I stare at the box on the dining table.

  So, Roren finally sent word. Better late than never; I was beginning to grow restless. Though, after learning the role that Catalina had to play in the mess I made, I don’t think I’ll like how this conversation is going to go.

  The phantom touch of the vitaari’s nails still lingers on my skin and, no longer influenced by her desire, I grimace. I need a shower.

  Grabbing a change of clothes, I step into the bathroom and wave a hand over a large rune etched in the granite enclosure. It glows blue, the light pulsating as it splinters outward, traveling along smaller engravings like cracks in the tile until the entire shower stall is radiating with magic. Water begins to cascade from the grated stone overhead, fed from a maze of enchanted pipework that connects the hotel to one of the three rivers surrounding Trinity Valley. If I rotated my wrist to the right, the rune would turn red as the spellwork heated the water passing through the walls.

  I’m not a fan of magic, but I got to hand it to these mages and their artifices—they sometimes have their perks.

  ‘Disgusting.’

  “Oh good,” I say aloud. “You’re awake.”

  ‘And still hungry.’

  “When are you not hungry, Zeph?”

  ‘I didn’t get to finish my meal. Catalina poisoned us.’

  “She didn’t poison us, idiot, she only put us to sleep.” I roll my eyes as I wait for the shower to warm up. “And besides, she only bit us because you lost control. Again.”

  ‘She’s an elder. She can handle a little snack.’

  I smirk. “Stop sulking. It’s unbecoming.”

  The mirror catches my attention and I stare at my naked reflection. Tangled auburn hair falls over my shoulders in waves, framing sharp angular cheekbones as deep hazel eyes stare back at me. My gaze travels down, tracing the contours of lean muscle as I run a finger over the discolored rune blooming in the middle of my chest, watching as it shimmers with a subtle iridescence in the light like a scar that never fully healed. A mark I’ve carried since the night I took my first breath; a haunting reminder of the otherworldly power lurking just beneath the surface.

  My burden since birth. The mark of a dejinn.

  ‘Not a burden,’ Zeph retorts, a hint of sadness blossoming in the back of my mind.

  “A nuisance, then.” I snort when his sadness turns to contempt. “Relax, Zeph. We’re in this together.”

  For better or worse.

  I turn, revealing a large ‘S’ with a sword through the middle painted down my spine like a brand, the black ink contrasting sharply against my pale skin. It’s identical to the insignia stamped on the wooden box.

  Although my first Reaping was different than most, I can still remember the pain as I sat for hours clenching my fists and biting down on a sliver of birch bark while the brandmaster hammered the ink into my skin. A testament to the years of blood, sweat, and tears that I poured into my training since being recruited, and to my hard-fought initiation into the Blades Society once my tenure as a trainee was complete.

  The symbol for a living weapon, forged in the fires of blood and sacrifice. From that moment on Zeph and I were a part of something bigger than ourselves, no longer alone.

  We finally had a place to call home.

  ‘Imagine the outcry if people knew the secrets you hunters really keep.’

  If the world ever found out that the renowned demon hunters of the Blades Society were harboring demons of their own . . . well, Roren has enough on his plate already.

  Frowning at the bright red scratches lining my back, a true parting gift from Catalina that won’t heal over for at least a few hours, I give my appearance one final glance before stepping into the shower.

  ***

  Spooky is still basking in the late afternoon sun when I walk out onto the balcony. Curled into a cute little ball of fluff on the solitary lounge chair, he flexes a paw as he purrs contentedly.

  So calm, so carefree.

  ‘So cute.’

  “So lazy.”

  The khaji doesn’t bother to respond.

  I shake my head, grab the decanter of whiskey from the end table and head back inside. I’m going to need a stiff drink for what comes next.

  Carrying the wooden box to the couch, I place both items on the cocktail table and sit. Then, taking a deep breath, I flip open the lid and set it aside. No point in making him wait any longer.

  Nestled atop a velvety cushion is a small dark green capsule. A whisperleaf pill compounded from a mixture of water, the extract of a silver-veined whispering willow leaf from which its name derives, sweetsap to counteract the bitter taste, and a single drop of Roren’s blood. More secure than the aurix devices invented by mages decades ago and quickly adopted as the main form of communication throughout Caelysia, the pill is untraceable and provides a direct link between the headmaster and his hunters.

  But there’s only room on this journey for one of us.

  “You know you can’t follow me in there.” The anxiety in my chest tightens like a fist at the thought of being separated. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel it, too. “It’s just for a little while, Zeph.”

  ‘For you. But I get the unfortunate pleasure of feeling the after effects when you come back.’

  We both do.

  “Bottom’s up.” I hate this part.

  I take a long swig of whiskey and swallow the pill. The gelatinous shell breaks apart as soon as it passes over my tongue, the ingredients dissolving within the liquor sloshing down my throat. I lean my head back and close my eyes.

  The effect is instantaneous.

  An excruciating pain vibrates across my skull like lightning, traveling along my spine as it spreads throughout my body. It’s like my skin is being ripped from bone as steely fingers twist at my insides, pulling me apart piece by piece until I can no longer feel anything. A blinding white light surrounds me, filling my vision. I feel myself falling into it and grit my teeth.

  Then, as quickly as it began, the pain stops. A silence descends over me as a cold emptiness fills the pit of my stomach, like a Rift tearing open and pulling me into a void of unending nothingness. A hollow ache burns in my chest, down to my core, and I know that I’m truly alone.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  It’s a feeling that I can’t bear for any longer than I have to.

  I blink open my eyes, despite knowing that they’re actually still shut, and look down. The plain shirt and denim that I had on before have been replaced by the signature form-fitting drakeskin armor and thick black cloak—standard attire befitting a hunter—and I’m standing in a bare whitewashed chamber.

  I’m inside Roren’s mind.

  “The void whispers to the dark,” a voice rings out, echoing in the emptiness that surrounds me. A call sign spoken in a forgotten language to determine friend from foe, should a whisperleaf pill ever fall into the wrong hands.

  I reply with the countersign that only a hunter would know, the phrase loosely translating to: “In silence, the Bladesworn listens. Unseen, death responds.”

  “Ashe.”

  I turn to see a middle-aged man with an aquiline nose, taut cheeks, and silver streaks in his slicked black hair, dressed in a tan tailcoat and tailored green vest with the Blades Society insignia emblazoned in gold on the left breast. Tendrils of fresh black ink slither up his neck from the starched white collar of his undershirt, curling around his right temple, and creases line his weathered face as stony dark blue eyes study me.

  I bow my head and cross an arm over my plated chest. “Headmaster Roren.”

  “At ease, hunter.” His terse smile, nearly hidden beneath a neat gray-streaked beard, doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re looking well.”

  “Well it has been some time since we last spoke.”

  “Feeling homesick, are we?” He folds his hands behind his back and tilts his head. “Should I send someone to relieve you?”

  And return to Moonshadow Hall with my head hung low in shame? I clench my fists at my sides and grit my teeth. “I have handled every missive you’ve assigned to me without question—”

  “It is not your place to question my orders,” Roren interjects, his tone low as his brow furrows. “Or my motives for giving them.”

  “Of course not, headmaster. But I don’t understand why you keep me here.” I’ve never been stationed in one place for so long.

  “Because that is where you are needed.”

  It’s not the answer I want to hear. “I’ve heard rumors. There’s been talk in the streets that the Rifts are getting worse.”

  He nods, confirming my speculations. “They are not wrong. The Rifts are growing more unstable, although the Tetrarchy refuses to publicly acknowledge it—worried that such news could damage their reputations and sway the people’s opinion during an election year, no doubt. I have hunters stationed in the outerlands ready to combat any threats that may slip through but it is important that you stay where you are for now.”

  And miss out on the real action? My jaw tightens. “I fail to see how cleaning up street trash helps the Society.” It’s a waste of my skills. My blades were in need of oiling and demon blood made for the perfect lubricant.

  Not to mention that Zeph rather enjoys hunting them, too—honing his power, he likes to call it, though I suspect he just enjoys showing off. Whatever the reason, so long as demons keep dropping it makes no difference to me.

  As if sensing my displeasure, Roren asks, “Do you doubt me?”

  It’s a loaded question and I hesitate, unsure how to respond. Although I don’t agree with his decision, it’s not the job that shadows my mind with doubt nor his reasons for failing to summon me back home. But there’s no point in trying to conceal my thoughts in here. I’m in his mind; nothing is a secret to him.

  “I’m worried that I’m losing control.”

  I’ve seen the level of destruction that the Rifts can cause firsthand but the reality isn’t lost on me. Zeph may have been a constant companion, a whisper in the dark corners of my mind for my entire life, but carrying a demon of my own is not without its risks. Despite the power that comes with being a dejinn, I’m still human; every waking moment is a constant battle for my soul. The line I walk is thin and I’m not exactly in a hurry to be the Society’s next mark.

  At least the others have the luxury of choosing this curse.

  “Yes, the messes that you’ve been leaving behind lately have caused me quite the headache. Still”—he gestures toward me with a calloused hand—“you are stronger than that demon you feed.”

  I thought the same thing about Aeito once. Although the ritual by which a hunter gains their strength is temporary, no amount of training can fully mitigate the dangers of the Reaping and, like an apostate addicted to stardust, the lingering effects can still corrupt them over time. My dagger through his heart was a harsh reminder of just how close to chaos I really am.

  Even if I was born with no choice but to bear the burden of that influence until my dying breath, Zeph is still a part of me. How am I supposed to control the darker half of myself?

  “But what if I can’t—”

  Roren closes the distance between us in an instant and wraps deft fingers around my throat.

  “Then get control over it, Ashe, before it takes control of you!” An intense heat dances in his eyes, blazing wildly as he squeezes, and the ink on his face—evidence of his latest kill—gleams like a sharpened blade. “Unless you’re admitting that you are weak, in which case I’ll do us both a favor and end you here and now.”

  This place may only be a construct in our minds, a means of telepathic communication outside the confines of conventional magic, but if Roren were to kill me in here then my body—and Zeph—would die as well. He was never one to tolerate weakness or admit failure, and he never made idle threats.

  Unable to speak, instead I shake my head.

  “Good.” He lets me go and I gasp for air. “A hunter’s heart has no room for doubt and I haven’t the patience for it.”

  Cautiously, I rub my throat. “So you aren’t mad?”

  “A few loose threads in our web is just a part of doing business, but the situation has been handled. The Society doesn’t tolerate foolhardy attempts at blackmail. These cleaners we employ will think twice now before daring to cross us again.”

  “And Catalina?” I still don’t like how I ended up getting her involved. “Will she be a problem?”

  “She’s a reliable ally to the Society and has held up her end of our arrangement, though I doubt it’ll be the last time such services are called upon.” The anger in his eyes dwindles as he places a finger under my chin and his gaze softens. “You’ve come a long way from the girl who showed up on my doorstep ten years ago, a frightened half-starved little orphan that no one wanted. Do you remember what I told you then?”

  How could I forget? “You said I was born from the ashes of a broken world and that I had the potential to rise above it.”

  “An ambitious sentiment that you still embody to this day.” He offers me a gentle smile. “Keeping the balance is a delicate dance, Ashe. The burden you carry is more than most hunters will ever know but it is necessary for the work we do. Sometimes that burden can be unpleasant but it’s nothing that we haven’t dealt with before.”

  His words are sweet like honey as they reverberate around me, filling my soul, and soon enough I feel any inkling of doubt leave my mind.

  He’s right. I’m stronger than Zeph’s hunger, I’m in control of the demon within. I earned this life, this place among them, with my own two hands and fought hard to transform my curse into a weapon worthy of upholding the Bladesworn’s legacy. I’ve both bled for the Society’s cause and killed for it. I’m a godsdamn hunter.

  I square my shoulders. “What are my orders?”

  Roren takes a step back, folding his hands behind him once more as he dips his head. “This next assignment concerns a more . . . sensitive matter than what we’re used to dealing with.”

  “How so?”

  “There is an apostate seeded deep within the highest ranks of the Imperium Arcana. Our employer wishes to avoid a public scandal and wants this dealt with quietly.”

  I raise an eyebrow. Although hunters were frequently hired to track down practitioners of illicit magic, it’s not often that the High Council contracted the Blades Society to hunt one of their own.

  “They have proof of this corruption?”

  “Considering the stakes involved with this request, I wouldn’t have accepted it unless our employer was certain in their convictions. If history has taught us anything, it’s that a snake in their midsts poses a danger to us all.”

  So this is why Roren’s kept me here. Although Trinity Valley plays host to the Imperium’s college, the city isn’t too far removed from Caelysia’s capital of Delkai—the location of the mages’ headquarters and close enough to the Caelysian Tetrarchy to garner political persuasion. If this apostate holds influence among the mages’ elite, possibly even as a member of their own court, they will most likely be found within one of these places.

  To be given such a high-profile mission is considered an honor, an indication of the headmaster’s faith and trust in my capabilities. I will not let him down.

  “Understood. As soon as I have the name of my target I’ll—”

  Roren clears his throat. “I’ve sent Kyros down to handle this one. You are to assist him.”

  Seven hells, I knew it wasn’t that easy! “I don’t need a fucking watcher, Roren.”

  “This missive is too delicate for just one hunter, Ashe, no matter how confident they are.”

  “I’ve dealt with rogue mages before.” Though, truth be told, I’d much rather face down a demon. As formidable as they are, at least they can be trusted to fight fair.

  An amused chuckle rumbles in his chest, echoing throughout the hall like booming claps of thunder. “One day, your ambition will surpass your ability to temper it.”

  “I can handle this alone.”

  “This isn’t a request. Kyros will meet you in the Gilded Crown’s eatery tomorrow night. The manager is aware of the reservation and will be expecting you.” Roren places a hand on my shoulder. “Fulfill this contract, Ashe, and you will be called home soon enough. There is still much work to be done.”

  The hall begins to hum with energy. Before I can blink, Roren has disappeared and a blinding white light envelops me again, and just like that our conversation has ended. The light soon fades to black and once more the sensation of falling comes over me. My nerves spark with renewed feeling as the floating sensation slowly ebbs and my senses return. My lungs burn, like I had been submerged in water and they’re starving for oxygen, and greedily I gulp in a mouthful of air.

  Pain racks my body and, as soon as my eyes snap open, I lean over the side of the couch and vomit.