The world was a scary place, but she had a family and all they wanted was to protect her from it.

From herself.

Zekia had forgotten that once, but not now.

Karam yelled something and plunged her knife into a demon’s side.

It barely faltered.

The second licked its lips, teeth bared, and Tavia gripped tightly to her charm pouches.

They would be no use.

Magic rarely was, because these demons were made from magic and the dark matter left behind by the most beastly spells. They crawled up from the space between magic and reality. If Crafters were creatures of the Many Gods, then shadow demons were born from the things that came before the Gods. From pure evil.

And evil was a hard thing to kill.

“Here, boys,” she said.

The demons turned their heads to her, Zekia’s voice like a familiar bell in their minds.

She let out a low whistle and they jumped up, retracting their claws, backing away from Zekia’s family.

“Stay!” Ashwood yelled.

The demons flinched at their master’s voice, but their focus stayed on Zekia. They recognized her—the girl who had been their kin—and in a way they craved her.

Craved her familiarity.

Craved her flesh.

The demons slithered toward Zekia, wary of what power she might still hold over them.

Not one to miss an opening, Tavia crouched back down to Wesley’s side and sprinkled some kind of trick dust over his injured leg.

Zekia breathed in a calming sigh and looked back to the shadow demons. They hissed at her wavering focus. They sensed the new weakness in her body and perhaps even her new loyalties.

They felt Ashwood’s influence.

Zekia could feel it too—his mind trying to invade theirs and his voice trying to yell over hers.

Stay calm, she told the creatures.

Kill her, Ashwood screamed.

Zekia wanted to be strong. Now more than ever she wanted to be strong, but Ashwood’s voice was louder and Zekia couldn’t hold them.

The demons growled.

And then they galloped toward her, arms like ragged nails and spines cracking with the impact of their speed.

Zekia closed her eyes and reached back into her mind.

It used to be as easy as breathing to control these creatures, but the new clarity she had, lifting the fog inside of herself, had cast a darkness on her connection with them.

How could she form a bond with death when she was so disgusted by it?

She heard their calls.

Their growling and the low rumble as half of them—the half made from shadow—caught in the air and broke the breeze.

Stay, she thought.

Enough.

And it was enough.

She had enough of all this darkness inside of her.

It needed to stop.

It needed

to

just

stop.