Chapter 1 #3
A perfect, protected fantasy.
A fresh wave of bitterness washed over her.
There, witches with known lineages and coven affiliations slept soundly in their beds, their homes secure, their futures guaranteed by ancient bloodlines and powerful friends.
They’d never have a Revus show up at their door with a survey crew, intent on seizing their home.
Their problem would be solved with a few whispered words in the right ear, a favour called in from a coven brother on the city planning council.
A recommendation from one of the society’s institutions would’ve opened doors for her, and for Starlight. Without one, she was just another Untethered with a bakery box and a desperate plea.
Cassia sighed and kept walking. Her path lay straight ahead, where the revelry grew quieter, colder, and far more expensive.
As she headed north, the chaos of Yulefrost gave way to order.
The Demon District didn’t parade or sing.
It glittered in opulence: private salons and exclusive feasts, well-dressed guests drifting behind gold-trimmed balconies and obsidian gates.
She found Agmon Group’s office quickly, and found it locked just as fast. The brass door handle was cold in her grip, the windows dark. The company must’ve closed early because of festival night.
Panic, sharp and swift, tightened her throat. What now? Wander this gilded labyrinth, knocking on every imposing townhouse door, hoping a billionaire developer would answer?
She turned, as if the answer might be written somewhere on the structures around her—and . . . there it was. Two blocks over, at the district’s prestigious heart, a building with a cream-coloured marble facade snagged her eyes.
The Ivory Club.
She knew it as the most exclusive demon gentlemen’s club in Angelene, a fortress of old money—not that she’d ever been inside.
The sight clicked a terrible logic into place.
There, business wouldn’t be done at a desk; it would be brokered in velvet-draped rooms over aged liquor.
On a night like this, an Echelon-class demon like Agmon Alderrath wouldn’t be at a dark office, alone at home, or mingling with the peasants at Eldryn Gardens.
He’d be somewhere people like him gathered.
It was a door worth knocking on.
She walked the two blocks and stopped across the street.
Magic torches flanked the entrance, their light spilling gold across the cobblestones.
Before she even asked, she already knew she’d never be invited in.
The frowns and sidelong glances from passing demons made it clear she wasn’t welcome in this part of Angelene.
She stood out like a loaf of sourdough in a jeweller’s display case—rustic, out of place, and far too nourishing.
Still, tucking the bakery box closer to her chest, Cassia crossed the street, skirting puddles left from the afternoon’s icy rain. She’d almost reached the doors when a tall, lanky demon in an ivory-and-black uniform stepped in front of her, blocking her path.
He looked her up and down. Then, with a wintry smile: “The Ivory Club is for demons only, miss.”
How predictable. Cassia lifted her chin. “I understand, but if you could kindly inform Mister Agmon Alderrath that Aura Cassia from Starlight Orphanage is here to see him, I believe he would speak to me.”
“Mister Agmon is busy, miss.”
At least he didn’t deny the demon was here.
She forced another measured smile. “Please. Just inform him that Aura Cassia from Starlight Orphanage is here on an important matter.”
The demon didn’t even blink. “The Ivory Club exists to provide Angelene’s demon society with a safe, peaceful, and discreet place for leisure and business. We cannot let just anyone inside.”
Just anyone.
The words should have stung, but she’d endured too many brush-offs to let another cut her open.
Heat prickled at her fingertips. She was a Kitchen Witch, her magic meant for hearth and healing—but desperation had its own language, and right now, her hands were ready to speak it.
The demon must have sensed her intention.
His expression darkened as he stepped back, his stance shifting, bracing for a defensive spell—or something more aggressive to sweep her off the doorstep like a cluster of dust.
Cassia glowered. The false politeness, the rejection, the fear for the children—it all boiled over. She needed to speak to Agmon Alderrath, now. If she let this moment pass, if she gave up and walked away, she’d never get another chance.
An idea came to her. Maybe a bad one. But what did she have to lose?
Cassia opened her mouth, and a sound tore from her throat—raw, sharp, utterly undignified.
It wasn’t a spell.
It was a scream.
The sound ripped through the refined hum of the street. The door attendant flinched back as if struck. A hush fell over the well-dressed demons a few steps away, all pretence of conversation vanishing as dozens of horrified, superior eyes snapped toward the source of the unholy noise:
Her.