The Hollowborn
Daphne
The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, revealing the tip of a tooth too sharp to be human.
“I see that Vexley and the Renegade are changing tactics. I was getting bored with the assassins lining up at my door. So, what’s your mission? To seduce me into giving away all my secrets?” he asked, his eyes amused.
My lip trembled. My cover was blown. He knew why I was here. And yet, I was still alive.
“At a loss for words, much? I saw you at St. Dismas...” he paused, his dark brows knotting.
What? How?
“I see that you’ve lost your ability to speak. Well, if you need me, I’ll be in my study. I suggest you spend the night here before returning to your masters.”
“And you’ll… let me go?”
“What do you expect? Should I chain you and keep you around?” He shrugged, pushed past me and opened the door.
What the hell was that?
I met the monster of Duskmere Manor and survived. He didn’t tear me apart like Alice predicted. And he was letting me go.
I buried my trembling hands deep in my pockets. Think, Daphne. Think.
When the melancholic sound of the violin spilled again through the corridors, I took a deep, calming breath.
This was my chance.
I’d steal as many papers as I could and run. Hopefully, there’d be something valuable among all these letters.
I rushed to the desk, my bare heels slapping against the floorboards. Postcards, letters—whatever I could grab. I cleared the desk, stuffing the papers into my pockets and corset. Then, I crept toward the entrance, sneaking along the corridor like a shadow.
It was empty.
I threw one last look over my shoulder and headed to the door.
Vexley and the Renegade had said their people were constantly monitoring the manor.
Time to test that.
To my surprise, the door was unlocked.
It swung open without a sound, and I stepped into the night.
The cold hit me like a slap; the crisp air bit at my exposed skin as lonely snowflakes danced in the air.
The fog had retreated, lingering only at the edges of the forest like a beast reluctant to leave.
No sign of the dark figures from my arrival.
My breath curled into a white huff, and I closed the door behind me, muffling the tender adagio of the violin.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I took a decisive step into the gloom beyond the lantern light at the entrance.
“There are no demons, Daphne. It’s only your imagination.”
Mother always said I had a vivid one.
For some unknown reason, the sound of my voice was oddly calming.
The manor lights dimmed behind me, shrinking into the night.
The driveway lay ahead, the gravel already dusted with snow.
Nobody stopped me.
No hands grabbed me from the dark.
No monster came running after me.
Though monster was the last word I would use to describe him if we had met under different circumstances.
The air changed.
A slow, unnatural hush settled over the world as if something vast and unseen had noticed me.
I stopped walking.
The weight of a gaze—cold and curious—pressed against my back.
“Hello? Is someone there? I have what your master asked for.”
I pulled a folded paper from my pocket and held it up as proof. “Tell Vexley and Cagliostro I have what they needed.”
Silence.
Not the silence of a night forest but the silence of a tomb. Thick and unnatural.
I took another step deeper into the gloom.
The violin trills remained somewhere far away.
Maybe Vexley was trying to frighten me into obedience when he said they were watching the manor?
Maybe I could slip away.
I stood there for a moment, pondering.
Not a bad idea.
If I escaped unnoticed—great!
Paris and Milan, here I come!
If their men caught me, I still had papers to present. Maybe they were valuable enough.
The gravel crunched behind me, a sound so small yet alarming enough to send my pulse into a frenzy.
I whipped my head left and right, but there was no one around.
Only the thickening darkness.
“Tell Vexley and Cagliostro that I have what they needed!” I repeated, but the night swallowed my words.
No response.
Yet something was there.
Listening.
Preparing for its next move.
What was I thinking?
I pressed my fists to my temples.
That I could just stroll out and be picked up by the Renegade’s men like some well-behaved courier?
“Nights out here are not safe,” the coachman had said.
And when I looked to the driveway and the rusty fence ahead—
Dear Lord.
I stared into the eyes of the devil.
Two gaping holes stared back—eyes carved into a pale, corpse-like face.
A grin of jagged, blackened teeth split the rotting flesh. Black, leathery wings.
I had seen that face before.
That night. The night that changed my life.
He still wore a tailored frock coat, immaculate despite the decay eating at his flesh. The pin with the snake and the skull was still there.
Where should I run to?
I looked around.
No path. No escape.
Just the manor behind me, nestled in dark woods.
My knees went soft, but I stepped back, my breath coming in shallow huffs.
And I hit something solid.
Something that breathed.
I knew before I turned around what it was.
The stench of rotting flesh and open graves confirmed my worst fear.
Long fingers trailed along my shoulder, their touch colder than the grave.
Terror, raw and irrational, slammed into me.
How many of these demons were out there?
So this was how I die.
Disemboweled like that woman in the back alley.
Alone. Terrified.
My breath was shallow and erratic. I opened my mouth, but like in a nightmare, no sound came out.
More figures closed in, silent as death itself.
All dressed in noble finery.
All with their eyes carved out, but their features and frames were still distinct.
As if they were once living, breathing people before becoming something else.
Their limbs moved too fast, too wrong, as if joints bent the wrong way beneath their fine coats.
Sweet Mother Mary, what would they do to me?
Tear me apart?
Turn me into one of them?
No.
I hadn’t watched my parents drown, hadn’t survived years of abuse to end like this.
I lunged forward, twisting under the creature’s grip.
And ran—
Straight into another.
A wall of bone and decay, taller than me, stronger than anything human.
Icy fingers closed around my throat.
Claws, sharper than daggers, pierced my skin.
Something hot and wet trickled down my collarbone, soaking into the fabric of my dress.
The pain blurred my mind.
Then—a flash of dark radiance, of colors not from this world.
A beat of powerful wings.
The creature’s head rolled clean off.
A hiss of black smoke curled from the severed neck, rising toward the stars.
I collapsed, pressing my fingers to my throat, gasping for air.
Something landed before me—
Massive black wings unfolding like a storm.
An archangel of death.
No—
Not an angel.
Him.
My vision blurred from blood loss, but I recognized that tousled indigo hair.
That sharp jawline.
Those silvery eyes, glowing now with rage.
The last thing I saw was my blood, red and precious, drawing mystical symbols in the fresh snow.
“Emrys,” I whispered, and darkness took me.