Author's Preface
Cigarette smoke drifted around Evil like a hazy fog.
“How come you’re letting me smoke inside?”
Naiten shrugged as she passed by her with a rug in hand. Red- like all the things in her house. Evil looked back at Naiten as she moved about like a phantom, barely making a sound.
“And you’re not even telling me it’s bad for my health.”
“You’re already aware.”
“Naiten~” Evil called out, elongating her name like a child. “You remembered!”
“Remember what?”
“Don’t play dumb. You remembered today is our anniversary!”
Naiten scoffed. “What anniversary? You’re ridiculous.”
“Today marks exactly,” Evil counted on her fingers, “six years since we met.”
“Does it?” She moved on to wiping her trinkets, the dresser, and the jewelry holders, which she'd already wiped a few minutes earlier. Her hatred for dust should be studied.
“I know you remembered. See, you’re cleaning, and you made me my favourite pie.” Evil said as she scooped another bite of crust heavy with cherry filling. “Love you too, girl.”
She knew her attention was now on another vase, or perhaps the wooden chest next to the dresser she had cleaned fifteen minutes ago. Naiten was always too embarrassed to acknowledge Evil’s verbal affections. Evil snickered to herself when she turned around to see her long ears lowered and a shade darker.
“I’m working on your gift so don’t look,” Evil warned. Her pencil danced with precision along the paper, spreading shades of black and red. The table was full of scattered supplies, almost identical to her old desk at home, forever messy. Naiten was used to Evil’s mess. The only mess she accepted in her home.
“I won’t. And get dressed, will you?”
Evil looked down at her own naked torso and let out a sarcastic laugh. “Why, think I’m gonna catch a cold?”
“The window’s open.”
“I know.” Evil casually pulled out another cigarette and placed it between her lips, turning to face Naiten slightly. “You know I don’t catch colds. Is there another reason you don’t want to see me in a bra?” Evil’s love language consisted of regularly tormenting Naiten with dubious innuendoes.
She knew Naiten’s exact reaction by heart- the way she’d roll her eyes and ignore her or mutter a “You’re out of your mind.” Evil thrived on pulling reactions out of her.
“Don’t be a prude. I’m taken anyway.” Evil’s mouth frowned. “Sort of.”
“Trouble with Dolly again?” Naiten asked.
“I don’t know.” Evil rubbed the paper with the tip of an eraser. “ She’s been a bit distant. And keeps disappearing every day.”
“Where to?”
“Couldn’t say.” She blew on the shavings, getting them all over the velvet tablecloth. “She sees new people all the time. It’s no big deal.” Evil found herself biting on her nail, a sudden wave of anxiety surging within her.
“Anyway, I wanted to tell you. Lucian offered me something.”
“What?” Naiten placed a pot of tea on the table. Noticing Evil’s strange demeanor, she narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong with you?”
“He offered me a seat on the council.”
The question seemed to genuinely take Naiten off guard. Her earrings clinked as her ears lowered in a confusion she forgot to mask. Her eyebrows furrowed, forming a crease between her awfully intense crimson irises.
The longer it took for Naiten to respond, the more Evil grew restless.
“Are you mad?”
“What did you say to him?”
“I accepted,” Evil said, avoiding eye contact with her friend. She knew Naiten wouldn’t agree, and felt a pang of shame in being so quick to accept.
“It’s not only to please him, I swear. I just thought… it was about time to rise in rank. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.”
“You know my opinion on Valmort.”
“I know,” she sighed, filling in the colors more aggressively. “But I need your opinion as my friend.”
“I think it’s dangerous.”
“Everything I do is dangerous.”
Naiten grimaced. The silence continued to stretch. However used to Naiten’s lack of words, Evil sometimes wanted to pry Naiten open and look inside her for the truth.
Evil knew she wouldn’t be scolded. She knew her friend's opinion on her wouldn’t change- not after all the things she’s done, throughout which Naiten stayed. But she couldn’t help but wince at the motherly disappointment she emanated.
“Whatever you think is best.”
“I think it’s a good opportunity,” Evil continued to babble. “I can get to know the political ins and outs of the Ferox. My opinion on war matters could count. And… I can make Lucian proud, and my teammates a little jealous, perhaps.”
“Perhaps.”
“I’m going on a quest with Elias to retrieve the bloodmoon sceptre. We’re leaving today.”
The bloodmoon sceptre was a golden staff ornamented with diamonds and a massive ruby crowning the top. It used to be carried by the priestesses of darkness during ceremonies in Nox’s days. Nox blessed the stone to endow and protect new members of the nightly order, be it clergy or council members.
After most priestesses of light were killed by the angels, the few that remained- now referred to as the wailing priestesses- secluded themselves in the oldest temple of Ferox. Few had access to the sceptre. The women were reluctant to let demons near it, for fear of being damaged or stolen.
The priestesses mourned Nox’s death continuously, their wails reverberating across miles upon miles of land. The region around the temple was heavily guarded and peppered with all sorts of monstrosities. Not many came back alive after attempting theft from the messengers of Nox.
“For your coronation.”
It wasn’t a question. Her tone was embedded with a sort of motherly disappointment. The clarification didn’t need to be said out loud, yet Naiten wanted to punctuate her disapproval.
“Trust me,” Evil said, “I know what I’m doing. Maybe I can set some things straight in that council. Make things better for the demons living here.”
Naiten didn’t answer, but poured her a cup of the hot beverage, adding two spoonfuls of sugar as she knew Evil liked. She sat quietly sipping, watching Evil color with ardor. The smell of alcohol from the markers fused with the herbal scent of the tea. Her pale hands were stained with an accidental rainbow.
Evil licked her lip in concentration, bending her back to lessen the distance between her and the paper. “Bummer, I'm paired with Elias. It’s gonna be one long mission.”
“Why?”
“Because he barely talks.”
“Why is that an issue?”
“Because, Naiten, some of us need human interaction.”
Naiten shrugged.
“I can’t get through to him. I can’t tell what he thinks about anything. He’s always just so…”
“So?”
“Indifferent,” Evil stretched her back.
A crow flew overhead, landing on Evil’s shoulder.
“Evil!” it shouted, flapping its wings excitedly.
“Onyx!”
Onyx was Naiten’s pet- or familiar, for witches. She got it as a present from the local bartender and named it after him for a lack of creativity. She had raised it ever since it was a baby. Evil had bonded quickly with the little creature. She had never seen an animal with this much attitude.
“Got any seeds?”
“You always use me for food,” Evil searched her pockets and pulled out a little bag of nuts, which Onyx stole right from her hands.
“Hey, not the whole thing!”
The crow shouted a high-pitched “caw,” which sounded an awful lot like a laugh.
“Kids.”
Naiten shook her head, already tired.
“Anyway, I better go. Wish me luck,” Evil said, downing the tea in one go and pushing the drawing towards Naiten.
Naiten dragged her fingers above the still-drying paper, with two familiar figures: the two of them, six years ago, drinking together in the bar they still frequent to this day. One chair apart, Naiten was sipping from a glass of whiskey with a stoic expression. Her outfit was gorgeously detailed. On the other side was Evil, less detailed, with a frowning face and a juice in hand.
Naiten smiled to herself. She remembered that day as if it were yesterday.
Evil, eighteen years of age, haunted the streets of a Feroxian market, trying to make it home after a long day of affairs. She scratched her scalp nervously, head twitching with annoyance. She loathed this side of the Ferox on a good day. That day, the hatred ran so deep she could take the maschette out of a vendor’s calloused hands and live with a massacre to her name if it meant having a second of quiet.
More than halfway through the market. Her legs kept going mechanically, powered by the image of exiting this endless purgatory and getting to lie in her uncomfortable bed.
Her dreams were, tragically, cut short.
What she didn’t envision was a collision. With her blurry vision hindered by the hair covering her face, she bumped, rather aggressively, into someone else. A wave of pain spread from her brain down to her toes, urging her to curse out loud.
She raised her bloodshot gaze and met another pair of eyes with radiant crimson irises. Evil frowned, taking in the whole image of the stranger. A girl, standing about a head taller than her, dressed as if going to a funeral: black sweater, black vest, black pants, black blazer, which suited her brown skin rather nicely. The only pop of variety on that monotone outfit was a silver necklace adorning her neck- an eye with a crescent moon adorning the top.
Despite the depressing color scheme of the clothes, her bright red hair stood out like a beacon in the night. The brunette roots betrayed the artificial nature of it. From under her hair, two moving masses peeked- ears. Long ears, pierced and ornamented with jewelry. Hybrid.
The stranger looked at her with an impassive expression. She neither continued to walk nor said anything in return. Evil’s skin prickled with a newly found irritation. Did she want her to apologise?!
“Watch where you’re going!”
She said nothing in return, elongating the moment which should’ve been over much quicker. Evil could have, truthfully, let it go and returned to her miserable walk instead of arguing with strangers, but Evil had never in her life backed down first from an argument. The uninterested stare on her face riled Evil, triggering some primitive instinct of asserting dominance.
“You bumped into me, kid,” the other stated simply, voice leveled.
“ I bumped into you?! And who are you calling a kid, you old hag!”
She looked no older than twenty-seven, but Evil couldn’t let that slide. The stranger’s demeanor betrayed nothing, raising a sense of urgency in her. This inexplicable rage, bred by the shittiness of her day, burned like a fire in her stomach, amplified by her lack of reaction.
“ Old hag? Your mom didn’t teach you manners?”
Evil felt all the blood drain from her veins, leaving her as cold as a corpse. The hybrid unknowingly poured gasoline on the already existing fire, causing a raging explosion within Evil’s wounded system.
Without thinking, she swung at her. The moment her fist collided with the other never came, though. Evil stood in place, bewildered, with her fist raised, asking herself if she had swung at all. She couldn’t have imagined it, because they switched places; Evil stood a few steps ahead of where she originally was, and the stranger, impassive as ever, was now behind her.
She only crossed her hands to her chest, ears raised slightly. The dodge was so quick, Evil could barely register it. Not one hair on her head was moved. Evil would’ve believed she could teleport, had her necklace not been moved slightly to the side.
“The fuck?” Evil mumbled, turning to her with the speed of light.
She attacked again. And again. And again, charging like a bull triggered by her red head of hair.
None of the attacks proved fruitful. None of her hits were landing, and Evil was almost sick with anger. She hadn’t felt this weak in years, and a sense of anxiety crippled her veins, spreading like a disease. The urge to land at least one hit became crucial in her mind- not out of spite anymore, but to prove to herself that she could . She couldn’t tell how long she’d been trying. Couldn’t differentiate between the passing of seconds or minutes, although to her it felt like hours. Hours of being stuck in an endless cycle of gambling.
At last, she was pulled out of her reverie when her fist made contact with skin. The initial rush of dopamine quickly died down when she realised she hadn’t, in fact, lent a hit, but was blocked by the other’s hand.
The girl caught her hand and looked over with a bored expression. Evil felt pathetic. She looked as proper as if she’d just come out of the house, while Evil looked like a rabid animal with her tangled hair and sweat beading at her forehead.
“Impressive,” is all she said.
Impressive.
Impressive?!
“If you’re making fun of me, don’t bother,” reproached Evil, through ragged breaths. She pulled her fist out of her grasp and ran a hand through her hair, stepping away from the stranger in preparation for her walk of shame.
“I mean it.”
And Evil wouldn’t have normally believed her. She could have waved her off and left, praying to never see her again, and go on with her life.
But she didn’t.
A hint of gentleness in her voice made her stop in her tracks. She turned to her, slowly, with the clumsiness of a child. Like a deer in the headlights, she stared wide-eyed.
“I’m Naiten.”
Evil blinked. In her stupor, she only responded with “Okay…?”
“Come on,” Naiten urged, and started walking away from Evil and back in the market, on the same dreadful path Evil had just crossed. Dazed as she was, she couldn’t tell what to do. Was she asking her to come with?
But Naiten didn’t turn around, and calling out for clarification would have been much too embarrassing, so she followed stiffly, like a duckling tagging along behind the hen.
Somehow, Evil ended up with the stranger, Naiten , whom she tried to fight and failed miserably, in a bar.
Evil had only seen this bar on her way a couple of times, but never had the curiosity to enter due to its unwelcoming energy. The building was rather small, hidden away, cornered by larger and flashier businesses. To get to the entrance, you had to pass through a narrow alley, seemingly banned for the use of common folk- the kind of space reserved only for workers. No flashy signs, no outside decoration. Only a repurposed old house, a broken door with rusty hinges, and a wooden sign, eaten away by termites, carved with Onyx’s Barrels .
“Onyx is the owner,” Naiten explained. “A black ogre who makes his own booze. Self-explanatory.”
The inside wasn’t as cramped as she had suspected, which came as a pleasant surprise. However, the more people entered, the stuffier it felt. The bar was known for its diverse clientele: young and old, monsters, hybrids, humanoids, shapeshifters. Individuals with various kinds of jobs fancied this place for doing business. What was said in Onyx’s Barrels remained in Onyx’s Barrels.
Naiten picked a seat at the bar, exchanging a few words with the famous Onyx himself. It seemed she was a regular, which made Evil curious whether she came here to relax or was involved in some shady line of business. Who even was she?
Evil sat down at the bar as well, leaving a seat between Naiten and herself for good measure. The room was unbearably humid, making her wish Naiten had chosen a seat next to the window. She wouldn’t open her mouth to suggest it, though, because that would have made her look picky. And weak. A weakling who couldn’t handle a bit of warmth. So she swallowed her nausea, wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, and decided to subtly pull at the collar of her shirt instead.
“Whiskey, on the rocks,” Naiten told the owner. He nodded and turned his attention to Evil, whose eyes were wandering over the room. Torn between anxiety and frustration, she found herself trying to guess what the material the curtains were made of was. Possibly linen. Definitely eaten by moths.
She was jolted back to reality by a deep huff. The owner stared at her with increasingly less patience, which offended Evil deeply because she couldn’t have been looking at the curtains for that long. That man should work on his temper.
As she opened her mouth to respond, Naiten interrupted her.
“How old are you?”’
“Eighteen?” Evil responded, confused.
Naiten turned to Onyx. “Give her some juice.”
The ogre nodded and went to the back. Evil glared with all the malicious intent she could muster. “What if I wanted alcohol?!”
“You’re eighteen.”
“Since when does a bar in the demon world adhere to the law? You think that guy has principles?”
“He doesn’t. I do.”
“You’re not my mom!”
“Does she know what you’re up to?”
Evil’s mouth closed on command.
I wish she were, she thought. Even if it meant her mother knowing about all of the horrible stuff she did. Even if it meant being scolded. She would take her mother yelling if it meant hearing her voice. She’d take her mother beating her to death, putting her out of her misery like a dying dog, if it meant she’d touch her one last time.
“She’s dead.”
Despite the joyful voices in the background, the atmosphere quieted. Like the world held its breath. Evil hunched in on herself, forgetting how pitiful that must make her appear. She crossed her arms in an attempt to shield herself. From what, she didn’t know.
She didn’t know why she said it, either. Fey was the only one who knew. Why was she telling a stranger this?
She sighed, exasperated by herself. What was she doing there?
She got up, wanting nothing more than to leave. Naiten stopped her, the second time. Her grip on Evil’s arm was gentler than the first time. She didn’t shove her, nor did she pull her back. She was giving her a choice.
Perhaps desperate for some companionship and dreading the empty house she’d go back to, she made her way to her seat again. She waited for Naiten to say something. Anything. Either apologise for asking, the cliché “sorry for your loss”, or even a backhanded line.
Nothing.
She didn’t comment on it, but her face wasn’t so impassive anymore. If Evil didn’t know any better, a spark of compassion flickered into those fiery eyes.
She lowered her ears and pushed her glass towards Evil. Evil raised her eyebrows.
“Go on,” Naiten urged.
Evil shrugged and took the glass, swirling the liquor. The sharp sting of it invaded her mouth in a violating manner- the burn spreading down her throat like lava down the rocks of a volcano. Any richness or warmth was overpowered by the spice, so drying it sucked the moisture out of her throat, pushing her into a violent coughing fit.
Evil tried to suppress it to the best of her ability, not wanting to look stupid, but that only worsened her cough. Naiten pushed another glass towards her- taller, filled with a mysterious golden liquid. Her holy grace.
Evil chugged a few huge gulps. Only after the fourth did she recognize the taste: apple juice.
Naiten calmly took back her whiskey, sipping without a care in the world. Evil looked for any sign of amusement on her face. She either didn’t care or was really good at not showing it.
“Don’t say it,” Evil told her.
“Say what?”
“Thanks,” Evil sighed, ashamed by how much better the apple juice tasted.
A weirdly comfortable silence settled between the two. They drank from their glasses, listening to the pleasant chatter and basking in the dim light of the bulbs hanging over their heads. Naiten didn't ask her any more questions, and although Evil's throat itched to stick her nose into the older's business, she refrained from doing so. Out of exhaustion or gratefulness, she couldn't tell.
This mysterious stranger had a peculiar energy. Something Evil hadn't encountered in a long time; an authority that didn't make her want to act out, but to earn approval. So, she stayed quiet, despite her own disbelief in herself.
“Is that a clown?” Naiten broke the silence, pointing at Evil’s arm.
“A clow- NO IT’S NOT A CLOWN! IT’S A JESTER!”
“Whatever you say, Bozo.”
Naiten finished the last bit of her drink and made to get up. A slight pang of panic washed over Evil, who sat up straighter. "Wait!"
Naiten looked back.
"Can I... use your bathroom?"
"My bathroom?" Naiten raised one eyebrow. “They have a bathroom here.”
"I hate public bathrooms," Evil said, more urgently.
"...Fine, suit yourself."
After Naiten paid, the two left the bar and made their way to Naiten's house. Evil trotted closely behind, adopting the same proper behaviour in fear that Naiten would tell her off.
Evil didn't know why that thought made her so upset. She told herself it was the spy in her. "Know your enemies better than yourself", as Lucian said. Evil was simply gathering information about this possibly dangerous stranger with whom she had an altercation that day.
A stranger who bought her apple juice and was letting her use her bathroom.
A stranger whose style was kinda cool, actually.
A stranger who Evil, maybe, possibly, wanted around.
~
When she returned to the base, Elias was waiting for her with a backpack on and a cigarette in his mouth. His braided hair was tied back in a ponytail, pulling tight away from his lean, imposing face. Evil gave him a nod of greeting; in response, Elias tossed her a second pack filled with supplies and set off without another word.
They hiked through the Feroxian forest where they used to train—the first place in the demon realm Evil had ever seen. The animals were restless, and a mass of black clouds had gathered overhead, heralding trouble.
“The birds are flying low.”
“A storm.”
“Are we stopping?”
“No.”
They walked through the torrential rain for an hour until it let up. Evil’s boots were waterlogged, and mud kicked up like fireworks every time her foot struck the ground. Elias was wet too, yet somehow far cleaner than Evil, who was dressed entirely in black. His hiking trousers were only slightly soiled at the hems, just above the ankles. Not a single other speck of mud clung to his extravagant "priestess-threatening" outfit.
“Where’d you get that shirt?”
He was wearing a red satin shirt—completely unsuitable for the nature of the mission.
“I bought it.”
“Shocking. From where?”
“I don’t remember.”
Evil was in for a very long day.
The atmosphere between the two was, in short, unbearable. While Evil squirmed like a beetle held in tweezers over a flame, Elias remained completely indifferent. He didn't even look back when Evil lagged behind.
"So, what's new?"
"Nothing."
There had never been a friendship between them, only a professional rapport. Everything was strictly business—like the kiss they had to share while undercover on a mission, posing as a young married couple. Fey could barely breathe from laughing. Kian looked like he was about to throw up.
Evil shared a special bond of mutual understanding and reliance with Fey. With Kian, it was like two magnets with the same poles repelling each other the closer they got. With Elias, there was nothing.
The only memorable moment Evil had involving him was when Evil was fifteen and wanted to jump off a building.
It was a night just as stormy as this one. Evil was soaked to the bone, her mascara running and lipstick smeared across her cheeks—she looked like her own evil twin. She had no tears left to shed. Scenes of her mother’s death played over and over in her head like a broken record. No matter what she did, she saw flashes of that bloodied chest and Emma’s burnt skin; she heard her mother’s voice trying to say something through the gasps, and she heard her sister screaming.
Evil couldn't live with the guilt anymore.
Perched atop a twenty-story building, she gazed down at the city below. She had always loved watching the lights, which looked like watercolor splotches spread across a canvas. The honking of cars blended in her drifting mind like a clumsy symphony of the life she was about to leave behind.
One leg dangled awkwardly over the edge. Her hands were trembling violently.
"Stop that," she whispered. She gripped her other forearm tightly, trying to steady herself. "You're always afraid."
"Fear is human."
Evil started in surprise, nearly toppling over the other way. Standing behind her was an eighteen-year-old Elias, casually fiddling with a stress ball.
"What are you doing here?!"
"What are you doing here? It's raining."
"I can see that!"
A beat of silence.
"I'm trying to kill myself," Evil said bluntly. "So, could you give me some privacy?"
"You can't kill yourself. You work for us."
Evil barked a laugh. "So what? It’s not like I signed some contract in blood. Tell Lucian to find himself another demon. I suck at this job anyway."
"Yes, you do."
"Hey!"
"I'm being honest." The ball bounced and landed gracefully in Elias's large palms. "You're terrible at it."
"Sorry, I'm not good at killing people."
"You don't put in enough effort."
"Because that's not what I want to do!"
"And you're weak."
"Okay, did you come here to convince me to jump sooner?!" Evil
But it was unimaginably hard. So much pressure weighed on a girl of just fifteen—left without a home and without the family she loved so dearly. It wasn't the first time she had contemplated ending her life, but until then, those thoughts had been nothing more than fantasies steeped in fear.
On that day—marking the first anniversary of her mother's death—her soul was so overwhelmed by anguish that it began to spill over. The voices in her head were deafening, impossible to silence. Her body wouldn't stop trembling, racked by fear and the anticipation of Evil taking that final step.
In a frenzy, she climbed onto the roof of the tallest nearby building and sat there for hours, drinking and smoking, hoping someone would come and bring her down. This wasn't quite what she had expected.
"You can't let your mind control you."
"Kind of hard when you're a Trickster, don't you think?"
"Exactly—you're supposed to be the one controlling others."
Evil stood there blinking as the rain poured down her back and slid down her bewildered face. She no longer even felt the cold in her bones or the adrenaline pumping through her veins.
Elias didn't turn toward her even once. He sat on the curb, tossing that damned ball up and down with a seriousness suggesting the fate of the world depended on his ability to catch it.
"I don't know how," Evil confessed.
"Learn," Elias told him. "That's the only way you'll survive. Fear doesn't go away. You just redirect it toward someone else."
"Where's your fear?"
The ball landed in his palm for the last time. He stepped off the curb and headed toward the stairs without another word.
Evil didn't step over the edge that night.