1. “What do you think?”

CHAPTER ONE

"WHAT DO YOU THINK?"

There's an art to getting married.

At least, according to the magazines, websites, ads, and Reddit forums that seem to have infiltrated my life in the past month.

One would think you're preparing for an apocalyptic event instead of a joyous occasion. One might be right.

"And this, right here, is the house where the Millers died almost fifty years ago. It was a Tuesday, like now, when John Miller was…was overcome with emotion, when his whole world shifted. He grabbed the gun from his bedside drawer and went through his house, killing each and his daughters and then his wife. When he was arrested, he told the authorities that they had all been possessed by demons and he needed to get rid of the evil inside them.

"He spent his entire life in prison and was released on good behavior thirty-nine years later. He picked up his possessions, walked out of prison, and wandered the streets. When he got back to this place, to what was once his home, he climbed the stairs, lay in his bed, and died of a broken heart."

Several of the humans around us gasp. A couple of them wipe tears and cross themselves.

Lucian looks at me and smirks.

I don't know how much of the story is true, but if my tingling witch sense is any indication, the tour guide is magical, as is the house we're parked in front of.

It's old and dilapidated, a less than shiny juxtaposition to the rest of the neighborhood, which hasn't been gentrified but is in a far better condition than the Miller house.

"It's said that his spirit still haunts his residence. Eyewitnesses over the years claim they see him looking out the window, trying to escape. Trying to save himself from the demons that possessed his family, but no one can save him."

The tour guide looks at one of the windows at the top and narrows his bright brown eyes. He's young and handsome with dark hair and a beard. The hairy bear type with a large physique to match.

He's dressed in black with a tan trench coat and a beret. He definitely looks like the part of a supernatural detective. His black-and-yellow leather gloves, however, break that illusion.

He purses his perfect pink lips and, after a moment, turns away with a shudder.

I wonder if he can see the ghost of John Miller. I wonder if he's a medium. Kudos to him if he is. I can't imagine anything worse than putting myself through haunted places for a quick buck every day.

Or every Saturday and Sunday, to be precise.

"Right. On to the next stop. Follow me. It's just around the corner," he says, and a cute brown girl with shiny black hair squeezes his shoulder and whispers something in his ear.

She's been following him around like his assistant, but aside from a few directions, she hasn't helped with the ghost tour. She's also magical. I can feel it. Lucian has helped me tune myself into the frequency of magic, and I can sense it everywhere around me.

Which is good because, considering how many people have hurt me in the past, I need to be aware of any new potential threats before things go pear-shaped.

The guide and his friend start walking and everyone follows. Lucian stays back, hands in his pocket, looking at the haunted house.

"Everything okay?" I ask him. "Please don't tell me you want this place."

I put my hands in my pocket also. I don't know what's with the weather lately, but it's pissing me off. It's been so cold when it's supposed to be sunny and spring-like. I'm ready for this motherfucking cold to do me a solid and fuck right off.

"No." Lucian slowly looks back at me and smiles. "I was just thinking. Perhaps he was right."

"Who?"

"John Miller. Perhaps his family truly was possessed by demons and everyone just thought he was out of his mind."

I grimace and stand shoulder to shoulder with Lucian, digging my hand into his pocket and linking our fingers for extra warmth.

What on earth do I have a hell-demon as my fiancé for if not to keep me warm?

"I thought you said the kind of demons who require human hosts have been locked away for centuries."

Hell-demons are the one type who retain their body when summoned to Earth, so it would make no sense.

"Millenia," he corrects me. "But…we're a sneaky kind. You never know."

"So are witches, so…I get it. Now come on, or we're gonna lose them."

I pull him toward the group that's already turning on a side street called Cabrini Street. As soon as we turn to catch up, it's like we're in a different part of the city. It looks dark and empty, eerie even. The perfect trail for a ghost tour, I guess.

Ty, our tour guide, keeps walking ahead. His friend is carrying a red cloth on a stick and waving it in the air. We pass old apartment buildings that have seen more glorious days, if their art Deco touches are any indication, and stores so deserted I have no idea how they're still operating.

Hell, even the cars parked on the street have gathered dust, and I have no idea how that's even possible.

"This…is the Church of St. Frances Xavier Cabrini," Ty says when we come to a stop.

I turn to look in the direction he's pointing and almost lose my jaw to gravity.

Right in the middle of this abandoned street, tucked away like a secret, is a glorious church straight out of a fairy tale or European city.

It's made of dark stone and beautiful stained glass. A clock tower stretches far above the main building and big, frightening humanoid gargoyles are spread around the clock as if guarding it with their big wings and imposing bodies.

"This church, the only of its kind in the entire city, has quite a complicated history."

Lucian reaches for the small of my back and pulls me into his arms as Ty continues, "Built in 1910 as part of St. Frances mission in America, it didn't bear her name until the fifties. St. Frances, with the support of the Italian community and Pope Leo XIII, erected this now-historical building and hired famous sculptor, Augustus Saint-Gaudens, to decorate it with Amethyst City's famous humanlike gargoyle sculptures.

"Unfortunately, the gargoyles built to ward off evil didn't help St. Frances, Saint-Gaudens, or any of the builders who worked on the church day and night. Only seven years after the church opened, both died tragically and under suspicious circumstances, and the builders all grew sick with dysentery. The church passed to the city. They attempted to continue services until the late eighties."

Lucian plants a kiss on the top of my head, and I get nice and comfortable in his embrace, listening to the history of this gorgeous building.

How could it have fallen into such disrepair? How could anyone let this beautiful place fade?

Ty told us how the city surrendered the church to a private businessman during the recession, who made it into a residence and a museum.

"He tragically passed away in 1997, and the building has stayed abandoned ever since. Legend says the building cries at night for his loss. Locals have reported loud noises for years. It's said this street has fallen out of God's grace because of it." Ty steps back and allows the group to take pictures while his friend chats with him.

I turn to Lucian and smile.

"What do you think?" I ask.

Lucian takes my hand and squeezes it in his. "It's perfect."

We've been looking for so long and have finally found it—a place that feels as special as our relationship.

Ty's friend waves her flag and gets everyone's attention. Ty turns to move on to the next stop.

"How does one go about getting married in this place?" Lucian asks, and everyone freezes.

They all look at Lucian, most with a surprised or intrigued face. Ty, however, looks at him in horror.

"Why would you want to get married here? This place is haunted."

"Perhaps," Lucian answers. "Or perhaps it's misunderstood, like my kind."

"Your kind?" Ty asks.

"The demon kind."