Chapter 7

7

F our things happen in fast succession.

One, the beautiful door with the stained-glass shatters apart, wood splintering all over the bucolic sitting room. Shards of glass spike into the wall, slashing open the wallpaper and imbedding into a pillow. Delina jerks herself back, pressing herself against the bedroom door as if that could help her.

Two, Gurlien grabs the gun and snaps off a shot, striking the doorjamb and splintering even more wood away. The bang blasts through Delina's mind, plugging her ears and ringing her brain.

Three, the cat hisses, spitting and arching its back, yowling before dashing away.

Four, in the doorway, his eyes flashing red, half crouched, the paint circle ablaze in fire, is Maison.

There's a quick, vicious moment of silence, before Gurlien aims the gun again and snaps off another shot.

Maison just shifts, still in the circle, the bullet passing harmlessly by.

"Where is she?" Maison growls, his voice distorted by the circle around him. The very air wavers, and his eyes glint, unreal. "Where did you take her?"

Delina presses herself against the door, and the flicker of motion draws his gaze to her.

He blanches, paling, drawing himself up out of the crouch. "Delly," he starts, stepping towards her and getting jerked back into the circle. "Delly, are you okay?"

Delina opens her mouth to speak, then closes it, words gone like the wind whistling through the shattered door.

His eyes are still red, flashing, unnatural.

He tries to take another step, but gets yanked back once more from the circle on the doorstep.

"Delly, did they hurt you?" he asks, like she's the only person in the room and like he didn't just fucking obliterate the door to the cabin.

Slowly, she shakes her head.

"She came to us, Freddy," Chloe says, suddenly, and both of them flinch. "Glad to know her mother left a functioning demon trap."

"Didn't know a demon trap would work on a half one," Gurlien says, staring down at the vivid fire surrounding Maison's feet.

Maison shoots them a quick glance, then back to Delina. "Whatever you're thinking, it's not real," he says, dipping his voice down, as if he could deny anything with his eyes glowing red and the circle ablaze at his feet. "Whatever they told you, whatever you think is going on, it's not it."

"Delina," Gurlien says, his voice clinical, "I would advise going into the other room for this."

"Or what, Gurlien, you're going to try to shoot me?" Maison snipes back. "I can block that in my sleep and we both know it."

So he does know them. It's not just a bad prank, it's not just a misguided letter.

It's worse.

With composure she sure as hell doesn't feel, Delina pulls herself to her full height, staring Maison down.

He winces again at her expression, and she can't even see the gray of his eyes behind the red.

"Can you move?" she asks, finally, after letting him stand in silence in the doorway. "Over…whatever the hell that thing is?"

"Oh we are not letting him in," Gurlien says, as Maison shakes his head no. "There is no way he's coming in here, not when —"

"You knew about my mom," Delina interrupts him, and the panicked expression bleeds into Maison's eyes again. "You knew about my mom and never told me."

"Delly," Maison starts, then trails off.

"Don't call me that," Delina snaps, and he flinches. "You knew."

And Maison's handsome face closes off, and he leans back, away from the doorway, still trapped in the circle. "You wouldn't understand."

"Oh fuck that," Delina says, and there's something unreal about fighting with him in front of other people. All their arguments, all their fights, had always been in private before. "Make me understand."

Out of the corner of her eye, Chloe grabs Gurlien, pulling him back, whispering something frantic to him, but honestly, she can't make herself give a fuck about whatever it is.

Maison obviously does, his gaze flickering between them and her as his jaw works. It's his thinking face, when he's grabbing at straws for something to say.

"And what, your name's ‘Freddy' now?" Delina asks, and a dim part of her realizes that this is probably not the best place to have the argument. "You have a different name, you are apparently magical—"

"—Half Demon," Gurlien calls out, even though Chloe's tugged him into the kitchen.

"And you're…you're just here because you were paid." At that, her voice cracks, embarrassingly so, and Maison's expression softens. "And you knew my entire life was a lie."

He remains silent, but he often does when she shows emotions like that, letting her piece together what she wants to say, not interrupting, before he sighs, leaning so he can see more of the cabin.

"How long have you known?" he asks, voice dipping down. "Where did I go wrong?"

"Literally yesterday," Delina answers. "My mother set up a PO Box, they called me when it got too full because she didn't clear it out."

He grimaces, like this is a mistake made in loading the dishwasher, before his eyes dips to her hand. "You're still warded."

It's not a question, but she's known him long enough to hear it in his tone.

"Chloe, you're good at undoing traps, mind letting me in?" he asks, and his voice is back to the casual Maison she knows, the one who chats about paint and hugs her when she's feeling down. "Clearly, I need to explain some things."

A big part of her wants to let him.

Instead, she just presses herself deeper into the doorway of the bedroom, throwing a glance over at the bio-trap.

Maison's eyes follow her gaze, and he draws himself straight. "Don't go in there," he says, and she's known him long enough to hear the distress in his voice.

It was the same distress that came out when they got in the car accident two years ago.

"Why not, Maison," she says, and he obviously struggles with his words. "Worried you'll get fired for not doing a good job?"

He flounders, visibly so, and she's so used to helping when he does that it itches along her awareness. "We can still go back," he says. "We can still go back to how it was before, as long as you don't step in there."

That settles it, firm in Delina's chest, and she turns and strides into the room.

Behind her, Maison makes a wordless noise of agitation, and she can dimly hear Chloe and Gurlien exclaiming or arguing, but her eyes are just locked on the single spray paint of gold.

It's harmless, more like a bad movie decoration on something too low budget for an art department. Like something Maison would call out as sloppy worldbuilding when they watched movies.

And somehow, it holds whatever her mother thinks is the key to her ‘potential.' The potential that Maison thinks she shouldn't have.

She tosses a look to him over her shoulder, then steps over the gold paint.

He flinches, like she struck him.

Immediately, sparks crackle up around her, snapping and vivid, spiraling up her ankles and her legs, sending pinpricks of sensation along her skin.

It's not painful, necessarily, but it's near to it.

She turns, so she's facing out towards the door of the bedroom, but the world blurs outside the barrier of the circle, and all other noise falls away.

And she waits.

The sparks flicker over her skin, nestling into her arms and itching at her face, but she breathes out hard, shuddering, and the air catches in her throat.

She tries to form words, but no sound comes out, her throat as dry as the deserts in Arizona.

A shiver of dread drips down her spine, and the world jerks once, twice, then spins, tugging her legs out from underneath her.

A dim part of her fights whatever it is, fights falling to the ground, fights the onslaught of sensation and sparks and terror, before…

Darkness slams into her.