My eyes steal one last glance of my exquisite girl as she spreads her legs even wider for me and I groan, irritated. The shadows swirl as they darken, turning from ash grey to the color of death. Lightning pulses around me as I slip from one plane to another, easing through the reality of this realm as I slide past stardust and infinite darkness.
The shadows swirl around my feet, gathering around their master. I’m summoning them to me as I absorb their power—my power—ready to use it again.
Adriana’s office solidifies around me, and the colors of the unlit office illuminate my vision. Shades of black define the fabric of reality and, for a higher demon like me, they’re easy to pull apart.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I need to understand the echoes of their movements. I’m chasing ghosts, looking for traces of actions and reactions to whatever’s passed before. Footprints of demons, warlocks, or anyone else who’s trampled through here or touched any of the things in this room.
The roses look perfect on Adriana’s desk and they’re as pure as when I sent them. I turn my attention to the large bookcase and the shelves beneath it, filled with books and ornaments I did not send my girl.
Byron has already been here, and I can feel the subtle traces he's left behind. He reported back that he couldn't find anything out of the ordinary, despite spending hours checking every book and every ornament. He's left the trinkets as they were, including the photos.
Whoever sent these things is dicking with me and I don't like it. They hijacked my delivery of flowers and Byron can’t find any trace of who or what they are. That means they're good. It means they're dangerous.
It means I was right to divide my two lieutenants and pit them against each other. Byron will hunt the bastard down like the ruthless killer that he is and telling him that Eva might have betrayed us will distract him. I need him to focus on where the leads take us and I want him working independently so I can deal with Eva. If she's up to something, then it'll be faster to find it out if she thinks I'm still oblivious to her betrayal, and she needs no more advantages. Manipulating Byron would give her an edge she doesn't need and I'll be damned if I let her get any further ahead of me.
My fingers touch one of the photo frames and I'm drawn to the picture inside it. It's Adriana, with her hair flailing in the wind as she looks over her shoulder to meet my gaze. It's animage seared into my memory, the windswept day I rescued her from the beach near her mother's cottage. It's the first time she consciously looked me in the eye and I didn't take that photo. It's stolen from my memory and put on display for anyone to see, right in the middle of the bookcase. Adriana chose its prominent position and while that fills me with pride, the photo is a warning.
I let my magic flood the room and its darkness rises like a storm tide. The power flowing from me pulses into Adriana's office and I don't care if I'm being subtle. I'm angry. I'm determined. I'm on a fucking mission and I'm not leaving until I've figured out what the fuck is going on.
This could be a warning, but for that to work I'd have to know that someone had sent the books. When I first came into Adriana's office, I'd assumed they were part of the furniture, and there was no guarantee I'd even visit her here.
It's far too clumsy to just assume I'd realize their significance, and that only became apparent because of the smallest slip of Adriana's tongue. Whoever did this is smart enough to leave nothing up to chance and that means that there's something here that they want to be here. Hidden among all the pages of all the books, there's something designed to hurt Adriana.
And I'm damn well going to find it.
I pull out every goddamn book, flicking through their pages before I inspect their spines and covers. There's nothing. Not even a trace of magic lingers on the pages.
I smirk, appreciating the skill of whoever I'm playing against.
They're very, very good.
And they have excellent taste in books.
The first editions on the shelves are very expensive and the limited editions will accumulate value over the years. The modern copies are all books I recognize, all standouts in their genres.
It's the perfect book collection for my girl's office and I admit to myself that I'm slightly irked I didn't think to send it to her. This took time, planning, and patience, and when I close the final tome, I lose whatever reserve of control I have left.
Wind wraps around me as darkness descends, and the office descends into a different night. This is a black born from evil, one that reeks of horror and despair, of torture and pain, of depravity and violence. It's mine to command and control and it seeps into this realm, summoned from the halls of Hell itself.
A wave of rage explodes, sending paper flying into the air, flapping pointlessly as my anger ignites. It takes all my control not to raze the goddamn place to the ground and I pause, harnessing my wrath like the weapon it should be. I haven’t used all the power I possess in a while and I'm out of practice, and resurrecting it takes more effort than I'd like.
I've grown idle in the last century, and this is a challenge unlike any I've faced for centuries before that. Whoever is doing this is a worthy opponent and I need to do better. I need to meet their fire with my fury, their rage with my control, and their calm with my devastation. This is war and I cannot make any more mistakes like this. I can't afford them. Not when Adriana's at stake.
I roar, and the world quakes around me. It's right to tremble and I turn, now the cold, hard, and calculating demon lord I've always been. I'm reborn in a moment, turning backto the vicious, violent killing machine who delights in pain and desecration, in violence and its aftermath.
I'm so damn cold it's terrifying.
My composure has returned and it's letting me focus, allowing me to concentrate on the task at hand. I've wasted too much time already, time leaving Adriana on her own. She's protected, but if my adversary is this good then leaving her alone is a risk I’m unwilling to worsen.
I tilt my head, noticing the slightest shimmer on some of the book titles. It's a whisper of an echo and my eyes narrow, questioning if they really saw it for the split second it was there. It's gone now, but I'm sure there was a trace of magic in the light and I twist my lips into a snarl as I step back from the bookcase.
My fingers curl and I weave a spell that's as complicated and intricate as it is powerful. It took decades to learn this arcane magic and few achieve its prowess. Even higher demons struggle with its layers of power that ebb and flowing, working against each other and clashing in a way that's difficult to control.
Sparks ignite, spiraling through the room like fireworks, as electric whites and neon yellows hurtle through the air and collide with pale pinks and iridescent blues.
It's found the taste of sorcery and the enchantment I'm casting deepens as I pursue its trail, hunting it like a hound chasing a fox. I'm eager to strip back the layers concealing its presence, and more magic ignites as I remove each one. The display is beautiful in its own way, but I'm far too interested in what lurks underneath to admire my handiwork.
