Chapter Seven - Ash and Sarcasm
1337 Words
POV - Serena
Blackthorn Row curled inward as I walked, the street folding around itself like a secret it had told too many times.
The wards parted for me without resistance, lantern runes dimming and brightening in recognition as I passed. The air here was warmer than the rest of Duskfall, threaded with layered enchantments that smelled faintly of cedar, ink, and old stone. Houses leaned close together, tall and narrow, their facades marked with sigils so subtle only witches noticed them. To outsiders, Blackthorn Row was just another forgotten street. To us, it was sanctuary.
I adjusted the strap of my coat and kept walking.
The ash from the demon still clung to me, embedded in the seams of my clothes and the creases of my gloves. No matter how much magic I used to scrub myself clean, there was always residue after a kill like that. The kind that crawled under your skin and refused to be forgotten.
Elias’s house sat three doors down from mine, a narrow townhouse wrapped in ivy that never quite obeyed gravity. The leaves twitched as I approached, responding to the familiar pulse of my magic. His wards flared amber and gold, then settled.
I knocked once.
The door swung open immediately.
“You are bleeding,” Elias said. “I am offended that you did not knock louder.”
I stepped inside before he could pull me into a lecture. “Good evening to you too.”
His house smelled like burnt sage and strong coffee, with an undercurrent of ozone from recent spellwork. The place was cluttered but intentional, every surface layered with tools, books, half finished enchantments, and devices that hummed quietly to themselves. Witchlight glowed from glass orbs strung along the walls, casting everything in a warm amber haze.
Elias shut the door behind me and sealed it with a flick of his wrist. The wards snapped into place, humming with approval.
“Sit,” he said. “Before something falls out of you.”
“I am fine.”
“That is what people say before collapsing.”
I rolled my eyes but did as he asked, dropping into the chair by his worktable. The moment I sat, his detection spells flickered to life, threads of gold light skimming over my skin. He frowned at the cut on my arm, at the faint silver glow still lingering in my veins.
“You went hunting alone,” he said.
“Obviously.”
“And further than usual.”
“I was invited.”
He shot me a look. “By who. Death.”
“Close.”
I pulled the vial from my pocket and set it on the table between us. The contents shifted immediately, ash swirling in slow, deliberate patterns that made the air around it feel wrong.
Elias’s humor vanished.
“Oh,” he said softly. “That is not good.”
“You always say that.”
“Yes, but usually with more sarcasm.”
He pulled on his rune threaded gloves and lifted the vial, holding it up to the light. His amber eyes narrowed, gold flecks catching as he activated a series of scanning spells. Bracelets along his wrists flared, spell thread weaving between his fingers as he coaxed the magic into revealing itself.
The residue reacted violently.
It brightened, color deepening into a bruised violet that pulsed in time with my heartbeat. The witchlight in the room flickered in response.
Elias swore under his breath.
“That is not demon magic,” he said.
I leaned forward. “It was a demon.”
“It was wearing demon flesh,” he corrected. “The magic inside it is older. Structured. Controlled. Demons do not do controlled.”
Cold settled in my stomach.
“How old.”
He hesitated. That alone was answer enough.
“Pre Accord,” he said finally. “Possibly pre Veilbound treaties. This magic predates demon hierarchies.”
The demon’s voice echoed in my mind, wet and broken, whispering about seals and stirring things that should have stayed buried.
“It told me something,” I said.
Elias looked up sharply. “What did it say.”
“That the seal beneath the city is cracking.”
His jaw tightened.
“And that something is waking,” I added. “It said he stirs.”
The room went quiet.
Elias set the vial down very carefully, as if sudden movement might wake something else. He dragged a hand through his hair, the unruly curl springing up in protest.
“Let me guess,” he said. “It did not elaborate.”
“No.”
He laughed once, sharp and humorless. “I hate it when ancient myths start talking.”
“You have heard of it.”
“Only in fragments,” he admitted. “Half burned grimoires. Council records that were buried for a reason. Whatever this is, Serena, it predates demon kind. It predates most of us.”
“That makes it worse.”
“Yes,” he said. “Considerably.”
He moved around the table, pulling lenses and charms from his satchel, muttering to himself as he worked. Watching Elias analyze magic was like watching a storm contained in human form. Quick hands, sharp mind, controlled chaos wrapped in sarcasm and ink stained fingers.
“So,” he said casually, because that was how he coped. “You were out near the Riftline again.”
“I was doing my job.”
“You are the Protector of the Veil,” he shot back. “Not the city’s personal executioner.”
“Someone has to clean up what slips through.”
“And someone has to make sure you do not get yourself killed doing it.”
He paused, eyes flicking to my arm again. His voice softened despite himself. “You are pushing too far.”
I looked away. “You knew who I was when we met.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “And I knew I would follow you anyway.”
The residue flared suddenly, reacting to the spike in my magic as my emotions slipped. Elias swore and stabilized the containment field, runes blazing as he forced the ash back into stillness.
“That is new,” he muttered. “It is reacting to you.”
My breath caught. “What does that mean.”
He met my eyes. “This magic recognizes authority. Not demonic dominance. Veil authority.”
Protector authority.
The house creaked softly, old enchantments tightening like a protective embrace. Outside, Blackthorn Row remained quiet, unaware of the implications unraveling within these walls.
“It knows what I am,” I said.
“It knows what you represent,” Elias replied. “Which means this is not random. Whatever is waking knows you exist.”
A chill slid down my spine.
Elias leaned back against the table, crossing his arms. “I need time,” he said. “And access to restricted archives.”
“I can get you that.”
He sighed. “Of course you can. That is what terrifies me.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
“You will stay,” I said. “At least until we know more.”
He snorted. “You could be facing an ancient entity older than demon kind and you are worried about me leaving.”
“You always leave eventually,” I said. “You always come back too.”
His expression softened, sarcasm slipping just enough to reveal the weight beneath. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”
He sealed the vial with a lattice of warning runes and slid it into a reinforced lockbox. “We are not done with this,” he said. “Not even close.”
“I know.”
Outside, the moonlight pressed against the windows, heavy and watchful. Somewhere beneath the city, something ancient shifted in its sleep.
Ash and sarcasm would not be enough forever.
But for tonight, they were all we had.
- Writer
