I spotted Jade’s building, a wisp of smoke curled from one window on the fourth floor but there were no flames visible. My wings folded tight against my back as I dropped toward the roof, catching myself at the last moment to land silently on the gravel surface. Something felt wrong. A fire serious enough to trigger remote alarms should have triggered the building’s system as well. There should have been sirens, sprinklers, evacuation procedures.
I stalked across the rooftop toward the stairwell door, my body shifting back toward its more human appearance as I moved. The stairwell was dark and silent as I descended, my footsteps making no sound on the concrete steps. Warning bells rang in my mind as I approached her door. It hung slightly ajar, the wood around the lock splintered from forced entry.
Smoke seeped through the gap in thin tendrils, curling upward like spectral fingers before dissipating into the hallway, along with a scent that seemed familiar. I pressed my palm against the door, feeling for heat. Nothing. Whatever was burning inside wasn’t large enough to warm the wood. My claws extended fully. If Trevor waited inside, he wouldn’t be walking out again.
I pushed the door, stepping into the apartment with my body coiled for a surprise attack. The living room beyond was illuminated only by the city lights filtering through the windows and the faint orange glow coming from what appeared to be a metal trash can in the center of the room. Smoke rose from it and up to the fire alarm.
My eyes adjusted instantly to the low light, scanning for movement, for threats The apartment appeared empty of life, but had been ransacked, drawers pulled open, possessions scattered across the floor, furniture overturned. It looked like the aftermath of a frenzied search, but something about it felt staged.
The scent I’d noticed in the hallway was stronger inside, something about it tugged at my memories but I struggled to place it. I prowled through Jade’s apartment with growing unease, I moved to the kitchen, noting how the disorder followed the same pattern, enough mess to look like a robbery but nothing actually broken. Expensive electronics sat untouched amid scattered utensils and upended containers. No real thief would leave a high-end tv while taking time to dump flour across the counter.
The bedroom told the same story. The mattress had been partially pulled from the bed frame, drawers removed from the dresser, clothing strewn across the floor. But Jade’s jewelry box sat open on the nightstand, its contents gleaming undisturbed in the dim light filtering through the window. No one had touched her valuables. Instead, someone had carefully created the appearance of violation while avoiding actual damage to anything meaningful. They’d been creating a tableau designed for one purpose, to trigger the security system and draw someone here.
Which meant...
I spun toward the door, my body already tensing to shift back to full demonic form the moment I cleared the building. I needed to get back to Jade immediately. A metallic taste flooded my mouth the moment I attempted to walk through the door.
No. Not this. Not again.
I lunged for the door, claws extended, wings beginning to tear through my skin in desperate acceleration, but crashedagainst an invisible barrier that flared brilliant blue-white at my touch. The impact reverberated through my body like striking reinforced steel, throwing me backward onto the floor. My vision blurred, clearing just in time to see what I’d dreaded most.
Symbols blazed to life along the doorframe, curves and angles and intricate geometries I recognized with horror. Warlock sigils. Binding circles. Containment glyphs. They had been painted in clear solution, invisible to the naked eye until activated, waiting for a demon’s essence to trigger them.
Waiting for me.
The sigils spread like wildfire across every surface—ceiling, walls, floor—their blue-white light illuminating the apartment. I scrambled to my feet, spinning to check the windows, but already knew what I’d find. The same glowing symbols formed perfect circles around each potential exit, sealing me inside.
“No,” I growled.
I slammed my fist against the invisible barrier at the door. The sigils flared brighter but held firm. I tried the windows next, throwing my full weight against them, claws scrabbling for purchase on the smooth surface. Nothing. Not even a crack. Whatever had created this spell knew exactly how strong I was and had calibrated the containment accordingly.
As I fought, a memory surfaced, Trevor’s image. I’d had the nagging sense I’d seen him before, but couldn’t place where. Now the connection clicked into place. His face carried echoes of another, a warlock from centuries past who had been particularly sadistic in his treatment of bound demons. One of my former captors. Not identical, but the resemblance was unmistakable once I saw it through the lens of this magic.
Trevor wasn’t just Jade’s obsessive ex. He was a descendant of the Eastman line, one of the five warlock families that had originally bound me. The cologne I’d smelled was the same their family had worn for generations, a custom blend with notes ofsandalwood and something more arcane, designed to mask the scent of their magic from supernatural prey.
I forced the memories back, focusing instead on the thread connecting me to Jade. It still pulsed between us, warm and vital, a lifeline in the darkness of my panic. She was alive and safe, for now. I needed to warn her then tear Trevor Eastman into so many pieces that no magic in the universe could put him back together.
First, I had to control the fear and think clearly. This wasn’t the full binding spell that had held me for centuries, just a containment hex. Powerful, yes, but not unbreakable.
I hurled Jade’s coffee table against the window with enough force to shatter reinforced glass, only to watch it bounce off the invisible barrier and splinter into useless fragments. The sigils flared mockingly at the impact, absorbing the kinetic energy of my assault and turning it back against the furniture. I roared in frustration, the sound rattling the few intact items left in the apartment. Four centuries of captivity had taught me the taste and texture of warlock magic, had shown me its strengths and weaknesses. This spell was powerful but hastily constructed—not meant to hold me permanently, just long enough for Trevor to reach Jade while I raged uselessly inside this magical cage.
“Come on!” I snarled, slamming both fists against the invisible wall that separated me from the exit. The impact sent shockwaves of pain up my arms, but I welcomed it. I stepped back, surveying the apartment with wild eyes. There had to be a weakness, a flaw in the binding. No spell was perfect, especially one cast in haste. I’d studied warlock magic for centuries, learned its architecture from the inside out as a matter of survival. If anyone could find the weak point in this containment, it should be me.
I closed my eyes, shifting my perception to the magical plane where the binding would be most visible. The sigilsappeared as a complex lattice of energy, interconnected lines of power forming a dome that encompassed the entire apartment. Traditional warlock bindings required perfect symmetry, unbroken circles, precise angles—
There. Near the kitchen doorway, a slight imperfection in one of the secondary containment sigils. The lines didn’t quite meet, creating a hairline fracture in the overall pattern. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough for a targeted counter-spell.
I moved to the spot, placing my palm against the wall where the flaw existed. Drawing deep on centuries of accumulated knowledge, I began to whisper in a language older than human civilization—the tongue of my ancestors, words that shaped reality rather than merely describing it. Counter-magic flowed from my fingertips, seeking the weakness, attempting to widen it enough for me to break through.
For a moment, the sigils flickered, dimming slightly where my counter-spell attacked. Hope flared briefly in my chest—then died as the binding reasserted itself, the patterns shifting and self-repairing. Whatever warlock had designed this trap had included adaptive elements in the spell structure, allowing it to evolve in response to magical tampering.
“No,” I growled, slamming my fist against the wall in frustration. “No!”
I tried another approach, drawing symbols of my own in the air with one claw, tracing patterns of disruption and dissolution. This was more sophisticated magic, techniques I’d learned from the fae after my escape, designed specifically to unravel human binding spells. The sigils wavered again, longer this time, but ultimately held.
The thread connecting me to Jade pulsed with my growing panic, the sensation both comforting and agonizing. She was still there. I could feel her presence through our connection, warm and vital despite the distance between us. I closed my eyes,focusing on that thread. If I couldn’t break the binding through conventional means, perhaps I could use our connection to warn her, but between one heartbeat and the next, the thread went silent.
I froze, my breath catching in my throat as icy terror replaced the heat of rage. “Jade?” I whispered, reaching desperately for the connection that had been there moments before.
