Page 46 of The Prospect's Succubus
The tent erupted into motion, demons and carnies and things that had never been human streaming out into the night. I stood in the wreck of the throne room, skin buzzing with fear and regret.
It wasn’t over. It was just beginning.
Torch
I woke with the sensation of a needle being driven into the bone just below my shoulder. The kind of hurt that meant business, not warning. The brand flared, hot as arc weld, and I shot upright, adrenaline drowning whatever sleep I’d managed to scrape up.
The first thing I saw was the empty space where Jasmine should have been. The next was the note, crumpled in my fist before I even realized I’d moved. Her handwriting was neat, apologetic, desperate to convince itself. Don’t follow. Lilith wants a finale, and she needs me for the fireworks… You’ll be free… Don’t wait up. As if she didn’t know I’d been waiting my whole life to get even with a bitch like Lilith.
I ground the paper to pulp and tossed it in the sink. The apartment felt hollow, all the air sucked out, the wards on the door faint and useless. For a second, I considered letting it ride—seeing if Jasmine could pull off the suicide play, if she could actually outmaneuver the Queen of Hell. But the brand wouldn’t let me. Every few seconds it pulsed, and each time it did, I caught a flash: Jasmine walking through the midway, Jasmine on herknees in front of the throne, Jasmine staring back at Lilith with a hatred that could have boiled oceans. The bond didn’t give me words, just snapshots, enough to keep the rage simmering at a low, productive boil.
I hit the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and caught my own eyes in the mirror. They were blue as always, but the whites had gone thin and shadowed, ringed by a halo of bloodshot. The scars on my arms had started to glow, lines of blue-white light running from wrist to elbow. The new mark, the one that matched Jasmine’s, throbbed in sync with the rest. I grinned, ugly and hungry.
The prep took fifteen minutes, because I’d been doing it since the day I left the pit. Black T-shirt, jeans, jacket lined with runed plates. The 1911, reloaded with custom hollowpoints. Salt canisters, iron dust, holy water in a flask I’d filched from Vin’s old stash. Everything fit into the same bandolier I’d used when this was just about killing demons, not saving them.
The hardest part was waiting. I checked the phone—no messages, no calls, just the steady crawl of time toward sunrise. Outside, the city was still, not quiet, just holding its breath. I listened to the sound of my own pulse and tried to time it to the rhythm of the bond, but Jasmine was moving too fast for me to keep up.
Every time the brand flared, it brought a new rush of emotion. At first it was just fear, sharp and honest. Then anger, so bitter it made my gums ache. Then guilt, a tidal wave that knocked me back against the wall. I leaned into it, let myself feel every spike. It was the only way to track her, the only way to get ahead of what Lilith wanted.
When the sun finally started to edge over the horizon, I moved. The walk to the carnival was short, but it felt longer, every step pulling me further from what little humanity I had left. By the time I hit the parking lot, the world had changed. Theair tasted of iron filings and burning sugar. The sky bled pink, then red, then something darker.
The main gate was wide open, flanked by the same shadows that had haunted Jasmine’s vision. They didn’t try to stop me. One even bowed, a flick of its chin that was half mockery, half respect. I walked past, boots crunching on broken glass and old wrappers, hands loose at my sides.
The midway was a graveyard, every ride abandoned but running. The carousel spun, horses screaming. The Ferris wheel turned backward, each car empty but heavy with memory. The calliope blasted its dirge, notes warping and splitting with every rotation.
I saw the carnies before they saw me. A cluster near the tent, whispering in a dialect that would have made a linguist eat their own teeth. I ignored them, cutting straight through the ring of guards and into the heart of the Ten-in-One.
Inside, the throne room was lit for murder. The crowd had doubled since Jasmine’s arrival, and every one of them stared as I walked the aisle. At the far end, Lilith sat with the ringmaster at her feet and Jasmine beside her, arms bound, head bowed but eyes alive. The moment I entered, the bond between us snapped taut, and every nerve in my body screamed with the need to do something—anything.
Lilith clapped, the sound echoing like a gunshot. “Torch!” she shouted, drawing out the word. “So glad you could join us.”
I stopped ten paces from the dais. “Cut the shit,” I said. “You want a show? Fine. Let’s make it quick.”
The crowd roared, but Lilith just smiled, lazy and confident. “You’re every bit as predictable as she said you’d be. How sweet.”
I glanced at Jasmine. Her jaw was set, eyes rimmed with red, but the line of her back was straight. She wasn’t broken, just pissed.
Lilith rose, hair a whip of flame, dress catching and releasing the light with every step. “You two are special, you know. Not just for the drama, but for the potential.” She caressed Jasmine’s shoulder, then turned to me. “Imagine what I could do with a matched set.”
I felt the bond spike—Jasmine’s horror, my anger, her disgust, my need. It looped between us, winding tighter with every second.
“Let her go,” I said. “Or I burn this whole place down.”
Lilith laughed, the sound bright as razors. “You think I fear fire? I invented it.”
She waved, and the crowd surged forward. I had two seconds to brace before the first demon hit me, all teeth and slick skin. I sidestepped, drove an elbow into its throat, then put three rounds into the next one’s chest. The bullets did the job, but the bodies didn’t fall—they just melted into the air, replaced by more.
I worked my way forward, every motion fueled by the pain in my arm and the rage in my gut. The crowd thinned, but only because Lilith wanted it to. She watched, smiling, as I carved my way closer.
When I reached the dais, she stepped aside, gestured with mock politeness. “By all means, hero. Rescue your damsel.”
I leveled the gun at her, but she just grinned. “Shoot me, and you shoot her. We’re all connected, darling.”
The bond flared again, this time with a wave of nausea. I felt Jasmine’s fear, her hope, her absolute certainty that if I fired, she’d be the one to die. I dropped the gun, went for the knife.
Lilith saw it coming. She caught my wrist, twisted, and bent me backward over the steps. The pain was sharp, then cold, then gone. I looked up, saw Jasmine struggling against her bonds, saw the terror in her eyes.
Lilith leaned in, lips to my ear. “It’s not about killing you,” she whispered. “It’s about breaking you. Both of you.”
