The Unknown Daemon (Omnis #2)

Prologue

Mel

It was a tricky thing, being in so many places and times at once.

One minute, Mel was picking up a shell on the beach—it was pink with deep, rough ridges and they wanted to take it home for their collection—and the next, they were in the past, watching three people they had never seen before climb a jagged, snow-covered mountain.

At least, Mel thought it was the past, but truly, they had no idea.

Mel scrambled to take in the scene as it flashed behind their eyes.

The people were men—at least, Mel assumed they were, based on what features they could see under their fur-lined hoods—but they didn’t look like any men Mel recognized.

All three of them had strangely pale skin and eyes that were as dark as night.

Mel watched as the men struggled in the deep snow, their faces strained and pinched with concern. Why was Mel seeing this?

That was the problem with visions. They came and went with no explanation of their significance. Mel worked hard to interpret their importance to Gaia, but they swore, sometimes, the visions seemed to hold absolutely no significance at all.

Like the time Mel was sitting at the kitchen table, eating some freshly baked bread, and suddenly they were inside a pitch-black, snow-covered forest watching a woman they vaguely recognized from their childhood debating what to cook for dinner with several of the strange-looking pale people.

One of the pale people, a woman, was skinning a felled deer on the ground as she spoke, and Mel remembered vividly how entranced the woman had seemed as she watched the blood spilling into the surrounding snow.

Other than that, it was a seemingly innocuous vision, and Mel wasn’t entirely sure why Gaia would need them to Know this.

But Mel was used to it at this point. They’d been a seer for the last eight years, since their Summoning at age twenty-seven.

At first, they had been grateful when they received their Gift of omen.

Seers were extremely rare among the three Covens, and there hadn’t been one in Occidens in over a century.

Thus, their position was a highly coveted and influential one, and for that they were grateful.

But they quickly learned it wasn’t quite the blessing they’d thought.

Due to the nature of their Gift, they didn’t always have the capacity to take part in daily life, so they often found themselves outside of it.

Always watching, always waiting for the next vision.

Trying to figure out what came next, or what had already come—Mel often got those two confused.

They mostly spent their days by themself, trying to make it through the necessary activities of living—eating breakfast, bathing, dressing, cleaning up.

But it often took them twice as long as anyone else to do those things.

They were grateful Syrelle, their matriarch, and the rest of the Coven provided for them as best they could, because when Mel received four to five visions a day, the images always yanking their mind to and fro, it often became hard to keep track of their day-to-day needs.

The Coven had been on edge lately, though, ever since the escape of the daemon and the Auster witch, and Mel had become a bit neglected. Their laundry was piling up and there were dishes in the sink that needed washing. But Mel didn’t blame Syrelle or the others. It was an extremely irregular time.

It was only a couple nights after the witch and daemon had fled, when Mel was sitting in their favorite green upholstered chair, knitting a new shawl and drinking some chamomile tea, that they heard a knock on the door.

“Come in,” they called. It was just a formality, of course. There was only ever one person who came to visit them this time of night.

Syrelle walked in the door, her hawkish hazel eyes landing on Mel instantly as a motherly smile crossed her face. Her dark-blonde hair was piled high on her head, as usual, though her eyes looked more tired than they normally did. Though Mel supposed that was to be expected.

“Mel, how are you?” Syrelle greeted warmly.

“Oh, you know, here and there,” Mel replied, mustering a smile in return.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been over the last few days. I assume you’ve heard about the Auster witch and the daemon who escaped?”

“Yes, Cara came to do my washing yesterday and updated me,” they replied. Syrelle’s daughter often came to assist them when Syrelle herself didn’t have the time. She was a sweet child. She always stayed to chat with Mel afterwards, and she was a pretty good conversationalist, for a teenager.

“Well, I hate to get right to the point, but I need to know if you’ve seen anything regarding the Auster witches, or any more about the amulet.

We’re holding the Auster matriarch and the escaped witch’s sister here until we’re confident they had nothing to do with it, but I’m not sure what else to do,” she said, wringing her hands together in that anxious way she often did when she felt the pressure of her position too keenly.

“What does your Knowing tell you?” Mel asked her.

Syrelle arched her eyebrow at them. She was about ten years Mel’s senior, but the two of them had developed a friendship over the years—ever since Mel received their Gift and Syrelle ascended as the Coven matriarch. Syrelle relied on Mel’s counsel, and Mel, in turn, relied on Syrelle’s kindness.

“My Knowing tells me they’re concerned about her—the witch who escaped—and that they don’t trust the daemon who took her, but beyond that, I’m not sure.

They’ve sworn they had no knowledge of the daemons’ plans for the amulet, but it’s hard to Know if they’re lying.

Fear for the witch is overwhelming any of their other signs,” Syrelle added, not unkindly.

Syrelle was a cautious woman, and Mel knew she likely did not want to escalate the enmity between the Covens unless necessary.

It was bad enough that the sister of the future Auster matriarch had been captured and held prisoner.

Even though that move had been more than warranted, the smart thing to do would be to choose peace, because if they didn’t, they both knew it would be far too easy for the other two Covens to pull their weight once more and force Occidens’ hand, pushing them from their territory… or worse.

But luckily, Mel had seen the future, and they could help Syrelle in this.

“I have seen her, the witch who escaped. She will reunite with the amulet,” Mel stated simply.

They’d seen the two escapees together, actually, though it was rare for Mel to see a daemon in their visions.

They supposed this was an extension of the fact that witch magic did not work on daemons, and vice versa, thus they likely only saw the daemon because of his association with a witch.

Either way, Mel had seen the witch holding the amulet, surrounded by the daemon as he’d been described, as well as two others who must have been his companions.

Mel remembered the way the purple amethyst had glinted in the firelight that was lighting whatever dark cave the four of them were in, and more than that, Mel Knew the witch’s intentions. She wanted to break its spell.

“But I haven’t seen any other Auster witches involved. Just her, the witch who was here, and the daemons,” Mel finished.

“I see.” Syrelle nodded, taking in this information. “And what of the amulet? Will it be returned to us?” she asked, her eyes filled with bleak hope.

Mel was silent. They hated having to be the one to deliver bad news, especially to those they loved. But Syrelle knew better than most that to resist the future was futile, so Mel simply shook their head.

Syrelle sighed. “I suppose I have little choice but to let the Auster witches go then, on the condition that they help apprehend the daemon and the witch if given the opportunity.”

No argument, no demand for more details.

Syrelle always took Mel’s word on these types of things, and it was something Mel appreciated.

Because Mel didn’t exactly know how to explain why they thought the amulet wouldn’t be returned to Occidens.

They just Knew that the amulet was powerful.

Too powerful. That’s why Occidens had kept it hidden all these years after all—to keep it from the others.

To keep it from being used again. Mel had seen all that, of course, the amulet’s history, and part of its future.

Enough to suggest that now that it had been discovered again, there was no going back. At least not until it was too late.

But then again, they hadn’t seen everything, not yet.

Syrelle rose to leave, her eyes darting to the dishes in the sink. “Been a heavy vision day today?” she asked kindly.

“A bit,” Mel answered. They hated being a burden, and sometimes, they hated how different they were. But they knew their visions were important to Gaia…somehow. Even if they didn’t always understand them.

“I’ll send Cara tomorrow,” Syrelle said, moving towards the door. “Sleep well, Mel. Thank you as always for your counsel.”

As Syrelle closed the door gently behind her, Mel returned to their knitting. They listened as Syrelle’s footsteps retreated down the street, until all of a sudden they felt their tea fall to the floor and their hands reached out to grip the arms of their chair.

A giant winged creature flew through the air.

Its bat-like leathery wings cut through the misty clouds, pushing the air as if they were capable of creating the very wind itself.

The creature was long and serpent-like, with terrible teeth and the curved horns of a goat.

And its eyes…they were the brightest blue and slit like a cat’s, yet they seemed almost human in their depth.

It was absolutely terrifying and majestic all at the same time, but Mel didn’t know how it was possible.

They’d never seen a creature like this before. What in the Underworld did this mean?

And then everything happened so fast.

They saw a newborn baby, bundled in blankets, and sleeping soundly.

It was—is? Will be?—surrounded by those strange pale faces, one of whom looked so familiar from childhood, but they couldn’t quite place it.

She was an older woman, in her fifties maybe, with long blonde hair and light-green eyes.

All of them were huddled inside a temporary building made from animal hides and it was… cold. So, so cold.

Then the vision changed and they saw an older man sitting on an elaborate gold chair, his face half-shadowed by the blue torchlights on the walls of the dark cave he inhabited.

But Mel could tell he was not happy. He was talking with someone Mel couldn’t quite see.

An older woman with dark-brown hair. Her back was facing Mel and they couldn’t see her face, but they could hear her voice.

“He’s being a fucker,” the man said, his voice echoing through the cavern.

“Don’t call your son a fucker,” the woman chastised, a hint of amusement in her voice. “He’s under a lot of pressure. And besides, if I remember correctly, you were sometimes quite the fucker yourself at his age.”

The man grunted in reluctant agreement, and then the vision ended.

Mel opened their eyes, their vision swimming as their living room came back into view.

What in the Underworld was that?

The creature. The baby. The man in the cave.

Usually when visions came to them in a sequence like that, it meant they were connected somehow.

A series of events where one led to another led to another.

But how in Gaia’s name was Mel supposed to decipher which came first?

And what the fuck were they supposed to do about it? What role did they have to play?

Mel glanced down, looking at where their chamomile tea had spilled onto the worn carpet at their feet, spreading like the blood in the snow they’d seen all those months ago. Mel sighed and put aside their knitting, leaning over to pick up the empty mug and walk it into the kitchen.

How should they explain this to Syrelle?

She always liked updates about Mel’s visions, even if they were cryptic, but Syrelle also craved a defined, clear path.

She wanted to know exactly which way to lead the Coven to achieve their desired ends.

A direct answer. A this or that. A yes or no. But Mel couldn’t always give her that.

Because what people didn’t understand about finding your path was that you didn’t find it—it found you.

Gaia may have her will, and Iblis, too, but there was only one way events could ever transpire.

In any given set of circumstances—the only set of circumstances that could ever and would ever exist—there was only ever one choice, one reaction a person would make, and they’d make it every time.

There was no changing the future.

The future was fixed, the past was fixed, and it was only the present that was in flux.

It was only trying to understand how people get from the fixed past to the fixed future that was confusing to Mel.

And if Gaia was showing it to them, it was a future Gaia needed them to know.

Needed them to help bring about. But why?

After returning their mug to the kitchen, Mel resumed their knitting. Their hands worked the dark threads of yarn as Mel tried to put the visions aside, at least until they received more information. They hoped whatever was required of them would become clear sooner rather than later.

But either way, they Knew: whatever was happening, whatever was coming, it was important. And afterward? Well, they could only see so far, but it felt like it just might remake the world as they knew it.