Page 5 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

He surveys me as though I’m something unexpected but not unwelcome. The mirror behind him dulls, the cracks still glowing faintly. I can’t find the words to speak. I can barely breathe.

He opens his mouth, and his voice comes out softly, almost curiously. “Who…summoned me?”

I want to run, but my legs refuse to move. My lips part, and I manage to whisper, “I…didn’t mean to.”

His head cants to the side, eyes narrowing as he studies me. “You touched the mirror. You spoke words?—”

I shake my head frantically. “I said nothing!”

He goes silent for a beat, as if listening to some internal echo. Then his gaze drifts around the cramped chamber, to the runes on the walls, the half-rotten ladder. A new tension lines his shoulders. “House…Vaerathis,” he breathes, as though naming an ancient enemy. His tone trembles with suppressed rage.

I flinch at that name spoken aloud in such venom. “Yes. You know it?”

His eyes meet mine again, luminous in the dark. “All too well.”

My entire body trembles. Even if I don’t understand what he is exactly, it’s clear he’s a demon or something similar to it. The catacombs are rumored to house malignant secrets. And I’ve just unleashed one.

He exhales slowly, almost like a sigh of relief. “I’ve waited centuries,” he murmurs, lifting a hand to inspect the cracks across his pale skin—like black tattoos or markings that stir under his flesh.

A hundred questions spin in my mind.Who is he? Is he going to kill me?But more pressingly,Will the Vaerathis family sense his release?

I push myself upright, clutching at the stone wall. “I—I shouldn’t be here,” I manage.

He turns that eerie gaze on me, and I see something akin to pity or fascination. “Nor should I.”

I swallow hard. My heart pounds so loudly it nearly drowns out my thoughts. “Please…don’t kill me,” I blurt. Shame heats my cheeks that I’ve resorted to begging, but I can’t face the notion of dying down here, alone in the dark.

He arcs a brow, stepping closer in a way that feels both graceful and predatory. “Kill you?” A slight tilt of his head. “You are but a mortal in chains, yes? House Vaerathis enslaves you. Perhaps you and I share an enemy.”

That flicker of possibility ignites a kernel of hope in my chest. Could this strange, beautiful horror be an ally? It seems impossible, yet my life is a tapestry of impossible horrors. Maybe I’ve found an impossible salvation.

My voice shakes. “If you hate them, can you—can you help me get out of here? Who are you?”

He says nothing at first, searching my face with those spectral eyes. Then, quietly, “Daeva and I can get you out. But everything comes with a price.”

Despite the fear roiling inside, I force myself to meet his stare. If this is my one chance to break free of House Vaerathis, I have to take it. “Name it,” I whisper.

A slow, almost delicate smile tugs at his lips, though it carries a note of sadness. “We’ll discuss that soon. For now, I suggest we leave these corridors before your captors realize I’ve returned.”

At that, he lifts a hand toward me. The mirror behind him flickers ominously, the runes on the wall faintly glowing like watchful eyes. My pulse pounds in my ears. I know I’m making a bargain with something far more dangerous than any dark elf. And yet…my desire for freedom, for revenge, foranythingbeyond these chains, overrides my terror.

I nod, swallowing hard. “Lead the way,” I manage, my voice surprisingly firm for someone whose entire world has just turned upside down.

And with that, we ascend the ladder together, leaving the hidden chamber—and the black mirror behind, never realizing how profoundly this moment will alter both our destinies.

2

DAEVA

Iexhale a slow breath and step off the final rung of the ladder, feeling the bone-deep chill of the catacombs ease—just enough for me to straighten my spine. I keep a measured distance behind the mortal girl, my gaze falling on the tense line of her shoulders. She stands at the threshold of this cramped storeroom, a wooden bucket left abandoned on the floor. I notice how her hand hovers near it, as though she’s torn between retrieving the bucket and fleeing for her life.

She turns, eyes flicking toward me with a mix of awe and fear. For a moment, I’m struck by the rawness in her hazel gaze—like she never expected to stand in the presence of something like me and remain alive. Neither did I, once, so long ago that my memories blur into half-remembered nightmares.

I shouldn’t linger on that. Not now.

“Which way?” I ask quietly. It’s a simple question, but I want to gauge her sense of direction. If she’s half as resourceful as she appears, she might know the path out of this subterranean maze without attracting too much attention.

She bites her lower lip and points back through the door she came from. A rag lies in a puddle of murky water, evidence of hermenial tasks. “We go through that corridor—there’s a staircase leading up.” Her voice is unsteady, but not broken. “It’s guarded, though. At least, it was.”

---