The old sunroom door creaked open, rusted hinges groaning loudly. Lux left the filthy wooden crate amongst the pile of broken pots and withered flowers. She inched towards the stained-glass that adorned the East Wing and all its decay, standing beneath the hexafoil patterned onto it. The unmistakeable grime of the crow’s body still stuck on her hands, so she squeezed the final doorknob with the crook of her arm, twisting it open.

  Azazel stood in the corner opposite of Lux, shrouded by shadow; eyes locked onto the windowsill—and frame she’d placed hours earlier.

  “I’m going to pen a few rules for our agreement,” Lux let the door fall shut behind her, spirit irradiated by the multi-hued light seeping past it. “I’m a scholar, not a servant, or an errand-girl; I won’t be wasting time acting on your whims or cleaning your uneaten animal scraps.”

  Azazel’s eyes flicked over at Lux, “then what possessed you to waste all morning in those there woods burying that bird for me, scholar?” she spat out her last word like a slur.

  “Because you know something more about those woods than you’ve let on, right? Something not even your family knows?”

  Azazel turned to face Lux directly, expression shifting, “you’re catching on right quick—I’m taken aback, really.” she meandered around the coffee table, sprawling across the heap of blankets outfitting the sofa. A posture that would’ve appeared frustratingly careless; if her eyes weren’t glued to Lux just as intently as each of their previous encounters. The subtle nod she gave, telling Lux to go on.

  ~

  Lux paced around the coffee table like like a professor around their lectern, chafing her hands with a rough, soap-drenched hand towel. She spoke of her arrival at the Avaritia house. The ear-splitting whistles, the heavy breathing that seemed to sound from nowhere but the trees—and the way her name was called out after she spoke it beneath them.

  One by one, transcripts appeared in the empty air, illuminating the unkempt room with splendid light. Timestamps squeezed between notes, profiles of every person she’d met in the past several days, all written in a language foreign to Azazel. However, the cut-up audio that Lux manifested from her memory was evidence clear enough. So much so that the Avaritia house seemed to breathe around them.

  Still, Azazel kept any reaction to this verbose explanation remarkably well hidden. As if she were anticipating something, waiting to react at the right moment.

  “Considering what I’ve told you so far,” Lux rested her finger on the coffee table, tracing a sigil over the surface; a delicate, semi-translucent image materializing as she pulled away. “Care to explain?”

  Azazel dragged her slouched body to sit upright, leaning over the table. She strained to see, squinting through her low vision as she trailed her eyes over the scene. The thick of the woods blossomed within the gold hue of Lux’s magic, obstructing the patches of blue sky that seeped past the trees. Even the free-flowing stream that descended the cliffside.

  A muted hitch sounded behind Azazel’s breath; her eyes caught on a long, nimble frame—almost resembling something mortal. Its silhouette was malleable, ageless, sexless, and without species. She didn’t even linger on its pulsating soul and sneering eyes before her undead body filled with life-like delight. The sour expression she typically maintained broke; a gleeful smile taking its place. All while she stared down the spirit that should’ve never existed.

  What even. . ., does that face mean?

  Lux could feel the Holy Flame within begin to scorch her, her gaze harshening—the hatred she felt towards this foul woman threatening to boil her. She’d already became fed up Azazel’s unpredictable emotions, her stupid games, every one of her delusions. If angelic law wouldn’t punish her for it—she might’ve slaughtered her then and there.

  “You do understand the implications of what you’re looking at, right?”

  “By all means, I do—you don’t think my head is filled with rocks, do you?” her shoulders seemed to relax, lifted by a childish excitement. Suddenly, she began to laugh, “I never would’ve thunk you’d manage to snag a photo of one of them though!”

  Lux nearly hissed on her next words, “one of them?”

  Lux recalled the many hours she spent in blissful solitude, hiding in the far-corners of the Academy’s vacant clubrooms: hoping the silence would never end. The stack of textbooks at her side ever-changing with each assignment she received; however, among them, there was almost always one constant.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  One of the first textbooks she studied; at a time when she knew nothing of the Deciding Stratum. Only that her old existence had ended, and that her new existence had begun. The book was worn with two centuries of use, the words within far older than the pages themselves. Penned during the period of agreeance between two holy gods. One titled Solstice, the other, Satellite. Long before the latter god denounced her title and fell from the sky, carving carving out a new plane of existence beneath the Mortal-Plane.

  Law of the Living, Law of the Dead

  In accordance with the New World order, an angel must sever any remaining connection to their previous life. After this sacrifice, they shall be holy.

  In accordance with the New World order, an angel shall not kill, steal, or lay with the living. If this bond remains unbroken, they shall be holy.

  In accordance with the New World order, an angel’s worth will be no more than the least worthy mortal. If they maintain this position, they shall be holy.

  These words had been examined time and time again, constructing the foundation of angelic law; defining the nature of sin on an elaborate hierarchy. One that had evolved over millennia. Certain sins outweighed others. Some could only be committed by angels, others only by devils. However, across all three planes, one unforgivable sin stood above all the rest.

  In accordance with the New World order, any sentient being, no matter angel, mortal, or devil who interferes with the rebirth of another shall be eradicated.

  “Right. . ., you’ve only seen one,” there was an air of vanity to Azazel’s voice as she raised her hand, extending three fingers, “I know at least three,” she left her words opened-ended, the thoughtful trail of silence that followed her telling Lux one thing.

  There might be more.

  “What reason do you have to tell me this?” Lux said, “you understand the sin of those spirit’s existences well enough to hide it from every damn person in this house. Then, you purposefully lead me to them without even an indication of what I’d actually find.” She watched the gleam in Azazel eyes, grossly haughty as if this Lux were a toy she relished playing with. “So, surely you understand I’m obligated to tell the Agnes-Gerasa house’s exorcists everything you’ve just told me; that you’ve knowingly hid the treasonous existences of three rogue spirits for. . ., how long exactly?”

  “As long as I’ve been breathing,” Azazel said without a hint of hesitation, “give or take.”

  Azazel picked up on Lux’s exasperated breath, having rendered her entirely speechless. “It wasn’t like I wanted them calling out to me—I didn’t even realize they were real until. . ..” Her voice trailed off for a moment, choosing her words carefully, “well, it was the night I woke in the woods—with this scar; already cursed,” she glared down at the image, pointing at the entity hiding in the lush, “with three of them staring down at me.”

  Lux sighed, “what did you assume they were then?”

  “Psychosis,” Azazel answered plainly, “but by time I learned that term—Mama had been calling me a problem child for long enough to keep my mouth shut.”

  “And your cursing; you think they might have something to do with it?”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Azazel leaned back, seeming oddly satisfied as she crossed her legs, “So, what’re you fixin’ to do, Scholar? Expose my misdeeds? Eradicate me with the haints that might’ve very well made me into what I am today? I might even prefer it—.”

  “No—not yet. If I did, I’d be handing in a woefully incomplete report,” Lux uncrossed her arms, “your discovery is just that; a discovery. It doesn’t give a single hint who’s responsible for them being trapped here. That’s the most important detail to any Agnes-Gerasa exorcist, I’ll have to find that out first.”

  “. . .. What in the three planes possesses you to do any of that?”

  Lux snapped her finger, each transcript she’d summoned bursting in an instant, filling the room with fragmented particles of light. “I’m an exemplary person,” she said as the participles faded, “I don’t hand in subpar, unfinished work. Ever.”

  Azazel scoffed, but Lux continued speaking.

  “And if it’ll deepen my plea to the Upper-Plane for your rebirth, it’s a natural extension of my assignment here.”

  Azazel tsk’d like she was going to quip back at Lux, spit out an array of vulgar words to insult her character—but she paused; gaze falling as she realized Lux’s was stuck on her. “What’re you staring at?”

  “Your scar,” Lux said, “It’s clean-cut—I’m sure you know rogue spirits aren’t known for acting intentionally. They’re emotionally unstable, impulsive—only partially sentient. . ..”

  Azazel cocked her head, gaze thinning, “you’re saying?”

  “That your assumption about these rogue spirits being involved in your cursing is far from unreasonable,” Lux started towards the East Wing’s exit, already knowing precisely what she needed to do next, “but I believe we’re looking for a mortal killer—a sorcerer; a very powerful one.” She turned as she rested her hand on the doorknob, meeting Azazel’s eyes one last time. Azazel was smiling wide—absolutely elated.

  If Lux still had her mortal heart; she swore it would’ve stopped in that moment.