Page 16 of The Girl Who Only Died Once

The ground is even rougher, catching against her boots, almost tripping her up. The walls are pure chipped stone, devoid of any telltale smoothness or magical residue.

This floor was done by hand. It was done by hand and without any power tools or magical guidance. It slopes downward, almost precarious, like the very earth beneath her feet has sunk over the years, deepening her towards the core with every breath.

And despite the lack of wires or lightbulbs, it’s brightly lit with the tang of demon magic.

“Neat,” she whispers, and her voice lingers in the air, echoing tinny through the twists and turns.

She’s not one to avoid using a magical spell that convenient.

The twists and turns obscure her view, and every corner is an opportunity for a trap, but none come. No blood against thefloor, no spray paint or chalk, no lines of magic for her to sweep away and break.

Almost a letdown. It should be more difficult; it should be more of a challenge. If all she needed to get the next trace is her friend is one trap, then she should’ve been able to get her sooner.

That’s a lie, of course, the sort of internal guilt trip Chloe berates herself for having as she steps over a particularly rough chunk of floor. It was impossible to get this far without her research, she can’t be kicking herself for being kneecapped for so long.

And her friend won’t be here, she has to stop hoping so strongly, this is a stop on the way to find more clues.

If she thinks her friend will be around every corner, she’ll just be disappointed for her entire life.

Dust collects in every crevice, every dip in the floor, every crack in the walls. If it wasn’t for the glistening footsteps—now two of them, where they obviously walked back to knock her out.

Interesting that they’re not just teleporting anywhere. If living next door to Ambra has taught Chloe anything, it’s that any distance for teleporting is more convenient than walking anywhere.

And then…

Chloe turns another corner in the winding, sloping hallway, and the barest scrape of sound trickles into her ears.

She freezes mid-step.

It’s the soft scuffle of someone pacing, closer than she thinks, still behind a corner or two, judging by the muffled tone.

And if she can hear them, they can hear her.

For a split second she hesitates, torn between the want for knowledge and the want to really not catch a demon by surprise. Sure, she can sneak up, but that sounds like a rather bad idea, and if the demon didn’t kill her the last time…

“Hello?” she calls out, her voice higher pitched than she wants, and the footsteps abruptly stop.

There’s no call back.

“I don’t want to surprise you,” she says, this time more confident, though her heart pounds in her throat. “Please don’t knock me out again.”

Nothing.

Breathing out softly, like that would make this any safer, she steps back out, curving around the corner, then the next, to the sudden lack of sound that sends the hair on the back of her neck raising.

Until…

She steps over some invisible barrier, and a bright flash of gold almost blinds her, before the hallway opens up, the walls disappearing in front of her, spreading out and revealing a laboratory.

Sure, the room is still hewn stone, there’s still dust on the rough ground, but a metal table shines like it’s been polished and chains dangle from the walls.

Chains, each one bespelled to contain, bespelled to restrict something that can disappear.

And in the corner, pressed against the wall like they’re attempting to blend in, is the demon from before. Still in the same generically handsome male body, still with the shifting double face teeming with power.

Chloe freezes again, but he makes no attempt to move.

In his hands is one of the cuffs, clearly broken away from one of the chains, the spell halfway untangled in the exact way Chloe had been planning on doing, sifting through the weight of the information for clues.

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