Page 10 of The Demon and the Burning Girl

She nods, a lock of dark hair falling over her eyes. Dust coats her cheeks, highlighting the fine lines of tension around her mouth. I recall how she faced me, bound and bruised, and refused to cower. It stirred something that still troubles me.

I direct my attention down the winding passage that leads toward an external courtyard. The subterranean corridors of this fortress are a labyrinth, but I’ve prowled them often enough to memorize certain hidden routes. Reaching them without detection is another matter entirely.

“Stay close,” I mutter, raising a clawed hand to gesture her forward.

Together, we move through the shadowy path. I can see easily in the dim light, but I notice she squints, relying on the faint glow from the crystals embedded in the walls. We pass multiple iron-banded doors, some locked tight, others yawning open to reveal dusty storerooms. A damp chill seeps from the floors, suggesting we’re beneath the waterline of the harbor. Somewhere above us, the city hums with tension. No doubt the commotion from the failed sacrifice has alerted half the watch.

The corridor twists, sloping gently upward. My tail sways behind me, the tip scraping across the rough stone. I try to keep the chain of my contract quiet, but a persistent headache pulses where the magic tightens around my soul. I can’t wait to be out of these walls.

At a turn in the passage, Valentina stumbles. Instinct compels me to catch her arm. Her skin is clammy under my touch, a stark contrast to my feverish warmth. She mumbles a thanks, though I suspect pride bristles beneath her gratitude. Nothing about her suggests subservience—she’s like a hound cornered by wolves, constantly poised to fight back.

We continue until the passage ends at an old maintenance door. The wood is warped, half-rotted from disuse, and a battered chain holds it shut. I slash the metal chain with one swipe of my claws, then shoulder the door open. Cold night air rushes in, smelling of salt and rotting fish from the canals.

We emerge into a cramped courtyard behind the fortress, enclosed on three sides by looming walls. Cracked flagstones litter the ground. An ancient fountain stands at the center, water trickling from a broken spout. The distant flicker of torches betrays the presence of patrolling guards along the upper ramparts. I tilt my head, listening for footfalls. The immediate area seems clear.

Valentina glances around, hugging herself. “Won’t they search here?”

“Yes,” I reply shortly, scanning the heights. “But I have an exit in mind.” My gaze settles on a cluster of stacked crates near a corner of the courtyard, leading to a half-collapsed wall. I recall once slipping through there on an earlier infiltration mission. If it’s still passable, it might grant us access to a back street that feeds into the city’s mid-tier.

I gesture for her to follow. She does, grim determination carved in her posture. My wings ache as I keep them tight against my back. Part of me yearns to spread them wide and leap over the fortress’s perimeter in one smooth glide. But that would expose us instantly to archers or sorcerers stationed on the towers. Even if I survived, a single arrow laced with the right magical curse could cripple me mid-flight.

We cross the courtyard, footsteps muffled on the moss-grown tiles. My hearing picks up faint shouts echoing from the fortress interior. Likely the priests or soldiers have regained consciousness and discovered our absence. We’re running out of time.

I vault over the crates, ignoring the protest of my battered muscles, then reach down to help Valentina up. Her jaw sets in silent resolve, and she scrambles up with a grunt. Once perched atop the pile, we see the cracked mortar of the adjacent wall. A gap wide enough for a slender figure to squeeze through awaits near the upper edge.

With a careful push, I dislodge a few loose stones. The opening widens, dust billowing. She maneuvers her body through the gap, cursing softly when her arm scrapes against the rough surface. I follow, forcing my broader frame through with some difficulty. My horns catch momentarily, but I twist sideways to get them free, the broken tip scraping off more stone.

We tumble onto the other side, landing in a narrow alley behind the fortress. The city’s mid-tier lies beyond, a warren of twisting lanes, old merchant houses, and shuttered shops. Flickering lamplight illuminates the junction ahead. It’s quiet—too quiet for this hour, which suggests that word of trouble may have reached these streets.

Valentina’s breath rasps. “Where now?”

I pause, letting my demonic senses roam the area. My heightened perception picks up the scent of smoldering pitch from the harbor, the faint tang of sewage from Lowtown, and the perfume of countless arcane crystals powering the city’s magical infrastructure. I sift through it all, seeking the path of least resistance.

“There’s a series of catwalks near the trade district,” I say at last, voice low. “We can move across the rooftops if we reach them. The elves rarely patrol above ground level.”

She nods, though I sense her caution. My refusal to kill her hasn’t exactly made me trustworthy in her eyes. But I press forward, leading us down a back alley that weaves between leaning tenements. The architecture in this section of Vhoig is a jumbled mix—once-grand houses overshadowed by newer additions slapped on top of old foundations. A labyrinth.

As we walk, pain throbs at the back of my skull. The contract’s backlash has yet to subside, an ever-present reminder that I’ve flouted the King’s will. I clench my teeth, ignoring the tight band around my chest.

Every few steps, I glimpse Valentina’s sidelong glances. She’s wary, likely wondering why I haven’t ripped out her spine. Honestly, I question it too. Some primal instinct screams that she’s important, though I can’t articulate how or why. It’s not pity—I’ve been forced to murder enough humans that I’ve grown numb to their suffering. Perhaps it’s curiosity. Perhaps it’s thefaint tingle of potent magic in her presence, an unexplainable hum that sets my skin alight.

Eventually, the alley opens onto a modest plaza, ringed by shuttered stalls. A battered statue of a dark elf warrior stands in the center, chipped from years of neglect. It’s bizarrely quiet here, with only the distant hum of city life. We stop in the shadows of a boarded-up storefront. My wings twitch, and I allow myself a moment to rest.

Valentina plants her hands on her hips. “Are you going to tell me why you did that?” she blurts, voice hushed. “You defied your own contract, from what I can tell. That ritual was meant to seal your bond with the elves, right?”

My mouth twists. “Yes,” I say simply. “And it is not a topic I relish discussing.”

She frowns, frustration clear. “Then help me understand something else. You mentioned earlier you had no interest in their demands, yet you served them until tonight. Why?”

I let out a harsh breath. “They own me. Or they believe they do. The contract binds me. If I resist, I suffer.” I pause, grinding my teeth. “But you…your blood calls to me in a way I can’t ignore. It’s like an echo of something ancient.”

She crosses her arms protectively, stepping back. “My blood?”

I nod, studying her. Her cheeks hollow from fatigue, but her posture remains rigid. The bruises on her arms reflect a lifetime of brutal servitude. Yet she radiates a stubborn fire. I trace the lines of her face, taking in the set of her jaw, the intensity in her gaze. I’m too used to humans cowering or sobbing. She does neither.

“How do I explain this?” I murmur, more to myself than to her. “Demons perceive a thousand subtle scents and tastes in blood—fears, sins, the resonance of magical traits. Yours is...unusual. There’s a faint aroma that reminds me of ancienttombs and black runes etched into basalt altars.” I catch myself before I slip further into cryptic musings. “In short, you’re not purely human, or you’re carrying something within you. Something that made me hesitate.”

She stiffens. “That’s impossible. I’m just a slave from Lowtown.”

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