6. Chapter Five

Selene.

My name is a whisper in the dark, a deep rumbling like a storm brewing in the distance. It barely pulls me from sleep, rousing me just enough to hear it spoken to me. Like a lover's voice, so soft that I ignore it as though it is just a soft breeze through a cracked window.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

My eyes shoot open then, wide against the pitch black of night. I groan and shift in my chair, uncertain how long I've been out. I squint towards the clock on the far wall, but the shadows are so heavy that I can't see what time it is. I'm guessing the hour is very late, because it's still cold, dark and quiet outside.

Pushing the blanket off my lap, I watch groggily as my book clatters on the floor. I sigh, and reach down to pick it up, setting it on the table and reaching for my phone. I activate the screen to check the time.

3:33 am. I narrow my gaze down at the numbers on the screen.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I startle so violently that my phone flies from my hand and lands somewhere behind the table I had left it on. I spin to face the direction of my front door, my heart thumping like a caged beast desperate to flee.

Who the hell is knocking at my door at this hour? If anyone I cared about had an emergency, I'm certain they would call me first instead. I checked my phone moments ago, so I know I didn't miss a call that would warrant showing up at my apartment like this.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three distinctly separate, deliberate raps on the old wooden door. Every strike sends a little electric shock of fear coursing up and down my spine.

I wander slowly, quietly, towards the narrow hallway leading to my front door. The only barrier between me and whatever is on the other side of that piece of wood. Every step is carefully placed as I try to remain silent.

I think back to the strange man at the coffee shop. I imagine him standing like a statue on the other side of the door, smiling his hollow smile, his dead eyes like something out of my nightmares.

The image in my mind has goosebumps erupting across my skin, the intensity of my anxiety reflected in the pins and needles I now feel in my fingertips.

When I plant both of my feet in front of my door, I try to will my knees to stop trembling. I listen, waiting to see if my visitor is still there. A few moments pass, the silence weighed down by my potent fear.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I flinch with every heavy thud, the sound demanding my response. Leaning forward, I glance through the peephole.

Nothing. Absolute blackness. I should see the street lights, the concrete slab and the iron railing of my front step, and the potted plant to the right of the door. Most importantly, I should see a person.

I see nothing.

"Who's there?" I call out loudly, my trembling voice far too loud in the odd silence that surrounds me. I realize in that moment that aside from the knocking and my shaky voice, I hear nothing at all. Not a bird, not a cricket, not a single car or train in the distance.

I stare at the door, waiting. The silence is deafening.

I take a reluctant step forward, turning my head to the side and drawing my ear close to the space between the door and the frame, straining to hear anything at all. Holding my breath, I close my eyes and listen.

"Honeybee."

I stagger backwards away from the door, the familiar male voice striking me like a heavy fist directly into my sternum. Bile rises in my throat, scorching as it crawls up my esophagus and threatens to expel my stomach contents all over the floor.

His voice. He's here. At my home.

My soul feels like it's shriveling up inside of me, flashbacks of pain in fragile places sparking to life in the most cruel echo of all the terrible things my uncle did to me when I wasn't even old enough to understand any of it.

I continue to stumble backwards until I am standing in my kitchen, my trembling fingers dragging along the cold surface of my island countertop. Pins and needles continue to spark through my hands and feet, and I know I should tell him to leave and call the police, but the words are trapped in my throat.

I am fighting to keep the vomit from spilling up from my churning stomach, and all I can think about is running. Running as far and as fast as I can, until I reach the very ends of the Earth. When I get there, I can fall off the perilous edge and plummet straight down into oblivion. Maybe then, I'd never have to hear that terrible voice ever again.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I feel my mind snap, like the lock of a rattling cage breaking open. I turn and run for the door leading into my backyard, leaving it wide open as I race through the threshold and head for the farthest wall.

Using a foot to hoist myself up on the side of a planter box, I launch myself up and over the old wooden fence and down into the narrow alleyway behind it. I fall to my hands and knees, the pain of scraping my palms along the old, cracked cement lancing through me.

I force myself to my feet and run down the walking path behind my garden, my bare feet numb to the rough surface and tiny stones cutting into my soft skin. I push myself so hard I see stars flicker at the edges of my vision, but I don't dare stop.

I don't slow down as I emerge from the alleyway and run down the sidewalk. I stagger slightly and duck my head as flock of ravens scatter around me, cawing loudly as they take to the wind in the cold Autumn night air.

The birds sound enraged as they dive down around me, forcing me to turn down the block unless I want more than one of them to hit me as they glide on by.

As the ravens begin to settle into calmer soaring, I lift my head and search the immediate area for a place I can take refuge.

A memory assaults me against my will.

"Don't cry, honeybee," he tells me, his rough hands moving down to a place nobody touches. I do cry, though. I can't stop myself. It hurts when he touches me between my legs, and he smells like sweat and whiskey. Whiskey he poured over his fingers before he put them inside of me.

I didn't know it was whiskey back then, of course. I know now. The first time I smelled it, I was at a bar. I vomited all over my date.

Everything burned. That spot down there, the places his lips touched my skin, and my hands where he forced me to touch him too.

"Oh, honeybee. That's it. You're my good little girl."

I was dying, only my heart wouldn't stop beating. I just went through the death process every time he hurt me.

Numb to the core, I come back to myself.

My eyes fall on the old church at the end of the street, towering proudly in the darkness. There are dim lights sitting behind the baroque stained glass of the windows, guiding my way.

Surely a house of God is as safe a place as any.

Maybe the flashbacks won't follow me there, maybe there are angels there willing to help keep them at bay.

I sprint until my feet hit the first step leading up to the imposing, ornate wooden doors. My lungs ache and burn from the exertion, my vision blurry and my muscles fatigued.

I slow down enough to walk up the stairs, flinching at the sound of something shuffling loudly overhead. My eyes lift, and I'm met with the vision of a massive owl perched above the impressive, carved doors.

The same owl I saw at my parents house the day of Dad's birthday dinner.

The raptor spreads its massive, dark wings. The white speckles along its dark feathers remind me of stars in the night sky. The creature's face is unnerving. Its large black eyes are like voids in that stark, pale face.

The bird of prey lets loose one long, loud screech, and the noise startles me out of my shock in seeing it here now.

I hit the top of the stairs and reach for one of the heavy doors, grateful when it opens with a tug. Slipping inside, I let the door close behind me and wait for my eyes to adjust.

The interior of the church is warm and welcoming, with dark wood furniture and an intricate carpet in shades of tan and dark red. There is a strip of solid red carpet leading from the entrance of the building, down the wide center aisle and up to the large altar at the front of the room.

The walls are made of wood and stone, with sophisticated archways nearly everywhere. The design is classic for an older church, and beautiful as they often are.

The electric lights along the walls are turned off, the bright moonlight filtering in through the stained glass windows to mingle with the candles littered around the sanctuary.

There are so many candles, the pale wax pillars sitting in transparent red glass holders. There are three at every substantial window, and one at the end of each pew.

The pews are long and sturdy, the wood lighter than the darker accents around the anterior chamber, the backs of each row fully stocked with well worn bibles and prayer cards.

I glance at the candles, most of them burned halfway down, as I wander slowly down the center of the church.

I'm still fighting to regulate my breathing as I move deeper into the house of God, walking through until I reach the front pew. I sit down on the cold wood, glancing behind me to make sure I'm still alone, before closing my eyes and dropping my head into my hands.

My body feels weak from both the lack of sleep and the effort it took to run here from home. It is only when my breathing evens out that the numbness dissipates, and my hands and feet begin to ache from the beating they endured getting here.

When I lift my head from my hands, my vision is blurred from tears. I smell a hint of blood, and look down at my hands to take stock of the angry scrapes and ghosting of bruises on my palms and fingertips.

I wipe my eyes on the backs of my hands, before settling them tentatively over my knees. I take several deep breaths, blinking the blurriness away until the altar ahead of me comes into clear view.

Above and beyond, a massive cross depicting Jesus looms. The white marble cross holds his holy image cast in polished iron. The ornament is obviously expensive and sacred to this congregation. There are candles at the base of the cross, too, driving the shadows away from the church's holy symbol.

My mind empties as I zone out, watching the flames of the flickering candles dance along the polished surface of the beautiful cross, until the creaking of a heavy door startles me out of it.

I turn my head towards the doors I entered earlier as I stand up from the pew, my aching feet uncomfortable on the rough carpet as I pivot to face the direction of the sound.

No one is there, the only movement to be seen comes from the way the candles flicker and dance, scattered around my field of vision. My eyes wander to every dark corner, fully expecting to find someone lurking somewhere there.

I can't shake the feeling that someone is here. With a sigh, I lift my arms and cross them over my chest so I can rub the chill from my arms.

The temperature in the room, once warm and inviting, drops significantly in the blink of an eye. I shiver against the sudden cold, taking note of my frosty breath which I can now see with every exhale.

"What the hell?" I rub at my upper arms a little faster in an attempt to generate some warmth. I really need to stop leaving my house without the proper clothing, especially considering what season we're currently in.

Ideally, things need to stop scaring me and triggering my fight or flight response in the middle of the damn night.

The temperature fluctuation must have been a warning of what was coming, because the flames of all the candles in the church suddenly triple in size.

I gasp, staggering backwards until my lower back collides with the edge of the hefty wooden altar.

I may be a slow learner, but I do eventually learn. Gone are the days of an uneventful life. Now, my existence seems to be marked by terrifying paranormal events. One after another, haunting me relentlessly.

"Who's there?" I call out, trying to feign bravery in the face of whatever has entered this sacred place. My voice doesn't tremble, for that I am grateful, but the rest of me is shaking like a leaf.

The shadows shift before me, the double doors that lead out of this place swallowed by a great black chasm. Darkness like thick, impenetrable black smoke falls from the elegant ceiling into the void below.

I watch in rapt horror as a figure descends from the ceiling, its form comprised of the thickest of shadows, like the pitch black smoke of a deadly fire. The inky darkness is being pulled inwards, like the entity is a black hole swallowing every photon of light on these blessed grounds.

Massive wings made of billowing black, the shape of a great owl's, spread so wide they fill the entire width of the church. Once the entity's massive body lands both of its feet on the ground, those wings fold to rest behind its broad back.

I cannot make out any details, only vague shapes. It is a shadow figure, devoid of all light, but there are a few things I can distinguish among the darkness.

A massive set of horns sits atop its head, holding what appears to be a dark, polished crown. The lengthy spires curl up and out from where I imagine its forehead is intended to be, with two other sets of spires along the outline of its skull. Though distinctly demonic, they are also awe-inspiring in their size and shape. Like the entity's horns are a crown all on their own, even without the visual aid of the unholy adornment they hold in place.

This entity is humanoid, but colossal, with spikes protruding from various points around its dark silhouette of a body.

The scream that threatens to explode from my chest is lodged inside of me, my breath caught like a mouse in the trap of my throat. I can't breathe through the horror of witnessing the being that stands before me.

I've lost my fucking mind. At some point between leaving home and arriving here, I've slipped into a frenzied psychosis. That is the only way to explain the shadow of a demon standing at the other end of the church.

Tears pool at the corners of my eyes as I stand with my back to the altar, my body trembling so violently I think I may pass out.

The shadows move again, flickering and shifting, until the vision of the great demon turns to a static image my mind just cannot comprehend.

Reality bends, and in the monster's place, a man stands. Though he is still shrouded in heavy darkness, the man's body looks far more real than the demon that preceded it.

"Little witch."

It's him. The demon from my altar room.

His haunting, disembodied voice fills the church, and if the man is speaking I cannot see his lips moving. It's still far too dark where he stands for me to make sense of him at all.

The image of him is flickering in and out of existence, one moment he is a man, and the next that monumental demon stands in his place. My mind is fracturing, I cannot understand what I am seeing. Man, demon, both.

"What do you want with me?" I call out as my body presses back against the altar, desperate to escape, with nowhere to go. This entity stands between me and the only known exit.

His voice echoes through the church again, deep and soothing, but still clearly inhuman.

"It is you that calls to me."

I shake my head, terror gripping me. "I didn't… I…" I whimper, the words dying on my tongue. "Protection spell." I force myself to speak to the entity, desperate to convince him I didn't want any of this.

My trembling hands reach out behind me as I try to shimmy slowly along the front of the altar, my instincts screaming at me to run.

"You wear the sigil of my great name upon your soul," the voice growls deep and low, his presence filling the entire church with an oppressive, dark energy.

Again, I shake my head in response. My head moves so violently that strands of hair slip out of my braid, falling in messy pieces around my face. "P-lease. Let me l-leave."

"There is nowhere you can run that I won't find you, little witch. You belong to me," the incorporeal voice booms around me, and instead of running like I originally intended, I drop down to my knees like every ounce of strength has been ripped from me.

I lift my head, staring wide-eyed at the entity as it takes a step towards me. It flickers again, a man in its place for just a moment, until the demon returns to fill my vision.

"There is no undoing what has been done. I will not let you go."

Pain courses through me, but I can't bring myself to scream. I try to pinpoint where it originates, but I cannot. It's a ghost, a phantom; the pain is spiritual, not physical.

My face is contorted in agony, but I can't tear my gaze away from the demon. Its body continues to flicker, shifting from the shadow of a man to the shadow of a demon. My mind is fragmenting, insanity clawing its way up from the depths of my psyche.

I am just a human girl, my fragile mind cannot process this horror. Another minute of this and I am going to break beyond repair, I just know it. Human eyes aren't meant to look upon evil incarnate.

The demon must know what is happening inside of me, because the candles that surround us and illuminate the church are extinguished instantly with the swipe of his dark hand. I cry out as we plummet into a lightless void, the temperature dropping so low I flinch against the searing cold, until it rises again.

Warmth and silence encompass me, wrapping around me like a comforting blanket, and I feel something in the pitch blackness. A hand, gentle and warm, stroking the side of my face. Fingers slip through the wayward strands of my braid, pulling them all the way loose, before relocating them behind my ear.

The hand pets my hair, and a wave of serenity washes over me. There is no room for confusion or fear now, just this comfort. Just this moment. I'm safe here in the darkness, with him.

When I finally feel myself relaxing, and a deep sigh slips past my lips, a few candles flicker back to life. A gentle amber glow fills the church, and I blink rapidly to clear my blurry vision.

When I can finally focus, a pair of human eyes watch me closely. A pale blue, shimmering brightly, hold me captive from mere inches away.

Adoration floods me as I gaze up into his eyes, leaning heavily into his warm hand. When he speaks, his voice is entirely human. Soothing, deep and dark, like silk against my senses. "You have nothing to fear. I will never harm you, little witch."

He moves himself away from me slightly and my eyes adjust, roaming over the form he has taken in front of me. He is tall, his shoulders broad, his body robust. He wears nothing but a pair of loose fitting, black pants that hang low on his hips. His sun-kissed skin is radiant against the glint of candlelight.

He pulls his hand away from me, shifting his body backwards slightly to give me a little more space. As our physical connection breaks, the intense calm that blanketed me lifts.

Panic swells and brings with it a fresh surge of fear. Oh, God, he's a demon, not a man.

I stare at him wide-eyed, watching as the image of him turns to static once again. Flickering back and forth, I see the shadow of a demon take his place. Every single one of my muscles tense, but before I can move away from him, he reaches out and touches me.

His fingers slide along the side of my face, and a dense wave of calm washes over me. I exhale deeply as the terror seeps out of me, as if he is drawing it out through his anchored hands. His touch is a soothing balm to my ruptured sanity.

The shadow of the demon is gone again, replaced with him. Solid, real, and warm. He is safety. He is peace. When he pulls me up to my feet, and draws me up against the solid wall of his chest, my body relaxes further.

"Breathe. You are safe," he soothes, and my body obeys. I take in a steadying breath, feeling centered. I know he is doing this, because just a few moments ago I was descending into endless madness. It's like he snapped his fingers and put the broken pieces of my mind back together again.

"I don't understand what is happening," I whimper, my voice small in the vast space that surrounds us. I regard him more closely now, and I am surprised how devastatingly handsome he is.

He is well over six feet tall, broad and muscular like I imagine a viking warrior would be. His black hair is wavy and a little longer at the front, falling across his forehead and a little into his eyes. His eyes are an ethereal pale blue, and he has a mouth that looks like it belongs to a fallen angel.

The man looks like he is the incarnation of sin.

"Ask your questions," He says simply, walking me backwards until I'm pressed against the altar. I allow him to move me, because he is gentle and strong where I feel frail and weak.

Once my back hits the altar, he gently lifts me and sets me on top of it in a sitting position. His hands linger on my thighs, committed to steadying me. I am grateful that he gives me some space to breathe and collect myself.

"Who are you?" I question him.

His voice fills the entire Church, rumbling like a coming storm until it echoes all around us. His mouth doesn't move, but I know the haunting voice belongs to him. "I am the protector. The teacher." Just like in my altar room, his voice shifts in such an inhuman way, it makes my hair stand on end. "A Great Prince of Hell."

"Tell me your name," I demand, my voice a little stronger now that he is helping keep me calm. I'm hoping that if I walk away from this encounter alive, I can figure out exactly what I am dealing with.

He smiles. "I have many."

"Tell me who you are," I demand more firmly, knowing that if I learn anything from our meeting, it must be his name. A demon's name carries a great deal of power, and I need some kind of advantage here.

His face contorts with a scowl, and he steps into me. His imposing body presses against mine, pinning me to the altar, his hand lifting to collar my throat. "I am a Great Prince of Hell, commander of twenty-six legions. To utter my true name is to turn the eyes of Hell upon you."

He lowers his mouth to mine, his voice a demonic growl uttered against my trembling lips. "Is that what you desire, little witch? For all the legions of Hell to gaze upon you?"

Fear sparks like striking a match, and for a moment my vision is flooded with the image of the demon; the incarnation of darkness and evil, standing before me. The monstrosity towers over me, and I recoil so violently I nearly fall from the altar.

In the next instance, he appears human again. That addictive wave of calm clarity washes over me, stabilizing me.

He's hiding his true form, protecting my mind. The thought enters like he placed it there himself, kind of like dropping a stone into the calm surface of my psyche.

Every time fear takes hold, the image of the man before me breaks, giving me glimpses of the true demon that stands behind the veil. He meant it when he said he wouldn't harm me, he proves it every time I panic and he enables me to become calm and clear.

One more steadying breath, and I shake my head in response to his earlier question. He nods his assent. "My true name holds great power, and should be spoken with purpose." I don't question him, my most recent research into demonology mentioned that we should only utter a demon's name if we intend to summon it, or worship it.

"What do you want with me?" I ask next, forcing my mind to focus on his striking blue eyes. As much as I want the truth, I also don't want to have a conversation with an eldritch horror. I want to help him hold this reality, I want to believe that his warm skin is real where it touches mine.

The demon watches me closely for a moment, before his hand drops from my throat. His fingers brush along the soft contours of my jaw before lifting to slip into my hair.

I sigh softly as I gaze up into his ethereal eyes, suddenly unable to resist his magnetic pull. With his fingers gripping tight at the base of my head, he pulls my mouth to his.

I gasp in surprise as his lips press into mine, his pillow soft mouth capturing my own in a feverish kiss. I melt into him, desperate for comfort from the very entity that has nearly destroyed my sanity not that long ago.

His dark energy pulses around us, and I am lost to his expert mouth. His kiss is so enthralling that for a minute, I forget I am standing in an empty church with a demon who has taken human form. I moan softly as his tongue slips past the boundary of my lips, coaxing mine to move.

His left arm winds around my waist, pulling me tight against his warm body, and I find myself desperate for more. My hands roam his brawny torso, my fingertips following all the dips and curves of muscle.

My body responds to him against my better judgment, intense arousal flooding in and leaving me with a needy throb between my thighs. The demon groans, as though my body's response pleases him.

Our lips part as he pulls away from me and takes a step back, gazing down at me with lust evident in his sinfully beautiful face. "I want you to let me inside of you, little witch."

A frown wrinkles my forehead as my eyes narrow, his words snapping me out of whatever spell he put me under with his kiss. "What?"

He doesn't answer my question, and I get the sense that the sudden change of subject is meant to distract me from the panic bubbling up from the pit of my stomach.

For a single second, a massive shadow flickers into existence in his place. I don't have enough time to understand what I saw before another wave of calm descends on me.

"Once upon a time, many centuries ago, I wandered the Earth in this body," he begins, stopping briefly to glance back over his shoulder.

I follow his line of sight, gasping when I see a hundred shadowy figures flicker into existence, scattered around the church in clusters. They watch us in silence, and the shock of seeing what I assume are demons standing here on hallowed ground has my mouth parting in horror.

A strange, unintelligible whispering that sounds like all of them speaking at once can be heard for several disorienting seconds, before the demon sends the entities away with a flick of his wrist.

As though nothing happened, he continues speaking. I focus back on him, trying to pretend like a hundred demons didn't just pay us a God damned visit.

"The humans called me Daemon," he explains. Day-mon, not demon, as I had been referring to him in my head. "This name is safe to speak."

Daemon.

"Yes," he confirms, as though he can hear me speak the given name in my mind. I shake my head, not willing to let him keep changing the subject when I have one very important question I need an answer to.

"Why would I let you in? If you exist, that means the Devil exists. That also means God exists." I tell him, and the name of God causes his face to contort in disgust. "Tell me. Why would I let you in, and damn myself to Hell?"

He smiles, then. Something so unsettling, I recoil. "God is dead."

What?

"God is dead," he repeats firmly, once again acting as though he can read my internal dialogue. "The only heaven you will find is the one that I can give to you."

I shake my head, so confused it makes my head ache. How can God be dead?

"I will give you everything you desire, Selene," he promises, leaning forward to invade my space. My head falls back just enough to drown in the light of his softly glowing, blue eyes. Adoration fills me once again, and I suddenly feel the intense urge to drop to my knees and worship the man speaking such puzzling words to me.

Son of a bitch.He's manipulating my emotions. The longer I remain calm, the more clarity I'm awarded. There is no reason for me to adore the demon in front of me, so the feeling is not coming from me. These out of place feelings are coming from him.

"A life of pleasure and decadence, of power and wealth beyond imagination. I will awaken your magic and give you all the knowledge you need to bring this world down to its knees."

His head lowers just enough to brush his lips against mine, the ghost of a lover's kiss. "All you have to do is bind your soul to me."

I frown up at him. I just cannot fathom what a Great Prince of Hell could possibly gain from acquiring my soul. I am nothing. No one.

"All that you are is mine to know, Selene. From your history, to your future, to every corridor of your brilliant mind."

Is this demon trying to tell me that I am a powerful, natural born witch with a limitless fountain of magic hidden inside of me? Locked away, requiring a key. I still cannot fathom how any of this benefits him, or how an ordinary girl like me can have potential like this.

"After I bind your soul to me, you will awaken as a witch, and your power will strengthen mine."

I listen to every word he is saying, trying my hardest to understand what he is attempting to explain. This sounds like a fairy tale, or a wild nightmare. If it weren't for all of the paranormal experiences I've been having lately, some of which I've shared with other people, I'd be certain I was simply trapped in a state of psychosis. That none of this could possibly be real.

"As above, so below. My power from below will amplify yours, and your power from above will amplify mine. Do you understand?" It takes me a minute to make sense of his explanation, but eventually it clicks.

"My soul will connect you to the world above you, to the universe beyond your domain in Hell." I state with certainty, unsure where that sudden burst of knowledge came from.

He smiles, and nods. "Already my magic has taken root in you. I am the teacher, and omniscience is my birthright."

"Why me? There has to be someone better for you than me? I am no one."

He laughs gently, a darkly musical but masculine sound. "I told you, there is nothing I do not know. I know everything about you, and what you harbor within."

He leans down towards me, pressing his lips against mine. The kiss is just firm enough to feel soft, yet demanding. He takes my mouth as though he owns it, and I guess he believes he does. I cannot help but kiss him back, because despite everything, it feels good. He feels good.

Even though I know he is manipulating my feelings, I'll take this over fear any day.

Demon, Great Prince of Hell, inhuman entity… regardless of all those things, he has never actually harmed me. He has only promised safety, power and protection. He knew I couldn't handle his true form, so he is protecting me from it now.

Sure, he has scared the living hell out of me. I'm not sure if that was his intention or an act of malice on his part, it's just the nature of dealing with a demon. Before this year, supernatural things didn't exist to me.

I was raised Catholic, which means I was taught to fear the Devil and the hell that awaits us if we do not follow God's commandments. Before I decided to become a witch, I realized that doing so would lead me away from the church and away from God's light.

God never saved me, he never helped me, he never made me feel loved. So why did I still feel loyal to him? Daemon is offering me everything I want and need, all I have to do is let him in.

Unlike God, this entity standing before me in his human form is tangible. Present. He's the only thing that has proven itself to be real, beyond the little spells I have cast since starting my journey as a witch.

I've lit candles with my words, and called my ancestors to me to help protect me. I've found success in those things. What can I achieve if I bind myself to this demon and allow him to awaken my true potential?

Will letting him in damn me to eternal torment in hell, just as I was taught would happen when I was a child?

"You will never suffer damnation. When your time on earth is done, and you've weaved the threads of the universe down from the stars, and rooted them in me, you will join me in our own personal heaven."

What if he is lying?

"I have nothing to gain in lying to you. If I want you, I can take you whether you let me in or not. You will feel unbearable pain if I possess you, and eventually die, because demons cannot inhabit humans for long without tearing their souls to shreds."

I wince at the thought, but that revelation only confuses me again. He's inside my head, I can feel him. Listening to my thoughts, flipping through them like the pages of a book.

"Let me in. Let me love you," he says, his voice shifting tone rapidly, briefly sounding as though he is not just one being, but a legion of demons inhabiting one single body. "Let me in so that I can unlock what is within you. I can set you free."

Love me?

"A love you cannot even fathom, so deep and true that it can never end. No force could take you from me, not even death."

I have so many questions. So many it makes my head ache even more than it did before.

This is a lot to digest.

I watch him warily. "I don't know what to think, what to do, what to feel."

His beautiful eyes narrow slightly as he contemplates me. He releases me then, taking a step back so that I can slide off the altar and stand on my own two feet.

"I will give you a gift, little witch," he promises.

"A gift?" I ask, wrapping my arms around myself once again. I feel as though all this information is going to overflow inside of me, crack me open and end with me falling to pieces right where I stand.

"The gift of vengeance. To prove my devotion to you, to us."

An image flashes in my mind, one I can only assume he planted there. The image is a hellish nightmare. My uncle, Jake, screaming in a lake of fire. I shudder, stomach acid rising in my throat. It burns, but I swallow back the pain.

"On the night of the blood moon, six days from today, you will return here," he explains as he turns away from me, abandoning me at the altar to consider all that he has offered me.

He doesn't regard me again as he heads straight for the exit, his voice disembodied and drifting around me. "It is then that you will bind yourself to me."

"Where will you be until then?" I call out, taking a step forward. The desire to follow him is overwhelming, and I don't understand it. I am drawn to him, that much I can't deny. Our meeting here today made him real in my mind, less of a threat and more like… a potential ally.

My dark companion.

Everything is different now.

I watch in awe as dark wings like black smoke spread from his back, and he lifts up into the chasm of darkness above the church doors, the place he descended from at the beginning of this whole encounter.

"With you. Always with you," his voice fades into the emptiness of the church, and just like that, I don't feel him here anymore.

God almighty, if you're out there, please help me.

Of course, there's no answer. God has never taken the time to connect with me, or give me even a whisper of his guidance. Perhaps he really is dead.

Hit with a wave of bone deep exhaustion, I step away from the altar and walk down the center aisle. The once lit candles diminish as I pass them by.

I am so overwhelmed, the exhaustion is the only thing I can focus on as I exit the church and head back in the direction of home.

The walk home is dark and cold, the biting winds of winter seem to have arrived tonight.

Though as promised, I am not alone. That owl, with his dark feathers and frighteningly intelligent eyes, follows me every step of the way.

***

I don't know what late hour I finally crawled into bed at last night, but the insistent ringing of my phone has my eyes drifting open to my bedroom bathed in late morning light.

I groan, rolling over towards my bedside table and grabbing for my phone.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I answer reluctantly. "Hello?"

"Honeybee," Mom's voice trembles, the single word accompanied by a gentle sob.

"Mom?" I immediately sit up in bed, gripping the phone to my ear with both hands. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, honey. Uncle Jake passed away last night."

Her words hit me like a baseball bat to the gut. I recoil away from the phone feeling all the warmth from a restful sleep drain from my body, before bringing it back to my ear.

"His roommate found him having a seizure, and he died before the ambulance could get him to the hospital. They think it was an aneurysm from an injury or something."

"I'm so sorry, Mom," I tell her, working hard to hide the fact that I want to vomit. I can't even begin to process the emotions I am feeling in the wake of this news.

"The doctor says he has bruises all over his body, like he has been in a fight. The police said it looks like there was foul play. They're doing an autopsy. It's just terrible, sweetie," she says, her voice cracking as she cries softly into the phone.

"What can I do?" I ask, not knowing what else to say.

"There's nothing anyone can do, Honeybee. It's an awful tragedy. I'll let you know when I get a date for the funeral, okay?"

We speak for a few more minutes, before she lets me go to make some more calls. When the call finally ends, I get up and head for the bathroom. I don't even have time for my knees to hit the cold tile before my stomach clenches and I dry heave violently.

If I had eaten anything recently, it would all be at the bottom of the toilet bowl with the force my stomach is trying to expel its contents. Bile burns its way up from my empty stomach, scorching my throat. When my stomach finally settles, I stand up, my eyes watering excessively from the ordeal.

I step over to the sink and brush my teeth, rinsing a mix of toothpaste and the foul taste away with some cool water.

The gift.

If I wasn't damned before, surely I am now. How can anyone come back from dealing with a demon like this? I've done this to myself when I decided to practice witchcraft. In theory, I accepted the potential consequences. The reality hits harder.

God abandoned you long ago. He abandoned us all. This is the right path.

Was that thought even my own? I have no way to know for sure. All I know is this path is mine now, and I can't change course. Not after everything that has happened. There is no way I can find salvation after receiving a gift from a demon.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror above my sink. My eyes are changing, how had I not noticed this before? Once plain brown, there is now a vibrant ring of brilliant gold around my pupil. The strangely coloured band is thin, but it's there. It glows softly, giving my face an otherworldly appearance.

Everything is changing, and so am I.

My faith has been broken, but now it has come full circle. There are six days remaining before I must make a decision. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted by all the demon has offered me.

I have six days to either deny a demon what he wants, which is me, or embrace my power and bind my soul to a Great Prince of Hell.