Preview Chapters for The Demon's Peace

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Chapter 1: The Demon’s Peace

The pale man collided with Sabyse Amakis as she struggled through the mid-morning market crowds to keep up with her daughter. She recovered her balance and confronted the stranger as he loomed over her in the sea of people. “Watch where you’re going!”

Despite the heat beating down on the small township, the man was bundled up in a long, thick coat and gloves. A broad-brimmed hat covered his face, dark, smoked glasses concealed his eyes, and a bandana was wrapped about the lower part of his face. His skin, where it was exposed, was fish-belly white—a vector for the harsh sun—and Sabyse assumed that was why he kept himself hidden. Still, that was no excuse for his behavior. Damn these foreigners, thinking that they could do what they liked on Kataphedios Island!

“I’m sorry,” the pale stranger whispered in a flat, quiet voice. “Is that your daughter over there?” He pointed in the distance, to where the plump young woman haggled with a man at a luggage stall.

Sabyse wasn’t sure how to respond to that; something about the man made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Without waiting for her confirmation, he dipped his head in a quick bow. “Enjoy your time with her.”

Sabyse froze, unable to articulate the dread she felt. Not for herself, but for Aureke, bright and full of life. She quickly glanced at her daughter, perfectly ordinary, who held up a pink travel bag in both hands, inspecting its interior.

Sabyse turned to question the man, only to find that he had vanished into the crowd.

“And then he said, ‘Enjoy your time with her.’” Sabyse puffed, keeping up with Aureke as they wended their way up the treacherous mountain path. Below, the town of Loucheas sprawled towards the blue-tinged ocean.

“So?” Aureke lugged her new bag behind her. “He sounds lovely.”

“It was how he said it,” Sabyse said. “And why didn’t you buy that on the way back?”

“Because someone else might have bought it.” Aureke rolled her eyes. Mother and daughter were cut from a similar cloth: olive-skinned with dark freckles and blue-black hair, a look common to the inhabitants of the Estian Archipelago. Where Sabyse was reserved, stick-thin, and did the barest minimum to maintain a respectable appearance, her daughter was the opposite; the plump, outgoing Aureke radiated warmth and laughter and loved looking sharp.

“Anyway, let’s not fuss over these things. I’ve got news!”

“Tell me!”

Aureke laughed and ran ahead along the rocky path, the pink bag bouncing against her side. “You’ll have to wait!”

“Careful!” Sabyse shouted. “You’ll trip in those ridiculous shoes!” She didn’t approve of her daughter’s uptake of the mainland fashion—miniskirts, updos, and thigh-high boots with chunky heels. All those silly movies from the Independent States, changing what the young people wore these days. Centuries of local fashion, of homespun skirts, dresses, and blouses, replaced by frivolous, imported things.

Sabyse hurried, nervously glancing down at the sharp rocks below them. As a child, she’d run here without a moment’s thought, but now at forty-two she couldn’t forget how dangerous the island could be.

Aureke stopped before a vast statue, which towered above them. The twenty-meter-tall Demon’s Peace sculpture stood atop a spike of black stone a short distance off the island’s rocky coast. It resembled a flayed man, bones and skin, face contorted in an unearthly scream. Seagull droppings coated its head and shoulders, and barnacles and weeds tangled around its legs. Despite its horrific appearance to outsiders, the people of Kataphedios revered it; they believed it protected them, and important oaths were sworn before it.

Aureke puffed and dropped the new bag to the ground, her dark hair streaming behind her in the wind.

How lovely she is. Sabyse finally caught up. She gripped Aureke’s hands, admiring how sleek and long her child’s were, contrasted with her own veined and knuckled ones.

Sabyse knew what Aureke would say next, but it was important the words were told before the Demon’s Peace.

Aureke said, “I’m going to marry Laiunnos.”

Sabyse embraced her daughter, unexpected tears flowing. At twenty-five, Aureke was late to get married. Oh, and she’d been such a terror around the town in her younger years! So many boyfriends and so little care about what others thought of her. Other townswomen had hassled Sabyse for being too soft, for not arranging a marriage. But after how Sabyse’s husband had treated her, it was important that Aureke found a man of her own choosing. And as Sabyse had hoped, her daughter had finally settled down.

Misgivings trickled into her mind—would someone like Aureke really be content with a placid, dull-eyed man like Laiunnos? Perhaps that’s what she needed. Someone kind and stable. And he had a decent trade—the town butcher.

Stifling her impulse to question, to complain, Sabyse squeezed her daughter’s hand. “I’m so happy.”

Then Sabyse remembered the boy with the sly, sinister smile who used to wait for Aureke outside their store. The one she’d almost married. “Will Rabiolos be a problem?”

“He knows,” Aureke said. “And he’s with the Summit Lords now. He’ll have to respect the Demon’s Peace.”

Sabyse frowned. Rabiolos had courted Aureke years ago until her daughter had ended their engagement. Sabyse had never liked him; the boy was vain, brash and boastful, like many Estian men. Even after the courtship was over, Rabiolos stalked Aureke through the streets of Loucheas, occasionally yelling at her drunkenly when they bumped into each other in the night markets. Graffiti had been left on the door of their house. A beloved cat had vanished, to be found dead in the gutter, knifed open. Sometimes, things were moved around the house unexpectedly or knocked onto the floor where they shouldn’t be.

No one could prove anything, but Sabyse always knew it was Rabiolos.

The stalking had only stopped a few years ago, when Rabiolos had been hired by the Summit Lords, the organized crime families who indirectly ruled Kataphedios Island.

Sabyse regarded the towering statue above her. Would it keep them safe?

“This bag is for the honeymoon!” Aureke’s cheerful voice cut into Sabyse’s forebodings, and she touched the pink bag again. Even though it couldn’t possibly hold all the clothes she would wish to take. “As soon as I saw it, I knew it was the one.” She took a deep breath. “And at the wedding, I want you to look good. You’re going to have your hair and make-up done professionally.”

“It’ll be a waste of money.” Sabyse smoothed her faded dress. “I’ll do it myself, and we can spend the money on other things—”

“No, Sabyse.” Aureke raised her voice. During her difficult teenage years, the girl had refused to use the word ‘Mother’ or ‘Mama’ or anything like that and had opted for her mother’s first name. Sabyse didn’t mind these days, although it had made her feel like a maternal failure. Things were much better between them, now that Sabyse had learned to focus on strategic wins.

“I’m sick of you looking dowdy all the time.” Aureke critically tugged at a strand of Sabyse’s graying hair. “Even the Demon looks better than you, and he’s covered in seagull droppings. No excuses.”

Sabyse let out a sigh, deciding to let Aureke win this matter. She couldn’t ruin her daughter’s happiness. “Alright,” she agreed. “What sort of dress did you have in mind?”

The next day, Sabyse opened the doors of her curio shop, checking that all was in order on the shelves. She stocked antiques for special clients, cigarettes, bottles of liquor, spices from the Lionmarches, imported herbs alongside dried fish, powdered rhino horns, week-old newspapers from the mainland for those who cared about the war in the distant Spidersilk Peninsula, and the more frivolous periodicals from the Independent States. The Stormfields’ blue-bordered Royal Cartographic magazine was the most popular, especially with older customers. Even if one didn’t read Standard, the photographs of distant locations, old temples, and strangely costumed foreigners were always exciting for a community that only left the shores of Kataphedios to fish.

When Sabyse had satisfied herself, she headed outside, watching the bright sunlight fall upon the wine-dark sea.

The scalloped settlement of Loucheas was carved into the rock of Kataphedios Island. Whitewashed houses fell in tiers down to the wide, rocky port of Desolation Cove. Some roads in town were so steep that donkeys were required to carry goods, although the Summit Lords had often talked of building a chairlift up to the crest, where they dwelled in their palatial mansions and hosted games of chance for their rich customers.

The smell of fish and sea air crowded Sabyse’s nostrils, and she studied the fishing boats below on the harbor. A mix of local vessels and the gigantic superyachts that belonged to the Summit Lords. In the crowds, people in traditional blue-and-white striped clothing walked by, followed by throngs of tourists. Exotic featherdrakes from distant continents clicked past, holding up cameras as they photographed the mountains. Old Learthon led a group of elven and ogre visitors through the streets, telling them terrible lies about the days when pirate kings had ruled. Nearby, cats prowled in the cobbled alleyways.

Aureke emerged from the butcher’s shop across the road. She kissed Laiunnos in the entranceway and helped him strap a striped blue-and-white apron around his large frame. The broad, balding man waved at Sabyse before returning to his own store.

Her daughter walked slowly towards Sabyse, running her hands through her hair, looking like a cat that had gotten into the chickens.

“You shouldn’t be sleeping with him until after the wedding,” Sabyse scolded when Aureke arrived. “It’s only next month.”

“Mother, it’s 1967,” Aureke scoffed.

“It’s bad luck, that’s all,” Sabyse repeated.

“How can you be superstitious?” Aureke wondered. “You would have thrown out our icons if I hadn’t rescued them!”

“It’s different.” Once Sabyse had fervently believed in the Saints and all of their demands; now, she could barely bring herself to attend the Temple regularly. She went only because Aureke liked to go.

Both mother and daughter returned to their store, and Sabyse glanced around the shelves again, more habit than anything else.

Sabyse would manage by herself once Aureke left to work in her husband’s shop, but she would miss working beside her daughter every day. And when it was time, she would sell her assets, cash in her favors, retire, and buy a house near her daughter’s so she could help with the grandchildren.

In the late afternoon, the Widow arrived, stepping through the door gracefully. Midnight hair escaped her scarf, and her visible gold jewelry gleamed against her dark skin. As long as Sabyse had known her, which had been for many years, she’d worn gray, the color of mourning in the Lionmarches.

Sabyse always appreciated the Widow. She didn’t talk about the war in the Spidersilk Peninsula like everyone else did (not that anyone on the island could do much about it; it was on the other side of the mainland for a start). Sabyse thought the Widow looked to be in her late thirties but could also be in that portion of graceful middle age where a well-groomed woman could keep herself nearly ageless in appearance.

“I received your message,” the Widow said in her educated voice; she sounded as if she’d learned the local language from an expensive tutor.

“I have the new tea blends in from Jadetower,” Sabyse said. “Madame Kyupsa has found some unusual herbal varieties you might like.” She held out the notes, finding them written in the character script used in that region. “Oh dear, I can’t read this.”

“I can.” The Widow scrutinized the paper. Sabyse inhaled the smell of the Widow’s perfume: a pleasant odor of sandalwood mingled with dried tea. In some ways, Sabyse envied the Widow—no family or responsibilities. Yet, she felt sorry for the woman, who’d cut herself off from the town, only emerging when she needed supplies.

“The merchant Zamatra would like a new wife,” Sabyse whispered. “He’s from your country, Tashkala, was it?”

“I’m not interested.” The Widow’s tone suggested that Sabyse drop the subject.

The doorbell jangled, and a group of young men jostled their way inside. Unlike the locals, they wore brightly colored shirts that clashed with their dark canvas working trousers. Their leader was dressed in a gold-and-green shirt, and his beard, as black as midnight, was cut short in a modern fashion rather than growing wild and long like the town elders. Silver chains glinted at his throat, hung with coins that showed his allegiance to the Summit Lords. Rabiolos remained as weedy as he had been as a child but made up for his slight size with a well-crafted reputation for viciousness.

He strode forward, a smile spreading across his face.

“Hello, Rabiolos.” Sabyse kept her tone low, hoping it would carry to Aureke, who was stocking shelves in the back room. “I’m with a customer at the moment—”

“Mother,” he said in a deep voice.

“I’m not your mother,” Sabyse said clearly. “My daughter didn’t accept your offer.”

The young men murmured to each other, and Rabiolos stepped closer to the counter. “Mother, you are misinformed. Aureke belongs to me. I’m here to take her away.” He leaned forward. “She knows what she promised, what she’s done. She can’t hide—”

“Excuse me,” the Widow cut in, and she glared at Rabiolos. “I’m purchasing tea. Please wait.”

Rabiolos laughed and pushed aside his shirt, revealing a bulky air pistol in a holster, a model Sabyse remembered from the war. “You don’t want to get in my way, Madame. It wouldn’t be to your liking.” He raised his voice. “If my fucking betrothed doesn’t come out in the next few minutes, I’ll paint everything in this shop red.”

Sabyse kept her face blank, but her heart raced. If only her pistol were under the counter, rather than in the back room! Not that she would have time to draw it—the five young men with Rabiolos were armed, and there would be little a middle-aged woman with an old sidearm could do.

Aureke emerged from the back room, hands twisted together. “Rabiolos.” A trickle of sweat beaded on her forehead.

Sabyse stood in front of her daughter.

“Let’s go.” Rabiolos stretched out a hand.

“I’m not marrying you.” Aureke folded her arms.

“You don’t have any choice,” Rabiolos insisted. “I took your maidenhead, you promised me, and now I’m here to collect—”

“I was fifteen!” Aureke objected. “And that was nearly ten years ago!”

Sabyse clenched her hands. “My daughter doesn’t have to obey that old custom!” Oh, how she wished Aureke had been more careful! She’d been such a terror all those years ago, shouting at her mother, throwing herself at any young man who’d caught her eye. The worst had been Rabiolos. But things had changed since then. Aureke had grown up. And moved on.

The other young men grinned, like circling sharks awaiting blood.

“Mother, I don’t give a fuck what you say.” Rabiolos swaggered. “Aureke belongs to me. She can’t marry anyone else. Now—”

He stepped forward.

“I don’t recommend you do that,” the Widow interrupted.

“What is with you women?” Rabiolos snapped. “Always whining, telling me don’t do this, don’t do that! Aureke promised me! Everyone needs to learn who is in charge!”

He drew his pistol in one fluid motion, moving it around between Sabyse, Aureke, and the Widow like he was picking someone to play tag with.

Then he sneered and aimed the handgun at Sabyse.

The Widow stepped between Rabiolos and Sabyse. Everything happened so quickly, Sabyse didn’t completely understand what had occurred. The Widow leaned forward, bones snapped, and Rabiolos screamed and gripped his hand.

For a brief second, the Widow’s eyes shifted to yellow, serpentine ones.

Sabyse gasped, and an icy chill speared through her.

“Leave,” the Widow commanded in her crisp voice. Her eyes were brown once more, but Sabyse knew she hadn’t been mistaken.

For a few seconds, Rabiolos stared at the Widow. Without warning, the smell of piss stained the air, and he fled into the streets, cradling his wrist.

The group of young men with him looked at each other, confused. One of them laughed, and the rest chuckled like squawking gulls. They scurried from the shop, while the last bowed, with a quick smile and a flash of a gold tooth.

The Widow sighed, adjusted a lock of dark hair that had escaped from under her headscarf, and went to the counter. “My tea.”

“Take it.” Sabyse gestured, pushing the container towards her. Her hands shook. “And don’t worry about paying.”

As the wedding neared, three things gnawed at Sabyse, invading her sleep and creating errant thoughts, even as she arranged for food, booked the temple, and spent hours writing invitations in her best calligraphy.

The first was the most direct and dangerous: the threat of Rabiolos, brash and mad, waving his pistol in the air. Sabyse cornered his mother at the fishmarkets, in the middle of surveying lobsters in a bucket.

“Kateisa,” Sabyse began. Immediately the older woman rose to her feet. Her undyed gray hair blew free and her face seemed more lined than usual. “It’s about your son—”

“He’s no threat to you,” Kateisa said in an odd tone Sabyse couldn’t decipher.

“Aureke is getting married—”

“Yes, to a butcher,” Kateisa sneered. “And my boy won’t be a problem. And why worry about him when your daughter’s been with half the men in town already?” She snickered. “I wonder how many abortions she’s had?”

“How dare you—” Sabyse nearly screamed.

“Leave us alone!” Kateisa stalked away from the buckets.

Sabyse gripped her hands tightly, her breath rattling in and out. One. There had been one abortion. That she knew of, at least. It had cost Sabyse much of her savings to send Aureke to a proper doctor rather than to some back-alley midwife with a coat hanger. The Temple of the Light forbade such activities, and yet, like most things on Kataphedios, those services were there if you knew where to look.

Oh, Sabyse had been furious with Aureke, but the girl had been fifteen, and in such a panicked state, unable to consider anything like adoption or even letting Sabyse raise the child herself. And Aureke had won their argument: “You had me too young; I know you would have done the same.”

“Why would I have—”

“Because of him. Don’t lie. Stop pretending your marriage was like everyone else’s. That’s what I hate about you, you’re always pretending it never happened!”

Him or he was how Aureke referred to her father, Taranthys. The man whose shadow always loomed across their lives, even though he was long gone. And so Sabyse made the arrangements. Aureke had survived the operation, and they didn’t speak of it again.

Although Sabyse did order birth control from the mainland, if only she’d told Aureke about that sooner.

After buying a shot of fermented goat’s milk to calm her nerves, Sabyse marshaled her thoughts and continued her mission. She continued to ask around. No one had seen Rabiolos since the attack. People said he’d lost his nerve and abandoned his work for the Summit Lords. Still, for protection, Sabyse invited families with strong young men to the wedding, who promised to be on guard in case anything happened.

The second problem was more esoteric—the flash of yellow in the Widow’s eyes. Aureke claimed to have seen nothing amiss, but Sabyse didn’t doubt her own senses. She recalled one day her father, Basilikos, had taken her to the twisted statue, sat her down and explained. “Who enforces the Demon’s Peace?” He gestured at the titan towering above them while leaning on his cane. Basilikos had a bad foot. While his disability was real, he often exaggerated his rolling gait around town. She enjoyed having a secret between them.

“Demons?” the young girl asked.

“No. Demons are bound to the Netherworld and can’t escape. Instead, people sell their souls to become a cambion—a demon’s servant—and they kill for their masters.”

Sabyse shivered.

“But they don’t slay everyone,” Basilikos went on. “Because, even though the Precursor made the Netherworld to punish evildoers, they wanted the demons to do some good in the world. A cambion can’t take an innocent soul. What they do is assist those who have been denied justice. They are the dark spirits of vengeance, who help those that no one else will answer. Those who knights scorn, who police spit upon, who priests turn away from.”

Basilikos pointed at the statue. “I saw a cambion during the war. His eyes burned yellow like a dragon’s when he took a life…” He bent and gripped his daughter by her shoulder. “If you need them, they are there, but otherwise, leave them alone.” He ruffled her hair and turned to stare back at the stone titan, and Sabyse wondered, like many of her father’s stories, if it was really true.

The third thing that disturbed Sabyse was the return of the pale man. Watching her from across the road, his broad-brimmed hat slanted across his face. He remained as still as a marble sculpture, oblivious to the package-laden donkeys or beeping motor scooters, or rattling bicycles around him. She called Aureke, but when her daughter came over, the figure had vanished. Since that sighting, she glimpsed him two more times. Once at night, moving through the streets, and once on the way to the temple after talking to Mother Niovanna about the ceremony. And yet, when she moved through the crowd to confront him, he had vanished.

Sabyse confessed her fears to the priestess. Unfortunately, she had nothing concrete apart from her vague sense of foreboding, and her story to her own ears sounded like the empty prattle of a panicking mother.

“Rabiolos will not be a problem,” Niovanna soothed. The smell of infection blew from her mouth into Sabyse’s face. The old woman had had a bad tooth for years and had done nothing about it. How did she withstand the pain? “I hear he hasn’t left his house in weeks. And that pale man is probably a lost Stonewilder tourist. And haven’t you invited all the young men in town, or near enough?” The priestess clapped a hand on Sabyse’s shoulder. “Everything will be fine. Trust in the Light.”

***

Finally, the day came. Aureke had badgered Sabyse, who rarely cared for her own appearance, into buying a new dress, and getting her make-up and hair professionally styled. Sabyse barely recognized herself in the mirror; she looked… decent. After the wedding, she resolved to care for herself more, take pleasure in doing her hair. After all, it was years since her husband had died, with all his draconian rules about how she was to look and behave.

The ceremony was a small service in the old stone temple. The townsfolk crammed into the pews, and heavy incense filled the air.

Mother Niovanna spoke of the Saints of the Light, who defeated the Dark Emperor’s reign of evil two thousand years ago, and how, in the aftermath of magic being stripped from the world, the Saints Elystane and Zeranis had married on the battlefield.

Kydora, the matron of honor and the photographer, hefted her large, expensive camera. The bulb flashed several times. Cameras were expensive on Kataphedios, but Kydora had promised Sabyse she would develop the film herself.

Aureke wore a yellow dress to invoke the Light’s protection, and Laiunnos was dressed in a suit that must have belonged to his grandfather, with the worn cloth stretching over his rotund frame. Sabyse wiped the tears from her face, heart breaking as Aureke finished speaking her vows at the altar and then walked down the aisle to the entrance of the temple. After this day, Aureke would never live with Sabyse again. She wished her parents were here. Except her mother had died of pneumonia, and her father had vanished during the mainland war over two decades ago. Then she thought of her husband, and tried not to spit on the floor. Of all the family Sabyse had known, only she and her daughter survived. And perhaps, the Saints willing, there might be more in the future.

Without warning, Aureke threw her bouquet of cream-and-gold wildflowers. Not at her friends reaching out their hands and laughing, but at her mother.

Not expected, but Aureke was like that—always doing unexpected things.

Sabyse caught the flowers, ignoring the cries and shouts from the other women, and smiled. Because of the crowd milling about her, she wasn’t at the front of the group that followed Aureke outside. Instead, she pulled out individual stalks from the bunch and handed them to the others—to young women with plaited hair, and to older widows like herself. By the time she’d finished, Aureke had exited the Temple. Sabyse hurried to catch up.

On the street, a polished, black beetle-like car, festooned with yellow ribbons, waited to receive the bride and groom. They would be driven down to the harbor for the ritual sailing trip around the island to cement the marriage. Kydora crouched, her camera clicking away as she moved in closer to the couple.

Laiunnos opened the car door for his wife. Zadheb, the best man, briefly emerged from the driver’s seat, leaned against the car and posed for the camera. Aureke waved at the guests. So beautiful, with her dark hair streaming in the sea-borne wind. Rock music by the Pineapple Dapples from the Stormfields played from inside the vehicle, causing the older women to frown and mutter:

Let’s begin our golden days,

Let’s catch those golden rays,

Come sit astride my board,

And we’ll ride the wave of life…

Sabyse moved through the crowd of milling guests, determined to be there to farewell Aureke before her daughter drove away.

The pale man stood on the other side of the street, a bulky coat wrapped around his form.

“No!” Sabyse screamed. Her voice cracked and barely rang out across the hubbub of conversation about her.

The pale man crossed the road, heading directly towards the car.

As Sabyse ran towards the vehicle, Aureke beckoned to her.

“Get away from him!” Sabyse shouted, pointing at the pale man. Aureke waved again, not understanding in the slightest.

Sabyse shoved past the elderly Othalia, causing her to drop a sprig of flowers.

The pale man was now halfway across the road.

Why weren’t they moving? Didn’t they see the threat he represented?

“He’s here! Let me through!” Sabyse pushed aside Thaddaus, Laiunnos’s bulky father, who watched her, jaw agape.

Sabyse broke through the edge of the crowd just as the pale man reached the car.

Before she could grab Aureke, a ball of flame, heat, and metal shards burned the world, and everything went black.

Chapter 2: To Paint the World Red

When Sabyse awoke, groggy and bandaged, a hollow certainty gnawed within her.

Aureke was gone.

Still, she ignored the feeling and clung to hope, begging the nurses who checked her fluids, the well-wishers who brought flowers, and the doctors who studied her injuries. “Where is she? Where’s my daughter? Tell me where she is?”

Finally, Mother Niovanna shuffled into the room. “She’s gone, Sabyse. She’s with the Light.”

“No! That’s impossible!” Sabyse shouted. “It was her wedding day!”

She screamed until they sedated her.

Visitors came and told her the story in fragments.

There had been an explosion, a fire. A bomb. Perhaps it was those secretive Reladi folk; no one knew. Perhaps it was meant for the Summit Lords, even though the temple was nowhere near their casinos or fighting halls. Perhaps the Stormfielders were invading again. The police would look into it. She was to relax and not to worry.

“We’ve had the funeral.” Niovanna told her, on the third day. “I’m sorry you missed it, but you were out like a light with the drugs and I couldn’t wake you.”

“She’s been buried already?” Sabyse jolted upright in bed.

“Kaephos wanted it done quickly,” Niovanna said. Bodies rotted quickly in the hot climate of the Estian Archipelago. It wasn’t unusual for corpses to be buried within two days of their death. The old priestess dabbed her face with a handkerchief. “You wouldn’t have been able to see her anyway. You can’t imagine how horrible it was. Everyone was burned and torn apart. We had to bury them all together.”

“Including the murderer?” Sabyse gasped.

Niovanna tried to hold her hand. “I’m sorry. We couldn’t tell who was who. It was that bad. It might be easier in five years when we exhume them…”

Sabyse closed her eyes. Graves were only temporary on Kataphedios. Bodies were dug up when they decomposed, and their bones transferred into ossuaries in special mausoleums or caves. “When that happens, all the bones will be together in a box. Like a child’s broken puzzle.”

“We’ll sort it out,” Niovanna soothed. “We’ll make a special place for them. And don’t worry, you’re not the only family member who couldn’t attend the funeral. We’re going to have a special memorial service at the Temple next week—”

Sabyse thrust her hand away. “What’s the point? Aureke’s dead and buried.”

She remembered Rabiolos and shuddered. “All because of Rabiolos! He sent the pale man, didn’t he!” She gripped the priestess’s arm and shook the old woman until a nurse injected her with another dose of morphine.

When Sabyse awoke, she demanded to see Kaephos.

The chief of police, smelling of sweat, arrived, his smile a twisted grimace. “Sabyse—”

“Tell me you know who did this!” Sabyse demanded.

“It was a foreigner.” Kaephos explained how some crazed, wide-eyed foreigner had run into the wedding gathering, shouting unintelligible words and waving his arms. People had watched him, confused, and then the bomb had exploded.

“Are you telling me it was a madman?” Sabyse struggled to rise from her hospital bed. Machines beeped, and a nurse pushed her back down. “This has to be something done by fanatics. Or by a vicious little man like Rabiolos! He threatened Aureke. He works for the Summit Lords, and he broke the Demon’s Peace, and—”

“He had nothing to do with it,” Kaephos insisted. He took off his black, broad-brimmed hat. “Sabyse, we’re looking into it. It was a foreigner. A madman! Sometimes, there are no reasonable explanations.”

The nurse quickly gave her a sedative as she struggled to rise from her bed again.

Sabyse closed her eyes, thinking of the pale man that night in the streets and wishing she’d confronted him, to find out who he was; what his connection to Rabiolos was.

It didn’t make sense.

Aureke had been there.

Right there. Her hair streaming behind her, an entire future to look forward to.

It didn’t make sense that she was gone. And it was all Sabyse’s fault; for not paying more attention to the pale man.

Or, if she were going through her regrets, why hadn’t Sabyse fled her marriage earlier, so Aureke could have grown up loved and unscarred somewhere else? Why hadn’t she spent more time supporting Aureke in life rather than wasting all those years fighting? Why hadn’t she done everything better?

Days turned into weeks, and Sabyse recovered. She didn’t visit Aureke’s grave; she wanted to remember her living daughter and not weep over a gravesite that also contained the bones of Aureke’s murderer, not a sad pile of mixed bones. There would be no last photographs of Aureke. The camera had been destroyed in the blast. All Sabyse had were her memories.

Flowers, cards, and small gifts from well-wishers piled up in front of her shop.

Even though she’d been on the edge of the explosion, burn scars covered her face. Part of her hair had fallen out and refused to grow back. While middle-aged, she’d always thought of getting a husband at some indefinite point in the future.

But no one would look at her like this.

Not that it mattered. While others affected by the tragedy had wept and wailed, everything had gone ice-numb within Sabyse. She and Aureke had such a difficult relationship while she’d been a young woman. Things had improved as Aureke matured, as Sabyse had become less anxious. And now a future where they lived together, reconciled as mother and daughter, was gone; a thread snapped.

There was only one thing left for Sabyse.

Find the man responsible.

She spoke to anyone who’d listen, but they either gave her grim, sad smiles or told her to move on.

Rabiolos’s mother slammed the door in her face when she visited. “Go away, Sabyse. It’s not my boy. Leave us alone, you madwoman!”

***

She returned to haunt the priestess at her small house behind the temple, where old Mother Niovanna was eating an evening meal. “You told me everything would be fine!” Sabyse ranted as she burst in on the elderly woman, whose fork froze in the process of carrying white fish flesh to her wrinkled lips.

“Sabyse—” Niovanna placed her fork on the table and stood.

“And it wasn’t! You told me not to worry!” Sabyse loomed in front of the woman, her hands curling into fists. “That my fears about Rabiolos and the pale man were unfounded! And look what happened! She died, and I could have done something! I could have stopped him, I could have—”

“Sabyse!” Niovanna reached out a hand. A faint smell of decay wafted from her mouth. “There was nothing you could do. Sometimes, terrible things happen that are beyond our control, and our only option is to face adversity with the grace of the Light—”

“You mean sitting around doing nothing?” Sabyse grabbed the priestess by her arms, ignoring her conciliatory gesture. “No. My father taught me that sometimes you need to seize a measure of blood equal to the one taken.”

Then, Sabyse knew exactly what she had to do. Yelling at a cowardly old woman wouldn’t do anything. She released the priestess and turned to leave.

“Sabyse!” Niovanna called after her. “Don’t go looking for danger, or to stir dark things. Best to hide in case—”

“Hide?” Sabyse planted her hands on her hips. “What choice is that? You coward! You can’t even bring yourself to see a dentist!”

“Because you could lose everything!” Tears gleamed in Niovanna’s eyes. “Better to live quietly rather than—”

“I’ve already lost everything!” Sabyse slammed the door on her way out.

The Widow’s apartment in Dolphin Court smelled of paint, turpentine, and charcoal. Sabyse was welcomed into a narrow living room with only chipped, bare furniture. Steam coiled from a kettle on the gas stove. Doors, which may have led to bedrooms or an art studio, were closed.

“I’ll make some tea.” The Widow removed her paint-stained smock and draped it over a chair. Underneath, she wore a faded summer dress. She collected the kettle and prepared two cups of tea. Sabyse thought she looked forty, perhaps. Yet something about her posture and expression suggested that she was far older. Her movements were precise and delicate, like a craftsperson.

“How is your art—” Sabyse began.

“Let’s avoid small talk.” The Widow walked over to the table and set the cup and saucer in front of Sabyse and then opened the shuttered windows, revealing a stretch of azure sky and wine-dark sea.

“I know what you are.” Here Sabyse was, admitting that her father’s stories were true. Tales from a man whom everyone had called mad, or worse.

The Widow served the tea in silence.

“You’re a cambion,” Sabyse continued. “A demon’s servant. You punish the wicked and drag their souls to Hell.”

The Widow collected her own cup, faced the open window, studied the endless sky and sipped.

Sabyse waited for the woman to deny her accusation, to laugh it off.

Instead, the Widow said. “Once. But I can’t help you now.”

“Why not?” Sabyse demanded. “It’s not just me. It’s Laiunnos’s family, and Zadheb’s, and Kydora’s and—”

“I’ve retired,” the Widow interrupted. “I’ve left the vengeance business.”

“How do you stop being a cambion?” Sabyse said. “You sold your soul, didn’t you? Did your demon give it back to you?”

“No.” The Widow sipped her tea again. “I’ve cut myself off from my patron. You’re not the only one in mourning. I’m filling my life with other things.”

Sabyse looked at the racks of tea on the shelves, at the colored stains on the Widow’s discarded smock. “Painting? Tea drinking?” Sabyse slammed her fists on the table, her voice cracking. “What about my daughter? She’s dead, and no one has done anything! Do what the Precursor made demons to do and—”

“I can’t help you.” The Widow sipped again. “I’m sorry. I know what you’ve lost and—”

Scowling, Sabyse threw her cup on the floor. It shattered into a dozen porcelain shards, like bomb fragments.

The Widow’s eyebrow twitched, but she didn’t move.

Sabyse slammed the door behind her as she left the apartment. The supernatural had failed her.

She returned to her shop, dug into the back room, and retrieved her father’s old pistol from the war, and held it up to the light.

Time to paint the world red.

Chapter 3: The Widow

Sabyse walked to Kateisa’s house to kill Rabiolos.

It was evening. The sun took a long time to sink below the western horizon, casting bands of copper and steel light along the ocean’s hard, slate edge.

Occasional houses burned bright with electricity, but as Aureke used to say, Kataphedios Island was still well behind modern times. Whale-oil lanterns lit the streets and gleamed from the open shutters of the whitewashed dwellings.

Dressed in a simple dress of mourning-black with a shapeless overcoat, Sabyse slipped through the dark thoroughfares, dodged past motorcycles, bicycles, and scooters, and hurried along the main street to her destination.

Street vendors called to tourists from their roadside stalls, and the smells of cooked fish, fried squid, octopus balls, and potent alcohols filled the air. The ocean wind swept through with its cleansing scents of brine and salt.

Sabyse didn’t purchase anything; Aureke’s death had stilled her appetite. She dodged past Kegukag ogre porters carrying sacks to the night markets on the lower tiers of the city and stopped to glare as a car of foreigners drove by, perhaps heading to the top of the mountain to visit the Summit Lords. People dressed like they were famous Honeytown movie stars, with the men in crisp white shirts and the women in yellow tennis skirts and round sunglasses, despite the late hour.

Sabyse arrived in the small alleyway, where the blue-painted door stood in the whitewashed wall, and knocked.

When no one answered, she knocked again.

The door opened, revealing Kateisa’s bulbous, florid face, half shadowed by the light of a flickering oil lantern in her hand. She was in her early fifties. Sunspots darkened her skin, including little scars where the doctor had cut out cancerous blots. “Sabyse!” Kateisa scowled when she realized who it was. “Go away! How many times do I have to tell you to—”

Sabyse jammed her booted foot in the door frame so Kateisa couldn’t slam it shut in her face. Then she reached under her black mourning coat and removed her pistol, pointing it directly at Kateisa’s chest. She’d sworn never to use this damn handgun again, and yet with bitter acceptance, her fingers coiled around the trigger.

The older woman gasped.

“I know Rabiolos is here,” Sabyse said. “He killed Aureke. And now he’s going to pay.” She had hoped that she’d feel something with her prey in sight, but her heart remained numb, her thoughts cold.

“He didn’t!” Kateisa shrieked but yielded before the steady pistol pointed at her.

Sabyse pushed her way into the house and shut the door behind her. It was icy within; even colder than the chill sea breeze now sweeping the streets. White plastered walls, hung with family portraits, contrasted with the black, slate-tiled floor. She gestured with her pistol. “Where is Rabiolos?”

“Please,” Kateisa begged. “I’m sorry about what happened to your daughter. I know you’re angry, but my boy is innocent!”

“You’re lying!”

“He’s been here for months!” Kateisa wailed. “He lost his spirit.” She dropped to the floor, hands twisted together, pleading. “He had nothing to do with the bombing, I promise! He can barely get up in the morning to take a piss!”

“Fetch him!” Sabyse ordered, but the distraught woman tore at her hair and shrieked.

“Let her go,” Rabiolos’s harsh voice came.

The young man loomed at the top of the stairs. A few months ago, when he’d entered her shop and threatened Aureke, he’d been a prince in his loud tailored suit with the power of the Summit Lords behind him.

Now, he stood, disheveled. He’d put on weight and barely squeezed into his loose pants. His beard was an unruly mess and his eyes were wild and bloodshot.

He held a pistol in one hand—shiny, smooth steel. A more powerful model than Sabyse’s, with a thick, heavy compression chamber locked in under the barrel. His hands shook.

“You killed my daughter!” Sabyse raised her own pistol.

“I didn’t,” Rabiolos snapped.

“Yes, you did.”

“Why would I bother?” Rabiolos snapped. “And you’re crazy. At least you don’t have the guts to shoot.” He kept his pistol loose in his hands.

“She does!” Kateisa piped up. “Her husband, poor Taranthys, was found dead in—”

“Shut up!” Sabyse ordered, keeping her focus on Rabiolos. “Why did you bomb the temple?”

“I had nothing to do with it!” Rabiolos raised his gun to fire.

Sabyse ducked out of Rabiolos’s direct line of sight. Pellets pinged into the wall behind her, raising puffs of plaster dust, and marring the faces of Kateisa’s ancestors.

Rabiolos thundered down the stairs. Now, he was side on to her; Sabyse had a chance. She rose to her feet and aimed. Before she could pull the trigger, Kateisa slammed into Sabyse and pinned her arms. As Sabyse struggled to throw the other woman off, Rabiolos leaped off the stairs and sprinted to her.

He gripped her by the shoulder and pressed his pistol under her chin. “One shot left. Time to die.”

“Don’t kill her here!” Kateisa said, calmer now, getting up.

Sabyse supposed the older woman had only fallen into her crying jag to warn her son upstairs. Lesson learned.

“No, Mother, she won’t die.” He licked dry lips. “Instead, she’s going to take me to her friend. The witch who cursed me.”

“What?” Kateisa asked.

Sabyse kept herself calm. She was no stranger to men blustering and threatening her with violence. A faint memory of her husband flashed past, unbidden; Taranthys shouting at her, holding her tight, burning her skin with one of his clove cigarettes while she begged him not to hurt Aureke.

Rabiolos gestured at his face. “Six months ago, I was a man. I was doing well in my work for the Summit Lords. I had a future with them! Then your bitch daughter refuses me, and the Lionmarcher witch walks up to me and steals my soul.”

“You threatened her! In my shop!” Sabyse tried to keep her voice calm and reasonable. Even with the pistol at her throat, Rabiolos’s threat felt like that of a kitten, compared to her husband’s. “And you can’t ‘lose’ a soul. In the Book of the Light, Saint Elystane says—”

“Shut up! She took something from me!” Rabiolos raged. “She’d better return it, to save your life.”

“And if not?” Sabyse asked. The Widow had always been polite, but there was a significant difference between an excellent customer and someone who’d risk themselves for you.

Rabiolos grinned.

Kateisa moaned. “Stop this! Rabiolos, you’ve only lost your nerve, not your soul. Get it back. And Sabyse, my boy never wanted to kill your girl. It has to be someone else. Face it, she was the town slut!”

“How dare you!” Sabyse shouted. She struggled against Rabiolos, but he kept his grip tight.

“Shut up!” Rabiolos glared. “I’m tired of you squabbling women! Fetch me some pants, mother, and then Sabyse and I will visit that witch.”

Sabyse, having been stripped of her weapon by Rabiolos, walked through the night-dark streets. Rabiolos pressed his reloaded pistol against her back, its form concealed under a woven shopping bag like he was going to market to buy vegetables. In his other hand, he also held an oil lantern that lit the darkness. Her pistol remained tucked into his pants, hidden by his ill-fitting, untucked shirt.

She supposed they must look a sight—disheveled Rabiolos with his unruly beard, and her marching ahead like a prisoner. Yet no one stopped them or asked questions. That was the problem with this damn town. No one inquired after another, even if they saw something strange. Everyone kept to themselves. They called it minding their business; living with Summit Lords had taught them that.

As they neared the apartments in Dolphin Court that the Widow rented, Sabyse quickly considered her options. “I hope you have a better plan than walking into her rooms and shooting her. If she stole your soul, what else could she take?”

Rabiolos spat on the ground. “I have nothing left. Your daughter spurned me for that fucking fat butcher. At least I would have kept her safe—”

“You’re a liar!” Sabyse began.

Rabiolos poked her with the pistol. “Shut up. Men who once jumped to obey me now laugh. I’ve lost my soul, my pride. Better to challenge the Dark than hide from it.”

Sabyse nodded. Rabiolos was desperate, and such people would do dangerous things. Still, if this ended with his death, even at the cost of hers, she would be satisfied.

Rabiolos jabbed her with the pistol again and she marched into Dolphin Court. Outside, a large woman, her white hair concealed under a scarf, swept the courtyard. Sabyse recognized her as the landlady who owned the apartments.

“Doranthis, we’re here to see the Widow. Can you let us in?”

“These aren’t visiting hours.” Doranthis continued with her labor and only gave a quick glance at the at them. “And the Widow is painting and does not like to be disturbed. Call in the morning.”

Rabiolos drew his pistol. “Open, or I shoot.”

Doranthis stared at the weapon. Rather than panicking or screaming, she simply nodded and opened the external door to the apartments.

Rabiolos nudged Sabyse, and the two marched up the slate-tiled stairs towards the upper rooms the Widow rented.

“She’s gone for the police,” Sabyse noted as Doranthis fled along the street.

“We’ll be quick.” Rabiolos pressed his pistol hard into her back.

Sabyse scowled but moved forward quickly, wishing her knees didn’t ache so much.

At Rabiolos’s prodding, she turned the brass handle on the Window’s apartment door. It opened, revealing the bare room where she’d previously encountered the Widow, with its scarred table, a kitchenette, and racks of strange teas. The thick smell of oil paints crowded Sabyse’s nostrils.

This time, the doors leading to the main area were open. From one, light spilled, and there were sounds of a brush striking canvas.

Rabiolos tapped Sabyse again and marched her across the wooden floor. Heat from the oil lantern he carried in his left hand scorched her back.

Sabyse eyed her captor, hoping for a chance to grab a weapon and strike him. She wished that the place were decorated with swords or vases.

Rabiolos pushed into the studio and Sabyse gasped. The walls were crammed with charcoal sketches and miniature portraits. A large, life-size canvas dominated the far wall, and all depicted the same subject: a golden-haired, pale-skinned woman with a scarred face. Pointed ears and high cheekbones suggested elven blood, and she alternatively stood on the deck of a ship holding a sword or lounged back naked on silken pillows. Her right hand was missing in some images, and in others, she wore a medieval-style, black-metal gauntlet. Her eyes were cold, and her lips curved, almost in mockery. Sabyse thought that if she met the woman, they would not like each other.

The painting on the easel was unfinished, and yet Sabyse recognized it as worthy of a king’s collection. Something to do with the blonde woman’s haughty expression, and the way her blue gown flowed against a raging sea behind her, and how her basket-hilted sword appeared to cut the viewer as they watched.

The Widow, smock covered in paint, turned as they approached. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes were bloodshot and paint dripped from the brush she held.

Sabyse wondered how long she had been awake.

“You stole my soul.” Rabiolos shook his right hand free of the shopping bag that concealed his pistol. “Give it back, or I’ll shoot your friend.”

“I simply showed you how insignificant you are,” the Widow said. “The truth.”

In a fit of rage, Rabiolos flung his oil lantern at the Widow. Perhaps he thought the woman might burn like driftwood, as witches sometimes did in old stories. She leaped to one side, and the lantern crashed into the enormous portrait.

Glass smashed, oil spilled and flames licked up along the painting, and what would have been hundreds of hours of labor, burned.

The Widow screamed, grabbed a cloth and attempted to beat out the fire.

“My soul!” the young man snapped. He fired across the room. A jar with brushes exploded into a thousand shards of glass. The blonde woman’s head in a miniature portrait vanished as the pellet pierced it. Pellets struck the Widow even as she labored to quell the blaze that spread around the studio.

Paper studies charred, smaller portraits burned, and the heat increased.

Rabiolos stepped forward.

Sabyse thrust her elbow in the man’s side.

He turned, scoffed, and pushed her against the wall.

Sabyse collided with the plaster, breath leaving her lungs with the impact.

Rabiolos strode to the Widow, who labored to save her painting in vain, and aimed his pistol at the back of her head.

He pulled the trigger and shot her from behind.

Sabyse gasped as the pellet connected with flesh. Having seen her daughter, son-in-law, and their retinue torn apart by a bomb, she’d thought herself resistant to violence.

She expected to see blood spray, and the Widow dropping to the floor.

Instead, the woman changed.

Crimson scales erupted over her dark skin. Horns twisted through her loose hair. As she turned, her eyes gleamed yellow and serpentine.

Fear nearly stilled Sabyse’s heart.

It was one thing to believe in cambions when they were simply shadowy figures in folklore but seeing one for real churned her stomach.

And worse, the cambion radiated an understated aura of quiet menace as she slowly faced Rabiolos.

The man dropped his empty pistol, which clattered on the floor, and drew Sabyse’s gun from under his shirt, where he had been wearing it tucked against the waistline of his pants. Before he could fire, the Widow lunged forward with inhuman speed and ripped the side of Rabiolos’s face open with clawed fingers.

He pressed a hand to his damaged cheek and fled, leaving a trail of blood splattering behind him. The old pistol dropped to the floor.

Sabyse shuffled aside, expecting the Widow to leap on his back and tear him apart with her claws.

Instead, the Widow threw herself at the flames, attempting to beat out the artwork with her hands.

All Sabyse wanted was for Rabiolos to die. That some infernal monster was ignoring the man who’d bombed her family was too much.

Adrenaline pumped through Sabyse. She grabbed her own discarded pistol on the ground and shot as Rabiolos fled.

One pellet hit the side of the doorframe.

The other slammed outside into the kitchen.

Rabiolos cleared the room, blood spilling behind him, and raced down the stairs.

Sabyse ran and fired until she’d emptied the chamber. She tried to follow Rabiolos but slipped on the blood on the floor and went sprawling. By the time she dragged herself up, Rabiolos had fled.

Sabyse stood, wheezing.

The roar of fire echoed from the studio, and the sounds of the Widow struggling to put it out.

Sabyse sighed, dropped the pistol, raided a heavy woolen coverlet from the bedroom, and returned to the studio, flinging it over the blazing canvas.

Whether through luck or the Widow’s dark magic, the flames were beaten out.

All that remained was a blackened room, with the great oil canvas destroyed, the paper studies charred, and everything smelling of smoke and ashes.

Coughing again, Sabyse staggered to the main living space and opened the shutters, trying to let the sea breeze in and the horrible smells out.

In the distance, a police whistle shrilled.

“Why did you bring him here?” The Widow stood behind her, still a crimson-scaled monster. “You wasted your time with that coward.”

“He killed my daughter.” Sabyse curled her hands together.

“He had nothing to do with her death,” the Widow interrupted.

“How can you—”

“You know what I am. I have a sense for these things,” the Widow said.

The bottom fell out of Sabyse’s existence. She’d been imagining something simple. After Rabiolos’s death, Aureke would be avenged, and then she could return to her shop, and perhaps her heart would wake, and she could cry for her lost daughter.

Instead, a void opened within her. “If Rabiolos didn’t kill Aureke, then who did?”

Chapter 4: The Cambion

“Who killed my daughter?” Sabyse pleaded, coughing. The air reeked of burned canvas, and her eyes watered at the smoke that still hung heavy over the room.

The Widow ignored Sabyse. Instead, she remained in her demonic form, slowly turning to examine her changed shape: her toned, crimson-scaled arms, and the black claws where fingernails had been. She touched her midnight-dark hair and ran her fingers along the sheep’s horns that coiled about her skull and tasted the air with a forked tongue.

The Widow glanced around at the scorched drawings, charcoal sketches, and paintings. Then she walked to the charred canvas that had once depicted the blonde woman, sword in hand, striding on the deck of a sailing ship. She caressed the remnants of the frame with clawed fingers.

Sabyse thought the Widow must have spent months, if not years, laboring on that.

She swallowed, wishing for a glass of water to erase the dry taste in her throat.

The Widow’s veneer of civility had peeled away, revealing the monster beneath. Even though the Widow showed signs of humanity by mourning her lost artwork, Sabyse didn’t trust the creature not to turn on her. Something about the sheer presence of this crimson-scaled monster made her want to flee, screaming. It was only her determination to get some answers about Aureke that held her in place.

Her father had told her that cambions were agents of retribution for mortals denied justice. And yet demons and cambions, bringers of vengeance, were not famed for their compassion.

Only murder.

Whistles shrieked outside again. The police were on their way to the apartment.

Sabyse wondered if she’d survive until their arrival.

All it would take was a single strike by the cambion to end her life. Yet, she had to know this one thing before she died: “Who killed my daughter?”

The cambion didn’t answer but looked out the door.

Footsteps clattered up the apartment stairs.

Sabyse stood. “My daughter,” she begged. “Who—”

“Wait,” the Widow ordered. She turned and stabbed a clawed finger in the air at Sabyse. “Sit there. Don’t speak.”

She swept past Sabyse, moving like a skilled hunter, her scaled feet making no sound as she moved out to the bedroom.

Sabyse staggered to the scarred table in the kitchen. She collected her own pistol, concealed it under her clothing and sat in a wooden chair to await her fate. Part of her screamed she should rush to the door, flee this infernal creature she had awoken, but she remained seated.

The cambion knew something, and Sabyse was going to stay here until she found out more.

After all, what did she have to live for?

Aureke had been her greatest joy. They had endured so much together. With her daughter gone, Sabyse’s existence was empty. She didn’t want to go back to her dead life, puttering around her curio shop, making meaningless smiles to customers while enduring the pitying glances of the townsfolk. Either the Widow told Sabyse what happened to Aureke and why, or the beast killed her. Those were the only options Sabyse could accept.

Fists pounded on the door, and it burst open. A welcome gust of air disturbed the smoky interior of the apartment.

The Widow emerged from her bedroom a heartbeat later in human form, a silken gown clinging to her body and her hair covered by a gray scarf.

She walked by Sabyse as though the other woman wasn’t there. Her demeanor instantly shifted from something cold and controlled to a shocked, trembling figure. “Doranthis!” the Widow cried as her landlady stepped through the door, followed by a portly police officer, Streanos, and a young one whose name Sabyse couldn’t properly remember, only that he was Vasiliki, the Postmaster’s son.

“Are you alright?” Doranthis swept the younger-seeming woman into her arms.

“Yes,” the Widow sighed, accepting the hug. “It was that man, Rabiolos. He burst his way into my studio and threw the oil lantern at my art. A shard of glass tore his cheek open. Look at all the blood!” She pointed to the trail on the ground. “We put the fire out, but it’s too late for my work.”

“Can we see?” Streanos said.

The Widow led them to the main room of the apartment.

Streanos nodded at Sabyse, still sat at the table. For a brief second, she thought of calling to him, telling him—what? She was in danger from a monster from legend?

No. She would wait.

The Widow fired her a malevolent glare and let the police and her landlady into the charred studio.

Sabyse closed her eyes, exhaustion sinking in. She tried to follow the conversation, but the Widow’s voice remained soft. The police made sympathetic sounds, and Doranthis exclaimed loudly at intervals. Sabyse wondered what would happen when the authorities studied the bestial claw marks across Rabiolos’s face—hardly a simple cut from a shard of glass.

The group returned to the living room. Streanos shook the Widow’s hand. “We’ll have a word with Rabiolos. He hasn’t been quite right in the head since he lost his position with the Summit Lords.” After a few vague promises of justice—Sabyse nearly laughed, as the authorities hadn’t found out anything about the bomber who’d taken her daughter’s life—the police left the apartment.

Doranthis studied the bloody trail on the floor. “Are you sure this came from a glass cut?”

“I’ll be moving out.” The Widow placed a stack of crisp paper banknotes on the table.

Doranthis picked up the cash and ran her fingers over the pile.

“That should settle our debts,” the Widow said.

“Is there—”

“No,” The Widow interrupted. “No questions. It’s safer for you. If there’s anything left here, sell it, do what you want with it.”

Doranthis gave a quick smile. As the landlord moved to the apartment door, Sabyse’s heart thudded. This would be her last chance to scream for help before she was alone with the cambion. A vision of her corpse floating in the ocean drifted into her mind’s eye.

No. She had to know who killed her daughter. Whether she lived or died—that no longer mattered.

The Widow stood and stared at Sabyse.

Silence spread between them.

Sabyse swallowed and licked her dry lips.

Then the Widow shifted back into her cambion form. “All I wanted was to be left alone.”

Even though it had only been a moment since she’d last seen it, Sabyse quailed at the crimson-skinned, horned horror in front of her.

The cambion stepped closer. “I haven’t worn this shape for many years,” the Widow said. “I haven’t drawn on infernal power and have stayed away from resonant ground so my patron can’t find me. All I wanted was to be left alone to mourn her.”

Sabyse stared into the Widow’s pitiless eyes, yellow and slitted like a serpent’s.

There was nothing human in them; nothing warm.

The cambion hooked her clawed fingers under Sabyse’s chin. Knife-sharp points pressed against Sabyse’s flesh in a lethal caress.

“Please…” Sabyse croaked.

Her heart quickened. In one sharp dig, the Widow could cut Sabyse’s throat and leave her drowning in a pool of blood for the police to discover.

This was her fault, for bringing Rabiolos here, for gambling on the fact the Widow would kill the man who had arranged the massacre on her wedding day. For waking a demon buried inside a woman who only wanted to be left alone.

“I’m sorry,” Sabyse whispered. She shook, preparing herself for her imminent demise as the Widow’s claws pricked her skin. “But my daughter…”

“Vengeance,” the Widow said, her voice crisp. “That’s all you want.”

“Yes.” Sabyse recalled her daughter’s smile. “They took her from me. On her wedding day. She’ll never…” She drew a ragged breath. Aureke would never inherit the shop. There would be no grandchildren. Sabyse would spend the rest of her life scarred and alone. Not that she had forever. Only a few moments until the Widow cut her throat and…

The Widow pulled back her claws. “What you’re asking for won’t be easy. I’ll have to call upon powers I haven’t used in years. My patron may not be forgiving. While I mourned, I ignored contacts and spurned favors. I know very little of what’s happening in the Indigo World at the moment, and there are many enemies seeking me out.”

“You’re going to help me?” Sabyse gasped, taken aback at the Widow’s sudden change.

“What else is left to me?” the Widow asked. “If I aid you, are you prepared to see things through?”

“Yes!” Sabyse said.

Something hung in the air between them; it burned like the blast from the bomb, making Sabyse recoil and hold her hands to her face, expecting to find her skin scorched. Instead, she felt only her old scars. “What was that?”

“Our contract.”

Sabyse recalled stories of demons and contracts. None of them worked out well. “What now?”

The Widow turned and stared at the charred studio. “We start. You’ve got what you wanted—a cambion to hunt your enemies.”

Sabyse shuddered, understanding that the Widow would never forgive Sabyse for ending her mourning period, and drawing her back into the demon world. “What’s your…” Sabyse recalled that many creatures in folklore had hidden names, never to be shared. “What do I call you?”

The Widow pulled off her scarf, shaking out her long, dark hair. “Thaena. Thaena Ashmore. Now, let’s follow the path of blood.”

Want to see what happens next? Pre-order the book, out on 27 October 2026.