Page 26 of Light

Another thud against the door and a crack below.

The demon was hovering just out of reach, waiting for her next move, but the stinging skin at her throat made her vision blurry. Soon, she would be no match for him.

She splayed her fingers, creating balls of flame and tossed them at him. He dodged them easily and lunged for her again. This time, she was ready for him, and she pressed both hands against his face, forcing as much energy into the flame as she could. He dissolved into nothing, and she fell to her knees.

She wanted to curl up on the floor and cover her head until it was all over, but no one was coming to save her. She would have to be strong if she hoped to survive the night.

Hope. It was a word she rarely used. Hope was a thing for children. It was for those who were blind to the world's depravity and torment. She had faced a father who had wanted her dead and eight years of creatures like these. Some distant part of her mind asked if it wouldn’t be easier to let them end her.

A soft breeze at the back of her neck spoke of more to come this night. She rose unsteadily to her feet. Not tonight, she told the demons coming for her.

The next thud from the first floor sounded ominous as the door groaned.

She leaned against the wall, sliding to the floor. Breathing was becoming a chore, and dark spots dotted her vision.

She pressed both hands to her neck, saying the spell for healing.

A jolt ran through her, zapping her energy, and she slid further down. She had used too much of her life force tonight, and yet, she could feel the wards around the house humming merrily. They took and took with no regard for their toll on her.

“Jophiel,” she whispered.

Her vision darkened, and she was vaguely aware of the wind telling her a story of the night’s end. Of her end. She blinked, and the world flashed white. She blinked again, and then it was moving by at a strange angle.

When Adalaide opened her eyes, she took a long, even breath, grateful for the air filling her lungs, and stared blearily around the brightly lit space. She was in her room, buried beneath a shredded comforter, and all around her, tufts of down floated lazily in the air. She attempted to sit up, but a throbbing at her temple sent her sinking back into the blankets.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” a voice thrummed like the strings of a harp being plucked to create fine music.

She scanned the room, searching for the owner of the voice.

Jophiel moved to the bed, standing over her. “Don’t attempt to sit up, Ada.”

“I’m thirsty,” Adalaide croaked.

Jophiel nodded, leaving the room.

Alone with her thoughts, she scrambled to put the events of last night in order.

Jophiel returned with a cup of water and sat beside her on the bed.

Adalaide pushed herself up, resting her back against the headboard, and took the cup gratefully. She sipped, relishing the cool liquid against her sore throat. Although it was healed, it felt raw. It would be her constant reminder of her latest near-death encounter.

“Ada, may I be frank with you?” Jophiel said, startling her from her thoughts.

“Please,” she said, clearing her throat.

“You’re not strong enough to beat Sanura. She has innumerable creatures at her disposal, and she has the help of the Fallen. There is no outcome that ends in your favor.”

Adalaide swallowed. “You’re painting a grim picture.”

“I don’t mean to frighten you, but I can assure you there is a place for you when you die.”

The idea of death sent a jolt of fear through Adalaide. All people died. It was inevitable. But to think of it now, at twenty-three, was devastating. She had thought she had time to become… something.

“To seek your place beside your seraphim kin, you must bond with your soulmate.”

Adalaide let out a derisive laugh. “There’s no chance of that.”

Jophiel rose, looking troubled. “I will admit, he’s struggling to come round to the idea, but it is an inevitable fate... unless you die first.”

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