Seconds to Midnight: A Maiden of Midnight Prequel

Destiny- Day Two

Breakfast, which Cain brought back from the local diner down the road, consisted of a grey sludge that mimicked porridge, and a single cup of coffee each in a takeaway cup, all of us wolfing it down as quickly as possible, eager to get back on the road once more.

Nym, who had finished hers the quickest, was now checking her weapons while seated on the floor, opting for a handgun and a bow and quiver of arrows, her bag already packed and by the door.

Lydiav was still picking at her food, pushing it around her plate with a spoon, Cain sighing, “For three pound…” Zeella had given us five thousand pounds to complete this mission, allowing us to keep whatever was left behind in addition to our pay. Between the drive to the forest, here to the hotel, and then back, it would cost us around seventy pound in fuel. The hotel had been one hundred and eighty for the night, and breakfast was only three pounds. We had four-thousand-seven-hundred-and-forty-seven pounds left.

“For three pounds, I would have expected it to be worse,” I muttered, wrinkling my nose at the sludge. It smelt, strangely, like nothing at all, Bal’gag spluttering, “All of this was only three pounds?”

“Yeah. Five dishes, five cups of coffee.”

Grabbing a spoon, I finished the rest of the bowl, chugging the coffee to wash the taste from my mouth, Lydiav shaking her head solemnly and pushing the plate away, looking disgusted. Cain finished the last of his drink, wincing, before saying, “Right. Check your bags and weapons. Des, come here and let me check those wounds on you.”

They felt like they had healed overnight, but I shuffled my chair over, waiting patiently while Cain unwrapped the bandages, examining them.

The cuts were healed over, for the most part, only small raised bits of skin that would be gone by tonight remaining, and Cain nodded in satisfaction, wrapping them in fresh bandages, ordering, “Don’t strain your wrists too much, okay?”

Nodding, I stood, packing my bags and tucking Inferos into my belt, Cain tossing me his radio. Nym handed hers to him, shrugging.

“You’ll need it more than me.”

“Right, considering the events of yesterday. Everyone is to stay in groups of two or more. You are to update your location every ten minutes. Miss an update, and we’ll come looking for you based on your last location. Do. Not. Miss. Updates.”

Hanging my head in shame, I waited until Cain had murmured, “Des, you’re coming with me. Nym, Lydiav and Bal’gag, you three stay together. We’re going to hunt down that Heart-Keeper and search the pits for Morven’s heart. I want you three to head to the Fae settlement and begin questioning people there.”

We nodded, locking the room as we left, ensuring we brought everything with us, packing it into the boot of the car. If we found Morven today, we wouldn’t be returning to the hotel. Leaving the key with the front desk, Cain thanked them, buying a snack bar for Lydiav from their vending machine, the five of us departing, heading back to the forest.

Chewing on her bar in the back seat, Lydiav continued to flick through her magazine, lifting her head to murmur, “Aren’t you guys heading to Paris in like a month?”

Raising an eyebrow, I murmured, “Yeah. Why?”

“Because the disguise you’ve been using to pretend to be a model is featured in this magazine,” Lydiav giggled, Nym and Bal’gag looking over excitedly. Scowling, I grabbed the magazine, gaping.

Cain and I were heading to Paris in a month to meet with Pierre-Marie Poullain, a famous French fashion designer, and considering he would only speak to people who were famous, Cain, Alishan and Lional had been building up a modelling portfolio for me under the name Madeline Maladur, a young up-and-coming model in London.

Sure enough, my photo, although I was wearing a different body and face thanks to the powerful skills of photo editing, had been used in the magazine. Pierre’s column was the next page over, talking about the latest and greatest- my name mentioned very briefly as a young model who he was yet to face off with.

“Huh. I’d thought they were joking,” I muttered to myself, Cain snickering, “You look so pretentious.” Flushing, I studied the dress I was wearing; a flared, hoop-skirt polkadot skirt that was a gentle pink, the polkadots bright yellow. It had been paired with a tied-up croptop shirt that was light grey, my hair pinned back and held in place with hairclips that had butterflies on them. A yellow necktie was wrapped around my neck, tied in a neat bow, and a set of pink ballet slippers were on my feet. I’d gifted the slippers to Lydiav afterwards.

“That was the point, asshole.”

He smirked, turning in his chair to point out the article I was in, his eyes straying from the road. Only a sliver of my power, pulling the sprinting animal out of the way before we could hit it, prevented us from having an accident, Nym shrieking, “Cain! Eyes on the road!”

He swore, turning back to the road before us, Bal’gag laughing, examining the territory they had covered yesterday, the forest coming into view. The mountain was crossed off on the map, Cain having cleared it away.

“Do you think we’ll find Morven’s heart?” I asked, handing the magazine back to Lydiav, who continued to flick through it, circling off items she wanted with a pen, Bal’gag already searching for things they could do while Cain and I were in Paris.

My cousin hummed, biting his lip and murmuring, “It’s a shot in the dark, but better than nothing.”

“Which is what we have right now,” Bal’gag muttered sullenly, “No leads, no body, no suspects…” Nym slapped his shoulder, pulling out her phone and scrolling through the places they had searched yesterday, mumbling, “We cleared off a fair bit of the forest, and a lot of Morven’s contacts were questioned by the Manor already. The Fae aren’t going to be happy to see three more Demonic-beings poking about their town.”

“Take some coin and buy some stuff, get people trying to trade with you,” Cain said wisely, his eyes locking onto them through the rearview mirror, “People are more willing to deal with you if you are polite.”

“Or you could just threaten them,” I added with a shrug, digging the tip of Inferos under my fingernails to try and clear some of the dirt from yesterday out, “Works for me.”

“Didn’t work for you yesterday,” Nym snickered, Bal’gag and Lydiav hiding their own giggles, a burn of shame rising on my cheeks. Following close behind it was a flash of annoyance that they dared mock me. Cain stiffened behind the driver’s wheel, his foot easing down on the brakes, preparing to stop if he needed to break up a fight between Nym and I. It wouldn’t be the first time this month. Tamping down on my powers, remembering the promises I had made in my prayers, I bit out, “Very funny, Guardian.”

Cain gave me an appreciative smile, knowing the effort I was making, reaching over to lay his hand over mine where it rested on my lap. I flinched away instinctively.

Nobody is your friend. You might have contacts, even allies, but not friends.

The Dome’s lessons echoed through my head, even when Cain’s face fell, only for him to shake the emotion off, returning his attention, and more importantly his hand, to the steering wheel. He knew better than to push me, trying or not.

We were fast approaching the area we had been searching yesterday, Cain beginning to slow, driving the car into one of the ditches and leaving it there, pulling the keys out and tossing them into the underbrush, reminding, “Remember, everyone stays together. Update your location every ten minutes. Fire a flare if you find Morven or his body.” Bal’gag shouldered his bag, giving the two of us an easy smile, waiting for Nym and Lydiav to grab their own bags, saying, “And if we’re in trouble?”

“You are my Guardians. Kill your way out of it,” I ordered coldly, Cain correcting with a wince, “Fire two flares. We’ll come help you. One flare if you find Morven, two flares if trouble finds you.”

Bal’gag bowed to me, the boy loyal enough that I knew, unless Nym was in danger, he would try to fight his way out first if I ordered it, Lydiav looking between Cain and I, not knowing whose order to listen to. Nym simply shrugged, muttering, “I’ll do whatever I think is best.”

They left, taking a rundown, barely visible pathway toward the Fae settlement, pouches full of Fae coins, as well as a few British pounds. Cain looked to my bag, but remained silent, biting his lip. I could see the urge to offer to carry it dancing around his eyes.

It would make it easier to traverse the forest if Cain was carrying my bag, and besides, it didn’t need to be a gesture of kindness. He was beneath me. He should be carrying my bag.

Shrugging it off, I tossed it to him, my cousin catching it with a grin, shouldering it beside his own before eyeing the bandages on my wrists. His gaze slid to the forest beyond, and the slope we would have to go down, holding branches to support our weight, before they slid back to me, his mouth beginning to open to say something.

“If you say you want to carry me, or you want me to stay here with the car, I will put you on your ass again,” I warned coldly, my patience growing thin. He tilted his head to me, adjusting the bags so they were better balanced on his shoulders.

“Fair enough,” he replied, amusement dancing in his voice. It wasn’t until we were climbing over the railing that separated road from forest, my cousin going first so he could, in his words, ‘Catch me if I tripped’, like I was four years old and trying to traverse a staircase for the first time, that curiosity, as well as that itching sense of indignation, got the better of me, prompting me to ask, “What’s so funny?”

He lifted his other leg over the railing, standing on semi-solid ground, his back to the slope behind us, and said, “You, Des. I’ve known you twelve years, and you never cease to amuse me.”

Arching an eyebrow at him only had him laughing more, making me growl.

“What, Cain?!” He extended a hand to me, only for me to slap it away, gripping the railing and climbing onto it, eyeing the precipice beyond. If I slipped and fell- I wouldn’t fall. What the Hell was I thinking? And even if I did, it was only a slope. Worst case, I would get a bruise or two.

“I went through the Dome before you even knew what it was. I did all the same training missions you did, went through all the same beatings and ruthlessness, and yet you came out acting like you could conquer the world. The Dome made you merciless, cousin, but it didn’t give you an ounce of common sense.”

Now that made me hiss, the noise swallowed by the forest. Still, I bit down on the urge to slide Inferos between Cain’s ribs, instead biting out, “What makes you say that?”

“You’re twelve, little cousin. I am fifteen. Yet you still think you could put me on my ass? I just find it funny.” He was challenging me, I could see now, a sparkle in his eyes while he dangled bait right over my head. He wanted me to bite back, to play with him.

The thought tugged at my lips, and with a dramatic sigh, I mumbled, “I’m trying, Cain.” It was both the truth and a hidden warning of what was to come.

His hand was still extended to me, since I was only halfway over the railing, my cousin nodding like I had just said the wisest thing ever to be spoken in history. Reaching out, I took it, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. He pulled me over.

And then I shoved him.

He let out a shout of surprise, the weight of both our bags preventing him from finding his balance once more, and he began to fall.

Before he could crack his head open on the ground, I reached forward, gripping his collar and catching him, laughing. Something lightened in my chest, that icy wall I had spent months in the Dome building up cracking a little. His eyes met mine, his chest rising and falling in quick, adrenaline-filled breaths. Then he laughed, too.

“Told you I could put you on your ass,” I said smugly, facing the forest beyond, Cain watching with me. He grinned, patting my back and admitting, “I’m impressed.”

His shoulders were shaking in silent laughter, but before I could ask why, I felt the weight of his hand increase on my back, and he shoved me down the slope…

*

An hour later, and I still hadn’t forgiven Cain, the two of us walking in silence while I tried to pluck as many leaves, sticks and flecks of dirt from my hair and clothes as possible, my cousin breaking out into full-blown hysterics whenever he looked to me. He had already taken a photo of my sullen, dirt-covered face and sent it back to Alishan when she’d asked how the mission was going. Zeella had called not long after that, wanting to know why I looked like someone had buried me alive. Cain had rubbed as much dirt on him as possible, tossing sticks and leaves into his own hair, before sending a photo of himself back, shrugging and explaining that the forest was dirty, even for Demonic-being Princes and Princesses. He hadn’t updated the Lords on the Heart-Keeper situation, or if we had any clues leading us to Morven, and Zeella certainly didn’t bother to ask, the Sin of Lust only reminding us that we had eight, nearly seven, days left and to use the time wisely. Failure would not be tolerated.

I shuddered at the words, having heard them before, Cain grimacing as well.

There was a loud ‘CRACK!’, one of the Demonic-being children, around my age, curled on the floor in a tight ball, covering their face and neck as the mentor brought the stick racing back down across their back, their begging for forgiveness broken up only by their screams of pain. I kept silent, keeping my attention focused on my opponent across from me, watching the way they moved. If you lost the match, you were beaten bloody, and then sent back to try again. There were twenty matches total if you wanted to win. If you won all twenty rounds, you got to go back to your cell. I was on my nineteenth match, the boy across from me covered in blood and angry red marks. He’d lost two matches now, having fought his way back from the first round so he could stand before me, and lose again.

He seemed small compared to me, his fists raised up near his chest, his stance all wrong. He was panting, half-crumpled in on himself, barely managing to stand through the pain.

I could lose, and let him leave without another beating to add to his injuries, since I hadn’t been touched yet, or…

Or I could win.

In the background, the mentor still beating one of the losing children, I heard him spitting, “Failure will not be tolerated! You WILL win!”

Their words rolled around my brain, my eyes flicking over my opponent. Weak stance, and he was injured, frantic and desperate enough to do anything to win.

He would fight dirty, or try to.

Grinning at him, I sung, “You should just surrender now.”

His eyes lit up, and he swung at me.

I gripped his wrist, wrenching him forward, my other hand slamming into his gut, one of my feet working on sweeping his out from under him. He collapsed in a groan of pain, his head striking the concrete.

He fell silent, although I could still hear his pulse. Unconscious, not dead. Arrogance made me look up to the scoreboard, watching my name rise two spots, my Dome scoring rising from a thirty to a thirty-seven. Not deadly, by any means, but rising up on the board. I was stronger than some Demonic-beings would ever see. Like the boy who I had just won against. His Dome scoring was only twelve. Now, I could see it falling to ten. Cain’s scoring was still up near the top, at eighty-two. I wanted to beat his scoring, to prove to Zeella that I was better.

The mentor who had been overseeing the fight nodded slowly, circling around me in even footsteps, reviewing, “Dodged his first attack, disarmed him, laid a blow of your own, removed his balance, and then knocked him out. Five movements, and your opponent is out. Impressive, for an eleven-year-old. Especially considering you have not a marking on you. You did not lose a single fight?”

“No,” I replied with a smirk, crossing my arms over my chest.

The stick the mentor was holding crashed into the back of my head, knocking me over, the mentor spitting both to me and the class, “Pain is a part of life! Even people who win need to experience pain in order to overcome it! Get up, girl.” Stars danced across my vision, the back of my head throbbing, but I pushed myself to my feet, feeling blood drip down the back of my neck.

“Go back to your cell.”

Nym, Lydiav and Bal’gag were in the Fae settlement, according to their updates, working on coaxing the Fae who lived there to give up any information they knew about Morven.

We were just reaching the Heart-Keeper’s clearing now, only a kilometre away. The closer we got, the more I felt my heart racing in my chest, my wrists itching horrendously. Cain was starting to slow, knowing why I was panicking, and he murmured, “If you are afraid, it’s okay. I understand.”

The Dome training made me want to hiss that I wasn’t afraid of anything, but as it was, I couldn’t get my teeth to stop chattering enough to say anything without my voice wobbling. So I remained silent, staring at the forest ahead.

Cain wasn’t convinced by my tough-girl act, glancing at me from where he was now tying his shoelace at the base of a tree, mumbling, “You can wait here. Actually, it’s probably best if you do. I need space to kill this thing, and the power I use could hurt you.”

An utter lie, but Cain was giving me an out without my needing to ask. I appreciated it, even if that same Dome training stopped me from verbalising it. Still scanning the forest, like I was able to see the Heart-Keeper and his grove from here, I nodded slowly, replying, “If you need the space, then I best wait here.” In truth, I wasn’t going any closer than a kilometre to that thing. It had bruised my ego.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled two flares out, holding them out to me, his expression unreadable.

He didn’t need to remind me to use them, but he did anyway, saying, “Remember, one flare if you find Morven, two flares if you’re in trouble.”

“You’ll come sprinting again?” I teased lightly, even my tone sounding fake. Hell below. I needed to practice those masks of mine, the personalities that, as an Assassin, I should be able to slip on and off with no seams or mistakes.

Cain nodded sagely, promising, “Always. You’re my number one, Assassin.” I rolled my eyes at the fondness, but didn’t remind him that he shouldn’t be saying stuff like that. Cain always had enjoyed disobeying the Manor, that wasn’t going to change just because I told him to cut it out before he got executed for treason. With that, he nudged my shoulder with his affectionately, checking his weapons one final time before heading deeper into the forest, and toward the Heart-Keeper’s home.

With nobody to talk to, I took a seat at the base of the tree, studying the world before me.

Afternoon light arced through the branches, casting strange, watery shapes on the ground, distorting the colours of the dying leaves that laid amongst the brush. A woodland creature, likely a small mouse, scampered along underneath a tree root, using the debris over the top to hide from predators.

It must have rained recently, the air smelling damp, the trunk at my back still wet. Flowers peppered the spaces that weren’t overtaken with weeds or thicker bushes, their scent filling the air.

No wonder the nature-loving Fae loved this place. I wouldn’t leave either, if I had a smidgeon of care for the prettiness around me. As it was, I could acknowledge it, but it didn’t really interest me. Still, I couldn’t stop my eyes from wandering back to the flowers, or the acorn I spotted hiding amongst a pile of leaves and sticks.

Eventually, boredom got the better of me- Or I told myself that- reaching into my bag to pull out the sketchbook and pencils Cain had bought for me a month ago. I was meant to use them, according to Zeella, to make notes on the cases, or sketch what people looked like. Instead, I began lightly sketching the skeleton figures of the trees in front of me, using the light from a nearby sunbeam to see the page.

Once the basic shape was there, I began etching in the finer details- the way a leaf curled over a branch, how the acorn had a small nick in it, and before long, the sketch was finished.

Did I colour it, or leave it grey?

Deciding Cain would like it coloured, and I could gift it to him, thus removing it from my sketchbook, I placed my plain grey pencil back into my bag, grabbing out the coloured ones.

“Why don’t you draw something while your cousin and I talk, Destiny?”

I eyed the colouring pencils suspiciously, feeling like a child as I plucked up a bit of paper and a pencil, looking around the room for something to draw.

When I found nothing of interest, I settled on the first thing that came to mind, my childhood home in London. Zeella had moved us out of it three months ago, and my current rooms in the Manor were larger than the house ever had been, but I missed it.

I ignored whatever Doctor Saoirse and Cain were discussing, since it was likely to be more useless drivel, until I heard Saoirse say, “That is a very pretty drawing, Destiny. You are an excellent artist.” I eyed the drawing with mild distaste. It didn’t look exactly right, my brain not able to copy the house perfectly. I used to see it whenever I closed my eyes, but now… Sighing, I flipped the drawing over, ignoring Saoirse’s comment, instead working on drawing the Manor. The doctor didn’t seem particularly annoyed by my lack of response; it was typical, these days.

Compared to my home, it was dark and foreboding, although the gardens were pretty. Even Cain liked them. Him and Alishan would wander through them all the time. Occasionally he would drag me out, and Lyna would join.

I hated those trips. They always tried to make me laugh, or constantly spoke to me about useless topics. Alishan winced whenever I brought up the Dome or my training sessions, and Lyna would roll her eyes if I so much as mentioned weapons or tactics to kill someone. I never mentioned it to Cain, though, not when he always looked so happy to see me out and about with him. He would always hold my hand, or loop his arm over my shoulders, resting his chin atop my head. I hated that, too. Not the contact, but the affection behind it, the way he still acted like we were bestfriends when I knew we were nothing but allies, or meant to be. It always made me feel like I wasn’t being friendly enough with him, or that I had failed even that one, simple part of the Dome training, the part that couldn’t have friends. Didn’t he understand that?

“Is that your home?” Saoirse asked, pointing to the Manor. Cain remained silent. I sighed. I wasn’t getting out of answering this question. My words were blunt and emotionless when I next spoke, “The other one is.”

“So what is this building?”

Sullenly, I said, “Where we live.” Saoirse’s brow furrowed, and Cain sighed, explaining in further detail, “The first house was Destiny and I’s childhood home. It was where everything happened. The second house is the Manor home where we live currently.” Humming wordlessly, Saoirse added, “Do you want to go back to your childhood home, Destiny?”

I thought about it for a moment.

Did I? I wasn’t meant to want to go back, but I did. I desperately wanted to go back, and have everything be fine again.

If I said that, and Zeella found out, I would be Severed for sure. Any mention of that home would earn a beating. Saying I wanted to go back… Well, it would be worse.

“No.”

The answer seemed to surprise Cain, who blinked, Saoirse turning to my cousin and murmuring, “And what about you, Cain?”

“Always. I think about that place all the time,” he admitted freely, making me hiss, slapping his arm, “You’ll get in trouble!” Saoirse looked intrigued by that, but only in the way a therapist ever did, and she asked softly, “Now why would he get in trouble?”

“We aren’t meant to discuss it,” I bit out, both to the therapist in front of me, and to the cousin seated on the couch beside me. Cain shrugged carelessly.

“Are you perhaps saying you don’t wish to go back to avoid getting in trouble?”

“What does it matter anyway? I can’t go back.” I gripped the edge of the table hard enough that my knuckles turned white, Cain noting it with a gulp. He wanted to comfort me, but Saoirse had a strict policy on Cain not getting in my space while I spoke- something about it smothering people’s thoughts, even if the gesture was appreciated.

“Perhaps not, but having free will in your mind is important for a great deal of people.”

I shrugged wordlessly. It still didn’t matter. I wasn’t allowed to think or talk about the house, and I couldn’t go back there whether I did or not.

“I want to go back,” Cain said instead, “But I can make a home anywhere.”

“And why is that?”

“As long as Des is there with me, I’m happy.” He smiled at me. I tried to give one back, only to have it come out as stiff as cardboard. How did I even smile properly? Was I really forgetting that? The thought made me a little sad, even if a small part of me was full of pride at it. If I didn’t smile so freely, my enemies wouldn’t be able to tell when I was happy, which meant they couldn’t target the things I loved.

It also meant I would be able to wield a smile like a weapon, rather than a courtesy.

Saoirse gave a look I couldn’t quite decipher, saying, “You two are cousins, yes? You seem very close. Almost to the point of dependency.”

“We take care of each other.” Cain sounded defensive at that, crossing his arms over his chest, Saoirse nodding slowly, saying, “Do you see yourself as a sort of parental figure for Destiny, or a brother?”

“She’s mine.”

“Your what?” Cain threw his hands in the air, looking more than a little disgruntled, but managing to stammer out, “Friend, I guess. I can’t really explain it. I need her to be happy, and safe.”

“Do you want to be the one who provides those feelings to her?” Guessing where the conversation was heading, and not particularly happy about it, Cain leaned back against the couch, muttering, “This isn’t my therapy session. We’re paying for Des to get treatment, not me. I know where I stand, human.”

Saoirse chuckled at that, dropping the subject in favour of pressing the tips of her fingers together and leaning forward, musing, “Never did I think I would become a therapist for Demonic-beings. Tell me, is your loyalty to each other deeper than humans’ loyalty, or roughly the same?”

“Deeper,” I answered, looking to my cousin, “I like Cain more than I like any human.”

“Does the fact that you are half-human yourself have any sway in those emotions, Destiny?”

I grimaced, Cain mumbling, “I’m half-human as well, so no. Not that I’ve noticed, anyway. If anything, it might make us…”

“Weak,” I finished his sentence right as he found the word he was searching for, adding in unison, “More humane.”

“Why do you say weak?” Saoirse asked me. With a shrug, I muttered, “Because we are. We’re weaker than the others, than Alishan, or Lyna, or-” Cain’s discomfort was growing worse, my cousin fidgeting on the couch. Saoirse noticed with a glance, but said nothing, instead continuing, “What are your thoughts on your mother, then? Do you think she was weak?” I knew Cain heard my heart skip a beat at the mention of my mother, only for my pulse to quicken at the thought of anyone thinking she was weak.

She hadn’t been… She was just…

Rather than find a more fitting word, the effort too tiring right now to even consider, I said coldly, “She’s dead. Figure it out yourself.”

“Des!” Cain scolded, knowing I didn’t mean it. I rose from the couch, shoving the drawing, which I hadn’t even noticed I had been continuing with during the conversation, forward onto the table and heading for the door, my shoulders rising and falling.

Cain went to rise and follow after me, only for Saoirse to say, “Let her take a moment. We still have an hour.” Two hour sessions, twice a week. They were beginning to grow tiring, to say the least. At least Cain normally took me out afterwards, even if I was starting to think it was pointless, trivial nonsense. Shopping was for children or people who wanted to look good. I didn’t need to look good, or more human, I needed to be an effective killer.

“If I don’t follow her, she’ll run off.”

I stepped out through the door, closing it behind me and studying the carpeted hallway. A set of couches were placed against the wall, offering chances for people to sit down in between sessions. Currently, there was nobody there, only Saoirse operating today, the others doors all open, the rooms beyond empty.

A potplant was situated between the couches, offering a modicum of privacy if I sat right beside it and scrunched my legs up to my chest.

Instead, I turned around, where a window overlooked the street beyond. The blinds were half open, letting light stream in, a bird slowly building its nest on the windowsill outside.

I rested my hands against the sill that was inside, ignoring the dust that coated it, and leaned as close to the window as I could, trying to get a look at the street below.

Saoirse’s office was on the sixth floor, overlooking plenty of the smaller buildings, although there were just as many surrounding us that were taller.

People milled around below, going about their daily lives, completely oblivious to my presence above them.

Within the office, I could hear Cain and Saoirse talking, my cousin resuming his efforts to convince the therapist to let him follow me, even if I knew Cain could hear that I was right outside, while Saoirse counter-argued, instead prompting Cain to take a look at the drawing I had finished.

I didn’t even know what I’d put on there, if it was good or bad, but I certainly heard Cain draw a sharp breath in, Saoirse asking him, “How does this make you feel?”

“It’s not my drawing.” My cousin sounded off-balance, not to mention on edge. Whatever I had drawn, it unnerved him.

I felt a twinge of regret for not paying more attention to what I was drawing, but nothing more, my attention instead snagging on something in the street below. It was a black car, the familiar dark, tinted windows glistening in the morning light. It must have been taken through the nearby car wash, because it was covered in tiny droplets of water that dripped onto the curb. A gasp worked its way out of my throat.

The door to Saoirse’s room slammed open at the force I used, Cain and Saoirse both swinging to look at me, my drawing in Cain’s hand. Without letting me see it, he folded it in half, tucking it into his pocket and giving me an easy smile.

“Hey, Des.” Saoirse noticed the way he smiled, hiding the unease, and made a note.

Upon a second glance at me and the way I was gathering my items hurriedly, he went stiff, rising as well, already knowing what, or who, had arrived. Saoirse arched an eyebrow, remaining seated on the couch and reminding, “You still have fifty minutes left.”

Cain shook his head, helping me stuff my items into my bag. Already, I could hear the elevator rising through the building.

I pulled my satchel onto my shoulder, Cain resting his hand on my shoulder and standing behind me, the two of us swinging to the door just as- “Mr. Maladur,” Saoirse said with an easy smile. She didn’t know it, but we could all smell the distaste in her scent at the appearance of- “Zeella,” I murmured softly, Cain saying in unison, “Sin of Lust.” Zeella gave her a charming smile in return, bowing his head before looking to me, the smile dropping off his face. The look was icy, my blood chilling in my veins. Cain’s grip on my shoulder tightened protectively, only for him to release me a moment later, slipping in front of me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Saoirse’s eyes light up in understanding. He was the scapegoat, the person who threw himself into Zeella’s firing line to protect me.

Usually, it just landed both of us in hot water.

“There is still fifty five minutes of my session with Desterium left. Why don’t you take a seat in the lobby downstairs?” Where he wouldn’t be able to hear us.

He bowed his head again, Tingen hovering in the hallway outside, tapping a message out on his phone. I kept my eyes glued to Cain’s back, noticing the way his shoulders tensed when Zeella said, “Unfortunately, we have business to attend to, as much as I would love for my daughter to stay.”

If we could smell the distaste, so could Zeella, his eyes already narrowing at Cain and I, wondering what we had said to cause the shift in attitude toward him. Doctor Saoirse had been like every other doctor upon meeting my father- polite, respectful; a blank slate.

Now, after dozens of sessions with her, I could tell her patience was wearing thin with him the more she learnt about the Manor and my family. Zeella would pull us out of the therapy sessions soon, if this wasn’t already his way of doing just that. There was no way he would risk the Maladur image.

“I can take care of it,” Cain offered, “Leave Des here for a bit.” I reached forward, grabbing his hand and shaking my head. I didn’t want him to leave me here.

Zeella wasn’t interested in wasting time debating it, either. Shaking his head, he said, “In the car. Now.” He turned to face Saoirse fully, the distaste growing into something a little darker, and he said, “Thank you again, Doctor.”

Saoirse’s tone was one of perfect politeness, the sort of voice you used when speaking to a stranger on the street, or the person serving you at a coffee shop. She said her goodbyes to all of us, promising to refund Cain the amount we didn’t use, my cousin shaking his head.

Before we could say anything else, we were being ushered out the door, Tingen striding alongside me. Guarding me.

He smiled warmly at me when he saw me looking, murmuring, “Princess.”

“Tingen,” I replied, Cain falling back at a look from Zeella, walking with my fathe- the Sin of Lust. Even as Tingen spoke to me about the Manor gossip, my mouth giving vague, disinterested replies, I was listening to Cain and Zeella’s conversation.

“If I say we are leaving, I mean it, Prince of Demons.” I faltered, wanting to step back and be with Cain, Tingen placing his hand on the small of my back, keeping me in place with a shake of his head, mouthing, “It is a private conversation.” It was hardly private if I could hear them! I twisted, peeking over my shoulder. Cain had his hands in his pockets, preventing the drawing from rising as he walked and revealing itself, while Zeella was glaring down at him.

“I was just trying to help, Zeella. I meant nothing by it.”

“Keep it that way. How did the session go?”

“The same way it normally does. Des seems to be speaking a little more freely now.”

“I noticed. Saoirse does not seem to respond well to me anymore. Any reason for that?”

“Not that I can think of,” Cain said softly, the hair on the back of my neck tingling. How weird. I brushed the strange sensation off as coincidence, since we were passing under one of the vents that kept the building cool. Tapping at my hip thoughtfully, more than a little worried for Cain, I heard Tingen sigh at the motion, murmuring in a low whisper, “Someone else I knew used to do that.” I knew. My mother would do it whenever she was thinking, or concerned. Cain bit his lip, Alishan pressed hers together. Lyna cocked her head. I tapped my hip. Like mum.

Cain and Zeella fell silent, my cousin rushing back up to my side, Tingen falling back in favour of speaking to Zeella, the two of them chatting about whatever meaningless Manor incidents had occurred today. My cousin leaned in, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, “You and I should go out later.”

“Why?” I whispered back, peering into one of the empty rooms we passed by. A cat lounged on the chair. I fluttered my fingers at it, hearing it meow in return.

My cousin gave me a half-shrug, grinning mischievously, “Why not? It can be just you and me. I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

I grinned at that, Cain’s scent flooding with relief. I had barely noticed that he was so stressed. It seemed his default emotion around me these days.

“Only if you get a haircut,” I said blandly, noting the way he continuously brushed his hair away from his eyes, a lopsided smile plastered across his face like a badly-painted marionette puppet.

“Fine, but if I get a haircut, you need to buy new clothes. Normal ones,” he added before I could hastily agree. He laughed at my scowl, Zeella asking, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” I said in reply. We were approaching the elevator, Cain ushering me in.

Zeella and Tingen approached, the two of us waiting patiently. They entered the elevator, Cain automatically positioning himself between Zeella and I.

Still trying to shield me.

I didn’t bother lifting my head from my sketchbook as Cain limped toward my tree, his body covered in Fae blood, his hand bleeding. There was a cut on his neck, too, none of the wounds fatal. Already, he was staunching the cut on his hand with the hem of his shirt. Leaning against a nearby tree with his good hand, he panted softly through his nose, a dagger still dangling from his fingertips. It was clean, surprisingly, unlike the rest of him.

“You took a beating,” I muttered, filling in the last of the leaves on my sketch with colour, “Is it dead?”

“No, I had a lovely cup of tea with it.” The hair rose on the back of my neck at the lie, even if it was a joke, making me reply, “Very funny.” My cousin limped over to me, falling heavily into the brush beside me, choking out, “Took a lot to kill it. That thing was powerful.” He eyed my drawing in surprise, his face unreadable.

“Looks pretty. You going to hang it on your wall?” I signed the corner of the page. An original artwork, just for him. The only way I knew how to thank him without saying the words outright.

“On yours. It’s for you.” His expression softened into adoration, and he slumped his arm over my shoulders, leaning in and pressing a kiss to my cheek in wordless gratitude. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out my newly-refilled water bottle, handing it to him. He unscrewed the lid, drinking deeply from it with a nod, before pouring a little over his head.

Blood washed out of his hair in a wave down his face. Nodding to his injured hand, I said, “You should bandage it.”

“It’ll be healed by the time I found one.” He rested his head against mine, his eyes closing, and he sighed, “Let me sit here for a moment.”

“If you fall asleep, I’m leaving you here.”

He snorted at the thought, knowing even on my worst days I wouldn’t leave him undefended in enemy territory. His voice becoming increasingly slurred, he mumbled, “It had your blood stored in that cauldron. I destroyed it.”

“Cain?” His response was slow and soft, his body sinking into sleep. Only the fact that I could hear his pulse beating steadily stopped me from panicking about head wounds and death. He must have been tired.

Deciding to let him rest, I closed my own eyes in thought, promising myself I wouldn’t fall asleep either. I would just wait here for ten minutes, and then we would both get up and resume our search…

Cain was shaking my shoulder, my bleary eyes blinking up at him as I awoke, my back stiff and aching from my odd position against the tree. The previously sunny forest was now awash in darkness, the final colours of what looked like a beautiful sunset fading through the treetops above us. All around us, I could hear the larger animals that stalked these forests, both Super-Natural and Natural, coming to life, including a few Demons. They were few and far between, but enough that Cain had drawn his sword.

“Des,” my cousin whispered softly in my ear, “We need to go.”

The side of his face was crinkled, like he’d slept with his cheek against the tree, and his hair was a mess around his face, the hairband he used to keep it back lost to the forest.

I could hear other noises amongst the animalistic ones; Fae hunters, using cover of darkness to hunt animals to use as meat, or their pelts for clothes and blankets. The Manor kept out of the trade here, since it was hardly worth our time, but maybe I would buy one of those pelts.

A new blanket would be nice to have. Or a new coat.

Shaking the thoughts of shopping from my mind, I turned my attention back to the important parts, like the fact that if we crossed paths with one of those hunters, we could end up in an altercation.

“Where are the others?” Nym, Lydiav and Bal’gag should have, according to Cain’s rules, come to find us when we didn’t update our location. Were they in trouble?

I sighed quietly. If they were, we would have to find them before we left. Considering we hadn’t heard any of their latest location updates, if there had been any, we would need to start with where they had been last- in the Fae settlement. Which meant interacting with one of the nearby hunters.

Coming to the same conclusion, Cain extended his hand to me, sighing, “Come on, then.”

We brushed the dirt from us as best we could, Cain sheathing his weapon so we didn’t immediately become a threat to the Fae, my cousin leading me through the darkened trees.

It took only five minutes to find one of the hunters, his back to us and the edge of a bow poking out through some bushes. He was crouched on the ground, his head lowered in concentration. There was no prey in front of him, not that we could see. It was more likely that he was monitoring the area.

Cain took a step forward, a stick cracking under his shoe. The movement was meant to be deliberate, to alert the hunter that we were nearby. Instead, it acted as a warning, the hunter swinging, an arrow already loosed from his bow.

My cousin shoved me aside, slamming me into a nearby tree before throwing himself down, the arrow flying overhead, embedding itself into the hill we had just descended from.

“Woah, stranger! We’re not a threat!” Cain said while I peeled myself off the tree, brushing more sticks and dirt from my clothes and glaring at the Faery. I flicked blood away from a fresh cut on my cheek, the Faery watching the droplets fly into the undergrowth.

“Aretti feyren cracelton?!” The Faery raged, storming between Cain and I to retrieve his arrow, only five more remaining in the quiver secured to his back, “Feyrena aneot havelaq bolten feyren morgalratil!” Cain looked to me, his Faereveyn still rusty, and I translated with another cold look toward the Faery’s back, “Are you crazy? I could have shot you dead!”

“I doubt that,” my cousin snorted derisively, the Faery ripping the arrow out of the dirt, flicking mud off before placing it back in his quiver. He strode up to us, eyeing us both.

“Daemonil,” he said with a roll of his eyes. Even Cain knew that word. Nodding, he said, “Yes, we’re Demonic-beings.”

“Faereveyn?” The man questioned annoyedly. He wanted to know if we spoke Faereveyn. Cain shook his head, but I supplied, “Chancelan.”

Perhaps.

The Faery looked mildly surprised, before replying in broken English, “It is not everyday that I meet Demons who speak language.”

“Or anyone,” Cain muttered under his breath, “We’re looking for people.” Cain was clearly annoyed that he’d had an arrow shot at him.

“Everyone looking for people,” the Faery said, making me stiffen, until he added, “Lover, friend, foe. Always looking.”

“No, you idiot. We’re looking for specific people. Demonic-beings.”

“Number?”

“Three. Two women, one man.” He looked confused at that, and I repeated in Faereveyn, holding up my fingers to indicate the number, “Two Fealfae, one fealfur. Daemonils.”

“Ah. I have not…” He paused, tilting his head and searching for the right word in his mind before giving up with a shake of his head.

“You haven’t seen them?”

He shook his head, before winking to me. I arched an eyebrow, Cain shifting on his feet, linking his arm around my waist and pulling me close. The Faery’s eyes darted down to the movement, and he questioned, “Sounlak’n?”

“What’s he asking?” My cousin grumbled.

“If we’re lovers,” I said with a grin, shaking my head before pausing, unsure what word would explain ‘cousins’ in Faereveyn. Unsuredly, I offered up, “Kaerenal fotkaeon’s motken’s sotin.” The Faery laughed at my roundabout way of saying it, which translated to ‘My father’s sister’s son’, correcting, “The word… Cotken. Feyrenta cotken. Your cousin.”

“Yes! My cousin!”

“He is a Kelaiv?”

“An Assassin? Um… Soldier would be a better fit.” Sure, Cain could strike an enemy dead, but he wasn’t exactly fit for the… sneaking part. That was where I came in. The British Manor’s Greatest Assassin. Or I would be, my father claimed. Once I learnt how to let go of emotions.

“Are you a Kelaiv?”

I bristled, not sure whether to reveal it or not, instead saying, “I am the daughter of the Sin of Lust.” He didn’t seem to understand any of it, so I instead repeated, “Motin ofvlog tevlag Helan ofvlog Feh’riq.”

He repeated it in Faereveyn with a surprised look on his face, Cain asking, “What did you tell him?”

“That I’m the daughter of the Sin of Lust.”

“What’s the Fae word for lust?” Cain snickered. In a no-nonsense tone, I replied, “Feh’riq.”

“Sounds like-” I cut him off with a sharp elbow to his gut, hissing, “I know what it sounds like!” The Faery watched the interaction curiously.

Now that he was calmer, his hood pulled back to better speak with us, I could take him in fully. Brown skin like the tree bark around us, helping him blend in regardless of the time of day, and wings the colour of night. He wore a thick fur coat made from the pelt of a creature, although it was worn out and had several holes and tears on the end of it, signifying years of use. His feet were bare, but wrapped in thick linen to protect his skin, his hands bound similarly. His knuckles were still visible, which were cracked and dry, his fingertips calloused from pulling the bowstring back. His lime green hair was kept short, and there were tattoos on the edge of his face of various Fae symbols. There was a wedding ring on his finger, and, in line with the Fae traditions in this region, he had a marking on his upperarm for every child he had; two lines. His eyes, which were a yellow-green, almost glowed in the night. There was a proud way to how he stood, like he knew his place in the world and was happy with it, or content at the least. Married, two children, and a hunter to boot. Not bad.

“Half-Moon Fae, Half-Sun Fae. How’s that work for your magic?”

He blinked in surprise at the accurate guess, before lifting his hand up.

Magic curled up from his palm, forming a vine- typical Sun Palace magic, except for one thing- The vine was dead, thorns sprouting out of it at all angles. He closed his palm, the vine falling to the ground.

“Impressive. Have you seen the three people we’re looking for?” He’d said no earlier, but that meant little. Not many people were willing to help for the sake of it out here.

Now that we’d had a normal, polite conversation, he seemed more willing, tilting his head to the side, nodding and saying, “People in town earlier.” Cain squinted, annoyed that he had withheld the information earlier.

“Are they still there?” He shrugged, motioning to the bow over his shoulder and the forest around him. Right, he hadn’t been in town for a while.

“Which way is the town?” The question made him hesitate again. I didn’t blame him. Demonic-beings weren’t typically tourists, nor were they welcome visitors. We usually brought destruction to people’s doorsteps.

“We aren’t here to hurt anyone, Faery. What’s your name?”

“Demetrius.”

“Nice to meet you Demetrius. I’m Destiny. This is Cain.” He shook our hands each in turn, musing, “Cain. Like… religion.”

“Yes, like the religion. My brother is Abel.”

Demetrius laughed at that, the noise not meant to be mocking in any way. Even my cousin found the humour in it, “My mother wasn’t very creative in naming us.”

Waving his hand, Demetrius said, “Come. Follow.”

He led us back the way we had come, guiding us through forest paths we had no knowledge of, even Cain looking impressed when, using a fallen log, we crossed a river before entering a pitch-black cave. There, Demetrius paused, reaching into his pockets and pulling out flint and steel, striking them together over a bundle of oil-soaked cloth tied to a stick. A fire started, Demetrius lifting the torch up high.

The cave we were in must have been centuries old, ancient carvings and paintings dotting the walls, some of them crumbling and faded, others fresh, like they were painted only months ago. Within the cracks and crevices of the cave were small treasures to the people who lived out here; berries kept in bowls, wax-covered cloth covering them to keep insects out, jars of preserved meat and vegetables, a handful even contained jam made from blackberries, strawberries and blueberries. Survival items.

I disregarded the artwork, deeming it useless, although my eye caught on some particularly shiny pieces of jewellery.

Demetrius kept too close an eye on us to let me steal any of them, Cain reaching over and taking my hand in his for good measure, shooting me a stern warning look.

“Don’t you dare,” he said in Demonic, Demetrius turning to look over his shoulder at the odd language, my whining reply echoing throughout the cave, “I like them.”

“They aren’t yours.” Demetrius looked between the two of us, before questioning, “What language?”

“Daemonil,” I said to Demetrius, “Demon language.” Our tongue was rough and guttural. I tried to avoid using it where I could, since it sounded closer to noises animals would make than any kind of language, not an ounce of beauty in the snarling words. He nodded like he understood, before resuming his walk through the cave.

We hit a fork in it, one tunnel leading down, into a darkness too thick even for my Demonic eyes to see in, Cain shifting uncomfortably. The other led upwards, toward sunlight. It was up the second tunnel that I could hear the noises associated with a Fae settlement; laughter, speaking, the everyday noises that were associated with town life.

The tunnel that curled into darkness was silent, not even the whisper of air within.

It was toward this tunnel that Demetrius tried to lead us, Cain pausing on the edge, his hand still firmly on mine.

Shaking his head, he told Demetrius in Faereveyn, “Negatarvey.” No.

The Fae hunter nodded fervently, trying to push us closer to the slope, and it was then that I noticed the floor was polished, making it a slippery slope that would be impossible to climb out, or even walk down.

I wrenched Cain back, away from it before he could slip, whirling on Demetrius and slamming him into the wall, Inferos already unsheathed and in my hand, the tip pressed against his gut.

“Someone is forgetting that I am a Kelaiv!” I spat, using the Faereveyn word for Assassin, Demetrius shaking his head wildly, his eyes beginning to widen. Brandishing with my other hand, I demanded, “What’s down there?” When he said nothing, I snarled, “Ayen Tenaper?!” A trap?! His heart skipped a beat in his chest at the accusation, and he replied in a panicked voice, “Negatarvey, negatarvey!”

The hair on the back of my neck rose, as did the hair on my arms.

“You’re lying! What is down that tunnel?!”

Kill him.

No noise seemed to escape from the tunnel, even when Demetrius’ eyes slid to it, Cain picking himself up from the ground I had pushed him down onto, brushing gravel from his palms and hissing.

“Feyren aretti ayen Daemonil Kelaiv!”

You are a Demon Assassin!

Jeez, everyone always got so hung up on that, didn’t they?!

Kill him NOW.

“So what?! We aren’t here to hurt your people!” I snapped angrily.

“My job… Seekela and eveila threats.” Find and hunt threats. How cute.

He wants to hurt you and Cain.

Eliminate the threat.

My mouth quirked up on one side in what looked like a sickening smirk, the movement practiced well enough that it was smooth, my head tilting at the same time I pressed Inferos harder against his stomach. He winced, but said nothing, wriggling uncomfortably between me and the wall. A strand of that lime-green hair fell over his forehead, sweat-soaked and smelling of the forest.

Cain was gathering his wits again, an uncomfortable look in his eyes when he saw the way I smiled at the Faery, and he said, “Leave him, Des. He isn’t worth the effort.”

No. He will report you. Hunt you.

He will hurt your Guardians.

That settled that question, then.

My cousin was the first to see the way my grip on Inferos shifted, and he begged, “He was just doing his job. Let him go.”

My blade slid between his ribs too quickly for him to even scream in pain, puncturing his heart. I twisted the blade, sliding it up through his body as quickly as I could, the movement strenuous even with my Demonic strength, cutting up toward his throat. Green blood splattered, running down my hands and arms.

Demetrius fell to his knees. I took a step back, his body crumpling onto the ground, face-down.

Cain stared at it, slack-jawed, clamping his mouth shut when I, wiping my bloodied hands on my clothes, muttered, “And I just did mine.”