Page 33 of Dark Rapture
Knowing I am guarded not just by him, but by his devoted legions, calms me greatly. So does that knowledge that once I let Daemon in, he will show me how to protect myself, too.
This is my world now, and I will embrace it.
Turning away from the window, I head downstairs. I haven’t eaten all day, so I quickly fix myself a sandwich with a side of fresh fruit and sit at the small, wrought iron table in my garden to eat it. It is incredibly quiet this evening, which is extremely unusual for the bustling metropolitan city I call home. The ravens are quiet now, too.
Every once in a while, I can hear distant whispering. Murmurs I cannot comprehend, but something tells me that the voices belong to the demons keeping me safe tonight. I cannot fathom what they are discussing, so I do my best to ignore it when I hear it.
Once I am finished, I gather my plate and head back inside. The sun has set, and the time has come. Butterflies take up residence in my stomach, fluttering around wildly with razor blade wings. As I get myself ready to leave, I can’t help but question my sanity.
Is this the right thing to do? Surely giving oneself to a demon is damning, what good could possibly come of it? I must have lost my mind. I’m making a terrible mistake.
I take nothing with me as I open my door and step out into the chilly night air, startling when I see a man standing at the bottom of the narrow concrete staircase just outside my door. He is staring off in front of him, his gaze empty.
“For centuries, witches have bonded to demons in exchange for power,” he explains in a monotone voice, his sightless eyes still staring out at nothing.
He’s answering my question. Whoever this demon is, using this stranger’s body as an unwilling host, he heard my thoughts and seems to have the answers.
“And what became of them?” I ask, watching him warily as I carefully descend the set of four steps down to the sidewalk.
“Some still live, immortal in their human shell; others transcend and become extraordinary demons, too,” he answers, and I can’t shake the unsettling feeling talking to a possessed person brings me. As I pass him, he finally turns his gaze to meet my own. I startle again at the unexpected eye contact.
The fear and uncertainty only lasts a few seconds. I remember who I am, who I belong to, and what I harbor inside of me.
“All of them?” I ask, stopping in front of him.
“Some witches grow tired of the mortal world. Sometimes they join their demon in Hell, or retire to their demon’s realm for all of eternity.”
I have more questions now than I did before I stepped outside my door. Is what he is saying to me true? Witches can either stay here beyond what their human bodies would normally allow, become a demon, or live alongside their bonded demon in Hell or some ungodly heaven?
I watch him for a moment, and shake my head.
A disturbing, unnaturally wide grin spreads across his otherwise expressionless face. It is as if he is trying to mimic a human expression just to soothe me. “He awaits you. He will answer your questions.”
I narrow my eyes, and his gaze shifts away from me so he can stare off into nothingness again, his face falling slack.
I bite my lip as I consider what he has said, eager to get to the church and talk to Daemon. Without another word exchanged between us, I turn down the sidewalk and start heading towards the church.
The moon overhead is larger than it usually is, the bright disk cast in umbral shades of red. I keep my eyes on the sky as I walk, trying my best to ignore the possessed people lingering along my path. Stolen bodies and quiet ravens are my companions on the cold, dark walk down the street.
When I finally reach the church, the beautiful stained glass windows are glowing softly with a fiery light as though there are candles still lining the window sills. The old building looms tall and tired, now that this House of God has been fully abandoned. Daemon’s presence has chased away what remains of the holy power it once exuded. I know it is still in use by the public, but I get the insistent thought in my mind that God hasn’t been here for a very long time.
Is God really dead?The thought bounces around inside my head as I ascend the mottled stone staircase, dodging several deep cracks as I go.
At the top of the stairs is a woman, standing as still as the dead and staring off into the distance. When I approach the church doors, she moves slowly to the side to push one of the heavy doors halfway open. She says nothing as the darkness opens up, beckoning me inside.
I watch her for a few seconds as I pass her by, slipping in between the doors without a word exchanged. It closes behind me immediately, and I am greeted by hundreds of candles lit and placed carefully around the anterior chamber.
The warm, flickering light of a hundred candles illuminates the church. The pews are empty, the altar at the end of the center lane dressed in a heavy black cloth with Daemon’s sigil at the center. The polished, white holy cross looms just beyond it.
I wander slowly down the aisle towards the altar, my fingertips brushing along the edges of the rows of pews. I’d call out for Daemon, but I feel him all around me. He’s here, in the shadows that fill every corner of the chapel.
When I reach the altar, I lean forward and run my fingers along the lines of his sigil. It matches the one on my dress, and the one on the candle that summoned him to me.
I love him.
Wait, what? Why did that thought pop into my head? I don’t love Daemon.
“You will.”
