A caustic laugh escaped me. “No. I wouldn't be that stupid in any lifetime.”
“I’m a few hundred years old,” he said quietly.
“But you're a demon.”
“Semantics won't change the contract.”
The brand on my finger pulsed as I pressed further. “How did I die?”
“I don't remember. I make countless contracts.”
Another lie.
“Whose wedding ring was it?”
The car hit a puddle, sending up a spray of water.
“Yours,” he said softly.
I rubbed my temples where a headache was building. None of this made sense, yet the life growing inside me was proof enough of his claims. The seat leather creaked as I turned toward the window, watching the countryside blur past.
“Where are we going?”
“Home.”
The single word carried unsettling finality. I exhaled sharply through my nose and began fiddling with the seat controls. If I had to endure this maddening half-conversation, I'd rather sleep. The seat reclined with a quiet whir, the position easing the constant ache in my back. Closing my eyes, I focused on the rhythmic sound of rain against glass, trying to ignore the presence beside me and the impossible future growing inside me.
???
The car's deceleration pulled me from uneasy dreams. I blinked against the golden sunlight streaming through the windows. The world outside transformed from the stormy motorway to rolling green fields that stretched endlessly. The countryside unfolded like a medieval tapestry—simple, untouched, breathtaking in its pastoral beauty. There were no houses, power lines, or signs of human existence—just earth and sky and the winding ribbon of road.
I turned to study my captor's profile, wondering what monstrous truth lay beneath that flawless human mask. The sunlight played across his features, making him look almost normal—almost handsome. The illusion would have been perfect if not for those devilish eyes.
“What's your name?” I asked, stifling a yawn that tasted of sleep and lingering fear.
I adjusted my seat upright, the leather creaking. Still no signs of civilisation. Just endless emerald hills and the occasional twisted oak standing sentinel.
“Bael.” His voice was calm as if we were discussing the weather.
My breath caught. “As in Baal?”
A slight tilt of his head. “Humans called me many names.”
The implications settled over me like a shroud. This was no minor demon. The Canaanites had worshipped him as a god. Some texts called him a fallen angel, others a prince of Hell. My fingers found the brand on my finger, tracing the inverted cross as if it might burn me anew.
“How old are you?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
“Old.”
I exhaled sharply through my nose. “Ugh. It's like talking to a brick wall.”
Amusement flickered across his fake human features. “You sound frustrated, Lucia.”
He was mocking me.
“How can someone kill a demon?”
His laugh was a dark, rich sound that filled the car. “Wow. That's harsh for a nun. Isn't the church all about forgiveness?”
