After the episode with the demon and his contract, Herne locked me in the attic, providing only a bucket for all my bodily needs and meals twice a day. Boredom invaded my mind as much as the smell of piss in the corner. Within three days, I felt as if madness was an inevitability, a destination we would all find ourselves at one day.

At first, I tried to find the powers that Herne claimed I possessed but they showed no sign of revealing themselves. They couldn’t be triggered through emotional outbursts and if they could I would’ve burned the house down along with everyone in it, me included. I tried meditating and casting the small cantrips that Macha had taught me, all of which refused to work no matter how long I spent muttering the spell. Though the pitiful amount of magic I possessed seemed to be gone, I was glad to find that my heartbeat sounded unchanged despite the occupied chamber, I tried not to think about the unwanted resident if he was even there that is.

The only thing I hadn’t tried yet was trying to actually speak with the god. Somehow, I felt that if he appeared broad daylight, surrounded by solid, earthly things, it would turn this entire nightmare into reality. But I would need answers, and more than that I needed power, if I was to escape Herne and this city.

I knocked on my chest, feeling a bit silly, “Azaroth, are you there?” I whispered, in the (very unlikely) case that Deidre was listening at the door. When nothing happened, I sighed in relief. The air was rancid and stale, it’s shocking how I couldn’t recall when I last took a breath.

“Are you really so disappointed that you couldn’t see me?”, a voice asked teasingly.

I whipped around, but the attic was empty. My only company, the mattress and blanket and dirty, rotting wood.

“Look up”, the voice called, so close it felt as if the voice was right next to me. I jerked back, but there was nothing there so I did as it said, but only empty rafters and the wind howling through some unpatched hole greeted my view.

A short burst of cackling, this time from somewhere below me, and there on my hand was a lipless mouth grinning at me with rows of razor-sharp teeth. Somehow when it opened up to speak, I could see the cavern of teeth and tongue, impossibly deep when my hand was less than an inch in depth. When it spoke, I could feel a light puff of air as it drew breath from a nonexistent set of lungs.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Azaroth?” I asked tentatively, in a barely audible voice. Fear knifed its way through my heart. If I had any doubt that the being I had met was a demon, they resolved themselves there. #???????

“Glad to see you remembered my name kid.”

“How is this even possible?”

“What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine. You didn’t think an exchange of power was as simple as buying a bauble, did you?”

“I suppose not. Well now that I’ve held up my end of the bargain, where’s the magic that you promised?”

Azaroth chuckled, a deep throaty sound which I could feel all the way up my arm. It’s hard to believe I would ever grow accustomed to having cohabitating with a demon.

“Patience little one”, he said, slowly sinking into my arm, “you’ll get what you bargained for all in due time.”

“Wait, Azaroth! Help me get out of here”, I called, panic overriding any sense of secrecy.

But the demon stayed silent. My arm was left exactly as it was, pale, smooth skin with all the usual scars and esoteric cuts and bruises.

Through the single, dirty window in the attic, rare rays of sunlight peaked out from behind the perpetual layer of grey clouds. I could see the bustle of Baile Bo, virtually unidentifiable from the city I had glimpsed the night I arrived. During the day, I saw very view if any chains or shackles, the slaves must only come out at night. The thought of such a life lived without sight of the sun filled me with a dark rage. Outside people were dressed in a mixture of styles, many of the humans favored modern clothing, t-shirts and suits alike while many of the bestial and spiritual creatures eschewed clothing altogether or dressed in medieval cloaks and robes.

I watched as an old couple trundled along with a winged donkey pulling a rickety cart full of bundled straw and apples. Despite the presence of the odd t-shirt, I saw no sign of any electronics nor automobiles. At home we had only an old rotary phone which I seldom used. It was passed down from Macha’s mother and magiked to connect to both the human and witch networks. Macha only used the phone when I was out of the house but every so often, I’d spy her with the phone pressed to her ear and speaking in harsh, irritated Welsh, a language she rarely used but I suspected was her mother tongue.

Pedestrians ambled along with slow, unhurried steps, their heads turning this way and that as they gazed at the myriad of wares the city had to offer. Children raced along, their high-pitched laughter so like the warbling of birds. All of them seemed unaware of the dark underbelly the city revealed once the sun lifted its watchful gaze.

I stayed there peering out that cracked yellow window, high above the cobblestone streets, watching with petulant anger at Herne and the city as if the two were somehow inseparable, a single entity with no thought but to be the cause of my suffering.