The Demon's Mate

4

The crypt smelled of cold stone and still air. Jasper stood motionless for a while, the heavy door behind him sealed shut, the silence pressing on his ears. His flashlight flickered uncertainly, casting long shadows that danced across the uneven stone walls. The air felt damp and close, like it had been trapped there for years, untouched. It shouldn’t have been this quiet. Not even the sound of the wind made its way inside. He swallowed hard and took a slow step forward.

The room was larger than it had looked from outside. The walls curved in slightly, like the place had been carved out carefully by hand. Strange symbols were etched into the stone—some faded, some fresh. Jasper paused to run his fingers over one. The surface was warm. Too warm. He snatched his hand back.

He tried to convince himself that it was just his imagination, but the warmth lingered on his skin. He moved toward the center of the crypt, where a raised stone platform stood. Dust clung to every surface, but something about the platform made him feel like it was the cleanest thing in the whole place. Not a single speck marred its surface.

And lying on top of it was the book.

The same black leather cover. The same gold edging. It looked untouched by time or dust, as if someone had placed it there just moments ago. Jasper blinked. He had left it in the library. He was sure of it. He’d been avoiding it on purpose. So how did it end up here?

He walked slowly, almost unwillingly, toward the platform. Every step felt heavier. The air seemed to resist him now, thick and sluggish. The flashlight sputtered again before going out completely. The room was plunged into darkness, but somehow he could still see the book, as if it were glowing faintly in the gloom.

His fingers brushed the cover. Nothing happened.

Then, just as he was about to open it, the sound of something shifting echoed from the corner of the room. He spun around, heart racing. A low sound—half growl, half whisper—seeped out from the shadows. He couldn’t see what it was, but he felt it watching him.

He forced himself to stay calm. He couldn’t run. There was nowhere to go. The door was gone. Literally gone. Where there had once been stone slabs forming the entrance, there was now only a wall. Solid. Cold. Unmoving.

Jasper turned back to the book. It was his only lead. He opened it.

This time, the pages didn’t resist him. They turned easily, too easily, as if they had been waiting for him. The same language stared back at him—foreign, curling letters that he still didn’t understand. But one page stood out. It had no writing. Instead, something was pressed into the center.

It looked like a shard of glass.

Clear. Sharp. Almost like it had been cut from a mirror. When he touched it, it shimmered slightly, catching the faint light that came from nowhere and everywhere. As he lifted it, the book shivered beneath his hand and then slammed shut on its own.

Jasper stared at the object in his palm. It felt cold, but not in a painful way. More like the cold you feel just before it snows. Calm. Crisp. A little lonely.

Behind him, the growl came again.

He didn’t turn around. He clutched the shard tighter and held his breath.

The air shifted. The sound moved, circling him. There was no physical form that he could see, just the feeling of being surrounded, of being observed. The pressure in his head grew heavier, like something was brushing against his thoughts. Not speaking, not quite. More like brushing the edges of his mind, testing.

Then it stopped.

The air grew still. The room, though still dark, felt less hostile. The presence had gone—or at least hidden itself better. Jasper exhaled slowly, his hands trembling slightly.

And then, as if nothing had happened, the door appeared again. The stones that had vanished were back in place, but this time the door stood open.

He didn’t waste time.

Jasper grabbed the book and bolted, the shard still gripped tightly in one hand. He didn’t look back. He ran out into the woods, the cold night air slapping him in the face like a wake-up call. His breath came out in thick clouds, his chest aching.

Only when he reached the edge of the woods did he stop. He turned around, but the crypt was gone.

No door. No structure. Just trees and grass and shadows.

He looked at the book in his other hand. It was real. The shard in his pocket was real too. He knew it, even if nothing else made sense.

Jasper didn’t go back to the dorm right away. He sat on the nearest bench outside the library, heart still hammering. The book sat next to him, closed but humming with some kind of quiet energy. He didn’t open it again. Not yet.

He didn’t notice the raven watching him from the rooftop.

Its eyes glowed faintly. It didn’t caw. It didn’t move. It just stared, like it was waiting.