A Demon's Bargain, Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Jasmine

A murder of crows following me can't be a good sign. Running through the eastern forest of Fernhollow has always been my escape, a way to find reprieve from the stress of work. It shouldn't bring me fear, nor should it cause me to second guess the route I chose for today.

I could run this forest with my eyes closed. In ten feet, I'll turn right to avoid running into one of my favorite trees. It's a yellow birch, with its dark green leaves and peeling, golden bark. Since I arrived in Fernhollow a decade ago, it's grown to be eighty feet tall. After, there's a wooden bench, large enough for two people if you squeeze, that overlooks a field of wildflowers. It's my go-to picnic spot.

This route, this forest, is predictable. I don't find myself questioning if a path is safe, or if danger lurks in the shadows. Regardless of which trail I pick to walk or run, it's always the same. Until now.

I've never been superstitious, not when I'm surrounded every day by werewolves, witches, and the occasional vampire. After all, Fernhollow is a small town where humans and paranormals interact, and I've never been one to seek attention. Regardless, it doesn't matter if the appearance of birds is common in Maine.

It's the fact that they're following me. I turn; they turn. I stop; they stop. Their little feet are perched on branches, flying toward me when the distance between us increases. The hair on the back of my neck stands, pressure increases behind my eyes, their consistent squawking making it hard to concentrate. I divert a sliver of my attention to pulling on an invisible thread of my dualistic magic, the half that enables me to sense another figure, a threat, close by.

There's nothing. Nothing except plenty of damn birds who are annoyed I'm ignoring danger I can't see.

Well, you know what birds? I'm annoyed, too. I didn't ask to be hunted.

I keep running and the crows keep following. They're closer now, perching on the lower branches and cawing when I pass. Nothing will deter them from their apparent mission to make my location as obvious as possible.

Instead of breathing in the salt and sulfur from the Atlantic, pine from the fir trees, or floral notes from the field I passed, the breeze carries a scent I've taken tonics to forget. This scent has caused many sleepless nights and moments where I needed to be alone in the break room at the vet.

Iron.

Acid.

Death.

My foot catches on a branch that shouldn't have been there. I stumble forward. My hands slam into the dirt. Each finger digs into the soil, feeling for life, but it does nothing to prevent the memories, the nightmares from my childhood in a different realm, from surfacing.

First, it's me when I'm sixteen. My older brother, Liam, accepted a position working for our father. He was supposed to have a party to celebrate. He was twenty-four, a full-blooded demon. His new bond granted extra powers, and even he couldn't stop the three strikes on my back. Strikes for the apparent food I'd stolen. I told our father it wasn't me. He didn't believe me.

No one did. It took days to heal the scars.

Then, three years prior, it's my wrists in shackles and a black bag over my head as I'm guided to the dungeon under the throne room. A prank, one of my siblings said. They laughed and left me. It took one week for my sister, Marisole, to discover my location. By then, I'd accepted my fate and was praying to anyone listening to kill me.

My childhood was a constant reminder of how being a half-demon is nothing more than a burden. Being one of the many daughters of the ruler of the underworld didn't protect me. My only way to survive was to beg Marisole to do what demons do best.

Make bargains.

The duration of our bargain was ten years. I'd find a place to be safe. She'd keep it a secret. When the time elapsed, we'd do a ritual to give her half of my soul. It wasn't the best plan, nor did I think to ask why she'd want to be like me. Marisole resented humans and their emotions. It's possible it's all I could offer at the time, and truthfully, I don't think either of us predicted I'd last this long.

We passed the bargain due date a few weeks ago and now demon hunters want to bring me back to hell.

The cawing continues; the memories do as well, until my mind has gone through most of my traumatic past. I don't need a reminder of who I'm up against, nor do I want to remember the most painful moments of my past, but I don't want to forget the good either.

Fernhollow is my good. It's my home.

Three weeks ago, I woke up to twelve crows sitting in the parking lot. It was a warning. I didn't even realize what the date was.

Then two weeks ago, it was fifty. I knew then I'd have to prepare for a fight.

I've been trying not to draw attention, which is easy for someone who never leaves their apartment except to go downstairs to work. Unfortunately, it was only a matter of time until a hunter found me.

Obsidian shadows coat the ground, slithering toward me, filling the gap between each finger. For a moment, my brain didn't see it as a threat. Like calls to like and my own shadows itch to be released. I'm not prepared for a fight. I haven't released my shadows since the day I walked through a portal from the underworld to the mortal realm and decoupled my magic in my mind, promising myself to never call on my shadows unless I ran out of options.

There isn't a choice to keep them hidden today. I either embrace my magic or die.

My teeth scrape against one another as my shadows are set free. They flood my chest, circling every nerve, squeezing and climbing their way out of my skin. I pull my hands from the dirt, sinking onto my knees. My hands hover in front of my face, and I watch as each finger turns black. It starts at the middle knuckle; the black is a stark contrast to my pale skin. The black crawls to the tip of every digit until the tendrils of shadows emerge. My hand is stretched taut, the pain is unbearable, but I don't pull the shadows back. Every exhale, every passing second, eases the tension in my muscles, and the pressure evaporates more and more as my chest rises and falls. I direct each shadow to work together, to form a barrier around me, to protect me from the figure lurking in the dark.

I stand and lift my gaze as the man, the demon, in front of me emerges from his hiding spot. Two dark horns adorn his skull, the tips-stained blood red. His black boots stop twenty feet from me. He's wearing a typical demon scout outfit, leather pants, and no shirt. My eyes take him in, searching for any weak spots or angles, eventually settling on his face. His black eyes stare into mine, a lock of black hair falling in front of his view. He pushes it back, then makes a show of swirling shadows in front of him in a figure-eight pattern.

"Tell me your name." I demand, willing my voice not to break.

He sighs. "I'm Amon."

"Why are you here?"

"You know why I'm here. We've been looking for you." Amon pauses a beat, then throws a shadow my way. I'm prepared and deflect the blow. He barks out a laugh and pulls his magic back. "He didn't specify dead or alive, but that doesn't mean we can't help each other."

The last thing I want to do right now is chit chat about my father. I test my magic and fail. Amon blocks my strike with ease, and my shadows retreat instead of pushing back. This is child's play for him.

My arms tense as I regain control over my power. "I'm not going with you."

His shadows break through my barrier then, wrapping a tendril around my waist. It’s like a goddamn game of cat and mouse. I wriggle against the hold, but Amon doesn't budge. I scream. I try to use my own shadows to snake around his, to pull them apart like a thin piece of string. It works, and he falls back a step. I might have a chance to be the cat in this game after all.

"Last chance." He warns. "Surrender and maybe I'll convince my boss to let you live."

I refrain from rolling my eyes. I always despised scouts. I hated when Liam became one, even begged him to reconsider. I loathe how hungry they get for power and that the bond they form with my father forces them to obey orders. They presume me weak because I'm half demon, but they forget that demons with even a single drop of god's blood are stronger.

Instead of voicing my answer to Amon and communicating how I’d rather die than give myself over, I throw everything I have into this fight. If he's going to kill me, at least I gave it my all. Clouds surface above as our magic fights for dominance. The temperature drops and I shiver, suddenly wishing I was wearing layers over my workout set. That's what I get for being practical. I grit my teeth, scream, yell as I manifest my magic to work with me instead of against. Amon falls back one step, then another. His foot slides against the ground for a third time, and his eyes widen in surprise.

When his gaze meet mine next, I make sure I'm smiling. He's nothing to me. I want him to believe this fight is easy. It's a walk in the park. I want him to think he's fallen into my trap and there isn't a way out. I want him to second guess my training and worry about being under-prepared.

My muscles ache and burn as my body remembers what it’s like to use my shadows. I hide how my head throbs with each tendril reaching for him. Amon can't know how my mind blanks every few minutes, nearing the verge of unconsciousness. If he did, he’d find a way to use my vulnerable state to his advantage.

Unless I find a strategic way to beat him, this will be my last chapter.

There has to be a way to get the upper hand, some way to beat him.

Think, Jasmine, think.

Amon has advanced, now maybe ten feet from me. He has more control, more stamina, and he knows it. Even though I don't want him to see my weakness, it's hard to hide when my body is working against me, trying to keep me alive.

That's when I hear them—the squawking birds surrounding us in this clearing. I can ask for their help, but it requires taking a risk. The environment is overstimulating, between the dark sky, the breeze, and the shadows. For me to pull from the other sliver of my magic, I need to concentrate. Using what power I have left, I raise my hands in front of me, telling my shadows to make as good of a barrier in front of me, even if only for a moment.

I close my eyes.

I visualize the shadows remaining in front of me, protecting me from harm. Then, with my attention now on sensing those around me, I reach toward the birds' minds, hoping they let me in.

Protect me.

Help me.

Attack.

Nothing happens. I chant the words in my mind again, pushing them to every tendril of magic reaching for help. A moment passes, and again nothing.

I groan; my mind is fuzzy. It's only a matter of time until I'm on the ground, unable to save myself. I ask for a third time.

The scout screams. My eyes snap open. Crows swarm above his head, like a tornado threatening to overtake and remove anything in its path. Amon lifts his hands toward the birds, redirecting his magic to remove the nuisance.

During this, he deflects my shadows, but there's an opening on his right side. It's small, but it's what I need to strike.

I lift both my hands, and my shadows do my bidding. They snake around his waist, then tighten. Each tendril multiplies, until his entire body is covered in my magic and there isn't anywhere for him to escape.

My shadows contort around him, then squeeze. A cloud of black dust materializes in his place. He's dead.

No longer able to hold my own weight, I drop back to the ground. My magic sinks into the earth, leaving no trace a murder occurred here. I stare at my fingers, still as dark as the night sky, replaying the fight repeatedly in my mind. The birds. The demon hunter. The death.

This is only the beginning.

I've been found. My quiet life in this small town is a dream slipping through my fingers, and I have no idea how to keep it from crumbling.