Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Darkness swallows me like a living, breathing entity. It isn’t a peaceful sink into unconsciousness. This blackness pulses with malevolent intent, strangling me in tendrils of pure malice. It’s hungry. It’s sinister. It’s alive.
It claims me.
I fall through something that feels like oil and smoke, thick and suffocating. Then suddenly I'm not falling anymore. I'm standing…
Seeing, but not through my eyes.
A stone courtyard spreads out before me in shades of crimson and shadow. At the edge of that shadow, a balcony wall made of bones and skulls separates me from a scene of endless nightmare.
The air tastes of ash and old blood, but I prefer it to the ash and sulfur of my last visit to Hell.
I feel power thrumming through the form I'm inhabiting. Ancient, vast, terrible power that makes my magic feel like a candle flame against a wildfire. Every breath draws in more strength, feeding on an energy I can't quite identify.
Anger. Fear. Chaos. Tharuzel.
I'm inside Tharuzel's consciousness.
The realization slams into me with the force of a physical blow. This is what he sees. What he feels. The hunger for souls aches in my very existence. It’s tempered by the patient calculation of a predator who knows his prey is already trapped and the victory is inevitable.
Wards shimmer at the edges of this space, glowing with Sebastian's magical signature. The power coming off them is offensive. The idea of being trapped within a witch’s boundaries absurd.
And temporary.
I feel how those wards strain, weakening as my power grows. I may not be corporeal yet, not strong enough to manifest fully, but soon will be.
Part of me recoils in horror. Another part—that sliver of darkness that exists inside me—is drawn to this power.
I want to understand it. Control it. Nurture it.
No, that's not me. That's Tharuzel, or the blood contract, or this place twisting my thoughts.
Movement catches my attention… Tharuzel's attention.
Chains rattle off to the side, and my view shifts. My heart lurches as he comes into view.
S’Nark.
S’Narkathis of Endless Ridicule, my annoying, mouthy witch’s familiar, is bound to four others being dragged behind a massive, three-legged, hairy horror with a hunched back. The beast has four spiked tentacled arms that it’s using to smack its prisoners, keeping them tightly bunched.
S’Nark is in his lesser demon form—which always reminds me of Stripe from Gremlins—and is bound in irons, wrapped so tightly around his little wrists that blood is dripping to the stone ground.
His fellow prisoners don’t look like they’re faring much better. Every one of them looks exhausted and ruined.
This is why he hasn't answered my calls. He's been here, trapped, held by Tharuzel.
Why? As insurance? As leverage against me?
Rage floods hot through my veins—my emotion, not the demon's—and I want to scream. S’Nark might be a pain in the ass, but he's my pain in the ass. Somehow, I have to get him out of those chains and out of this place.
Tharuzel's attention shifts again, and my view is dragged along with it.
Cold snakes over my skin like I’m dunked in ice water.
I let out a whimpered gasp as my brain stalls out…
Off to the left of the stone courtyard, a space that must be fifty feet deep and twice as wide, is absolutely stuffed full of ghosts… no, they aren’t ghosts.
Twisting in torment, these echoes of people are trapped behind a glowing electrical field. Seeing the state of their suffering scares the shit out of me like nothing else ever has.
What the hell is he doing to them?
I blink, the wrongness of it making me nauseous. Rows upon rows of the vague outlines of people writhe, shoulder to shoulder in the shadows of this purgatory.
And yes, they are souls—not ghosts—I’m sure of it now.
I realize with growing horror that these are human souls, being harvested and absorbed by Tharuzel, like some kind of demon battery bank.
And the collection is growing.
With a burst of scarlet energy, like a lone firework explosion against the darkness, a stern-looking man takes form, trapped like the others.
The new arrival is much more translucent than the souls around him, some of his neighbors being almost opaque.
I feel the surge of potential as the stern man’s soul is tethered to the collective. The darkness of this bond feeds me. I absorb the boost to my strength, and extend my clawed hand before me.
With each soul added to my harvest, I grow stronger.
I flex my clawed fingers, testing my strength, and then push at the wards containing me. They give a little more each day. Soon I will be strong enough to break free and claim my reward on the human plane.
The images that ooze through my mind are horrific, and yet I don’t find them repugnant. Tharuzel’s mark on me is worming deeper, a high-pitched song aligning my darkness with his.
Soon I won't be able to tell where Poppy ends and Tharuzel begins. Terror claws up my throat.
The hopelessness of that pulls me further into despair… but then… there’s something else. Something is inching through the horrors of this place, seeking. Something green and growing, and alive with potential.
The plant energy warming my insides is wild, strong, and familiar.
Wylder.
His magical signature cuts through the darkness like determined roots breaking through concrete. I feel him searching for me, calling me back. The connection between us blazes to life, a lifeline in the crushing hunger of the dark.
I grab hold of it with everything I have.
Plant magic wraps around me, pulling, tugging, dragging me away from Tharuzel's consciousness. The darkness in me fights to stay within the demon's power, to pull me back into that ancient torment, but Wylder's energy soaks into me like water feeding parched earth.
The pocket dimension fractures, and I'm rushing backward through shadow and smoke, following that thread of green magic back to my body.
Back to consciousness.
Back to—
I gasp, eyes flying open.
The party room at Biscuits & Banter comes into focus. Mismatched chairs stacked in the corner. String lights hanging dark across the ceiling. The scent of coffee and bacon grease drifting in from the restaurant beyond.
Wylder is kneeling over me lying on the floor, one hand pressed to my sternum, his face pale and tense. Tanner hovers behind him, looking wrecked.
"Poppy?" Wylder's voice cracks on my name. "Can you hear me?"
My throat is too tight for words, so I swallow and squeeze his hand instead.
That must be enough because the room tilts and Wylder yanks me off the floor and into his arms. The hug is fierce, desperate, his face buried against my hair. His heart hammers against my chest, and I feel the tremor in his hands as they press against my back.
"You were gone," he whispers into my hair. "Your body was here, but you were just gone. I couldn't reach you.”
My arms feel sluggish, but I wrap them around him and hold on for dear life. The solid warmth of him anchors me and reminds me of who I am and where I belong.
“I'm okay," I lie.
"What happened?" Tanner asks quietly.
I pull back from Wylder enough to look at both of them. “Breaking the demon tether backfired, somehow. I was pulled back to the source with the exiled energy. I was sucked into Tharuzel’s consciousness… I felt what he felt. Saw what he saw.”
Wylder's jaw tightens. “You don’t have to talk about that now. Take a breath and regroup.”
I shove myself up on limbs that don’t want to hold me and stagger to an empty chair. “Tharuzel is gaining strength. He’s not corporeal yet, but he's close. Sebastian's wards are holding him, but they won't last forever."
I try to breathe, but my ribs won’t expand because my lungs are locked up tight. "And S’Nark… he has S’Nark chained up. That's why he hasn't answered my calls."
Wylder's expression darkens more than I’ve ever seen. But instead of pissing me off, it warms the icy darkness still aching to go back to our master.
I close my eyes and reject that sentiment with every ounce of intention I possess.
Tharuzel is not my master and never will be.
I am Poppy-Freaking-Hallowind and I decide who I am and what I believe in.
“Poppy?” Wylder is crouching in front of my chair and reaches a tentative hand to brush his fingers against my cheek. “Where’d you go there? Are you all right?”
I force the terror out of my system and work up a smile for him. “Not yet, but I will be.”
The kitchen smells like vanilla and brown sugar—which means Asher's stress baking has reached critical levels. I watch him pull another tray of snickerdoodles from the oven, his movements quick and precise despite the chaos of flour dusting his shirt and the counter.
"That’s your fourth batch," I observe, picking at the edge of a cooling cookie. "Are you and the house really that worried?"
"The house hasn't stopped humming since you woke up from Tharuzel's demon plane two days ago." Asher slides the hot tray onto the cooling rack with more force than necessary. "And honestly? Same."
The walls pulse with a low, anxious vibration—Hallowind House's version of pacing.
Ever since the demon consciousness incident, my family home has been in full mother-hen mode. Which apparently translates to making Asher cook as if he's preparing for the apocalypse.
"We need to figure out how to remove the sigils on people without you getting yanked into demonlandia again.
" He measures flour for what I assume will be batch number five. "We can't just leave people walking around as demon batteries, but there’s no way you’re risking yourself like that again. If Plant Man hadn’t been there… ."
I steal another cookie, fully aware that feeding my anxiety is only a temporary fix. “We’re working on it.”
Mom and I have been through the grimoire twice. There's got to be a personal shield strong enough to block my connection to Tharuzel, but so far, we haven’t found it.
“It’s not just the souls powering Tharuzel’s recovery. I need to find a way to free S’Nark, too.”
Thinking about my familiar sends an icy spike through my chest. Two days, and my heart still aches from the phantom weight of those chains, the pain of his torment, and the defeat and exhaustion clouding his eyes.
“We’ll get him back. Or rather, you will. You’ll come up with something incredibly clever and outrageously risky, and you’ll bring him home.”
There’s not an ounce of doubt in his words, and I love him for that. Neither of us has a clue what will happen, but he has enough faith in me for five lifetimes.
“I love you big, Asher Hendrix.”
“I deserve it. I’m a catch.”
I snort and shove another cookie into my mouth.
Footsteps on the stairs bring Rowan into our conversation.
She takes in the discard pile of eggshells on the counter, Asher’s state of floured disarray, and the sheets of wax paper covering every horizontal surface heaping with cookies.
“Dude, you really gotta relax. Have you tried gummies or something?”
I laugh. “It’s funny. When you grow up not knowing if you’re going to have enough money for food or to pay your rent, spending on recreational drugs kinda takes a back seat.”
Asher grunts and holds out a tray of cookies for Rowan to take one. “Chocolate has always been our fix of choice.”
Rowan chuckles, but her expression is tight, troubled.
“Hey, is something wrong?” I ask.
When she spins the silver serpent thumb ring she never takes off, I have my answer. "My parents want me to come home."
Asher and I exchange glances. “What do you want?”
She rolls her eyes. “When has that mattered?”
“It matters to us,” Asher says.
She nods, taking another bite of her cookie.
“It’s not so much about wanting me home, as not wanting me here.
The Thornhill elders have been monitoring the magical unrest in Emberwood.
They don’t love having me in the middle of whatever shitstorm is brewing here.
Apparently, it’s bad optics for the coven. ”
I set down my half-eaten cookie. “Bad optics? What does that mean? As far as the world knows, there was a demon event, the tears in the veil have been repaired, and the demon contained. What are they worried about?”
Rowan pulls out her phone, taps a few times, then hands it to me. "This went up on ArcanaGram an hour ago."
The screen shows Laurel's perfectly curated profile—all tasteful photos of ritual altars and carefully arranged herbs. But her newest post stops my breath:
Community Alert: Emberwood Coven acknowledges a dangerous destabilization occurring in our town's magical ecosystem. Recent events involving Poppy Hallowind have created rifts in our protective wards and attracted malevolent entities.
For your safety and the safety of your families, please exercise caution and reinforce your personal shields. The Emberwood Coven is working feverishly to contain the situation.
Heat floods through me—not the clean blue flames of my spirit magic, but something darker. Oilier. My vision tunnels, red creeping in at the edges.
“She’s blaming me?” The words come out twisted, venomous. “I'm the one trying to fix her mistakes, and she's telling everyone I'm the problem?”
"P—" Asher starts.
But I'm already moving, fury propelling me toward the door. How dare she? How dare she spin this nightmare to make it look like it’s my fault?
Even if you don’t count what she did to me and my family personally, she's the one who ignored Sebastian’s warnings and left Emberwood vulnerable to demons tearing through the veil in the first place.
"Poppy, wait!" Rowan's footsteps pound behind me.
"Oh, she can’t hear you,” Asher says, scrambling to follow. “She’s in full-on firecracker mode.”
I don't answer. Don't trust myself to speak around the rage boiling in my throat. All I know is that Laurel Cromwell is about to learn exactly what happens when you push me too far.
The darkness inside me purrs with approval, and somewhere distant, I register that this fury feels wrong—too hot, too consuming.
But I don't care.