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“From the heights of the stars to the hollows of deep,” I continue, my voice gaining a little more confidence. “I rouse the secrets that the shadows keep. Open the gate, unmake the seal, let the hidden world be the only thing real.”
It’s a terrifying irony—I’m reading the words meant to pull a soul up, to bring back the ghost I missed so much I was willing to break the world for him. But we aren’t pulling anyone up this time. We’re using the open door to jump down.
I think of the ghost I originally wanted—the one I would have given anything to see again. Then, I look at the demon I got instead, and take one long, shuddering breath.
“By the key of my soul and the lock of my breath, I walk the path between life and death.”
The final word hangs in the air, heavy and vibrating like a struck bell.
“Did it work?” I look around, desperate and half-blind with adrenaline. “Malachi, nothing’s happening. What now?”
He looks to me, and a slow, terrifying, fanged grin spreads across his face.
“Oh, it worked,” he purrs, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Well done, you clever, little mortal.”
“I don't see anything,” I whisper, my eyes darting frantically around the room, searching for a portal, a hole, a sign—anything. “Malachi, there’s nothing there.”
He reaches behind the couch, and—oh God.
The air ripples in a wet distortion that makes my inner ears scream. For a split second, the familiar, floral wallpaper vanishes; in its place is a glimpse of something dark and stony. Then it snaps back, the living room flickering back into focus.
“Shoes. Now.” he commands, already pulling his own on.
I stumble toward the door and shove my feet into my boots, not even bothering to lace them. I blindly snatch my handbag from the side table, slinging the strap over my shoulder in a panic as my eyes dart frantically around the wreckage of my living room, looking for a flash of black and cream fur.
“Vesper! Baby, come here!” I call, my voice cracking.
“Eden, we don’t have long,” Malachi growls, his grip on my arm tightening.
“I'm not leaving her!” I scan the room.
She’s not on the couch. She’s not under the table. Where the fuck is she?
“She will be fine! Your sister will find her when she wakes,” he bellows over the rising roar of static. He laces his fingers through mine, his grip bruisingly tight.
“Malachi, I can't—”
He stops in his tracks, sensing the exact moment my knees start to give way. He reaches out and curls a hand around the back of my neck, pulling me forward until our foreheads are pressed together.
“Everything will be fine,” he rumbles. “I’ve got you. Stay close, keep your eyes on me, and don't let go of my hand. Do you understand?”
I nod jerkily against his forehead, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I have no choice. I have to trust him.
“Good,” he whispers. “Then let's go and fix this mess.”
He doesn't give me a chance to change my mind—he just turns, and steps directly into the ripple.
Blinding, white-hot agony sears through my body, like I’m being turned inside out, my atoms unspooled and rethreaded through the eye of a needle. My guts swirl, churning and rearranging themselves behind my bones. I try to scream, but the air is gone, replaced by a pressure so intense it feels like it’s trying to collapse my lungs.
Then, gravity returns with a vengeance, and my knees hit rock with a bone-jarring crack. I collapse forward, groaning as the air finally rushes back into my chest—dry, scorching, and tasting of copper.
When I finally manage to peel my eyes open and look up, I don’t see lakes of fire or pitchforks. I see… screens.
Hundreds of them in every direction. Shimmering tears in the magma-laced walls, hanging in the air like a gallery of the damned. Each one is a window, a voyeuristic glimpse into a thousand different rooms. From men to women to children—every single one of them trying to do exactly what I did. Reaching for something they shouldn't.
From my periphery, the ripple to my living room gives one final shudder—a glimpse of my messy coffee table and the discarded ritual supplies—and then it snaps shut, leaving me in a whole new realm, with a demon who’s seemingly unbothered by the interdimensional whiplash. He’s already rubbing at his silver temples next to me, his posture losing that defensive edge as he settles back into his usual state of bored arrogance. He looks down at me, his eyes reflecting the flickering glow of all the desperate mortals in the walls.
“Welcome to the Forbidden Zone,” he says, his voice echoing around us. “Try not to vomit. The janitors here are notoriously sensitive.”
