He has no face. No mouth or hands. He’s like that thing you see from the corner of your eye at night. But I now know the shimmer I mistook for glitter is actually tiny bits of shredded glass and bits of razorblades. They’re embedded through him, but I know he can choose to tuck them away when touching me. He chooses not to.
“Did you think you would only pay once, pet?” Thick coils rise up the edge of my mattress. “You belong to me and I choose when and how I want you.”
I pull my knees tighter to my chest. The sheets knotted securely around my marked body.
“And when will I get my end of the bargain?”
He pulses and I think he’s about to fade, but he becomes almost solid. A shifting weight of blackness that dissolves into the wall at the other end of my room. I don’t understand what he’s doing until I catch glimpses of the darkness, the faint gleam of a lake in the night. It’s the same density as the mirror in the basement. My body instinctively leans forward, transfixed as the center ripples and distorts.
“Who do you want to visit first?”
My heart leaps in my chest with the implication.
“Etienne Duval,” I say without hesitation.
Faint light radiates, expands. I watch the shadows drift apart to reveal a room. Lavishly furnished with cream and gold. I have a view of a bed, a ship with wide posts draped in dark silk. It’s a rich oak that shines beneath the delicate glow of dim lights shimmering from above.
I scramble off the bed, body wrapped in my own sheets. My feet barely touch the ground when I’m scooped up and cradled midair. A momentarily terrifying experience before I realized he’s protecting me from the carpet of glass still strewn across my room.
I’m carried by invisible hands to the opening and held up close.
“Are you sure, Lenora?”
I nod, eyes fixed on the outline beneath the sheets. The dark head resting peacefully on the pillow.
“Yes. Do it.”
To my surprise, I’m pulled through the gateway straight into Etienne Duval’s bedroom.
No restriction.
No resistance.
It’s no more than walking through a regular doorway.
I go from my room to sleek, marble floors and a whole wall of glass draped in sheer lace. It’s an impressive expanse of space, lavish in its splendor. Nothing here impresses me.
“New money,”Mom would call it.
Flashy. Everything placed just so to capture attention.
I’m carried to the foot of the sleeping man’s bed and settled in the demon’s lap or whatever part of him has folded itself into a seat.
“How would you like it done?”
I don’t speak. Not yet. I relish in the moment, in the sweet taste of my victory. I’m finally here. I’m feet away from myenemy. I could pad right up to him and slip a blade straight into his throat and he would go on sleeping.
But that’s too good of a death.
“What’s his worst nightmare? The thing that breaks him out in cold sweat?”
The place nestled against my shoulder blades vibrates with his low groan of pleasure.
“As you wish.”
I don’t take my eyes off the figure sleeping peacefully on his stomach, bloated face mashed into his satin pillow. I watch and wait, patient but restless.
A second passes.
