Chapter 1 The Demon in the Doorway #3
"One favor," Atropos said. "Undefined. Owed to the sisters."
My pulse jumped, a sudden rush of blood in my ears.
Owed. The word slithered through me like poison, triggering memories I kept carefully locked away.
Owned. Owed. The words were too close, the concepts intertwined in my mind like the scars on my skin.
The marks under my suit seemed to burn, phantom pain tracing each line and curve.
My jaw tightened as I forced myself to remain present, to not get lost in the memories threatening to overwhelm me.
"An open-ended debt," I said carefully. "That's a significant risk."
"As is what we offer," Atropos countered smoothly. "Balance must be maintained."
I studied her, looking for signs of deception or manipulation. This was how it had started with the warlocks, too, a seemingly fair exchange that had quickly become a cage.
"What limits are there on this...favor?" I asked.
"We cannot ask you to harm yourself or others," Lacey interjected, her tone gentler than her sister's. "We cannot demand anything that violates your fundamental nature. The favor will be proportionate to what you receive."
"And if I refuse when the time comes to pay?" I needed to know the consequences.
Atropos's expression didn't change, but something cold moved behind her eyes. "Fate always collects."
My jaw tightened further as I made my decision. "I understand the terms," I said quietly. "And I accept."
Atropos studied me for a long moment, then gave a single, sharp nod of acknowledgment. The deal was struck.
"Wise choice," she said, though whether she meant accepting the terms or the service itself wasn't clear.
I didn't respond. The weight of what I'd just agreed to settled over me, I had willingly put myself in debt to these women, these Fates. It went against every instinct I'd developed since breaking free.
And yet, oddly, I felt no regret. Only a strange, unfamiliar sensation that took me a moment to identify.
Anticipation.
The sisters exchanged glances across the table, an entire conversation passing between them in seconds. Cleo reappeared beaming like she'd just received the best gift imaginable.
"Is that it?" I asked, uncertain what happened next. Part of me had expected some elaborate ritual, blood offerings or incantations. The reality felt almost anticlimactic.
"For now," Atropos replied. "The thread will appear but do not follow it, we must consult with the one on the other side and we will let you know where to go once the connection is fully established."
"Just like that?"
Cleo bounced slightly on her toes. "What were you expecting? Lightning bolts? Chanting? Sorry to disappoint, but the real magic happens when we're alone."
"The process requires concentration," Lacey explained more gently. "And privacy. We must examine the potential connections, measure their strength and compatibility, determine which has the greatest probability of success."
"And then I cut away what doesn't serve," Atropos finished. Her gaze was steady on mine.
I recognized a dismissal when I heard one. Rising from my chair, I faced the three.
"Thank you," I said, inclining my head with formal politeness. "I appreciate your time and consideration."
Cleo grinned. "Oh, don't thank us yet. Wait until you see what we find."
"Three days," I repeated, committing to the appointment.
Atropos stood as well, though she barely reached my chest. "Do not be late."
I nodded once more, then turned to leave, following Cleo back through the beaded curtain.
"So," Cleo said as she led me toward the door. "Any big plans for the next few days? Besides obsessing over who your thread might connect to, I mean."
I raised an eyebrow slightly. "I don't obsess."
She laughed. "Sure you don't. All our clients say that, and then they come back looking like they haven't slept a wink."
"I have a business to run," I reminded her, though I wasn't sure why I felt the need to defend myself.
"Mmhmm." She clearly didn't believe me. "Well, try not to stab yourself with any needles while your mind wanders to who might be on the other end of your thread." She reached the door and pulled it open with a flourish.
Despite myself, I felt a small smile tug at the corner of my mouth. Her cheer was refreshing after the intensity of the consultation room. "Thank you, Clotho."
"Cleo," she corrected. "Only stuffy magical practitioners and my sisters when they're mad at me use Clotho."
"Thank you, Cleo," I amended.
She winked. "You're welcome, Magnur. Sweet dreams."
I stepped through the doorway and back into the night. The door swung closed behind me with a soft click, the sound oddly final.
I stood on the sidewalk for a moment, adjusting to the shift from the intense, intimate atmosphere of the consultation to the ordinary world.
Had anything actually happened in there?
They'd asked me a few questions, named their price, scheduled a follow-up appointment if it could be called that.
No spells had been cast, no incantations spoken. It all seemed rather... administrative.
Perhaps I'd let desperation cloud my judgment. Maybe "fate-weaving" was just an elaborate metaphor for high-end matchmaking with a magical veneer to justify the price. I should have known better than to—
The thought cut off abruptly as something shifted in my chest. A faint, tugging warmth just below my sternum, like someone had hooked a thread into my solar plexus and was gently pulling from somewhere across the city.
I froze mid-step, one foot hovering above the pavement as the sensation intensified.
It wasn't uncomfortable, just...foreign.
And somehow right, as if a part of me that had been misaligned had suddenly clicked into proper position.
The thread pulled again, stronger this time.
Southeast, if I had to guess the direction.
The urge to follow it and trace it to its source, was nearly overwhelming.
My foot completed its journey to the ground, but instead of continuing on my path home, I turned slightly, orienting myself toward the pull.
I placed my hand over my heart, feeling the steady beat beneath my palm and the new warmth that pulsed in time with it. Someone was on the other end of this invisible connection.
"Who are you?" I whispered.
The thread tugged again, as if in answer.