Ana stepped away from him until her back hit the tool rack, metal clanging against metal. Her heart lurched into her throat as realization dawned upon her. Beau quickly set the plate aside and stood, clutching his stomach.

“Wait, please just listen—”

“Stay away from me,” Ana breathed, her heart starting to pound in her chest. She glanced at the large barn doors, wondering how long it would take for her to get back to the house and summon Marchosias.

He raised his hands in a silent plea. “I just want to talk. I promise Judas isn’t here—”

“I don’t care! Get away from me before I summon my father!” Ana yelled, raising a hand in defense.

He looked at her, confused. “Summon your—” He looked around the barn and where Ana was standing, and took a few steps back. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“The last time I saw you, you did. You tried to kill me in your basement. You, your father, Judas. You tried to steal my core for yourself, my father told me so!”

“Your father—” He quickly shook his head. “No, I didn’t want to, remember? I didn’t—”

He stopped talking, and took a good look at Ana. His eyes concentrated on the left side of her face, a confused look in his eye. “You…you don’t remember what happened, do you?”

She raised her head high, trying her best not to show her fear. “Of course I don’t remember what happened six fucking years ago! You think I would remember something like that? Besides, I don’t need to. My father told me what happened.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You trust his every word?”

She faltered. Do I trust his every word? After the incident, Marchosias had told her what happened. The Motloes captured her and attempted to kill her to steal her core, the very source of her magic and being. Beau was the one to capture her. She often had dreams of a dark monster chasing her through a forest, and it took years for them to go away.

She thought back to only a few days ago when Marchosias told her the Motloes were still alive, after years of telling her they were dead. He had lied before, but it was to console her. Make her worry less that they would come back and kill her in the night. That had to of been the reason.

“I trust him better than I trust you.” She finally replied.

He thinned his lips. “That’s a mistake. If you remembered that night, you wouldn’t say the same.”

She scowled. “I don’t care what you have to say.” Her hand reached behind her and took hold of a sickle hanging on the rack. “Get out of here before I summon my father. Now!”

He flinched, and looked away. “Please, just listen to what I have to say—”

“No,” She shook her head. “Get out, and don’t come back.”

He started walking to the door, his hands still raised. “I just have a request, just one. In exchange, I’ll tell you what happened. Just consider it, please. I’m staying at the motel just outside of town—you can find me there.”

She didn’t answer. She held the sickle to her side, the blade reflecting the morning light streaming through the broken ceiling. He glanced at it before returning his eyes to her. “I’m sorry. For everything that has happened between us.”

He left the barn, and Ana waited a few seconds before sinking to the dirt floor. She dropped the sickle and held her face in her hands. She had just saved a man from bleeding out on her front porch without knowing it was Beau Motloe. She felt like a fool. Why hadn’t she recognized him? Now that she thought of it, all of the Motloes’ faces were a blur, even Mrs. Motloe, the kind woman who had nothing to do with the rest of her family’s problems.

She stood on shaky legs and placed the sickle back on the rack. She left the barn, looking around the yard for any sign of Beau, but he had completely left. She walked back to her house, constantly looking behind her back for any sign of the Motloes, but the field was dead quiet.

She opened the front door and quickly entered the house, locking the door with shaky fingers. She went to the living room and to the alter where the supplies for summoning Marchosias lay. It was the most basic of supplies; chalk, perfume, incense lamp, a paper of invocations, and an amulet with the Pentagram of Solomon hanging on a delicate silver chain. She leaned her hands on the altar and looked at the items as she sorted her thoughts. She took hold of the amulet and held it before her, watching the light reflect off of the silver as it turned. On the other side of the pendant was Marchosias’ demonic sigil with his name around it. The human magicians had given him the name Marchosias so they could summon him at will, but Ana knew he hated that name with a passion. He warned her not to say that name in front of him, and she willfully obeyed.

Ana wanted to summon him, she really did, but she kept on thinking back to what Beau had said. He was a liar, and she knew he was right about that, even if it pained her to admit it. Marchosias had lied about the Motloes being dead all these years. Even if it was to make her worry less, why hadn’t he at least gone back to make sure that they were dead after the incident? What else was he hiding from her?

Besides, something else in the back of her mind was stopping her from picking up the chalk and drawing the pentagram. Beau, unlike Ana, had remembered what happened during that night in the basement. He had information that Ana had been dying to know since she had forgotten. What could Beau possibly need in exchange for the information? Her blood? Her soul? He had come to her for help, despite the risk of running into Marchosias. He must be determined to make this deal if he is brave enough to go behind her father’s back for it.

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She dropped the pendant back on the altar and sat down on the couch. I’ll just wait, she thought. I’ll just wait and think.

She spent the next few hours watching TV, trying not to jump at every sound she heard. Her heart lurched when she heard scratching at the front door, only to realize it was just Jazzy wanting in for some overdue breakfast. She scolded herself for being so jumpy and let the fat feline inside. She fed her some kibble before sitting back down.

Ana was almost about to doze off when she felt a presence behind her. Like a change in the air, she felt them enter the room. She quickly rose from the couch and whipped around, but visibly relaxed when she realized it was just Marchosias.

“Jumpy?” He said.

She sighed and sat back down. “No. Just didn’t get much sleep last night.” The truth. Not a lie. It was impossible to lie and get away with it in front of Marchosias, he was a master of detecting lies.

“What are you doing her?” She asked, grabbing her beer bottle and downing the last of it.

“I can’t visit my daughter when I please?” He moved in front of her and stood in the corner of the room, looking like a mannequin on display at a clothing store.

“You usually visit once a week. I don’t remember you being that clingy.” Ana responded.

He stared at her for a few seconds before turning his head to the TV. “You must remember that I have a room here. I can come when I please.”

Of course she remembers. It was her human dad’s room. After his funeral, her demonic father had cleared it out and started using it during the winters when he had to rest to recuperate his magic. It was now empty except for a bed. No nightstands, no lamps, no posters or paintings. The room was now as boring as his personality. Even the closet was vacant of any items, save for a few cobwebs here and there. When he had done it, Ana was upset because he did not give her a warning or even tell her where he put her old father’s stuff. She had looked in all the other rooms and even the attic, but she couldn’t find them. When she confronted him, he told her he put them in the basement. The one room he knew she would absolutely refuse to go into. The last time she went into a basement was when the Motloes had tried to kill her. She couldn’t remember it, but she had enough reason to not go down there.

She knew why he had done that to her dad’s room. It was like he was striking the final nail in the coffin; he had fully replaced her dad. No more Alex Kravens. No more warm hugs and wild berry pies. Only cold stares and lectures on what she should do for the rest of her life.

Ana was brought back to the present when Marchosias turned off the TV.

“I was watching that!” She complained.

“Human drivel.” He responded, walking to the hallway.

“It was the news!”

“We’re training. Let’s go.” He called from the hallway, and Ana heard the front door open. She cursed silently to herself before grabbing her shoes from where they were resting by the couch.

“Says who?”

“Me. Let’s go!” He called again, and Ana hurried to catch up with him as she heard the front door open and shut.

—_—

“Left foot forward. Right foot to the side, facing right. Your right hand should be facing the sky, not the horizon.”

Ana muttered some curses before fixing her stance. “Sky, horizon. What’s the difference?”

Marchosias walked around her, arms crossed. They were in the field behind her house. What was originally a place to grow crops was now a training ground for Mageia spells. They had been practicing for an hour, and Ana felt exhausted. He had always made her practice at least once a month, despite her reluctance in doing so.

“The difference is that the spell works and you don’t screw it up. Now say the incantation.” He replied, stopping ten feet away from her.

She sighed and concentrated on the sigil in her hand. It was a dark amber color, almost brown. She took in a deep breath, absorbing the smells of fresh snow and sandalwood that still permeated the air, and tried to remember what Marchosias had made her memorize earlier.

“Phenex, I beseech thee, lend me your power so I may protect myself. Shield me from elements that may cause me harm.”

The sigil in her hand glowed a warm amber before rising and separating from her palm. It enlarged and faded just as an orange transparent screen formed in between Ana and Marchosias. Ana tentatively placed her hands on the screen and realized it was solid. It worked. You usually they didn’t work, but this wasn’t a typical spell he made her use. Usually they were purple, not a dark orange color.

She let out a breathy laugh and looked at Marchosias. “It worked!”

He let out a hmph and walked to the barrier. He pounded his fist on it a few times and it held, but he still didn’t seem satisfied. He backed a few steps away from the shield.

Ana craned her neck to look up at the top of the barrier. “Where did you get this spell, exactly?”

“A colleague.” His fist pounded against the barrier, causing it to shake and form a massive crack. Ana stumbled back, not expecting him to attack with such force.

“A colleague? Did you beat it out of them first?””

He ignored her comment, sticking his fingers inside the crack and pulling. It grew bigger and bigger until the barrier shattered and disintegrated, the remnants fading in the air.

Ana sighed, crossing her arms. “I worked hard on that, you know.”

He started circling her again. Like a predator, he considered her with a calculative glare. “Do it again. This time, form your hand into a fist after the sigil raises.”

“Again?” She placed her hands on her hips and groaned. “I’m exhausted. We’ve been at this for hours.”

“You’re exaggerating. Perform the spell.”

She grumbled before raising her hands and fixing her posture. “Is this because of the Motloes? Afraid they’ll nab me in the night or something?”

He didn’t respond. She rolled her eyes, but did as he commanded. She took a small capsule out of her pocket and pinched it between her fingers, close to her nose. The smells from earlier were now gone, and so she had to take a small, transparent capsule from her pocket and break it in between her fingers. The capsule broke, and her nostrils were invaded with the same smells. She took in the scent and concentrated on her hands and soon, dark sigils started to glow just above her palms. She adjusted her hands before repeating the incantation, and formed her left hand into a fist just as the sigil was lifted into the air. Instead of forming a flat barrier, it turned into a curved shield in front of her. It floated, standing at least four feet high and as wide as two people.

“Woah—”

Marchosias began barraging her with attacks. Small blasts of purple energy flying at her like comets in the sky, but they still made her stumble back. She dug her feet into the ground and held the shield in front of her, but soon he started to move around. From right to left to right, he threw the angry balls of energy at her. She was only given a split second to move the shield to defend herself when he changed his spot, disappearing and reappearing in the blink of an eye. After what felt like an hour of the constant attacks, Ana soon felt exhausted. It took everything in her to move the shield around and deflect the attacks. There seemed to be an invisible force trying to pry her hand open and release the shield, leaving her vulnerable to her father’s magic.

“I’ve had enough! Stop!” She cried, but she was ignored.

Tears started to stream at her eyes, and her hand felt as if her veins were trying to push through the skin. Her arms felt heavier and heavier by the second.

“I’m tired!” She cried again.

“Keep the shield up!” Marchosias yelled in between firing the balls of energy.

She cried out as the balls of energy became heavier and faster, and attempted to hold her ground but failed. After a particularly heavy blast, she fell backwards and tried to catch herself with her free hand. She yelped as a pain erupted in her wrist and she rolled onto her side, clutching the hand. She took in a gasp of air before shooting a glare at Marchosias.

“What the hell is your problem? I said I had to stop!” She exclaimed.

He stopped in front of her and looked down. “The Motloes won’t stop if you ask them too. They will kill you with no remorse or hesitation.”

Her mouth closed at the mention of the Motloes. She thought of Beau, and how she made the decision to not summon Marchosias, only because he had left when she told him too. He hadn’t tried to kill her then. Should I tell him about Beau now? Has the damage already been done?

“So now you’re preparing for me death then, huh?” She bit back. “Trying to make up for the lie you’ve been telling me for the past six years?”

His face turned sour. She immediately rose to the ground and backed away.

“I didn’t lie. I told you I hadn’t checked after taking you to the hospital. Would you rather I had left you to bleed out while I made sure their heads were separated from their bodies?” He replied, leaning in close to her.

“Don’t,” She slowly shook her head. “Don’t try to guilt trip me. It won’t work. You fucked up, and now you must pay the consequences.”

He glared at her, and she felt her blood run cold. Demons can’t lay a finger on their children, it’s a rule none of them can disobey, she assured herself. He can’t harm me. He can’t kill me.

He disappeared, and Ana was left staring into a cloud of purple mist. She let out a deep breath and clutched her sprained wrist.

“Fuck. Fucking shit.”