Chapter 1 The Demon in the Doorway #2
Lacey waited, patiently. Her eyes held no judgment, no curiosity, only professional interest.
With a slight exhale, I placed my hands on the table, palms up.
In the amber light, the network of raised white scars stood out starkly against my pale skin—some thin as thread, others wider, the warlocks had carved their ownership into my flesh, and while I'd broken their power, the marks remained.
Lacey reached forward without hesitation, her fingers gently taking my hands in hers.
Her touch was warm and firm, neither avoiding the scars nor fixating on them.
She turned my hands over, examining the backs where more marks continued up beneath my shirt cuffs, then returned them to their original position.
Her fingertips traced the largest sigil, a broken circle on my left palm that had once anchored the primary binding spell.
I fought the urge to pull away, to hide the evidence of my past vulnerability.
Her touch wasn't invasive, but the intimacy of having someone examine these marks made tension crawl up my spine and settle in my shoulders.
"These run deep," she observed quietly, her eyes widening slightly as her fingers paused over a particularly complex scar pattern on my wrist. I knew what she was sensing, the echo of the warlock magic still lingered in those marks, a phantom reminder of chains long broken.
I remained perfectly still, keeping my breathing even despite the memories her touch stirred. This was necessary, I reminded myself, I could end it at any time by simply pulling my hands away.
"Yes," I answered. "They do."
"Warlock magic," she said. It wasn't a question. "Old magic. Powerful. And yet..." Her eyes met mine, searching. "You broke it."
I nodded once. "At considerable cost."
Something shifted in her expression, not quite a smile, but a softening around her eyes. "Freedom usually comes at such a price." Her fingers gave my hands a gentle squeeze before releasing them. "Thank you for showing me. It helps me understand the pattern of your thread."
I withdrew my hands to my lap, resisting the urge to tug my cuffs down to cover the exposed skin. "You can read all that from scars?"
"I can read much from many things," she replied.
"Scars. Choices. The way you hold yourself.
The way your energy responds to memory." She tilted her head slightly.
"Your thread is strong, Magnur. It has been severed and rejoined many times, yet it continues.
That speaks to remarkable resilience, you should be proud. "
The tension in my shoulders didn't ease, but something in my chest loosened slightly at her words. It was...refreshing.
"These marks," she continued, "they inform who you are, but they do not define what connections you may form. Do you understand the difference?"
I nodded again, finding myself oddly willing to trust her assessment. "I do."
"Good." She sat back in her chair, her posture still perfect. "Then we can begin."
Her fingers hovered over the table's surface, not quite touching the wood but sensing something I couldn't see.
"I need you to be present. Fully present.
Many clients come to us with their minds elsewhere, thinking about what they'll say, what they should hide.
" Her eyes met mine. "I need you here, Magnur. All of you."
"I'm here," I said.
The light from the amber lamps seemed to intensify, the shadows deepening around us until it felt like we existed in a pocket separated from the rest of reality.
Lacey's fingers traced invisible patterns above the table's surface, and I could feel the subtle hum of magic gathering around us like a lens sharpening an image.
"Tell me what you're seeking," she said, her voice warm but analytical, as if she were collecting data points rather than asking about my deepest desires.
I took a slow breath, buying myself a moment to consider my answer. What was I seeking? Simple things that had proven maddeningly elusive.
"I'm not sure where to begin," I admitted, the words sticking slightly in my throat. Vulnerability had never come easily to me, not even before the warlocks. After them? Nearly impossible.
She waited, patient and still. The silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable but expectant. She wouldn't prompt me further, I realized. This was my moment to speak or remain silent.
"I'm tired," I finally said. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I'm tired of being seen as either a monster or a novelty."
Her expression didn't change, but her fingers continued their movements, as if recording my words in the air between us. Encouraged by her silence, I continued.
"When people learn what I am—what I really am, beyond this..." I gestured to my human-passing appearance, "they react in one of two ways. Either they're afraid, which I understand, or they're..." I searched for the right word. "Enthusiastic. For all the wrong reasons."
Lacey nodded slightly, her eyes never leaving mine. "They fetishize your demonic nature," she said, putting it more bluntly than I had dared.
"Yes." The admission felt like a weight lifting. "They want the danger, the thrill. They want to say they've been with a demon. They don't want..." Me, I almost said, but stopped myself. "Anything real."
"And what is it you're truly seeking?" Lacey prompted gently when I fell silent. "Beyond what you don't want."
The question made me frown. What did I want? I'd spent so long focusing on avoiding the negative patterns that I'd barely allowed myself to articulate what I was actually looking for.
"I want someone who wants all of me," I said slowly. "Scars, demon, everything—and chooses me anyway. Not because of those things, not despite them. Just...me."
My voice had dropped to little more than a whisper, but in the quiet room, it carried clearly. Something in my chest ached with the admission.
"Someone who matches my intensity without trying to control it," I continued, the words coming easier now.
"I've been controlled enough for several lifetimes.
I want...partnership. Balance." My hands tightened slightly under the table.
"Someone I can protect without suffocating.
Someone strong enough to stand with me, not behind me. "
Lacey studied me. "These are not unreasonable desires," she said after a moment.
"Aren't they?" I asked, a hint of bitterness creeping into my tone. "Hundreds of years alone suggest otherwise."
"The fact that you continue to seek connection rather than resign yourself to solitude speaks to hope, not futility."
Something about her words made my throat tighten unexpectedly. Hope. Was that what had brought me here?
"I suppose it does," I conceded, feeling strangely exposed.
"Your thread is unusual," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "Strong, despite everything. Resilient. And there's something..." She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly in concentration. "Interesting."
"Interesting good, or interesting 'he's going to regret coming here'?" I asked, attempting to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere with a touch of dry humor.
The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. "That remains to be seen. But there is definitely...potential. I believe we can help you, Magnur."
Those simple words shouldn't have affected me as strongly as they did. And yet, something in my chest loosened at her words, a knot of tension I hadn't even realized was there.
"But," she continued, her expression turning more serious, "there are conditions. And a price."
Of course there was. Nothing worth having ever came free, that was a lesson I'd learned countless times over. I straightened in my chair, my momentary vulnerability receding as I prepared for negotiation.
"I'm listening."
The words had barely left my lips when the air behind her chair shimmered like heat rising from pavement. A third woman materialized—or perhaps she'd been there all along and I simply hadn't been able to sense her.
"Atropos," Lacey acknowledged without turning.
My muscles tensed, ready for action. This one was dangerous in a way the others weren't.
"Magnur," she greeted, a small blade glinted between her fingers, appearing and disappearing as she rotated her wrist. "I understand you seek connection."
"I do."
She nodded once, satisfied with my directness.
"Then you should understand exactly what we offer and what we do not.
" The blade vanished somewhere on her person as she leaned forward slightly.
"We don't create connections that aren't already possible.
We cannot manufacture love or desire where there is none. "
"What do you do, then?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"We enhance probability," she replied. "We find the thread that already exists—however faintly—and we strengthen it, clear obstacles, increase the likelihood of intersection." Her gaze was unwavering. "But the connection itself must be real, must be possible, must already exist in potential."
Lacey's fingers resumed their movement in the air between us. "Think of it as...illuminating a path that was already there, but hidden in shadow."
"And what are the limitations?" I asked, directing the question to Atropos.
"We cannot force reciprocation," she stated flatly. "We cannot override free will. We cannot guarantee outcomes. The connection may be real, but what you and the other person choose to do with it, that remains entirely your own responsibility."
"I understand," I said with a slight nod.
"Do you?" Atropos's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Many think they do, until the moment arrives and they discover connection alone isn't enough.
That it requires work, compromise, courage.
" The hint of a smile touched her lips, though it held little warmth.
"But perhaps you understand this better than most."
I matched her stare. "I do."
"Good." She straightened. "Then there is only the matter of our price."
"And that would be?"