Chapter 5

5

C hloe blinks her eyes open and the only thing she can see is a skull.

It’s laying on the ground, half propped against the granite wall, the bright light chasing shadows in the eye socket, deepening the orbital lobe. The teeth are all there, near as Chloe could tell, and as she blinks at it, her eyelashes stick together.

What?

With the dark granite, the skull, and the soft, dull ache in Chloe’s head, she should…

She bolts upright, and her head swims, blurring the hallway around her, and for a split second the bright lights slam off, dust coating the ground once more, before Chloe inhales and the lights settle back on.

Right. An illusion spell. That apparently she can see through, but—

The demon.

Chloe stills, her head still aching, but the lights stay on, the dust gone, and there’s nobody else in the narrow hallway.

Her palm stings from the trap, which means it’s been less than four hours since she unraveled it, but there’s no trace of blood flakes on the floor.

But the trap door is still open, and the trace of demon footsteps lead down to it again.

Like the demon popped up, knocked her out, then returned down the ladder.

And left a skull for her to look at.

“Ooookay,” Chloe breathes, and standing up sounds like very much not a good idea, so she scoots until her back can lean against the wall, her heart pounding.

The shadows in the skull's orbital socket seem to follow her movement, another little surveillance.

Chloe squeezes her eyes shut, resting her head against the wall, and her blood fizzes through her body. So whatever demon she encountered left her here, rather untouched besides a small headache, and is almost certainly still in the compound. Probably a floor or so deeper, if her guess is correct about the location.

If that’s what the demon is after.

It’s hard for her to think that there’d be anything else kept in a place like this. Even though she knows these carved away hideouts are usually multipurpose, nothing in her research would indicate that there was anything that a demon would be interested in. Some paperwork, some prisoners, but not…not anything significant.

Chloe’s hand moves to her bag, tugging out a Five-Hour Energy and strip of fruit leather. She doesn’t feel low on power, but she definitely feels odd.

That little knockout is the first time she’s slept since she was brought back.

She hesitates halfway through tearing the plastic around the five-hour energy shot, then scrambles to grab her phone.

It’s full of blinking messages. And it’s been three and a half hours since she last checked it, giving her a good timeline for how long her impromptu nap took away from her.

DELINA (9:18 AM): What exactly is creepy?

DELINA (10:01 AM): Okay, you saying that and then not responding is bullshit.

MAISON (10:25 AM): Human illusion or Demon, can you tell?

DELINA (10:39 AM): I can tell you’re still alive, but this isn’t cool.

Chloe sighs, letting her eyes flicker to the skull, then back to the phone and the people she owes emotional answers to.

CHLOE (12:58 PM): Sorry, phone lost contact. I’m roughly 50 feet underground, so it was bound to happen.

It’s better than saying she got knocked out by a demon and left with a skull. They’ll worry less.

DELINA (1:00 PM): I thought you got Axel to walk you through how to get always-signal?

CHLOE (1:01 PM): Turns out there are limitations.

Again, another kind little lie, but she shoves her phone into her pocket once again, downing the energy shot and scarfing down the too-sweet fruit leather.

Everything inside of her tingles with something between excitement and fear.

Careful, she taps the pen light in her hand again, flicking back over to a battery, and it cooperates, easy as anything in her palm. No loss of ability, no loss of dexterity, no other side effects.

So she digs out her trustworthy bottle of ibuprofen from her bag, popping a headache dose, and pushes herself up to standing.

And doesn’t wobble.

Still, the eye sockets from the skull seem to follow her, too perceptive.

Impulsive, she snaps a picture of it, sending it to Delina. If nothing else, bones should entertain a Necromancer and get her off her back.

It sends without any issue.

DELINA (1:07 PM): What happened to no signal?

Fuck.

CHLOE (1:08 PM): Sent that a while go, must’ve just connected.

And with one last look to the skull, which has of course remained in place, she strides through the patch of light and to the next ladder.

There’s a lock, pristine and open, hanging on the trap door.

Figures someone would have done the one fun part of all of this and open the only lock she’s seen in the place.

The demon’s footsteps down are far fresher than before, and the bright light continues down, though the hallway takes a sharp turn, obstructing her view further.

The ground is even rougher, catching against her boots, almost tripping her up. The walls are pure chipped stone, devoid of any telltale smoothness or magical residue.

This floor was done by hand. It was done by hand and without any power tools or magical guidance. It slopes downward, almost precarious, like the very earth beneath her feet has sunk over the years, deepening her towards the core with every breath.

And despite the lack of wires or lightbulbs, it’s brightly lit with the tang of demon magic.

“Neat,” she whispers, and her voice lingers in the air, echoing tinny through the twists and turns.

She’s not one to avoid using a magical spell that convenient.

The twists and turns obscure her view, and every corner is an opportunity for a trap, but none come. No blood against the floor, no spray paint or chalk, no lines of magic for her to sweep away and break.

Almost a letdown. It should be more difficult; it should be more of a challenge. If all she needed to get the next trace is her friend is one trap, then she should’ve been able to get her sooner.

That’s a lie, of course, the sort of internal guilt trip Chloe berates herself for having as she steps over a particularly rough chunk of floor. It was impossible to get this far without her research, she can’t be kicking herself for being kneecapped for so long.

And her friend won’t be here, she has to stop hoping so strongly, this is a stop on the way to find more clues.

If she thinks her friend will be around every corner, she’ll just be disappointed for her entire life.

Dust collects in every crevice, every dip in the floor, every crack in the walls. If it wasn’t for the glistening footsteps—now two of them, where they obviously walked back to knock her out.

Interesting that they’re not just teleporting anywhere. If living next door to Ambra has taught Chloe anything, it’s that any distance for teleporting is more convenient than walking anywhere.

And then…

Chloe turns another corner in the winding, sloping hallway, and the barest scrape of sound trickles into her ears.

She freezes mid-step.

It’s the soft scuffle of someone pacing, closer than she thinks, still behind a corner or two, judging by the muffled tone.

And if she can hear them, they can hear her.

For a split second she hesitates, torn between the want for knowledge and the want to really not catch a demon by surprise. Sure, she can sneak up, but that sounds like a rather bad idea, and if the demon didn’t kill her the last time…

“Hello?” she calls out, her voice higher pitched than she wants, and the footsteps abruptly stop.

There’s no call back.

“I don’t want to surprise you,” she says, this time more confident, though her heart pounds in her throat. “Please don’t knock me out again.”

Nothing.

Breathing out softly, like that would make this any safer, she steps back out, curving around the corner, then the next, to the sudden lack of sound that sends the hair on the back of her neck raising.

Until…

She steps over some invisible barrier, and a bright flash of gold almost blinds her, before the hallway opens up, the walls disappearing in front of her, spreading out and revealing a laboratory.

Sure, the room is still hewn stone, there’s still dust on the rough ground, but a metal table shines like it’s been polished and chains dangle from the walls.

Chains, each one bespelled to contain, bespelled to restrict something that can disappear.

And in the corner, pressed against the wall like they’re attempting to blend in, is the demon from before. Still in the same generically handsome male body, still with the shifting double face teeming with power.

Chloe freezes again, but he makes no attempt to move.

In his hands is one of the cuffs, clearly broken away from one of the chains, the spell halfway untangled in the exact way Chloe had been planning on doing, sifting through the weight of the information for clues.

Following her gaze, he glances down at it, then back up at her. “There’s only one Necromancer active, and you weren’t raised by her.”

His voice is low, still, raw against her ears, rumbling with barely contained power.

“I’m lucky like that,” Chloe says, almost automatically.

So, demons at large still think there’s just Lyra. Good to know.

His eyes narrow, and the danger of it all spikes fear into Chloe’s gut.

“You can see through my illusion spell,” he starts. “You demolished a trap, and you woke up far too early.”

There’s an odd undercurrent to his words, too similar to when Ambra’s feeling unsure about something for Chloe to discount. Similar to when she builds towards a point she doesn’t know she’s making yet.

“You found this place.” He gestures with the cuff to the room at large. “And you still walked down, even after being knocked out.”

“People say I’m pernicious,” Chloe says, letting her own eyes stray around the room, to the still intact cuffs hanging from the stone walls. There’s a trace of something there, tugging at her, despite the danger in front of her.

“You died recently ,” he emphasizes, “and now you’re here.”

“Yeah,” Chloe replies, because he’s not wrong, and if he’s taking the time to monologue at her then she’s probably not in any immediate danger. “Mind if I…” She jerks her thumb towards the still hanging chain.

His brows shoot up.

“Look,” she starts, half desperately, “I don’t want to end up dead—”

“Again,” he interrupts, like he still can’t believe that.

“—and I’m not gonna stop you from doing whatever you’re doing, okay?” She takes a step towards the chain. “You can ignore that I’m here, it’s okay, I’ll be out of here quickly.”

There’s a flash of something, then a shield warps in front of the demon, black and vicious, like he thinks she’s going to attack him.

Chloe raises her hands, the universal signal of not being armed, and his eyes fall to her hip.

To the gun.

“And there’s that,” he says, voice going laconic, like he’s figuring her out.

“Self-defense only,” Chloe says, and her heart pounds.

“And you were touched by another demon on your arm.”

It takes her a second, but that’s exactly where Ambra had grabbed her for the teleport.

“And you’re a…normal alchemist?”

“Yep,” Chloe says, because agreeing with him seems like the smart decision, before taking another step towards the cuffs again. “Just a normal one, nothing special about me.”

Half-turning away from him, she pretends to focus all her attention to the swinging chain, on the spells ensorcelled around it.

Behind her, there’s a sharp intake of breath.

“You’re looking for the spirit fox?” he asks, deeper than before, and goosebumps raise on her arms, beyond her control. “How would you even know of it?”

“She saved my life,” Chloe replies automatically. “I owe it to her.”

She reaches out a single fingertip to the cuff, sending a spark to it, nestling into the cold metal.

There’s an echo of power, an echo of her friend, twisting in the steel, and her heart jumps.

There.

The first concrete hint, the first concrete clue. Her friend had been alive, had been here, sometime in the two years since Chloe was imprisoned and then without her research.

It doesn’t come undone with her initial push of alchemy, obviously guarded against known magics.

Quick, she tugs out her lockpicks, clicking them open with barely any resistance. Whatever spells on it, they weren’t anticipating normal lockpicks.

Another hiss of breath, and the demon hasn’t dropped his shield, hasn’t moved from his place of relative shelter.

Pulling the cuff off of the chain, she sets it gingerly against the steel of the table. It doesn’t react to it, thankfully, so moving slowly she slings off her backpack, setting it on the table next to the cuff.

Her fingertips trace over the cuff—someone else, not just her and the demon, had touched it.

Recently, too.

“Who are you?” the demon demands, as she begins to tease the spells, tease the trace of her friend away from the metal. “Who are you and why the fuck haven’t I heard of you?”

“I keep underground,” Chloe replies, then resists the urge to crack a smile at her own joke.

With a flicker of a glance to him—he’s stock still in the corner—she tugs out a scroll, a precious, coded scroll, unrolling it next to the cuff.

It warms to her touch, as the paper always does, the words glowing briefly on the page, reacting to the trace of magic. Already tracking it, already revealing where her friend went next. Etching the answers in shifting sands, each piece falling into place, narrowing it down.

Another deep breath behind her.

“My name is Chloe,” she says, as brightly as she can, as if she can disarm him with her normal chatter. As if anyone can disarm a demon. “Why are you looking for the spirit fox?”

He remains silent, which isn’t helpful for Chloe’s general stress level, as she stares at the research, teasing out answers. It’s too slow, too lethargic, like it’s been too long.

“The other demon who grabbed me is a friend, you don’t need to worry,” she continues, pulling out a mechanical pencil and her notebook, as the spells continue to unravel, revealing glistening hints of power to her like grains of precious gold at the beach. “She just gave me a teleport over here.”

Nothing. If not for the breathing, she would be alone in the room.

Which is weird, if he’s in a dead body.

And…there. The trace. Pointing to the south and slightly to the east, glistening of something warm and something dry.

Quick, she jots it down, jots down the coordination, picking up her compass, tying the location into it. Tying the next trace as true north.

It spins, the needle wobbling until it points southeast, and she shoves it back into her pocket.

“In general, I don’t react as strongly to most status spells like getting knocked out,” she babbles, as if she could answer his questions one by one. “And don’t be offended by the trap, traps are my specialty, I broke out of the Toronto base—”

A whisper of air, and he’s next to her, teleporting between one moment and the next. She jumps, clenching her fingers around the cuff.

“The Toronto base,” he repeats, suddenly too close, so close she can see the stubble on the body he’s wearing. “You broke out of the Toronto base?”

It is the least believable thing about her, to be fair.

“Yes,” she manages out, clutching the cuff with its precious trace to her chest. “Technically twice, though the second time I was breaking in—”

He slams his hand onto the research, clattering the table and scattering the sand grains of magic, and she flinches.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Chloe?” she whispers, her heart pounding. “My name is Chloe, I’m nobody—”

Slowly, he glances down at where his hand rests against the scroll, where the words flex in the creases of the paper, where the trails of spells from the cuffs still drip down, little visible grains of magic, twisting and swirling against the letters.

And somewhere, beyond the completely irrational fear in his eyes, something close to calculation enters his gaze.

Chloe doesn’t know which one is worse.

He straightens, removing his hand, and grains of magic fall from his motions.

“Where’d you get this?” This time, his voice is controlled, and it’s definitely worse, as panic seeps into Chloe’s stomach.

She scrabbles to roll the scroll up, but between one moment and the next he gently lifts her hand out and teleports her across the room, behind the still standing shield, then teleports himself back over to her research.

“Hey!” Chloe manages out, rushing forward before the hard wall of the shield stops her, cold and yet burning at the same time.

She recoils back from the magic.

He watches her, intent, for a few seconds, before turning towards the scroll, smoothing it out against the steel table. The sand begins to fall back into place, settling back into the familiar motions.

“There’s someone else tracking it, too,” the demon murmurs. “Someone who is quite a few steps ahead of me.”

“Not me,” Chloe says, though her heart pounds. “I just started.”

He slates his eyes down to her scrolls. “I think not.”

She can’t deny that.

“You’ve been at this a while,” he murmurs, tracing a finger between the magic now streaming from the cuff to the paper, translating it. “Beautiful work.”

Chloe’s heart drops. “It’s tied to me, you can’t read it,” she blurts out, and gets a flicker of a disinterested glance her way. “It’ll be useless to you.”

“I don’t think useless is the right word,” he says.

“If the entire college hadn’t been able to translate it away from me, neither will you,” Chloe says, as fast as she can. “Only I can use it, it won’t work for you.”

Ignoring her, he rests the other cuff against the paper, and it sparks anew, a different aspect of the magic, narrowing it down. Distance and resources and…

“Hmm,” he says, and she pushes her hand against the warping shield, but it does nothing. “Well, Chloe the completely normal alchemist, this is definitely helpful.” Deliberate, he rolls the scroll up, properly so, fitting it in the backpack, and his brows raise when his fingers trail on the other scrolls.

All the other scrolls she wrote, some years old, some within the last month as she consolidated everything down, as she dug herself deep into the research once more. The scrolls she risked her life for in Toronto, on the way to get Maison’s mother.

Scrolls she dreamt of, before they broke back in.

“You can’t,” she says, and her voice squeaks.

“Easy,” he murmurs. “I absolutely can.”

He zips up the backpack, such a mundane motion against the barely contained power she can see.

“Why would you want this?” Chloe asks, desperate. “She’s my friend, she saved my life.”

“Power,” he replies simply. “Same thing everyone else who searches for her wants.”

He loops the backpack on his arm, and before Chloe can think twice, she snaps the gun out of its holster.

The demon in front of her stills, raising a brow, and immediately, the fear slams back into his expression.

“Put it down,” Chloe says, and she has no way of knowing if the gun goes through demon shields, though everything would suggest that it does. “I will…I can shoot you.”

A calculation over his eyes, and he shifts the bag and—

Chloe squeezes her eyes shut and fires.

The gun kicks in her hand, abrading her palm, and power swirls in the room, dark.

An intake of breath, and Chloe snaps her eyes open, just in time to see black blood pouring from a wound in the demon's arm, vicious. He staggers back, a stunned expression flickering across his face as he stares down at the physical injury.

“What?” he asks, and his voice wobbles. Like he can’t believe this is happening. Gingerly, he dabs his free hand against the blood, his brows drawing together before he teleports to her, his face carefully blank, and—

A hand closes on her elbow, fast, and she rockets into black.