Korithax
The mortal realm is so loud and cluttered.
Ceiling fans click like broken bones, and pipes groan in protest. Half the lights flickered as if debating whether to keep existing. And yet somehow, it’s the glitter-covered calendar on the fridge that offends me most. Bright pink lettering with the words “Smoothie date <3” and “Exam prep!” scrawled across it like the ramblings of a preppy cultist. Gods, I hate it here.
I pace Daisy Sandoval’s tiny apartment with the coiled irritation of someone who’s not only been summoned against his will, but summoned to this chaos. Mismatched mugs, a laundry pile the size of a corpse, books stacked in unnatural places. There’s a system here, but it’s pure fucking madness. The couch sags like it’s been through a war, and there’s glitter everywhere.
“I should’ve killed him where he stood,” I mutter to myself, brushing a stray hair tie off the counter onto the floor.
A mug near the sink reads Good Vibes Only, and I resist every urge in me to break it. Instead, I sit on the edge of thecouch, wings folded tight against my back, my shadow leaking across the floor like spilled ink. The summon still tingles through my body, the magic of the deal sealed, buzzing in my palm. A deal with a drunk. My jaw ticks at the memory of the event:
He stumbledinto my circle like a man already half dead. Whiskey on his breath, tremor in his fingers. His soul tasted like rot and regret—just the kind of man who sought out demons when life had stopped giving him answers. Jim Sandoval. Mortal. Pathetic. Reeking of desperation.
“I need money,” he slurred, eyes too bloodshot to hold mine for more than a second. “Enough to fix everything. Get out of debt. Give her a life I never could.”
At the time, I assumed he meant his wife or a trashy side-piece. Most men did.
“How noble,” I replied, my voice dry. “And what will you offer me in return?”
He hesitated. Then pulled out a photograph—creased, worn. A little blonde girl, beaming through a missing tooth.
“My daughter,” he said. “She’s bright. Pretty. People like her. She... she could be something, y’know?”
I didn’t blink, just glared at him.
“You’re offering me your child’s soul?”
He didn’t flinch at my tone, just nodded.
“She’ll survive. She’s strong. Stronger than me. She’ll find a way out.”
It wasn’t the worst offer I’d ever been made, but it was among the more pathetic. I took the deal. Not because I needed the soul. But because something about it itched behind my ribs, the kind of itch that I was desperate to scratch. I marked thecontract in flame, and he signed it in blood that he was too drunk to realise he’d spilled.
And here I am—sittingin his daughter’s home—among the glitter pens and gaudy mugs. I lean back, wings draping across the couch. Her scent’s everywhere, it’s sickeningly sweet with a hint of lavender. But underneath it, I can sense the grief and fatigue that lace the aura of her home. It’s a kind of sadness that doesn’t shout to be heard; it just lingers in the air like smoke. It annoys me. She annoys me, and I haven’t even met her yet.
I kickmy boots up on the coffee table and scowl at a photo frame. She was with two other mortals—one with ridiculous eyeshadow and bright ginger hair, the other a dark-haired girl with a face that saysI think I’m a goddess. They stand on a beach, arms slung around each other, smiling like they don’t have a fucking thing to worry about. Well, that was quickly going to change for the little sunshine.
I sense Daisy’s energy the moment she reaches the front door. Her light aura brushes against me like a dandelion against stone, soft and pure. I don’t bother moving. I want to let her see me instantly. Let her understand exactly what her father’s desperation has bought her.
The key turns in the lock, and she steps inside without a care in the world. That is, until she sees me.
She freezes, and we stare at each other across the room. There I am, lounging like a serpent on her couch, and she stands clutching a tote bag, blinking in disbelief, her mouth slightly parted.
“You’re early,” I say blandly. “I was enjoying the thrilling tension between the lights and your unpaid electricity bill.”
She drops her bag. “Who the hell are you?”
“Rude.” I stand slowly, wings spreading just enough to shadow the room. “I’m the one who’s been waiting to collect on a very, very stupid deal.”
Chapter 4
Daisy
Idon’t scream.
Which, in hindsight, is either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Because standing in front of me is a literal demon.
Tall, so tall his head nearly brushes the ceiling, and what the… horns… those are horns. Curled from his skull, looking like polished obsidian in the dim light. And behind him, drape large, black, leathery wings. His eyes are midnight black. Not brown, not dark. Hauntingly black.
