The Demon in the Mirror

by Jessaca Willis

  Most days in this class, we don’t talk about necromancy directly. The professor likes to cover a broad array of topics that she says impact a nephilim’s ability to communicate with the dead. We’ve spent a lot of time studying Latin, learning about the importance of talismans, and even being able to differentiate between types of spirits and ghosts.

  So it’s no surprise to me today when our professor announces that we will be spending the next week discussing a seemingly irrelevant topic.

  “Banishments,” she says theatrically. “Condemning individuals to horrific realms for punitive purposes. But, before we discuss banishments, first we must know about the realms, dimensions, other worlds.”

  Hungrily, I scribble notes, ignoring the heat of my peers’ gazes against my back. Let them think I’m the murderer. Let them think I’ll be adding banishments to my arsenal of ways to kill them.

  “Before we existed here, the nephilim had their own realm, as did the seraphim.”

  The eyes of the other students roll and grow heavy with boredom, but mine are sparkling. I guess I just assumed we had always been here, but it makes sense that there’s history behind it. Considering I’m likely the only student in the class that doesn’t know that yet, she briskly runs through the key points.

  “Eons ago, one of the otherworldly inhabitants—not necessarily a nephilim, nor necessarily one of the seraphim—managed to poke through to another dimension. This rift, however, caused a tear in all worlds. Think of the realms as if they were stacked together like sheets of paper. If you desired to run a pencil through the top of the stack to puncture the bottom sheet of paper, you would create a tunnel through all of the other sheets. So did this otherworldly individual.

  “For this reason, we now have the ability to move between dimensions. Though, by now most people—for lack of a better word—have either emigrated to a new dimension and chosen to stay there, or have decided to maintain the one they came from.

  “Some dimensions were abandoned entirely. Dimensions where the air itself is poison; where the sun had died, casting the world in shadow and allowing the monsters of the dark to rule; realms where insanity is a clock, and if you stay too long, your time will run up.”

  I shiver at the thought. For all of its faults, Earth isn’t half bad. Hell, by comparison, we sound outright utopian.

  “The living conditions in such places were so harsh and nightmarish, that the people would’ve rather lived in a foreign place, than to continue living in their home world.”

  I want to ask her about us specifically, and how we came to be here, but her somber tone makes me think that she’s implying that answer already.

  “The dimensions that were abandoned have become our primary banishment zones, utilized as prisons for the worst of our kind. If you open your textbooks to page three-hundred and sixty-seven, you’ll see illustrations of the banishment process.”

  Books slamming on tables echo in the lecture hall. I fumble through the pages until I find the section she’s referring to. When I do, my skin runs cold.

  There, drawn on the pages in angry scratchings, is a black mouth opening in a field as it gobbles someone away. Tears blur my vision and I can’t seem to close my mouth. I look up to the professor and back down to my book a half dozen times. All of this time, I thought I’d killed her, but these pictures are too familiar to leave any doubt behind in my mind. Moirai isn’t dead, she’s just in another dimension.

  The words blurt from my mouth before I even know what I’m saying. “How do we unbanish someone?”

  But before the professor can answer me, the bell tolls, signaling the end of class.

  “Perhaps next time, Miss Belvedere,” she says. “See you all at the vigil.”

  The class empties as I sit stupidly, numbly, frozen in my chair. All I can do is blink down at the pages. What dimension did I send her to? The one of only darkness where monsters rule? The one where sanity is a ticking clock? Or some other place entirely?

  Once I regain enough composure to think again, my first thought is to devour the section in our textbook about banishments and to see if I can find something about how to summon Moirai back. But these textbooks aren’t setup to be self-study guides. The powerful words and invocations are usually kept from them, to avoid students or inexperienced nephilim from doing something awful I suppose.

  Besides, the groundskeeper will be by soon to lock the classrooms, and then the only place I’ll have left to practice would be the dormitory, but it’s probably flooded with students right now. Everyone will be preparing for the vigil. And considering the target on my back right now, I don’t think I should be anywhere near a potentially angry mob. Not alone, anyways.

  As much as it goes against every instinct and desire in my body, learning everything I can about banishments and other dimensions will have to wait.

  For now, I cram my textbook back into the desk and head to the field in search of Damaris.

  On my way there, I notice the shifting clouds overhead, the damp scent in the air. It looks like it’s about to rain, which makes me start to doubt if he will even be practicing flying today.

  But to my surprise, he is. He loops over the field in a giant figure-eight pattern, apparently oblivious to the storm clouds.

  Not that I have much to compare it to, but he seems to mostly be getting the hang of it. There are only a few moments when his momentum falters or he loses altitude abruptly, his body giving an awkward delayed jerk with it. But otherwise, he seems to have gotten the basics down at least.

  When he spies me, he dives back down to the earth, a little wobbly but landing his mark, nonetheless.

  “How’s the flying going?” I ask him.

  He beams, spreading his wings in a show of their magnificence. “I’m finally getting the hang of it!” His expression drops when he notices what he mistakes for envy. “I’m sorry… How are you doing with the teleportation thing?”

  He thinks the sorrow on my face is about my inability to teleport, and I’m not sure I want to correct him right now. I don’t have the words to tell him what’s really on my mind, especially considering I’d have to start from the very beginning. When I came to the academy, I didn’t tell anyone that I had a sister. People asked, of course, because twins, triplets, and other multiples are so common for nephilim, but I just pretended that I was an only child. It was easier than having to explain her absence.

  So, in order for me to tell Damaris about what I’ve learned about banishments and the significance that has for me, I’d have to tell him everything. I’m not sure I can muster the energy for it right now though.

  Instead, I kick a small pebble and it skips across the runway.

  “You’ll get it someday, Euri. Don’t even sweat it. You’ve only been here for a month. It took me at least twice that long before I learned how to do this.” With a big, goofy grin, Damaris folds one of his wings against his back while the other one extends. Then they switch. They keep alternating, one out and one down, until a stubborn grins pulls at the edges of my mouth.

  Sometimes, you have to work at making friends. Other times they just sort of happen. Damaris and I are like the latter. We just happened. Although, I get the feeling that he’s like that with everyone he meets. He’s not popular, exactly, but he’s friends with everyone. I think he’s just kind of oblivious to social cliques.

  “Very handy skill,” I say wryly.

  His grin widens. But almost as soon as it does, it fades. “Are you going to the vigil tonight?”

  I cast my eyes down again. “I guess so yeah,” I say, even though I’ve spent all day wishing I was away from all of my judgmental, hateful classmates.

  “Cool, I didn’t want to go alone. Want to come with me to pick out some flowers for it before we go?”

  I wince at his blind friendship. Maybe it’s just because I’ve been surrounded by assholes all day, but his kindness pinches. I don’t want to bring it up, but part of me can’t help it. “You know everyone thinks I’m t
he murderer, right?”

  He frowns, almost looking surprised, before shrugging.

  “Well,” I pry. “Aren’t you afraid it’s true?”

  He stares at me flatly and sighs. “Did you kill all those students?” he asks obligatorily.

  “No,” I argue, “but, isn’t that exactly what the murderer would say?”

  He shrugs again. “Maybe, but the murderer is clearly using their power to kill students and, no offense, but you still haven’t mastered much.”

  I scoff, punching him in the arm. We laugh for a moment, which helps to keep the tears at bay. When we settle, I look over at him from behind my eyelashes. No words are said because none are needed. He nods at me, acknowledging my gratitude.

  “So, about those flowers?”

  My face contorts. “You want me to pick flowers?”

  He belts out a hearty laugh. “If it’ll soothe your precious, dark ego, you don’t have to pick any of the pink or purple ones.”

  I roll my eyes. “Where would we even find flowers? We’re not supposed to leave the academy.”

  “Like that’s ever stopped you,” he snorts. “We won’t have to leave. There’s a lake with hundreds of flowers, just behind the combat chamber.”

  “We better hurry then,” I say, knocking my head back to assess the darkening sky again. “It looks like it’s about to start dumping.”

  He waves a hand. “We’ll be fine. It’s not a real storm, it’s just something they’re conjuring for the vigil.”

  My eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s not exactly legal to steal bodies and burn them on pyres anymore, is it?”

  For a brief second, I forget what body he’s talking about exactly, but then I remember who the vigil is for, and deduce that he must be talking about stealing Hazel’s body back from the police.

  With a morbid laugh, I quirk an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, it used to be legal to steal bodies? Why didn’t I ever get into the graverobbing business then?”

  I look at him hesitantly, realizing that as long as the student population believes I’m a murderer, I should probably dial back on the graverobbing jokes.

  Fortunately, sarcasm is a language we share, so Damaris snorts in laughter all over again.

  “The storm is a diversion,” he explains once he’s settled. “The Head Mistress is going to make it pour so hard that all of the humans are compelled to stay indoors tonight, so no one sees the smoke from the pyre.”

  “Won’t the rain make it difficult to…you know…burn a body?”

  He grins, a smile as white as the moon that’s soon to be shining overhead. It’s the kind of grin I receive often from people here, for asking questions that seem obvious to others but are completely foreign to me. After all, I didn’t grow up with any of this stuff, whereas most of them did.

  “It won’t rain over the pyre. The storm is for the human world. We’ll be dry at the academy. Think of it as a protective bubble.”

  We’ve covered shields and stuff like that in Dark Energy Manipulation, so I at least have an idea of the kind of bubble he’s talking about.

  Overhead, a bolt of lightning cuts the sky open, and for a brief, frantic moment, I think reality is about to open up again and take someone else I care about. Dimensions and banishments just won’t leave my mind.

  But the bolt fades and I try steadying my labored breaths.

  Damaris frowns dramatically at the ominous sky, his eyes bulging. “Well, we’ll be dry by the pyre. I don’t actually know how wide she’ll cast the protective spell for the vigil. Maybe we should hurry.”

  He doesn’t have to tell me twice. Side-by-side, the two of us make a mad-dash for the lake.

  xxx DEATH OF A DEMON xxx

  It’s hardly dinner time yet, but by the time we arrive to the lake the purple hues of twilight cast a shadow over the meadow.

  Without wasting a second, Damaris starts plucking flowers. “Only grab the yellow and orange ones. Those were Hazel’s favorite colors.”

  I don’t want to be out here longer than we need to be. Not only am I not a fan of getting my clothes drenched, but I’m also starting to notice how eerily quiet it is all the way out here by the lake. I mean, we’re still on campus grounds, so in theory we’re more protected here than we would be out in the city, but it still feels like we are way too far away from everyone else, considering there is a serial killer on the loose. Maybe it’s just a trick of the mind though, like the way whenever I find myself in a classroom after dark, or alone in the dormitory, I start worrying that someone or something might be lurking in the shadows.

  Maybe it’s just because the meadow is so open that it makes me feel like we’re being watched.

  Hastily, I kneel to start my own bouquet. If flowers will help put Hazel to rest, and help the others feel at peace, then it’s the least we can do. Plus, it can’t hurt to show the other students a gesture of good will, or whatever it’s called. Maybe if they see me at the vigil, they will stop thinking I murdered everyone.

  When I’m holding at least a dozen orange flowers, their petals brilliant in the twilight’s glow, I yell over my shoulder. “How many do you want me to grab?”

  Another burst of lightning brightens the flowers at my feet, and I spot an especially beautiful poppy. After a few seconds, the rumble of thunder vibrates the ground beneath me, but as I reach for the flower, I realize the thunder sounds muffled. Damaris never responded either.

  Fear thrusts me to my feet. I scan the forest before me first, unblinking, too afraid to look back toward Damaris just yet. For a fraction of a second, I convince myself there’s nothing to see. But then one of the trees glistens. The others start shimmering too, like I’m looking at them through a giant, soapy lens. Like a bubble.

  I know in an instant what it means: I’m trapped inside some kind of magical barrier.

  I spin on my heels so fast that I tear the beautiful flower I was going to pluck.

  Beside me, blocking the path that Damaris and I walked up, are two students, and I recognize them both.

  The first is—was—Hazel’s girlfriend, Neryma, a fourth-year seraphim that I barely know anything about, except that she moved all the way from Osaka to attend the academy. Everything about her is neat and tidy, from her smooth, long hair, to the delicate way her hands are clasped neatly at her hips, to her pressed uniform—not that the Academy of the Forsaken has a uniform, but her outfit looks like one, between the knitted vest and pleated skirt. There’s a deep well of sorrow behind her eyes though, one that tells me that, despite her orderly exterior, she is a tsunami waiting to break shore.

  The second student, is Lazell Lockwood, and I realize only now that I’m looking at him that he was one of the ones I overheard talking earlier in Teleportation. Lazell is Hazel’s twin brother, and a fifth-year Nephilim with a reputation for having a temper and powerful energy manipulation.

  With his hand outstretched, I realize he is the one responsible for the magical void I find myself inside.

  There is no question in my mind why they have come here, why they have cornered me at the farthest reach of the school, away from all the other students and faculty. They mean to put an end to whatever’s been plaguing the academy, and they think the best way to do that is by putting an end to me.

  But, if they planned on attacking me here, then that must mean they knew I would be at the lake tonight. My stomach twists and churns when I realize that means this was all a setup.

  My chest crushes in on itself. I can’t believe Damaris would betray me like this. He tricked me into an ambush with a deceptively charming smile—and I fell for it! I believed him! He was the one friend I had here, and his duplicity is so shocking it makes me want to throw up.

  Tears brimming my eyes, I finally look to the lake to where Damaris was picking flowers.

  But when I see him struggling against a third student—someone I don’t recognize—their hand over his mouth, I hate to admit that a wave of relief washes
over me. He wasn’t in on this. He hasn’t betrayed me.

  Lazell takes a step forward, keeping his arm out to maintain to energy field around me. His other hand runs through the wiry goatee on his pointed chin.

  “What do you want?” I ask, damn-well knowing the answer.

  “Why, isn’t it obvious?” he scoffs. Though the barrier between us muffles him, his intent is made clear by his vitriolic glare. One of his arms sweeps out to indicate his small posse. “We want justice.”

  “So do I,” I say, skipping past the denial and pleading. Something tells me those things won’t work on him. He’s too blinded by grief and rage. “But you won’t find justice here.”

  There’s a twitch in Neryma’s fixed stare, but it’s not enough to make her back down. She takes a timid step forward beside Lazell and fixes her voice with quiet harshness. “Why did you do it? Why did you come here just to”—she swallows hard, and before she can say it, her eyes drop to her feet— “kill Hazel?”

  “She didn’t just kill Hazel,” Lazell spits. “Vega, Marcus, Olivia, Demetre, she murdered them all in cold blood. And she won’t stop until someone stops her.”

  Although Neryma seems to be the weak link in the trio, I know it’s Lazell I have to convince. He’s the leader of this group. Not to mention, it’s his magic that’s keeping me bound. If I could just get out of this barrier, I might stand a chance at defending myself.

  “You’ve seen me in class,” I say to him, trying to tone down my innate instinct to be confrontational. “I can’t even ignite a piece of paper, let alone do…whatever it is that’s being done to the victims. It wasn’t even until a couple weeks ago that I learned how to harness dark energy.”

  “Oh,” he says brightening, but his tone is more deadly than friendly. Like I’m his prey and he just found me snared in one of hi traps. “You mean when the murders started?”

  Shit. I’m only managing to make myself sound guiltier.

  Without too much pause, lest I risk them taking my silence for confirmation, I change course. “Why would I kill them? What could I possibly gain from that?”