The Ringmaster sighs. “You failed. I’m disappointed.”
“I didn’t fail, Grandfather. I ran out of daylight. But tomorrow, I’ll find the hunter. I’m close. I could feel it.” Technically, it’s not a lie.
“Remember, it’s best not to disappoint me, Azrael—and even more important not to disappoint Lucifer. Need I remind you of your father’s traitorous actions?” he sneers.
I hang my head and bite back the words trying to claw their way out. Reminding him my father is his son will only make any punishment he decides on worse. The seconds tick by slowly as I wait for his verdict.
“It’s only been one day but tomorrow, you’ll not fail. Are we clear?” He blows a ring of smoke in my face.
“Yes, Sir.”
With that, he nodded towards another door. “Go wash up for supper. Off with you, then.”
I sulk off to wash without another word. He’s all business tonight, which is probably for the best. I’m in no mood to tell the story about Mercy.
Past his office lie the living quarters. Our family home is lavish and ornate—bordering on obscene. Luxurious touches are evident everywhere. Every surface is dressed in wealth. The floors are inky black, exotic marble that gleams in the firelight. The enormous fireplace threatens to swallow anyone who stares too long into its giant orange blaze. It’s made from the sameimported marble, giving the room an elegant aesthetic. I stroll right past it, refusing to give one of the many gates to Hell so much as a glance.
Solemnly, I ascend the grand staircase, centered perfectly in the middle of the magnificent manor as if splitting it in two. My legs climb each step with a heaviness I feel all the way to my core. The guilt always knows how to get the best of me.
As I trudge upward, defeated, head hanging low, my thoughts turn back to Mercy. Years ago, when I first suspected she could be the one to break the curse, I begged the Ringmaster to bring her here. Over and over again, I asked him to rescue her. I believed for a long time that not only was she the one, but we could keep her safe and protect her.
One day, the Ringmaster finally snapped and gave me his reason. “She isn’t the one,” he said. The signs didn’t match. The timing was off. She’s not ready. That was all he offered—and all it took. I didn’t question him, not out loud. But something hollowed out inside me that day. That was when I saw it clearly: the monster I lived with was worse than the one I once dreamed of saving her from. That was the moment I let the idea go. Truthfully, it was the day I gave up on loving her.
After that, the Ringmaster pulled me in tighter—demanding I spend more time preparing to inherit the family legacy, less time with the people who’d never understand what I was. Piece by piece, my humanity slipped away. Eventually, I even suppressed the part of me that still loved Mercy.
It’s not fair, but if anything, all my suffering has taught me that fairness is never to be expected. Life is meant to be difficult. I have to fight harder. Still, I can’t resist the intense need to be near her. Deep within my bones, there’s an aching. It’s like my body knows she belongs to me, but I must keep these urges secret. The Ringmaster must never detect them. He thinks I’ve given up on the idea of loving her altogether—and it’s best if he keeps believing it. Especially now, when simply just being her friend could put Mercy at risk. Did put her at risk tonight.
At the top of the stairs, something tugs me from my thoughts. I turn and continue toward my wing of the house. The paintings and statues stand shining. Neat, crisp, and familiar. At my bedroom door, I slip my boots off, wiggle my toes freely, then carry the boots inside and place them in their spot near the fireplace. In the washroom, I peel off my blood-stained clothing and wave a hand over the oversized clawfoot tub. Hot, soapy water sloshes and steams as it fills. With a groan, I step in, easing down into the sting and the soothing heat. I get to work cleaning up.
My mind is still racing from what happened today. Breaking the trance was dangerous and something I’ve never done before. But losing control like that? It’s even more dangerous. I need to speak to the Ringmaster about it. Eventually, I need to tell him what happened. This isn’t safe for her. I need to stay away. But there’s that instinct again—deep and primal—urging me to protect her at all costs.
Musings for another time. Lucifer’s coming. I don’t dare to keep him waiting.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath in frustration, then rise from the tub, patting myself dry. Annoyed, I slip on a black silk shirt, a pair of golden cuff links, and nice pants. I run my hands through my wet hair and settle my top hat in place.
Showtime. I wink at my reflection in the mirror before turning to leave with a sudden confidence in my step I’ll need to survive this encounter.
Chapter 7
Mercy
Dewdrops cover the tiny leaves and bright blades of grass as I kneel in the cool garden. It’s still early in the morning, and the sun is only beginning to warm the ground for the day. Birds return from early breakfast to feed their newly hatched eggs, chirping away in nearby tree branches, delighting in the frenzy of morning. I work efficiently, crouching in the damp dirt, pulling weeds from around the root vegetables and harvesting herbs to bring inside. Some we will eat, and the rest we will dry in order to begin preparations for winter, distant as it may seem. There’s comfort in the garden's silence. It’s honest—unlike the strange safety I felt in his arms. I place another handful of herbs in my basket, then stand, brushing the loose soil from my clothes. As I pour water over the small garden, I spot two figures approaching. Curious, I watch until I can make out their faces.
“Miriam,” I gasp, scurrying to the edge of the yard to intercept her and our youngest cousin, Tavien.
It’s still hard to believe he’s younger than me, now that he towers over us both—more man than boy.
Miriam throws her arms around my neck, embracing me in a warm hug. “Mercy,” she cries. “It’s so good to see you. We brought a few treats, leftovers from the market yesterday.”
I eye the basket Tavien is holding, wary. My mother will never accept their generosity. Still, I take it from him, gripping the handle tightly, and peer down at the dried fruits and nuts. These will be perfect for storing. I decide I’ll put them away while my mother does her sewing and conveniently forget to mention them. For now, I set the basket on a rock near the back door.
“You didn’t have to come all the way out here, but I’m so happy you did,” I say, a little awkward in my thanks.
“Father gave us the morning off in exchange for bringing it by. Besides, we love coming to town,” Tavien shrugs.
“Come, let’s catch up. Yesterday was busy, and we didn’t have time to talk,” Miriam says, looping her arm through mine and strolling deeper into the garden. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was trying to get out of earshot of her brother. Tavien, on the other hand, doesn’t seem interested in the two of us or any of the gossiping we might do. Instead, he leans against the trunk of a tall tree, sliding down to sit on the ground. He pulls a small knife from his pocket and begins to whittle a branch he found.
“It’s a good thing Tavien came with you. Yesterday on my way home—” I pause. “Promise you won’t tell anyone.”
