Author's Preface
Evil took a few steps towards the sink, carefully avoiding the shards on the floor. The remaining chunks of mirror still glued to the wall reflected her pathetic face.
Strands of hair were sticking in all directions, much like a nest. Evil sniffed and blew her red nose on the sleeve of her hoodie.
She reached out her hand, wanting to touch the broken glass. She slid her hand across it very lightly, getting blood on her fingers. It was cold and wet with tainted water. But it was real.
She sighed.
“Is that what you do for fun?”
Evil jumped. “What is it, Fey?” she unintentionally snapped back at the girl.
Gods, she hated how fragile she sounded. She loathed the quiver in her voice. Now Fey probably thought she was a weakling -a stray puppy Lucian had found and brought home to entertain his children.
“To use the bathroom mirror you just…punched.” She touched the problem area, staining her manicure.
“Suit yourself.” Evil sat on the toilet’s closed lid, propping her arm on the bathtub.
“Did Kian annoy you?”
“No. It’s…”
Evil felt repulsed at the thought of having a conversation about her feelings with the girl she had been pining over. Fey waited patiently, with a kindness in her eyes Evil hadn’t seen in many strangers before. Or could they be considered friends?
"What'd you see?" Fey asked, sitting down on the rug in front of the toilet. Her hand covered Evil's knee.
"Myself."
"Well, duh, it's a mirror, babe."
Evil hoped her stare burned through Fey's obliviousness.
"Don't look at me like that. You left out the scary," she put her hands in the air and moved her fingers up and down, mimicking a ghost, "details."
Evil watched as her broken pinky regained its natural shape. The cuts on her knuckles began to heal sloppily around the mirror residue.
"I keep seeing this...weird, distorted version of myself. I saw it in a nightmare first, and now it keeps appearing wherever I look."
"I wouldn't mind seeing myself wherever I look."
Evil let out a half-laugh and rolled her eyes. “It’s really not like that.”
“Do you see her often?”
“More and more these days.”
“And… is she mean?”
“Not mean… not yet. It always feels like she’s about to do something. Like the world is holding its breath. And my pulse quickens while I brace myself for the worst. But she stands in front of me…smiling.”
“Smiling?”
“Always.”
A moment of silence took place. None of them spoke a word, but it wasn't uncomfortable. She dodged Fey’s glances but still felt the presence of her hand on her knee and hoped she'd keep it there.
“I don’t want to be a Trickster,” Evil said.
There is nowhere to run within your own mind. You carry it with you; you dwell inside it. One foot inside the mind, the other in the physical world. When your home becomes unsafe, the foundation crumbles. The bricks begin to rot, and disease-ridden vermin swarm through the cracks in the walls.
Evil felt imprisoned in a cell that no one else could see. While others lived their lives, venom poured from her pores, and echoing voices screamed messages that shook her to the very marrow of her bones.
Her mind was an uncontrollable storm leaking through every orifice. Her ears spilled the chattering voices, and her throat regurgitated the guilt and fear stored deep within her ribs.
She could never make sense of her brain. She lived believing every demon suppressed the same emotions and was better at hiding the pain they battled with. Her frail body broke under the pressure of her blessing.
Evil was a trickster. Her nature was to deceive, to beguile. Fate has a funny way of working.
All the venom she was meant to unleash upon others turned back against her. Either she wounds, or she is wounded. Her cure lies in driving others to the brink of madness.
“How so?”
“I just… I don’t want to cause harm.”
“The angels deserve it!” Fey took her hands and gazed into her eyes with certainty.
“But I know how my powers feel. I can’t unleash this upon anyone!”
“Listen to me, Evil. Angels are vile. They have wronged us since the beginning of time-”
“No angel has ever wronged me before.”
“But they will. And when they show no mercy, you’ll wish to have learnt how to give them a taste of pain.”
“And the people you deal with in missions? What connection do they have to our war?”
“Don’t overthink it. People are just chess pieces on a board we created. What matters is that we achieve our goal.”
“At the cost of innocent lives?”
“The people we deal with aren’t innocent.”
Evil swallowed back her objections. Fey sighed and began carefully removing the shards still embedded in Evil’s hand.
“You’ll get used to the idea.”
“That I’ll have to kill, or that I’m a Trickster?”
“Both,” Fey said as she pulled out a larger piece of mirror. Evil winced.
“Sorry,” she said, affectionately running her thumb over the cut. “We’re here for you. All of us. Especially me.” She cupped her cheek.
Evil could only think about how close they were. Words seemed to blend into the hot, humid air of the small bathroom. Once again, Fey was close enough for Evil to notice the tiniest details of her face. She reached out and brushed an eyelash from Fey’s rosy cheekbone.
“You’re strong, Evil. Stronger than you think. Perhaps the strongest of us all. You, of all people, should know best that the mind is the most powerful tool,”
“Now you’ve learned that your burden wasn’t just a curse. It was a blessing. It’s a gift from Nox.” Fey held Evil’s face in both hands. “You’re going to be our Ace. You’ll see. Stay with us and learn to control your powers. Don’t let them rip you apart.”
Evil truly wished to stay. She nodded and softened inside at the sight of Fey’s blazing smile. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss on Evil’s cheek.
“What’s that for?”
“Comfort,” Fey said, looking at Evil through her lashes. “Hey, Daddy has a job for us,” she continued. Evil cursed herself for being so sucked into the sound of her voice to pay attention to her words. Its softness invaded her head, and the intimacy of the moment fed her like a drug.
“Huh?”
"He said something about a job for us and wanted you to join for a first mission kind of thing."
"First mission kind of thing..." Evil repeated the last words she heard after her brain completely ignored the rest. Fey's enchanting whispering, her hand on her knee, her fingers playing with the loose thread of her jeans…Was she doing this on purpose?
"He said he sees big potential in you. And wants you to feel welcomed."
She shook her head, forcing herself to listen and understand the words she was saying.
"When is it?"
"Next week. Why?"
"I can't, I'm leaving with my mom and sister next week." Her head met the wall tiles behind her, which gently supported her tired skull.
Fey moved closer and put her chin next to where her hand burned its mark on Evil's skin. She couldn't help but think how empty that space would feel without it.
"Is this trip more important than us?"
“We go every year. And I owe it to my mom. I’ve kind of been an asshole lately.”
"Besides," Evil continued, "my mom doesn't even know about me being here, doing all this. It would be too suspicious to say I can't come. I won't be gone for long anyway."
Fey shrugged. "It's fine; he will understand. We'll have a ton of missions after you come back. That's our job."
“Don’t miss me too much,” Fey added.
Evil couldn’t promise.
She continued to meet up with her team during the few days remaining before her departure—both to train and to make the most of the time left with them. Although Evil dreaded leaving because it would disrupt her newly established routine, she was also excited about her family’s annual getaway to the place where she had grown up. The forest lay far from the noisy city where they lived; it felt like a slice of the fantasy worlds found in the books Ophelia read to the girls. They passed by towering trees with lush foliage in a shade of green that defied description.
Flocks of birds soared overhead on the breeze, wings spread wide as they glided through the crisp air. It reminded Evil of her dream about the hawk and the burning forest.
They followed the path along the river that led home—to the little house tucked away amidst the greenery. It was much smaller than their city home, built of stone with a reddish-brown roof blanketed in moss. A winding path cut through the field of green grass, dotted with colorful wildflowers, leading to the very door where it had all begun fourteen years ago, the moment Rimon knocked and brought the news of her pregnancy.
The girls grew up playing with deer, chasing squirrels, and singing along with the birds at the crack of dawn, while their mother prepared honey-sweetened tea and toast with butter and jam. Theirs was a simple childhood, filled with sunshine and the breeze catching their matching dresses. They would hold hands and run along the river, playing barefoot in the water and coming home with mud smeared across their faces.
Ophelia let them relax outside while she unpacked and made dinner. A questioning silence settled over the girls; though comfortable, it carried an undercurrent of unspoken burdens.
Emma wondered about the cause of the sudden distance between her and her sister. On the surface, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Anyone would see two sisters sharing a close bond of affection and trust without sensing the slight coolness under their responses. The avoidance .
Emma was horrendous at keeping secrets; she kept her distance instead. Less time around Evil meant less of a chance she would find out about her angel shenanigans.
It’s not that she didn’t trust her family with such a secret. It was a tough piece of news to take in. Emma needed time to process it herself before forcing it in a pill for her family to swallow. Emma didn’t want to worry their mother. She had to focus on Evil’s wellbeing.
But why would Evil act the same way? Why did Emma see her reflection in Evil’s actions- the same avoidant behaviour, the same fear of overspilling masked by a thick casualness? Could it be the burdens of being a demon? The exhaustion of recent events? Or was it something else?
Emma grabbed Evil by the hand and ran toward the river.
“What are you doing?” Evil asked. “Emma!”
But her protests couldn't save her from being dragged into the water and splashed in the face by Emma. Her mascara ran down her pale, frowning face. Emma laughed.
“You look awful!”
Evil snorted and lunged at her sister. Both of them tumbled into the water. They rolled over one another, splashing wildly. Their laughter echoed through the forest, bringing a smile to Ophelia’s face as she prepared something sweet.
“Do you surrender?” Evil asked, holding Emma in a lock with her arms pinned behind her back.
“Not a chance!”
Evil tightened her grip. “How about now?”
Emma struggled but refused to yield. “When did you get so strong?!”
“Wrong answer!”
Evil dunked Emma underwater and held her there for a few seconds before pulling her back up. Evil laughed at Emma’s curly hair—now wet like a lion’s mane— plastered against her face.
“Not fair!” Emma said, giving her a push while hiding her smile from Evil’s triumphant gaze.
“I think I won fair and square.”
“What, have you been training all this time?”
“What?” Evil turned quickly toward her, stopping mid-motion as she wrung out her hair.
“At the gym. Is that where you keep disappearing to?”
“Oh,” Evil forced a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve always been stronger than you.”
“As if,” Emma rolled her eyes.
The girls settled on the bank, drying off in the sun’s last rays before it set. The silence felt lighter after their swim. After so many trials, they could finally imagine being five years old again, as if none of the bad things had ever happened.
“I missed you,” Emma confessed. Evil turned to look at her, but Emma kept her eyes on the clouds.
“Me too.”
“I know you aren’t going to Anna’s place. Or Jake’s. Or to art class.”
“What—” Evil began. Emma raised her hand slightly, silencing her.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell Mom. And I won’t ask where you’re going.”
Evil swallowed hard.
“Just… take care of yourself. You seem better, so whatever you’re doing seems to be working. You can tell me when you think the time is right.” Emma turned to look her in the eye. “I have a few things to tell you, too. Just… Please don’t pull away from me anymore. Don’t leave me alone.”
Emma’s hand found Evil’s, stilling her nervous fidgeting. Evil squeezed back.
“I promise.”
Emma left Evil sitting on the grass beneath the setting sun. She said she felt a bit dizzy, so Emma quickly went inside to save the day with a cup of tea.
Her mom absently stirred her tea while the soft smell of lemon loaf floated through the air. The steam from the tea cup tickled her face. She softly blew on it.
“You okay, Mom?”
Ophelia looked up as if she didn't know if she was the one spoken to. "Oh, yes, sweetie. Why do you ask?"
Emma shrugged and put a teaspoon of sugar in the cup. "You look absorbed in your thoughts. Not the best, either.”
“I’m just tired.”
"Just tired?" Emma repeated suspiciously. "You know you can't lie to me."
Her mom raised her hands in defeat. "Caught me, detective." Emma laughed.
"Mom, what's wrong with you? You're not your usual self."
"I know, I know. I guess the stress is getting to me."
“Is this about Evil?”
“It’s about both of you.”
Emma stilled, thinking for a moment that her mother found out about the mess she got herself into.
It’s alright, I’m doing a good thing.
“You know Evil’s got me clutching my chest in fear. Caeles knows how afraid I am that the next time I enter her room I will find her dead on the floor."
Emma didn't want to think about it. The split second when an image of a dead Evil crossed her mind turned her stomach upside down. The strawberry beverage didn’t look so appetizing anymore.
"But at the same time I don't want to neglect you either," she confessed. "If you don't struggle with your powers, that doesn’t make you any less of a priority."
Her issues did not compare to the torment suffered by Evil. Every time she missed her mother, she took notice to shut up those attention-seeking thoughts. She wasn't a priority, and she understood that. She should be grateful that she got the good side of the coin.
“No need to-”
"Yes, I do. I'm sorry I can't divide my time better." She clenched her fist. "I hope I didn’t disappoint you."
Emma’s eyes began to sting, flooding with unshed tears.
Ophelia grabbed her hand. “What’s wrong, my love?”
Emma didn't know either. Maybe all the bottled-up feelings decided to spill out. The pain, the fear, the gratitude.
But it was okay because their mother always told them, "You don't need a good reason to cry."
She shook her head and hugged her. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, honey”
***
"Hey, are you alright?"
Evil lay curled up under her blanket like a shrimp, her skin much the same pinkish tone. Emma sat next to her. Her fingers brushed against her sweaty forehead, only to jerk back in surprise. The temperature was as high as molten lava; it burned the tips of her fingers at the slightest contact.
"I feel like shit.”
Even her voice was hoarse. Evil, sturdy as a boulder, rarely had gotten ill- meaning that when she did fall ill, she plummeted to the bottom with the force of a falling rocketship. Weeks would be necessary to nurse her back to health. Her healing abilities were weakened by the virus she caught.
Mystical beings weren’t spared from pain and illness despite their rapid regeneration. Oftentimes, special viruses would escape from the Ferox, carried by the monsters who transcended dimensions. Emma feared that Evil caught one of the sort, which would be a pity. Their vacation only just started.
"Would you like me to bring you something?”
"A rope, if you want to cheer me up," Evil responded, groaning as she turned away.
"Evil, don't joke about that." Emma sighed. "Is it that bad?"
She rolled over and threw the blanket over her head. “Yes. I can’t heal.”
Just as she’d feared. The last time Evil complained of her inability to recover, it took no less than a whole month for her to get back on her feet. Not even their mom’s magical herb mixtures that could cure any disease had any effect on her pitiful, bedridden sister.
Ophelia hopped into the room with a wet towel. "Might help you with the pain, sweetheart". She handed it over to Evil, and she gladly accepted it, sitting up with Emma’s aid.
"Thanks."
Ophelia smiled gently and brushed her fingers through Evil's tangled hair. Evil let a muffled cry escape her lips, urging Ophelia to retreat her hand with a mix of worry and concern in her gaze.
Poor thing had been looking forward to this getaway for months now, and Ophelia would feel most terrible had spent it in her bed the entire time.
“I’ll go to my room to look through my suitcase, see what I can put together. Em, you stay with her, please.”
Their mother rushed down the hall after placing a kiss on both their foreheads.
"I can’t find my phone,” Evil moaned miserably.
"Isn’t it in the kitchen?"
Evil spaced out and didn't respond. Emma poked her after the silenced streched for a tad too long.
"Evil?"
Evil fell abruptly silent, turning pale as if her very soul had been drained from her body. She swayed gently from side to side like a leaf stirred by the wind. Emma gripped her firmly by the shoulder. A clammy sheen of sweat covered her forehead.
Emma panicked. “Evil, what’s wrong?”
Evil’s head suddenly snapped towards her.
Her eyes turned an abyssal black, like ink spreading on a piece of paper. Her brows came together into a frown so malicious that Emma’s blood ran cold, and before she could react, she was grabbed by the neck by a strong hand, nails digging into her skin and pressing down hard on her windpipe.
"Evil! Wh-…what are..you-?"
Evil threw her body on the wooden floor.
Emma coughed, her throat raw from the effort. The rims of her eyes were red, tears of struggle threatening to fall on her flushed face. She frowned and attempted to move her head, feeling a sudden strike of pain.
Was she having an episode again?!
She lowered her eyebrows and squeezed her eyes, letting out a whine as she brought up a hand and placed it on her forehead like it would lessen the pain. Her fingertips touched her face and felt the bruises. She then got back up on wobbling feet, summoning her entire strength to stay upright.
"What are you doing?!"
Evil’s eyes shone with morbid satisfaction, and a grin spread wide across her face. Never had Evil worn such a crazed expression. It was so unnatural, so uncanny- the face painting of a clown stretched under a human’s skin.
Emma used a mild energy attack, shocking Evil, who didn't expect her to fight back. The energy wave pushed her back further, but didn’t disturb her balance. She kept up on her feet.
She rammed into Emma with full force, breaking the door. Emma rolled on the grass, getting herself dirty with the mud left by the rain outside. Evil’s lips were curled up into a devilish grin.
“Evil, it’s me! Snap out of it!”
Gathering all her strength, she elongated the branches of a nearby tree and aimed them directly at Evil, who ended up grabbing them with her bare hands and ripping them apart, despite cutting her hands horribly.
Another mild boost of golden energy was sent on its way. Only a mild one, to avoid hurting her. She must’ve been seeing something Emma couldn’t.
Evil sent multiple attacks her way. To the naked eye, nothing truly came out of Evil’s hands, yet Emma felt every ounce of pain.
Emma kept moving, trying to dodge, but there wasn’t anything physical she could dodge. Evil penetrated her mind; she had nowhere to hide. She saw, clear as day, a ball of fire in Evil’s palm, irises illuminated golden by its light.
The moment it hit her, she hollered in pain. The skin on her leg immediately reddened. The external layers of the skin were visibly separating; blisters covered the area around it. Emma's eyes widened, and she looked at Evil with tears forming.
Evil raised her hand. Emma felt a tingling sensation under every inch of skin, like a million bugs crawling on her bones, in-between her muscles. The itching became aggressive. Insufferable.
Her head was infested with the thought of scratching, of tearing herself apart to get the bugs out.
The skin covering her body began tearing itself open. Emma let out the most gut-wrenching cry as bruises appeared on her from head to toe. Nails were being hammered inside the raw flesh. She coughed and spat out a mixture of blood, saliva, and bile. The existing bruises boiled from within and the smell of ammonia invaded her nostrils.
She couldn't tell if her body was shaking or the whole world was.
She wriggled on the ground like a roach, trying to escape from the excruciating pain. She couldn't even scan the wounds because of how bloodied up she was.
"STOP IT, STOP IT PLEASE, EVIL PLEASE!"
Her blurry vision prevented her from seeing any sign of consciousness on her sister's face, but she made out a the glistening steel of a kitchen knife in her hand .
Evil positioned herself and rushed towards Emma with the blade pointed right at her heart. She could only close her eyes.
"NO!"
Ophelia came out running and positioned herself between her and Evil, whose blade pierced right through her mother's skin.
Ophelia looked down at the blade and then back at Evil. She coughed up blood, and her skin turned pale.
"Evil it’s-…don’t-"
Her last final words were shaky, but seemed to trigger Evil, who shrieked, "MOM!"
Her mom’s eyes rolled back, her body hanging on the blade Evil was still holding. She pulled the weapon back and threw it on the ground. Evil quickly grabbed Ophelia's body right before she could smash her head against the dirty ground.
With tears falling down her cheek, she could only scream, "Mom, please!" while shaking her gently, hoping that she was still alive.
Emma looked at Evil, then at her own mother's corpse.
"WHAT DID YOU DO?!" Emma wailed.
Evil could only sob while Emma yelled at her.
Emma pushed her away and hugged her mother's corpse; she dug her face into her chest as the rain kept on pouring down.
Evil got up and ran away. Even with her vision blurry from her tears, she ran, not even stopping to take a breath.
Emma blinked away the infuriating drops filling her eyes and blocking her vision at that crucial moment. Fuck, what the fuck! She wiped her eyes aggressively, replacing the water with dirt.
Her teeth dug so deep into her bottom lip that salty liquid flooded her dry mouth. Her tongue licked the split clean and forcefully swallowed the mouthfuls of metallic fluid.
Her fingers cleaned the mud off her mother's precious face, and Emma wanted to slap herself for only being able to picture her body buried underground.
SHUT UP EMMA. SHUT UP.
SHE'S NOT DEAD.
Why is there so much mud ? She furiously wiped her mom's face, reddening it with blood. It soaked her white dress and stained her skin.
Her body was giving up on her.
Her legs gave up on her. Her knees hit the ground three times in a row, attempting to lift her mother.
The rain made it more slippery, and she lacked any strength in her arms. The rapid breaths hurt her pierced lungs. COME ON EMMA GET UP!
" I CAN'T, " she shouted at herself. "I CAN'T! I CAN'T!" her broken voice spat at the sky.
She cried for her mom to wake up, knowing she never will. She hit herself repeatedly with her clenched fists for being so weak.
Her heart punched her ribcage aggressively, trying to wake her up from whatever nightmare she fell into. But her vigor left. Like everyone else.
Her mom died.
Her sister left.
Amid the sound of her own screams, rain faintly poured in the background. There she was, alone. In a pool of mud and blood.