“Don’t come back without this ticket anymore. It’s not safe for you if you’re caught, Mercy,” he whispers.
Before I can reply—before I can say all the things I want to tell him—he’s gone. Vanished. And despite how hard I try to search for him in the sea of people, I can’t find Azrael. Defeat settles into my bones as I shuffle home. Perfect. Thunder cracks and the sky opens, crying with me. Light rain drizzles down, washing the tear-streaks from my face. At home, I sneak in through my window. The walls shake as my father’s drunken snores fill the otherwise quiet rooms. I tiptoe through the living room, past the couch where he sprawls across it. Moving stealthily, I carefully creak the door to my mother’s room open a sliver and peer inside to watch the shadowy figure on the bed. I can barely make out the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest as she sleeps in an emotionally exhausted slumber. Convinced my mother’s okay, I creep back down the hall to my small room, change into a nightgown, then climb into my bed. Holding the marigold to my nose, I inhale deeply before placing the golden flower on my pillowcase, like I have so many times before.
My eyes grow heavy, and sleep takes me. Dreamland welcomes me with open arms. I smile, remembering tonight and the way it felt when he touched me. Azrael spoke to me. It’s been years since the last time I heard his voice, and I’d forgotten how mesmerizing it is. His soothing voice plays in my head like a lullaby, gently rocking me into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.
Chapter 2
Azrael
Across town, beneath the splatter of raindrops, while our visitors’ evenings are drawing to an end, mine is only just beginning. The soft lull of rain against the barn roof is gentle for now, but that doesn’t mean it won’t intensify. If this were any ordinary circus, the carnies would be scrambling—tying down canvas, retreating to their boxcars, praying for the storm to pass. But my circus is anything but ordinary.
The circus is ancient—older than this town, and the one buried beneath it. The big top has loomed on this land for centuries longer than any mortal, tethered to a dark magic that hums to anyone willing to listen. It thrums rhythmically, like a song calling to souls too weak to resist. A safeguard to ensure that those of us who feast on souls never go hungry.
The grounds of the circus are well protected, warded with runes carved full of symbols so wicked only the devil himself would dare to inscribe them. They line the property and theportal within our realm. The gate stands as a distinct boundary between the mortal world and ours, where shadow and bone lie in wait, eager to devour more.
Every structure here is enchanted with the same magic that pulses through my veins and anchors this realm. Long ago, each son was given a realm of Hell to rule, connected to the mortal world by a portal bound with runes. The runes remain in Hell, untouched by nature’s destructive hands.
These boundaries should have been enough to keep the peace, maintaining the balance of good and evil—pacifying the Divine from interfering. But nothing, not even high lord demons, can fight the will of divine destiny.
My father, the King of Shadow and Bone, is the worst traitor of them all. He handed over our secrets, our kingdom, and our throne. He deposited them right into the greedy hands of the Divine. And for what? His only reward was a single night with my mother, once mortal, now a member of the holy army.
Where does that leave me? I’m cursed. The prophecy speaks of a way to break it, to unlock the power my father siphons from my veins. But the cost is—
I shake my head, unwilling to think about it. Unable to think about what I must do.
Outside, the storm is building. The lions pace back and forth in their cages, restless. Understanding their discomfort, I direct a pulse of magic through the ground. Soft wisps of shadow slitheracross the floor, entangling their paws in a soothing caress, manipulating their emotions. They can sense the electricity in the air as the bolts crackle across the sky, lighting up the scenery around them in quick flashes. The Divine are angry. They’ve sensed our proximity to what they’re hunting.
On the other side of the barn-like building, the elephants stomp anxiously, making it hard to tell whether the rumbles beneath us come from the storm or the massive beasts themselves. Everyone is hunkered in the enchanted boxcars they call home. Out here, it’s just me and the animals—a punishment for disappointing the Ringmaster.
It’s supposed to be a punishment. But truthfully, I’d rather be here with them than inside entertaining our guest. The Ringmaster is meeting with him tonight, and it’s always better when I’m not in the room. The guest is merciless in his contempt for me as my father’s only heir. His only great-grandson. Yes, he still seethes every time he lays eyes on me.
I check on each animal, ensuring food, water, and a warm, dry space to rest. When the work is finally done, I open the giant white lion’s pen and slide down to the cool ground, inviting him to join me. Despite his size, his steps are feather-soft. He sits on his haunches beside me before lowering himself fully and resting his massive head in my lap. Marblas’s ears twitch before he exhales a long, rumbling sigh.
My fingers stroke through his mane. “You’re welcome, old friend,” I whisper, lifting my top hat off to spin between my fingers. I pause, briefly admiring the fluttering feather tucked neatly into its ribbon.
After a few passes, I set it down gently beside me. One day, I’ll inherit the Ringmaster’s role— whether I want to or not. Most people get to choose who they become. I never had that luxury. My destiny was forged the day I was born.
A legacy I refuse to repeat during my time in existence. I will leave no heir. I will father no children. Not if I can help it. I shudder, thinking of what they would do to me if they ever knew.
My eyes slide closed, and thoughts of Mercy consume me. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and yet, to keep her safe from the wrath of the Divine, I must stay as far away from her as possible. I can’t risk them mistaking her for—
My thoughts trail off. I don’t want to think about it. There are so many things I wish I could say to her. Too many words left unspoken between the two of us. If only she understood that I push her away to keep her safe. It hurts me as much as it hurts her. Even though she’s not my betrothed, I’m still drawn to her like a magnet to metal, succumbing to her pull. I know I should stay away, but I can’t stop watching over her—protecting her from the cruel hand she was dealt.
Anger bubbles beneath my skin. Sensing a shift in my mood, Marblas lifts his head, nuzzling my shoulder with a soft chuff.
“It’s okay, old friend,” I whisper in reassurance, resting my hand on his forehead, tamping down on my anger-laced emotions.
Her father is a piece of shit. One day, when I gather the courage, I’ll enjoy draining every last ounce of his soul from thatpathetic mortal body—condemning him to eternal damnation. He deserves every second of torment that will be inflicted upon him in Hell. Demons will dole it out cruelly, basking in his pain and suffering, drawing strength from his screams. A wicked smile curls my lips, turning the corners of my mouth up to reveal a row of sparkling-white, razor-sharp teeth. My human form fades, falling apart at the seams and unraveling around the edges as wrath consumes my body and my true demonic form manifests rippling beneath my skin. I blink hard, then squeeze my eyes shut, fighting to reclaim control.
When my eyes flutter open, they’re cold and inky black—void of emotion. Guilt cuts into my heart, sending an icy chill through my veins. I could never hurt Mercy like that. The pain of losing her father, no matter how terrible of a man he is, would break her. But if he ever laid a hand on her? There would be no mercy left in me to stop myself from introducing him to his destiny—death. Rage trembles in my fists just imagining it. If he ever touches her, I will make sure her father begs to be sent to Hell rather than face me. Dark shadows lap at me, flickering with concern before scattering to search for the source of my pain. Stupid shadows. They’ll never realize I’m hurting myself. I hate what I’m becoming…and what I was born to be.
There’s not an ounce of remorse in my blood as I allow the thoughts to drift away. Marblas chuffs his approval at my change in emotions. His head returns to my lap, and I resume stroking his mane affectionately.
“I appreciate the comfort, Marblas,” I murmur.
He winks, a slow, knowing blink that says more than words ever could.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the weighted black stone. Devil’s glass. Forged from the fires of Hell. Magic and intricately etched spells along one side bind the glass to the obsidian base. There are only a few known stones in existence, and if the Ringmaster finds out I have this one, he’ll want it back. As far as he knows, my father, his traitorous son, stole it when he claimed the throne. And I’m inclined not to correct his assumption. My fingers tremble as I stroke over the familiar smooth surface. It’s remarkably cold—as death itself—beneath my touch. The etched spell around the oval edges glows faintly, awakening to me. The stone buzzes, filled with a powerful flow of ancient magic, eager to obey my every command. Closing my eyes, I picture Mercy. Then I lift the stone and breathe across its surface.
