my palm out, and the girl’s lip curled in disgust.

I was too old for this high school drama.

Biting my tongue, I bowed my head and closed my eyes with my hands in my lap.

“Hold,” the Guardian said.

I lifted my head just as he locked his sights on us in the back and flew across the dining hall with a single thrust of his wings. My heart thundered in my chest.

“What’s the problem here, Ophelia?” He folded his arms, the chiseled metallic forms scraping against each other.

Ophelia’s grey eyes widened, her lips moving without sound before she finally found the words. “Zuriel, sh-she’s consorted with the Devil, sir.”

Zuriel tilted his head, slow and stiff like a cyborg. “Has she, or have you simply wallowed with slanderers?”

Ophelia bit her lip, throat tugging with a hard swallow.

He turned to the rest of the dining hall. “Need I remind you, Venators, that it is forbidden to speak against your neighbor, or take a stand against their life? Look within yourselves and repent.”

Zuriel pointed a sharp finger at Ophelia. She flinched, then snatched my hand.

Combat and Strategy was immediately after breakfast, and as if Zuriel’s confrontation wasn’t stressful enough, I had my father as the instructor.

Unlike Exorcism 101, this room had low, flat ceilings, concrete floors covered in rubber mats, and again, no windows. This was a smaller class, with eleven students dressed in linen tunics, more wrap belts, and harem pants instead of gis. They sat in a circle on a mat with their legs crisscrossed, waiting for instruction.

Dad stood at a podium, reading over a roster. He peered at me over his reading glasses when I entered. “You’re late.”

“I got lost,” I said with a frown, and set my book bag down with the others’ against the wall.

“Let that be the only time. Your uniform is in the bathroom,” he said, and pointed with his pen at a pair of doors in the back corner.

After changing into the soft, lightweight uniform, I joined the others on the mat and took note of the wall of wooden bokkens, katanas, scimitars, shurikens, pistols, and daggers.

“I want to see where you’re at before we begin today’s lesson, Cara,” he said. “All of these weapons are blessed, because an ordinary blade or gun won’t put a dent in a demon. Take your pick.”

I pursed my lips and padded to the wall of weapons. I reached for the bokken, triggering quiet giggles from my peers.

“Nope, not the bokken. We’re using real blades,” Dad said before my fingers could meet the wooden hilt.

My katana back home was locked away. The closest I ever got to training with it was always with a bokken. With a swallow, I hesitantly picked up the tsukamaki-wrapped hilt, embellished in the classic black and white diamond pattern down its center. I spun it once, familiarizing myself with the weight of it and the rough cords around the handle. I spun it again, and the silver blade with the same engraved markings as my grandmother’s cross flashed against the dim lights with more confidence. I stepped to the center of the mat.

Dad grabbed a different sword with a thicker, curved blade.

“How is that fair?” It had to be one to two pounds heavier than my katana.

Dad switched the blade from his left hand to his right with a cheeky grin. “First thing you should know about my course is that I’ll never arrange a fair fight.”

I scoffed, and without warning he stepped forward with an aggressive forward slash. I jumped back, the wind from his blade slapping against my abdomen. I staggered to the floor, and my father hovered over me with the tip of his sword inches from my nose.

“Your enemy is always going to have some kind of advantage over you,” he said. “To be a Venator is to become an expert at fighting hundreds of Goliaths in your lifetime.”

I groaned in disgust, pushing the blade away from my face before standing. Dad swung his sword downward and I barrel-rolled away with a gasp.

“Hold on! I wasn’t ready!” I exclaimed, and scrambled to stand.

“You think a demon will wait for you to get your bearings, Cara?” Dad switched to his dominant left hand and spun his sword, his condescending amusement darkening to malevolence. “Did that demon wait for you when it came to kill you?”

A chasm split open within me, and a river of red roared through it.

I dashed, closing the distance between us with my blade aimed at his abdomen. Dad’s weapon clanged against mine. He raised his sword over his head. I dropped down and swept my leg at his feet. He fell forward into a tuck and roll. He spun around, and our blades clashed, locking in place at the hilt. The steel of both our blades tremored against our resistance.

“Good,” he breathed.

But I wasn’t looking for validation.

I pushed away from him, and charged forward with a wrathful grunt. More clamor erupted through the room.

Step, block, strike, dodge. Step, block, strike, dodge.

We danced across the mats, the familiar choreography of my childhood working its way back into my muscle memory.

It had been easy for my parents to knock me down when I was first learning. And even when I bested them, I was convinced they’d both held back just for the sake of helping me gain confidence.

But this time…

Genuine sweat glistened across my father’s forehead. His broad chest heaved with ragged breaths.

I jumped over the low sweep of his blade, then drove a backflip kick to his.

But not a second after I landed, his elbow cracked against my nose.

I slammed onto my back, the air snatched right out of my lungs. My teeth gnashed on my tongue and copper filled my mouth. Stars exploded in my vision as fire ravaged my brain and involuntary tears streamed down my cheeks. I groaned as my hands shot to my nose.

“That flicker of arrogance,” my father began between pants, glancing at the blood smeared on his white sleeve, “gave me an opening, and it could be your undoing even in the smallest moment. The hare would’ve won the race if he didn’t take a nap.”

I hissed, holding the bridge of my nose as I rushed to the bathroom.

Chapter 53

Cara

My father forced me to walk the halls of Sinai Monastery with a piece of tissue shoved up both nostrils on the way to the infirmary. To save myself more embarrassment, I pulled out a gaiter stashed in my book bag and covered my face. It was too short to hide the gash across the bridge of my nose, though.

I wandered the halls for an hour, alternating between left and right turns. I became convinced the infirmary was hidden in another dimension, or that my father had given me an impossible task as another “lesson.” I flopped to the floor with my back against the wall. The blood had crusted across my face but the throbbing hadn’t stopped, and the tissues were soggy, smooshing against my upper lip under the gaiter.

Metallic footsteps clomped in my direction, and I turned to see Zuriel approaching.

“Why so weary?” His voice was much gentler now—not the bellowing bullhorn in the middle of the refectory.

“I can’t find the infirmary.” I leaned my head against the wall. How could I find the cross if I couldn’t find a simple place within Sinai?

How could I save Akuma if I couldn’t even save Iris?

Zuriel crouched to my level, his four eyes blazing so bright, I had to look down at my lap.

“Can’t, or have you simply given up?” he asked.

I met his gaze again. He blinked, and his eyes dimmed to a luminance I could handle. “I’ve been everywhere.”

He sighed, and pressed glowing brass fingertips against my forehead. I flinched at the brief scorch, but the pain in my face flushed out after his touch.

“The problem with giving up, Cara, is we often do so right when the answer is about to appear.”

He pointed at a sign above my head with a grin. I twisted and leaned back with an incredulous scoff.

Embossed on a plaque—the infirmary.

“Unbelievable,” I grumbled.

“I healed you, so there is no need to go in there. Next time you believe you cannot do something, rebuke that devil in your mind and keep pushing.”

Zuriel offered his hand and helped me stand, then grabbed my backpack from the floor. I slung it over my shoulder and he continued ambling down the hall, occasionally stopping to speak to others.

Keep pushing.

I tightened my grip around the backpack strap, jaw hardening with resolve. I spent the rest of my free time mapping out the monastery, and memorizing the exits as I was trained to do when I was younger.

It didn’t matter if I was in a magical monastery hidden away in a desert. The hallways and rooms didn’t shift and change positions every night. It was no different than a restaurant, mall, or grocery store. Learning the exits would help me use them as checkpoints and navigate the rest of Sinai with ease.

The exit near the Combat and Strategy classroom was closest to the staircase leading to the dorms.

It wasn’t required to eat communally during lunch, so the banquet hall was empty. When I arrived for my food, I swiped extra protein bars from the snack bar while the staff was too busy tending to the line of students.

I took my food back to my room and hid the snacks beneath the mattress. By the time I finished eating, it was time to attend Vitality.

The classroom’s layout was similar to Combat and Strategy, with low, bare ceilings. Ordinary desks and chairs were arranged where the mats would’ve been. This class was even smaller, with only six of us. Zuriel sat on top of his desk, ankles crossed.

Jewels was among the students, cutting a glance at me but otherwise keeping the rest of her expression neutral. Another woman and man crowded close behind her, and I assumed they were her friends.

“Nice to see you join us, Cara,” Zuriel said, and stood. I acknowledged him with a mild grin.

I had to give him credit—his advice had worked.

“Now that we are all here, we can go outside.”

Feathers fluttered in my stomach. Aside from the courtyard with artificial turf, I hadn’t seen the surrounding area of Sinai Monastery, which probably played a part in my constant anxiety.

Zuriel led the way through the cloister and down two corridors. Everyone in the class either stood by his side or slightly behind him, but they seemed to already know their way around. At the end of the hallway, he stood in front of an unlabeled door and folded his arms.

“Since we have a couple new faces, I will remind you of some rules here at Sinai,” he said, wings flaring to life with solemnity. He shifted his eyes to me and squinted. “You are not to leave Sinai Monastery until the conclusion of your training, when a Guardian bestows your Venator seal after your trial.”

A straightjacket wrapped itself around my heart.

“With that being said, you are not prisoners here,” Zuriel added, focusing on the rest of the group. “It is just extremely dangerous beyond the marked line out there. Between the extreme temperatures and the demons that run rampant in the desert, once you accept this journey, we only require that you complete your all of your courses before your trial. Especially my class, where I teach you how to survive the desert.”

A younger girl raised her hand timidly. She was doe-eyed, fidgeting with her fingers after Zuriel acknowledged her. “What’s the penalty if anyone goes out there?”

“Should the violator survive, the Council will decide on expulsion from the program, or restarting the program from scratch.” Zuriel eyed me again. “Unfortunately, it’s never come to that.”

Does he know?

Zuriel opened the door without triggering an alarm, and revealed a breathtaking rose-gold sky. A white sun hovered close to the horizon over a sea of sand. Gentle gusts lapped swirls of sand from the rolling dunes and the sandpaper air scoured my skin. I inhaled, and it smelled sweet and floral.

“When you travel, it’s best to move at night while temperatures are low. Find shade where you can. Continue north until you find an oasis. That is the halfway checkpoint to the cross, but do not be deceived—it is not a paradise,” Zuriel said, then pointed at a wooden post with a solid red triangle sign. “Once you pass that point, your trial officially begins and no one from the monastery is authorized to intervene.”

I crouched and cupped my hand in the sand. It was soft and silky, slipping through my fingers effortlessly.

“Where are we?” I asked, dusting my hand off on my pants.

He shook his head with an amused chuckle and stepped back inside. Everyone else followed.

“You’ve been here for what—two, three days? Shouldn’t you know already?” Jewels said, her delicate voice puncturing the hollow corridor.

“Tame that condescending tongue, Jewels,” Zuriel chided gently.

I supposed it didn’t matter.

When we returned to the classroom, I immediately took a seat and jotted down all the information Zuriel gave us before I’d forget, then dog-eared the pages.

Tomorrow was Angelology, but I didn’t plan on attending.

When dinner came, I stole more protein bars. During the prayer that blessed the food and our dreams, I asked God to forgive me.

Could I be one of the corrupted Venators as Selah described?

I waited for the final trumpet of the day before I stuffed two long-sleeved T-shirts, loose linen pants, and the moccasins in my backpack. The last time I’d packed for anything was to go on a girls’ trip with Iris last year.

I imagined Iris lounging on the chaise in my room, picking at her nails and telling me I was suicidal for going out there with only two days of training and five chapters read from the exorcism and survival classes.

But the sooner I could prove myself, the sooner I could make Liam pay for what he did to her, Akuma, and me.

The rustling of the protein bars and the crinkling of the plastic water bottles were unnaturally loud as I shoved them into separate pockets. I expected Selah to appear at the sound.

To fill the remaining space in my bag, I chose the exorcism textbook and prayed that I’d find more water and food along the way. I could study whenever danger wasn’t present.

I spent another thirty minutes styling my hair into three protective cornrows.

Stepping to my door, I carefully twisted the knob and entered the hallway. I followed the soft candlelight of sconces as if they were will-o’-the-wisps, minding every step. I crept to the Combat and Strategy classroom and tested the cold handle.

My breath hitched as the door clicked open. The professors probably didn’t feel the need to lock their doors or even use cameras because Venators were expected to have integrity. I pulled the door back shut.

There’s still time to go back to your room and act like none of this happened. You can return the snacks, continue your studies.

The sound of Iris’ desperate pleas during the demon’s attack rang in my ears. Images of Akuma writhing in the sky when he’d sent me away to New Bethel plagued me. The backs of my eyes stung, and I pushed inside the classroom.

The katana I’d used earlier was sheathed in its polished wooden saya, displayed on the wall with the other weapons. My father would surely notice it missing first thing in the morning. But if I made it past that post in the desert, maybe no one would come for me. I would be as good as dead to them anyway.

I strapped the sword on my left hip, then rushed out of the classroom to Exorcism 101 and went straight for the shelves behind Professor Beale’s desk.

A couple bottles of holy water and blessed salt managed to fit in the front pocket of my backpack with the zipper stretched taut. I paused at a jar of fifty myrrh resin bracelets and took four, then put one on each wrist and ankle.

That was everything I could carry.

I sprinted silently out of the classroom and down the labyrinth of hallways through Sinai Monastery.

Stopping at the exit door Zuriel had led us to earlier, my hands trembled. I curled my fingers into fists and closed my eyes with a deep breath, my mother’s voice caressing my riotous thoughts.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.

The shaking faded. I opened the door, stepping over the threshold. My boots pressed into the soft sand, their imprints immediately erased as I pressed forward.

No turning back now.

Chapter 54

Liam

“Cursed shall you be when you come in, and cursed shall you be when you go out.”

—Deuteronomy 28:19, NKJV

For my eighteenth birthday, my parents took me skydiving. The freefall was weightless, electric. After pulling the string, gliding over the Earth and seeing how small and insignificant the city was… it was peaceful.

But plunging to my death, not knowing whether I’d get impaled by a lightning rod or splatter in the middle of an intersection—I couldn’t breathe.

I wasn’t ready to die. I didn’t think I’d ever be.

I had never been acquainted with terror. Not when I saw my father summon a demon for the first time. Not when Lucien appeared to us as a sentient shadow.

But when Akuma dropped me from the stratosphere with no regard for his own life, I shook hands with fear. I knew it was all over.

Until the wind abruptly stopped and I crashed into a hard surface, splitting the wood in half. I coughed, each breath a pierce to the lungs.

I sat up, and saw I’d landed on a dining table. But I wasn’t in my penthouse or my father’s mansion, but a freezing, dining room connected to a gothic great room filled with antique artifacts I had never seen before and leatherbound books on shelves built into the walls. The only light came from a fireplace burning scarlet flames. Grotesques perched on both sides of the mantle. A black dragon eating its own tail framed a mirror that hung above it. The grotesques grimaced, snarling lowly. I was frozen on top of the broken table’s rubble, staring at the statues that moved and breathed.

I couln’t call Akuma. He was the only one who could probably handle these beasts if they attacked—but he had just tried to kill me.

A summoned Angel of Death tried to kill its master.

Without making any sudden movements, I turned my arm to observe the cut in my palm. It was still there, gnarled and puckered from the serrated dagger I had used.

“H-how is this possible⁠—”

The grotesques sprang from the fireplace, prowling toward me on all fours. Their human-lion hybrid stone faces cracked as they bared their sharpened teeth. I crawled backward frantically until my back hit the wall.

The mirror above the fireplace mantle rippled like dark water, and ivory hands reached through it. The hands clasped the frame of the mirror, and polished leather derby shoes stepped out one by one as Lucien emerged from the liquid glass.

Lucien barked foreign orders at the beasts, and they scurried back to their posts at the fireplace.

“How do you like my security system?” he asked, smoothing out his suit jacket.

I put a hand over my side with a wince, careful to keep my breaths shallow.

“Effective,” I rasped. “Where did he go?”

“He’s ready for tomorrow night.” Lucien finally looked down at his damaged table with a sigh. “Ah. I suppose that is my fault.”

All it took was a snap of his fingers and the table repaired itself. The pain in my side vanished.

“Thanks,” I muttered, and used the wall for balance as I stood. “So, is he dead since he tried to kill me?”

“No, no, no,” Lucien said quickly. My shoulders sank. “He’s just… on a tighter leash. Akuma, come.”

At Lucien’s beckoning, Akuma appeared. His head hung low, ebony bangs hanging to conceal his eyes. His arms were limp at his sides. Black smoke billowed from his wings and shoulders, and each breath was laced with low, guttural growls. The very floor beneath him appeared to crumble and decay in his presence.

I took a wary step back. “Uh… why is he like that?”

“I possessed him with a legion. Stand up straight, Akuma,” Lucien commanded. Without hesitation, Akuma’s spine locked in place. He twitched, skin darkening to charcoal with lips completely torn away to reveal the grueling skeleton and oily teeth beneath. His violet irises were stark against the black pools of his sclerae. He didn’t blink, just locked sights on me, waiting for the word to pounce.

Static invaded my vision and my pulse quickened. I tripped over my feet and bumped into the wall, knocking Lucien’s stormy oceanscape painting crooked.

Lucien chuckled. “Oh, don’t be so scared now, kid. I just achieved the unimaginable.”

I straightened and ran a quivering hand through my hair. “What’s he gonna do?”

I wouldn’t put it past Lucien to sic Akuma on me. But if Lucien had any disadvantage, it was that he couldn’t partake in a contract with a Reaper or an Angel of Death. He needed me as the tether.

Lucien straightened his painting. “He’s going to bring Cara to us to perform the ritual.”

“Liam Andrew Chamberlain.” Akuma slowly raised a crooked, gloved finger at me. “Don’t keep your father waiting.”

Akuma extended the rest of his fingers toward me, and tilted his head ferally. A rope tieback unraveled from one of Lucien’s window curtains in the dining room and floated between us. It wrapped around itself until a noose formed. Akuma began to chuckle.

“What…” My face twisted into a scowl despite the ripples of fear reverberating through my chest. “Lucien, what the Hell?”

“Ah, yes. Pieces of Akuma’s consciousness might leak through. An Angel of Death isn’t exactly the easiest to subdue—even with six thousand demons—but it’s enough to get him to retrieve the Venator. After the ritual, I’ll be powerful enough to break him completely.”

“And then I’ll be immortal, right?” I asked. I didn’t care about the ritual or what Lucien needed Cara and Akuma for. I just wanted to guarantee my future wouldn’t be touched. With our contract signed, I expected Lucien’s promises to be just as rigid as the rules.

He smirked. “Of course. It’s a simple compensation for your help in this endeavor.”

Akuma’s jaw stretched open and closed, teeth snapping together as he bit the air. His head and hands flinched sideways as he ambled to a vase of water hemlocks resting on the buffet bar. He tapped his index finger on the vase, and the flowers wilted to ash.

“The ritual site needs to be prepared,” Lucien said, tearing my focus away from the monstrosity haunting his house.

“Is that something I need to help with? Can’t I just show up when you drive a stake through Cara’s heart or whatever it is you need to do?” I waved my hand in a shooing motion, wishing I could swat the whole situation away. I just wanted to sit back and watch. It seemed like he needed Akuma more than me anyway.

Lucien eased into the chair at the head of his dining table. “There is a dagger at your father’s altar he used for sacrifices. Bring it to this location, and then you can kick back with your popcorn.”

I knew exactly what dagger he was talking about. It was the one I’d used to carve the Summoning out of my palm.

Lucien summoned a map in his hand with an “X” marking a location in a blob of green. I scrunched my nose at the outmoded form of navigation. Grabbing the map, I rotated it in various directions to orient myself with the mess of squiggly lines and bars.

“You don’t have an address I can just plug into my GPS?” I grumbled.

Lucien’s expression darkened. “Go, before you exhaust my patience.”

A portal yawned open behind me. The comfort of my father’s kitchen resided on the other side. I sighed and stepped through, biting my tongue.

My father’s home held a new meaning. It was a museum of death, a cursed fortress hoarding my family’s skeletons. The first chance I got, I planned to schedule it for demolition and rid myself of him once and for all.

His body was gone, but the brain matter and blood stain was still there. The previous metallic smell had sharpened to rotting fish, mothballs, and the sickening sweetness of expired meat.

A crappy clean-up job on Akuma’s part.

But there was no need to clean it if it was all going to be rubble soon anyway.

I tugged my sweater’s collar over my nose until I was out of the stench’s range in the basement.

I had left the dagger at my father’s altar because I didn’t think I’d ever need it again. I didn’t have souls to sacrifice monthly to Lucien like he had.

The knife weighed heavy in my hand, like a beating heart. Like the mallet I used to cave my father’s face in.

I ran my thumb over the rough knot of silver snakes carved into the hilt, reminiscing on all the dates my father had gone on after my mother died. So many women had been elated to have caught Victor Chamberlain’s attention, just to be fed to this dagger to keep him young. I’d never warned any of them.

Gold-digging wenches.

Once I returned to my car, I shoved the dagger in the glovebox and read the map until I found a recognizable landmark, then drove across Lumis.

I arrived at the edge of a wall of dormant trees and bushes. If it weren’t winter, it would’ve been a thick slab of foliage, and I would’ve left the dagger buried in the dirt for Lucien to fetch for himself.

But in the webbing of brittle branches, it was easier to see what lay beyond. I pushed them out of the way with the map in one hand and the dagger in the other, the spindly arms poking through my sweater and pulling me back with warning.

Snow crunched beneath my boots. Squirrels skittered between the trees. I walked in a straight line toward the “X” until I came across a clearing, a forgotten cemetery of shallow graves at its center.

Chapter 55

Cara

Trudging through sand was like wading through water. Every step of progress required two as my boots sank backward. I panted behind the nylon gaiter covering my face, hiking the dune’s steep incline toward the warning sign at its peak. My hands and feet were already going numb from the cold, and I reached in my backpack to put on more layers.

When I reached the top, I clung to the sign for support and pulled the gaiter down to catch my breath. The moon was full, illuminating the desert’s expanse. I peered over my shoulder at Sinai Monastery, but it was nowhere to be seen.

A sickening feeling curdled in my stomach. Had I lost sight of the monastery because I left unauthorized, or was it the firmament that kept it hidden?

I’d hiked three miles, but from where I stood, I couldn’t see the oasis or the cross Zuriel had talked about. It could be in a valley, or it was too far for my human eyes to see.

Keep pushing.

I moved past the sign, expecting a canyon to open up and for demons to climb out of it. I’d wanted to ask how far Killian had made it before he got possessed, but that would’ve been suspicious. Professor Beale and Zuriel seemed too sharp to risk it.

The wind whispered over the sand. If I focused on it too much, words would form.

By the fifth mile, the dunes leveled out. My legs were weighing heavy and the moon had shrunk to another quadrant in the freckled sky. Standing tall in spite of the desert’s unforgiveness was an acacia tree with a thick canopy.

I dropped my bag next to the trunk and leaned against it, finding comfort on the frigid, mud-cracked ground. I reached in my bag, cracked open the first water bottle, and chugged it between bites of a gummy protein bar.

Keeping my stiff right hand on my katana’s hilt, I closed my eyes. As I settled, exhaustion weighed me down. Dull pain pulsed through my joints, and every shiver sent sharp pangs through my muscles. Even so, the gentle wind brushing sand across the desert lulled me to sleep.

A dry scrape.

I jolted awake and pulled my sword from its saya.

“Whoa! Chill, Cara!” Iris jumped back, holding her arms out. “I was just checking to see if you were dead.”

The sun gilded her tan skin, close to the brass angels. The morning temperature still had a slight chill, but my shivering had stopped.

I froze, still pointing the blade at her. I rose from the ground.

“Am I?” I asked with narrowed eyes, adjusting my weakened grip on the sword.

Tears threatened to overwhelm me at the sight of her. She was healthy and glowing, as if Selah or someone else had dropped her right here to keep me company.

Or I’d died of hypothermia.

“No,” Iris laughed, and frowned at the blade. “Are you gonna put that down, or…?”

“How are you here?” I croaked.

Iris wasn’t even dressed for the desert, or for winter for that matter. She wore ripped jean shorts and a tank top, as if it were ninety degrees. Her white canvas shoes were rust-stained from the sand.

“A friend brought me. I woke up in the hospital after you left. They said my heart stopped for an hour. It’s a miracle!”

“Who?” My arm burned from holding up the sword. With my free hand, I reached down for my bag and slung it over my shoulder, then switched hands to loop my arm through the other strap. I side-stepped away from the tree so I couldn’t be cornered.

Iris pressed her hands against her chest with a dramatic gasp. “Why are you still threatening me? It’s me, Care Bear!”

She moved like Iris. Sounded like her. She even knew about the hospital.

“You still didn’t answer my question,” I said, returning both hands to the hilt. “And I’ve been tricked once before.”

Hope wanted to swell in my chest. But it just seemed too good.

“I don’t remember! Okay? I was in the hospital one minute, blacked out, then I woke up here!” she exclaimed.

Selah had put me to sleep before she brought me here.

My shoulders fell with a somber smile and I sheathed my katana. “Of course, I’m just… tired and paranoid.”

I extended my arms for a hug, the tears finally streaming down my cheeks. Iris took a hesitant step and looked at my wrists warily, hugging herself.

“Yeah… that’s what I thought.”

I snatched the katana from its saya and Iris’ face contorted into that of a grey, bald beast with horns along her cheekbones and temples. She swung her taloned hand and my blade sliced through it. She squealed, cracks traveling up her arm like those in the ground we stood on.

“How did you know?” she howled, gripping her decaying forearm. Her detached hand flopped in the dirt.

I held up my wrist and shimmied the bracelet. It softly rustled like puka-shell jewelry.

“You will die out here, mortal. No Guardian or Angel of Death is coming to save you. And those bracelets? Cheap toys. You will never make it to the cross.” She pounced.

My sword clattered to the ground. Her skin began to disintegrate as she pinned me down, wrapping a weak, clawed hand around my neck. Instead of prying her hand away, I ripped one of the bracelets off and shoved it in her mouth, her fangs slicing across the back of my hand. I jerked back and she fell off of me, coughing and whimpering like a dog. Swirls of smoke coiled from her mouth as boils flared across her face.

“You killed my friend, and then you impersonate her like I’m some kind of idiot?” I shouted, picking my sword back up. “You’re gonna make me watch her die twice?” I slashed downward and watched the demon’s body crumple into yellow ash. The wind blew the pile away, dispersing the ash across the desert.

I fell to my knees, shoulders trembling as despair erupted from my core. Dust and sand caked into the festering wound in my hand, clotting the blood. My hand twitched and burned as if my blood cells were turning to shards of glass as the demonic toxins invaded my veins.

My anguished cries turned to panicked sniffles as I frantically dug through my backpack for the blessed salt. I popped open the cork top and dusted the salt over my wound with a yelp. Shoving my shirt collar between my teeth, I bit down and held on to my wrist. I tightened my grip around my sword with my left hand and curled in the fetal position on the ground, waiting for the moment I’d have to amputate.

God, please let this salt purify my hand.

The sensation dulled to a throb. I sat up, coughing and slapping the dust from my gaiter.

There were only a few swallows left from the first water bottle I’d opened, and I emptied the rest over my hand. The flesh around the wound wasn’t necrotized anymore, and my veins were back to teal. I tore a strip from the bottom of my top-layer shirt and wrapped the fabric around my hand to protect the open wound.

A loud breath of relief rushed past my teeth. I continued my journey north.

The clement desert air turned crisp as the sun waned, with gusts picking up speed. By the time I had spent my first full day out here, I dragged my feet over the swaying ground, my head bobbled, and the sky split into two full moons. It was no longer sand or a dry riverbed I walked across, but a bed of knives.

Smacking my chapped lips, I cracked open another water bottle, pulled down my gaiter, and went against my better judgment to conserve my resources. I searched my bag for another just to be greeted by a pile of empty plastic bottles.

When did I drink all of them?

Three layers of shirts and pants weren’t enough. The nylon provided little warmth over my face, and instead served as a snot trap.

I let the backpack slip from my shoulders again and stumbled to my knees. Tucking my hands under my armpits, I leaned back and blew arctic smoke from my lips.

Am I still heading north?

I doubled over, pressing my forehead against the brittle ground with a quivering chuckle. “Boy, it’d sure be crazy if I went the wrong way.”

What if the cross can only be seen by students authorized to come out here?

I sat up and squinted at the tiny silhouettes of palm trees in the distance.

My heart leaped, and I lurched right to my feet. I scooped up my backpack and broke into a loose jog, icy dust piercing my lungs.

The moonlight revealed date palms and fig trees surrounding a small lake. I laughed and ran to the edge of the water, immediately cupping my numb hands and splashing my face. The water soaked through my bandage, and soothed the inflamed cuts on the back of it. I cupped more, slurping water chilled by the night. I grabbed a couple empty water bottles and began refilling them.

“Look how much you’ve grown.”

I froze, sobering from the intoxicating exhaustion.

I stood, but didn’t turn around.

An enemy stood at my back, and one of the first rules Dad had taught me was to never let them stay there for too long. Aside from my right hand clasping my katana in its sheath, my body had disconnected from my common sense.

I should’ve turned around the second I heard another voice.

But he was the monster that lurked under my bed, in my closet, and in my nightmares.

He was a demon hidden among lambs in the place I’d once called home.

A wolf that would’ve devoured me, had I not clipped his paw.

“Mr. Dale,” I choked out.

He’s dead. It’s the desert playing tricks. It’s a demon. Turn. Around.

“Wow, I’m surprised you remembered me. You never came back to say sorry,” he said, and took two heavy footsteps closer.

“You’re dead,” I said. The ice cream had been nonexistent in the warehouse. It hadn’t even been a warehouse, but a rotted old barn leaning to the side in the middle of a prairie.

“Look at me, girl.” Two more steps.

My knees unlocked and I ran along the bank. I brandished my sword, and Mr. Dale grinned. The same, twisted smile he’d used when he thought he had me.

“You think a Reaper is enough to erase my memory?” He crept forward, glaring at me from beneath his brows. I continued to back away with trembling knees. “I’ll always be with you, Cara. In your sleep, when you’re awake. I’ll be there when you think you’ve pushed everyone away. I’ll even be there when you wait for Death to come take your soul.”

Mr. Dale’s grin stretched beyond its capabilities, reaching the edges of his jaw. Obsidian fingers reached out of his mouth and split his head open, and a demon climbed out. I saw a slow, undulating ripple glide across the lake’s surface out of the corner of my eye, and a hairless, emaciated creature emerged from its depths. Its ribs and vertebrae protruded through its skin.

A sinkhole formed behind me, with a bone-colored demon climbing its way to the surface. Its face was covered in hundreds of eyes, but a fanged mouth formed at its chin.

“I-In nomine Iesu,” I said, tripping over the pronunciation. The demons chuckled, closing in. I turned in a small circle, swinging my sword at them. “I rebuke you!”

Why aren’t the myrrh bracelets working?

I turned to face the ivory demon and the demon wearing Mr. Dale’s face yanked me back by my gaiter. I spun around, slicing through charred flesh and bone. Its arm landed with a thud and dried out. The other two demons charged at once and I ducked between them. They collided, and I dragged my blade across the back of the water demon, then drove it through the heart of the desert one.

More demons swelled out of the water and sand. I sheathed my sword and dashed to my backpack at the edge of the lake, snatching it up and gunning for the lifeless expanse beyond the oasis.

Then a silhouette carried by four wings flew across the moon and dove toward me. I ducked, and a familiar violet blade flashed across the demon’s faces. Black blood sizzled against the sand, heads and bodies thudding to the ground.

Akuma moved across the masses like a mercenary, death and decay at his fingertips. He roared against them with his glowing blade streaking the night in neon stripes. Droves of demons retreated back to the lake. He shot into the sky above, his ōdachi raised to pierce the atmosphere. Violet lightning flashed to the ground and the remaining demons imploded.

Akuma landed in front of me, wearing the oni mask. He reached to touch my face, searching my eyes with pinched brows. My racing heart refusing to slow down, even in his presence.

“A-are you real?” I pressed my hands against his chest. Solid form, not Selah’s smoky projection in the catacombs. My bracelets should have triggered some pain. Surely, a demon couldn’t disguise themselves as a Reaper or an Angel of Death. If they could, he would most certainly be the death of me.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked.

“I-I have to find the cross—” I stopped myself. His eyes were bloodshot. As if his irises were made of water, their wolfsbane and mercurial color swirled around wide pupils.

Akuma raised his gaze to the sky and stepped away from me. “You still have time.”

His hands twitched and he stuffed them in his pockets.

“I’ll be watching,” he added, and shot into the sky. He disappeared among wispy clouds.

I wanted to bring dates and figs with me, but I didn’t want to attract more demons around the oasis by getting closer to it after he had destroyed so many demons.

I pushed forward with an uneasiness settling in my core. The flattened ground grew into more dunes. My legs wept at the steep elevation, boots sinking in the sand. In the middle of the incline, I sifted through my bag for one more protein bar and then dug a little ledge to sit in while every limb throbbed.

You still have time.

Until when? As far as I knew, Venators didn’t have a time limit to reach the cross, and even if they did, I was already out here doing my own trial without anyone timing me.

How did Akuma know where to find me?

Something didn’t feel quite right.

I’ll be watching.

Maybe he had been watching my entire trip. Maybe I didn’t need to do any of this in the first place. Clearly Liam hadn’t hurt him again; he was all in one piece.

I dreaded the consequences at Sinai Monastery for leaving too early. The worst-case scenario was expulsion, but I didn’t like the idea of spending four years there either.

I packed away my trash and continued hiking the dune. Once I finally reached the peak of the slippery mountain, a tsunami of euphoria crashed into my chest.

There… in the middle of the valley, beneath an acacia tree, was the cross.

The cross was a lot taller up close. It towered at ten feet, carved out of acacia wood itself with the same foreign symbols on our blessed weapons etched into it. I traced the engravings and pressed my forehead against the wood.

“Thank you, Lord,” I whispered, hot tears streaking down my face. If it weren’t for Zuriel, I probably would have given up before the oasis.

Heavy sweeping fluttered behind me, followed by a light thud. I turned, expecting a Guardian with the seal of the Venator. Maybe a light scolding, but still an acknowledgment that I passed the trial and could go back to Lumis.

Instead, it was Akuma, skin darkened to slate with reptilian scales covering his skin and shadows pooling in his eye sockets.

In a chorus of guttural growls, he said, “It’s time to go, Cara.”

I scurried behind the acacia cross and unsheathed my katana.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whimpered. Could possession manifest differently in an Angel of Death, or was this what domination looked like?

I tried to picture the paragraphs of information from the Exorcism 101 textbook, but I could see nothing but a blank page.

And nothing but a dark echo of the man I had an achingly deep fondness for.

I sniveled, tightening my grip on the sword. I shifted my focus to the demon lurking within him. “What’s your name?”

Akuma moved his head in a feral tilt. “Which one?”

He closed the distance between us until the tip of my katana pressed into his shirt. He grabbed the sharp steel and squeezed until the blade snapped in two. I gasped, and reached for the oil in my backpack’s side pocket.

Purple light flashed behind me, and Akuma shoved me backward. I hurtled through a levitating gateway, trading sand for prickly grass and exposed roots. He stepped through after me and the desert behind the portal winked away.

“Oh, ho ho!” Liam hollered, and wrapped his arms around my shoulders to lift me from the ground.

I bashed the back of my head against his face, spun, then kicked him in the stomach. Liam fell back against a headstone. Before he could take a breath, I lunged for him. But instead of my fist making contact with his face, my entire body locked in place. I grunted against the invisible shackles and looked up to see Akuma raising his hand toward me. Purple and black tendrils of energy churned from the center of his palm. His head twitched as he peered up at me from beneath his brow with hollow obsidian and purple eyes.

“Good job,” Lucien said as he appeared out of nowhere, patting him on the shoulder. Akuma growled lowly, but never broke eye contact with me.

Liam sucked his teeth before he spat blood in my face and called me an obscenity. He grabbed my face, his short, jagged nails biting into my cheeks.

“You should’ve respected me,” he growled. “Now, I’m gonna enjoy watching you get killed by the one you love.”

I couldn’t yank my head away from his grip. I ground my molars with fury rumbling within.

“What… did you do to him?” I strained.

Lucien waved his hand dismissively, and Liam moved away from me.

“The Angel of Death was getting stronger. Liam wasn’t as good as his father at keeping Akuma under control, so I stepped in before he could sever the bond on his own.” Lucien glanced at the sky and turned to Akuma.

“Tie her up,” he commanded.

Akuma released me, but not a second sooner he scooped me up and slammed me onto a stone table. Nylon ropes snaked on either side of the table and coiled around my wrists and ankles, forcing my limbs to stretch outward.

“In nomine Iesu!” I screamed.

Akuma shot his hands up to his ears with a cacophonous roar, then shot a flare of energy at me. A gag pulled tight between my lips, pressing against my tongue. He prowled around the table, scowling at me as if I had just driven a dagger into his back.

Tea candles simultaneously illuminated around the stone table. I tugged on the ropes, but the knots tightened. I swiveled my head side-to-side. The full moon hovered above us in a forgotten cemetery. Overgrown weeds and vines choked the cracking and tilting headstones. The woods surrounded us, an audience of coyotes howling and yipping.

“I admire you, Cara. You and your Venator lineage always fought to change the world,” Lucien began, twirling a silver snake dagger on its blade tip atop the table. “You’ll still be able to do that tonight, just in the way I want it changed. I’ll be sure to let your family know that you fought bravely before Akuma sweeps them off the Earth.”

Chapter 56

Akuma

“You are My battle-ax and weapons of war: For with you I will break the nation in pieces; With you I will destroy kingdoms.”

—Jeremiah 51:20, NKJV

The world outside was muffled and small, like peering through the small window of an instant camera.

In the middle of an abandoned cemetery, Cara writhed against the nylon rope I had tied to her wrists and ankles at each corner of a cracked tombstone table. She gnashed her teeth down on a gag, attempting to speak a three-word phrase.

Lit tea candles and sprigs of hemlock formed a circle around her. Liam passed a silver dagger to Lucien, the steel blinking at various angles in the moonlight.

I’d had control of the wheel long enough to save Cara from the horde of demons at the oasis. Then I became trapped in the void of my mind, at the center of a vortex of flying demons. They screeched with thousands of overlapping voices that drowned out my own.

You’re nothing but a puppet.

Weak.

Suffocate under your sins.

Your hands will never be clean.

You will always belong to us!

My wings were gone, and I was diminished to just a mundane accountant in a sweater vest and trousers. Curled in fetal position, I covered my ears and gnashed my teeth.

The wind was so strong that it sucked the breath from my lungs.

I rolled onto my back, peering through the window above the vortex. It showed the world outside my body, but I had no control as I kept Cara bound at Lucien’s mercy. The cyclone pinned me into the transparent floor with crushing pressure. The same crushing weight I had been carrying since my murder.

My ire was an infinite fountain, pouring into every last piece of my soul until I became unrecognizable. I had sacrificed resting in peace for war, rebelled against the duties of a Reaper, and now?

The destruction of the world rested in my hands—except all the kind souls would fall with it.

That wasn’t what I wanted.

Lucien stood at Cara’s head, extending his palms at his sides as the eclipse cast the shadows in crimson. He closed his eyes, lips moving inaudibly. The soft flames of the candles danced faster, then tinted scarlet.

Akuma.

A quiet voice. Gentle and sweet, like mist.

Like my mother.

A sacrifice has already been made. You do not have to punish yourself anymore.

Closer now, in my ear and breaking through the demonic howls.

He’s waiting for you to release your bitterness and to forgive yourself.

I groaned, tears floating from my eyes as the window to the outside world shrank.

You are an Angel of Death with a purpose. But first, you have a new choice, Akuma.

Choice? My choices had ruined my life, and my death.

Bondage… or freedom.

The window was only a pinprick now. Lucien raised the dagger over his head, wrapping both hands around the hilt.

I closed my eyes and held my breath.

Freedom was all I wanted. Released from the Mark, and at peace with Cara. I’d help her embrace her legacy as a Venator, saving humans from the corruption of demons—one soul at a time.

The pressure from the demonic cyclone began to lift.

Call on Him.

“J-Jesus—” I choked out. The demons froze in time.

Lucien’s dagger aimed for Cara’s heart. Her eyes rolled back, spine arching toward it as her body attempted to levitate, but the ropes anchored her to the stone table.

In my next rush of breath, I howled, “Release me!”

The demons barreled toward me in a torrent of shrieks. I held up my palm, and my ōdachi materialized with a spew of jagged lightning. Those on the front lines seized, twisted, and dissolved. Others piled on to stifle my power. I pushed back, amethyst flames engulfing my body. They singed away the wool sweater and the Mark on my arm. My wings reemerged like a phoenix, argon veins aglow. Roaring, I propelled myself higher and shoved the demons toward the window.

The world was no longer muffled or shrunken behind a camera lens. Plumes of volcanic ash erupted from my throat, choking my view of the moon and flooding the sky with discordant roars.

“I order you to shut your mouth!” Liam bellowed. From the corner of my eye, I saw him charge at me. I threw him back with a sonic wave while I continued to expel demons from within.

No bite or burn scoured my forearm from resisting his words. I rolled my sleeve up and was met with blank, desaturated skin. Foreign symbols similar to Death’s brands appeared to replace the Mark.

I hunched over a slab of stone on my hands and knees, retching tar after the last demon fled from my body.

The dagger clanged onto the table as Lucien shed his skin, revealing the ram horns and demonic wings underneath. Cara’s body flattened against the table. I swept my arm, loosening her binds just before Lucien tackled me and took flight, carrying me with him. Cara watched with the dagger in her hand, gaping at me in horror.

“Behind you!” I bellowed, and she spun seconds before Liam attacked her.

I twisted out of Lucien’s scalding grip and summoned my ōdachi. As I fell, I tensed my back muscles to regain control of my wings and thrust upward in a corkscrew pattern.

Lucien dove under my blade. He laughed, flashing his fangs as shadows of ebony and crimson flowed around his membranous wings. They coagulated and stretched around us in a murky sphere. The atmosphere within became humid and acrid, smelling like burnt hair, and the wind picked up speed. Eerie howls surrounded us.

Lucien bared his fangs in a disgusted grimace. “You think you’ve won? You were a mere vessel so thousands of my children could escape the Nether.”

The triumph was siphoned from my bones, replaced by regret.

I should’ve known freedom had a price.

“I guess I’ll just have to send them back home then, huh?” Lightning spewed from my ōdachi, piercing through the sphere. “Starting with you.”

An obsidian rapier appeared in Lucien’s hands, charcoal clouds gathering above to reform another sphere around us. We charged at each other, and the collision of our blades shook the atmosphere in a thunderous clap.

Lucien jammed his knee into my abdomen. I bounced off the edge of the sphere, the raging shadows as sharp as glass and slicing my wings. Flinching away with a grunt, I swept my wings back and hardened my feathers. I flung the daggers at him. He closed a fist, and half imploded to frit as the rest rebounded toward me. I barrel-rolled out of the way, but some still embedded themselves in my wings. They twitched, spasming as I struggled to hold myself up.

Lucien sank his claws into my injured wing. Each time I tried to jerk away, he tightened his grip.

He grabbed my neck with his free hand and whispered, “Hear that?”

Wails broke through the shadows.

“Liam is finishing the job for me,” Lucien continued, and slung me across the sphere.

I broke through the wall, my skin slashed into ribbons before I tumbled across the clearing and into a scarlet portal. I continued to fall, dragging across a steep decline in the forest floor. Trees splintered and boulders crumbled at my impact. I tumbled down a steep bank and slammed into the riverbed.

I twitched as each cut stitched back together. Through the canopy, the moon bled brighter.

It smelled different here—like petrichor. The snow was absent, replaced by thick fog and soggy leaves from massive redwoods.

I peeled myself from the ground, sitting up on my knees. Cara’s screams still echoed.

Summoning my ōdachi again, I raised it to create a portal—but only a spark flashed.

“Cara!” I bellowed.

A branched snapped, and I whirled with my blade flaring brighter. My spine steeled.

My father, whom I hadn’t seen since he’d left my mother and me, stepped from behind a tree trunk. He wore a rucksack with a rolled sleeping bag tied down on top of it. Shallow wrinkles lined the corners of his mouth and his deep-set eyes.

“Akuma?” His eyes bulged, swinging like a pendulum from my bare face to my wings. “I-is that you, son?”

Son?

I scoffed in disbelief.

No son of mine is going to stand there, let a boy his age stomp on his diorama, and not fight back!

You’re just like your mother. Weak. The only difference is that she can’t control her weakness.

I took a step back, my first instinct telling me to use my ōdachi against the first bully of my life—Kaito Tanaka.

But I didn’t. He might have been a heartless man, but evil was a strong word. After so many years… he could have changed.

“That’s not my name,” I said firmly. I flicked my blade again to trigger a gateway.

What did Lucien do to me?

My father dragged the rucksack straps off his shoulders and propped it against the tree, inching closer. “What are you?”

“Don’t come any closer,” I threatened.

For a mortal in the presence of a four-winged angel, his heart rate was steady. Dirt caked his hands, and he wore a silver wedding band. Bright red scrapes marked his knees. He still had that dark birthmark on his temple. It was Kaito, down to the last detail.

More cries pierced the forest, sounding as if they came from the trees themselves.

He paused five feet from me and rested his hand over his chest before bowing deeply. “I’m sorry for everything I said to you, Akuma. I always wanted to apologize, but Hinata never let me reach out to you after I left. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you.”

Beneath his thinning sable hair were two shallow knots protruding from his frontal bone.

A rush of relief hissed past my lips, and my sword hummed back to life. “He’d never apologize.”

I swiped the ōdachi’s razor edge over his shoulder. He threw his head back with a roar, chasing flocks of birds out of the trees. Viscous black blood spurted from the wound. His human form disintegrated, revealing a skeletal demon with tiny horns. It sprang from all fours and tackled me through a portal in a nearby tree trunk.

We were back in the sphere, hurtling toward the bottom of the razor vortex. Lucien laughed as the demon sprouted wings and drove me toward the wall of the sphere. I tore its other arm from its collarbone and shot to the ceiling, dragging the demon across the wall until the shadows devoured it.

Lucien barreled at my back, and I dove to the side, dragging my blade across the webbing of his wing. He wailed in a demonic roar and raised his rapier. Our blades clashed, shaking the Earth with each strike. He struck his elbow against my jaw and jabbed his blade through my top wing’s pinion.

“You thought you could save her? The world? All you were ever good at was balancing ledgers.” He laughed. “She’s dead, Akuma! You’ve lost!”

I backflipped off his chest and staggered in the air with ragged pants. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He would’ve killed me by now if that were the case. Liam didn’t stand a chance against Cara.

“See for yourself,” Lucien said, and pointed his blade at the wall. The shadows parted. Below, Cara’s body sprawled across the tombstone table. Scarlet stained the stone, streaming from her body and painting the hemlock at the base. Liam stood above her head, wiping the dagger on his coat sleeve.

Then a golden orb rose from her chest, waiting to be harvested.

My vision slanted, tinted fuchsia. Flames of the same color erupted across my wings, erasing the pain of my injuries. My veins glowed radioactive.

He used my father as a distraction.

I was too late.

Lucien swung his rapier in a downward arc, aiming to cut off my left wing. With a bellowing roar, I whirled, ripped open a portal between us, and appeared behind him. I drove my blade between his wings and through his chest.

The cyclonic sphere dissipated. Lucien wheezed, and his body hardened to porcelain. Cracks branched from the wound.

“The biggest deception,” Lucien began hoarsely, “is that you still believe you’re free.”

“I am ruled by a different master,” I growled in an unrecognizable, monstrous voice. “The one you are doomed to lose against.”

I twisted the ōdachi, and Lucien fragmented, every piece absorbed into my blade.

Chapter 57

Cara

“For many are called, but few are chosen.”

—Matthew 22:14, NKJV

The column of demonic smoke that left Akuma’s body took form as oversized bats, dispersing across the sky in every direction. The taut resistance holding my arms down fell away, and I swiped the silver dagger before rolling off the table. Lucien flashed to Akuma, a three-dimensional shadow punctuated by crimson hair and ebony wings. They both took to the skies, Akuma’s wings flailing wildly. His voice rang out, “Behind you!”

Liam swung with a grunt. I whirled and ducked beneath the tree limb.

“You’re not taking my immortality away from me!” he shouted, swinging the branch again. “I’ll harvest your soul myself!”

I dove under it and grappled his waist. We tumbled in patchy snow and damp leaves. Liam landed on top and straddled my waist, pinning my wrists down. The dagger was flung from my palm, clattering across a granite slab.

“Didn’t think I’d have you here under these circumstances,” he said breathlessly.

Beyond his shoulder, a dark sphere stained by the blood moon floated in the sky, lit with occasional flashes of amethyst lightning. The dagger glinted near my face and I caught Liam’s wrist, stopping the blade inches from my cheek.

I strained beneath him. “You killed Iris!”

“Yeah, that was my bad.”

Liam leaned forward to bear more weight down on me. I thrust my hips upward and knocked him off balance. I locked my arms around his left arm and curled my leg around his left leg, then twisted. Liam wrapped his legs around my waist, but I snatched the dagger from his hand. Every time Liam blocked me from piercing his chest, I sliced his forearms instead.

Liam let me go and kicked me in the ribs. I gasped, white light flaring across my vision. He pressed his knee into my back, squeezing more oxygen from my lungs. Forcing my head back by my one of my braids, he positioned the curved dagger at my throat.

“Why stop at immortality? There’s still some time under totality. Maybe when I kill a Venator under the eclipse, I’ll become even more powerful than Akuma,” Liam said. I hooked my leg around one of his, poised to knock him off balance again.

The candles snuffed out. I winced as the edge of the blade bit into my neck, and warm blood dripping from the cut.

A sonic boom ripped through the sky. The clamor of swords had been silenced. And in Liam’s distraction—I twisted, throwing him to the side. I plucked the dagger from his grasp with swift precision and jabbed it into his side. Liam howled, wrapping his hand around my neck. I yanked the blade out, only to strike in the same spot.

A frigid gust of wind washed over us, and I raised the dagger over my head for a third strike to the heart.

“Wait,” Akuma’s quiet voice interjected.

I froze. I jumped off Liam and pointed the dagger at Akuma instead. He held his side, feathers ruffled and scarred face weary. His eyes weren’t coals anymore, and the scales were gone.

Akuma pulled me into a tight embrace, trembling against me. He held my face as if seeing it for the first time in years. Inky tendrils streaked his cheeks as if he wept tears of tar. With a brittle voice, he said, “I… watched you die.”

“Get away from her, freak,” Liam strained.

The warm tenderness across Akuma’s face shifted to malevolence.

“Give him the dagger,” he uttered in a menacing command.

“Why would I do that?” I asked. “He killed Iris!”

Liam whimpered as he crawled away, a hand pressed against his wounds.

Akuma raised his palm. An invisible hand pulled the dagger from my grasp and floated it toward Liam. It landed next to Liam’s thigh with a thump. “I want him to know what it feels like.”

Violet rays sparked from his hand, and Liam’s body went rigid, the beady sapphires of his eyes trembling in their sockets. Akuma slowly turned his hand, and Liam rolled onto his back in tandem. He strained against Akuma’s power with sharp pants, arteries threatening to burst in his neck. He reached for the snake-covered hilt of the dagger in the snow.

“P-please… d-don’t do this to me. L-Lucien made me⁠—”

Akuma snapped his fist shut, and Liam plunged the dagger through his own neck.

I gasped at his fingers limply slipping from the hilt to flop at his side. Droplets of blood dripped from his hand and stained the snow like rose petals.

Akuma turned to face me.

“I’m free,” he said, half of his lips stretching into a wide grin. He rolled his sleeve and exposed his forearm. The inflamed brand was gone, replaced by the same markings that were etched into my katana. “We’re free!”

Liam had tormented both of us for years. With his lifeless body crumpled in the snow, dagger still lodged in his throat… there was relief, but there was still an emptiness. His death didn’t bring Iris back. His blood was just polluting the soil beneath the snow.

But Liam couldn’t hurt anyone ever again.

We’re free.

I tackled Akuma and pressed my face against his chest, hot tears soaking through his shirt. He wrapped his wings around me, resting his cheek on top of my head.

Solid arms, fortified wings—the security that once felt foreign was now home.

Rising on my toes, I pressed my lips softly against his. They were made of ice, a kiss by winter itself. Akuma stiffened, flinching away to spare me his exposed teeth. I rejected his shame; I shook my head and locked my arms around his neck. With a quivering breath, he lifted me to draw us closer, and I coiled my legs around his waist. With every kiss, bites wove into softness as his exposed teeth competed with his lips. His wings continued to shut out the savage universe and left us in quiet darkness. He pulled back only a fraction, feathers ruffling as his celestial gaze scorched mine.

“I love you, Cara,” Akuma breathed with intense reverence. “In life and in death… I will always love you.”

Tears warped his face and I pressed my forehead against his, my voice fragmenting. “Forevermore.”

It only took two steps to go from the forgotten cemetery to somewhere across the country where the world became a mirror. I gasped at the constellations gleaming above and below us. Gentle ripples swam across the shallow water from our steps. The salt flats smelled of brine, as if we stood in the heart of the ocean.

“I never gave you that date at The Black Pearl,” Akuma said. “I discovered this place during the travels when I brought you that flower.”

“The Black Pearl could never come close to this,” I said with a laugh. It finally hit me that when he’d said he “flew” to the Bahamas, he had been referring to his wings and not an airplane.

Amazing.

“This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.” I ambled across the rippling glass, Akuma trailing behind me.

“I… I want you to know I meant every word, and I never want to be put in a position where I might hurt you again,” he began.

I paused and turned to face him with a concerned frown.

“You’re not pushing me away again,” I said firmly.

Akuma shook his head, and grabbed my hands. Rubbing the back of my hands with his leather-clad thumbs, he kept his gaze down. A fist wrapped around my heart and I held my breath.

“You know my true name… and as much as I want to bury it here, where no one is listening for it, I know it’s impossible. I-If Lucien ever comes back, I can’t let him get that close again. What if someone has enough power to control me as an Angel of Death? How can I join God’s war against demons, if my name is a shackle?” He grimaced, as if it physically hurt to suppress whatever statement he was leading up to.

“What are you saying?” I asked, eyebrows cinching further.

He let go of one of my hands to caress my jawline. “Who I was, who I am—you never ran away from me, even when you should’ve. If I should be bound to anyone, I’d want you.”

The words tore through my chest. The fist around my heart squeezed tighter.

“A Summoning is forbidden,” I whispered, as if saying the ritual itself would split the salt flats and expose Hell itself.

“This isn’t a Summoning. I’m already here,” he said. “It’s a Covenant.”

I stepped back, shallow breaths growing louder. Crossing my arms, I chewed on my thumbnail pensively. From what I vaguely remembered reading about a Covenant… if I agreed, we wouldn’t have to worry about anyone using his name. I’d never have to witness him sacrifice himself for my sake.

With a deep breath of conviction, I grabbed his hands again. “Let’s do it.”

All four of Akuma’s wings snapped shut around us. He placed a hand over his chest, and neon violet light spilled free from beneath it. Then he exposed his palm, revealing a black pearl.

“The last piece of my soul,” he said. More light refracted and welded, shifting the pearl into a black ring with titanic strength. The Venator insignia was carved around its exterior. I picked it up, tilting it at various angles to read the interior inscription.

Yours, forevermore.

The edges of my vision blurred as I slid the ring on my finger. Akuma cradled my face, breath hitching before our lips of fire and ice melded together.

When dawn awakened at the salt flats, Akuma portaled us to New Bethel. A woman stood at the entrance, possessing one wing identical to Lucien’s and another feathered and white. I tensed, and Akuma rested his hand on my lower back.

Mavet—Maiden of Death.

“Why is she here?” I muttered.

“I am here to congratulate you both on preventing an apocalypse, but also to warn Cara to brace herself for some news you may not be prepared for.” She entered the church, and I chewed on my lip as we followed her inside.

Selah stormed across the nave, stopping us at the front doors. Flames flashed higher on her wings as if kerosene had been splashed on them.

“Do you realize what you have done?” she snapped. She didn’t raise her voice, but it was the kind of scolding that hurt worse than it sounded. I merely lowered my gaze to my shoes.

Akuma tilted his head. “What are you talking about? We stopped Lucien and Liam from destroying the world.”

“Cara deserted Sinai Monastery and embarked on an unsanctioned trial,” Selah said. She clasped her hands in front of her. “The Council is discussing stripping you of access to the monastery.”

I snapped my head back up. “Are you serious? But I reached the cross! I still want to hunt, Selah. I only left because there was no time!”

“If you’d kept her hidden at Sinai, you would have brought Lucien right to your doorstep. Perhaps lost more potential Venators to his attacks,” Mavet cut in coolly, admiring a dove perched on her shoulder.

“They refuse to grant her the seal without proper training.”

“So train her,” Akuma said firmly. “We’ll work together. What Venator do you know has an Angel of Death in their arsenal?”

“It’s not up to me, Reaper,” Selah said. Water sloshed at her feet as she moved away and sank into a pew.

“She does not need their seal, Selah. God uses whom He wills,” Mavet said. “He does not care if she carries the prestigious Venator title if she does the same work.”

I squeezed past Selah’s knees and sat next to her. “What do I need to do to fix this?”

“I am forbidden to train anyone outside of the program,” Selah said, and turned to face me stiffly.

“Then I will,” Mavet said with a shrug. The dove flew from her shoulder and joined the others on the podium.

“Wow. That’s not very neutral of you,” Akuma teased.

“On the contrary… if you wish to clean up the mess you made by releasing all those demons into the world, then it is only right to make sure the playing field is fair. To do that, Cara must be ready.” Those burning white eyes met mine, and I rose from the pew with resolve.

“I promise I’ll do everything right,” I said. “I’ll go at whatever pace I’m supposed to go.”

Selah’s fire bounced off her brass face, sparkling with bittersweet delight.

Rising from the pew, she pulled me to Akuma’s side and pressed her hands over our foreheads. Selah muttered in an otherworldly language, white light broadening from her palms and forcing me to close my eyes.

A warm radiance washed over me, and when the redness in my eyelids darkened to black, I reopened my eyes with a gasp.

The gaping hole in Akuma’s cheek was sealed, replaced by dark brown scars that mimicked lightning and stretched from his jawline to his cheekbone. I caressed his face, rubbing my thumb against the scars. Akuma smiled—a full, symmetrical grin that glowed with life.

He placed his hand on top of mine with a relieved breath. “Thank you, Selah.”

“God be with you both,” Selah said with an exhausted sigh.

As I stood in the nave of an ethereal church, in the presence of a Guardian, an Angel of Death, and Death herself, I knew.

My normal was never meant to be filling a billionaire’s pocket. I was never meant to keep my head down, hoarding pistols in various concealed places in my apartment. I just wished—ached—that normalcy at least included Iris.

But my normal was always going to be the life of a warrior. Whether or not I had a seal to prove it, I was a Venator. No one, not even the Council, could take that from me. It was my destiny.

And as unconventional as we might have been, Akuma and I were going to embrace the light anyway—and save one soul at a time.

Acknowledgments

As always, I want to give thanks to God. Fire & Brimstone presented a unique challenge. Starting from a kernel of an idea in high school around 2015-16, it grew into a brief comic on Tapas and then Webtoon during college, and then was completely abandoned for years. When I finally returned to this project in 2025, I faced mental health battles and countless moments of writer’s block in the last six months leading up to this publication. Seven drafts. Questioning every step of the way. I can’t count how many times I almost gave up on it entirely, but I believe God gave me that extra push. There’s a reason the story never left my heart.

I want to thank my family for all their support and encouragement, whether it was through in-person book events or the dark days. I can’t imagine where I would be without them.

A huge thanks to my line/copy editor, Raistlyn Camphuysen! From constructive criticism to highlights, you have genuinely helped me work towards improving my craft for future projects and open my mind to more possibilities. I am so, so glad that we crossed paths!

And finally—thank you to my beta readers, my ARC readers, and the future readers who have been helping me fulfill my author dreams. I am forever grateful to you, and I can’t wait to bring more magical worlds to life for you.

Also by Talia Wall

The Nightshades (Book 1 of Until Equinox)

The Bleeding Hearts (Book 2 of Until Equinox)

The Oleander (Book 3 of Until Equinox)

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Thank you for reading!

If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. Reviews are extremely helpful for indie authors to gain more exposure, and help readers decide on their next reads!

Fire & Brimstone

About the Author

Talia Wall spent most of her life in North Carolina. She’s not only an author who loves blending genres, but also an artist. She has an adoring husband and a Persian cat named Thor who often interrupts her writing sessions. When she’s not busy with her head in the clouds and plotting the next adventure, she’s with her family, reading, or playing video games.

Social Media Handles

Artist TikTok & Instagram: @wallflwr23

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Website: www.taliawall.com

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