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Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Killian counted backward as Clove pressed her delicate fingertips to his closed eyelids. Seven had always been his lucky number. Always. Seven o’clock on the seventh day of the seventh month of the year 1887 was when he had married her.
“Eyes are the window to the soul,” Clove whispered as those perfect fingers of hers drifted to his ears, her touch like silk, sending tingles down his spine. “Ears are the portal to the mind.” Her fingers trailed sparks to his lips, and his breathing hitched. “And the mouth is the doorway to the body.”
Killian’s heart pounded while Clove’s fingers traced his neck, sliding down his bare chest, over his abdomen, heat building within him, lighting a crackling fire.
He finally opened his eyes as her hand gripped him between his legs. Clove’s gaze met his, her features soft, her lips crimson and plump, her raven hair falling to her waist against creamy pale skin. He wanted to kiss every single inch of her naked flesh right then, run his tongue across each curve, but her eyes danced, letting him know that would have to come later.
“And the mouth can also do wicked, wicked things,” Clove murmured, her warm brown eyes still latched onto his. “Like this.” She pressed her lips to his throat, giving him an open-mouth kiss. “And this.” Her voice was husky as her hot mouth reached the center of his chest. Then her tongue flicked the sensitive area, and Killian shivered. “Oh, and certainly this.”
And then, he was in her mouth, her tongue doing things he had never dreamed of, had never experienced with any of his past lovers before his wife. He released a deep groan as the woman he loved, his one good thing in this world, showed him how much she loved him too.
Clove stopped.
As she clutched the side of her head, she went into a coughing spell.
“Clove? Are you all right?” Killian rushed the words out, grabbing her by the shoulders. When she didn’t respond, he shouted, “Clove!”
“It’s my head again,” she said, her voice strained while she swayed.
He scooped her up in his arms, bringing her naked body to his chest. As she glanced up, bright crimson spilled from her nose, over her ruby lips. The warmth of her blood ran down the front of him, but he ignored it.
“We’re going to see the doctor, Clove.”
“No,” she said, her voice serious. “Every time we go, he keeps giving me medicines that do nothing except make me feel more ill.”
“Please. We need to see if there’s something else he can do.” Richard was the only doctor in their village, and Killian trusted him.
He lowered her to the wooden floor and grabbed a rumpled old shirt for her to hold to her nose. Killian then picked up her dress that lay crumpled on the floor and helped her put it on. He fastened each button as quickly as he could before throwing on his long sleeve shirt and trousers, leaving his vest behind.
“I can walk,” she said, stumbling, her face paling further.
“I know you could, but let’s not try that now.” Killian didn’t wait for her to argue—he lifted her once more and cradled her close. Clove’s breaths grew ragged as he carried her out of their small cottage and into the warm sunlight of the afternoon.
In that moment, he knew Clove’s sickness was becoming worse. The episodes had been occurring for the past three months. When she had these spells, she told him she couldn’t think clearly, that her words remained trapped in her throat. The last time they had gone to visit Richard, he had told them to keep what was happening to themselves. Villagers tended to whisper to one another, and sometimes malicious gossip made things worse. Killian didn’t believe in witchcraft or the supernatural or anything of that nature. He only believed in Clove.
Over the past few weeks, her body had become more frail, her dresses hanging looser on her thin frame with each passing day. They were both twenty-five years of age—she was much too young for this.
A gentle breeze rumpled Killian’s hair and he peered down at Clove, her eyes shut. For the moment, the blood only seeped out from her nose and not her ears or mouth as it had the last time.
The medicine may not have helped, but at least she was able to rest with it. On the nights Clove couldn’t sleep, she would get up and pace back and forth in their craft room, saying it helped the blood stay in her veins.
Their chickens squawked and pecked at the ground in front of the house. The other animals were in the barn being just as loud. Killian liked that he had built their home a short distance from the other villagers, close enough they could go when things were needed, but far enough away so he and his wife could keep to themselves.
“Killian, I’m fine,” Clove rasped. “It’s gone now.” Yet when she looked up at him, her eyes rolled back in her head and blood seeped from her ears.
Damn it. Killian ran, holding his wife close as he passed through the trees and over fallen limbs into the village. Wooden and stone houses slipped into view, and smoke billowed out of the chimneys of several. In the distance, children’s laughter echoed. It was a Sunday, and after church service had ended, most everyone stayed in their homes and did what they could to make up for their sins.
Richard’s home was on the very edge of the village, so Killian wouldn’t have to carry Clove much farther. As he walked up the creaking steps of Richard’s porch, Killian glanced at the single fern that was always there. Lifting his fist, Killian banged on the door, not once stopping until Richard pulled it open.
“What are you doing, Killian?” The doctor frowned, his glasses sliding down his nose, and his gray hair disheveled. Richard’s gaze fell to Clove and he waved them in. “Hurry, bring her to the table.”
Richard’s home was neat and tidy, and he lived alone. His wife had passed a few years prior from an illness that had taken almost half of the village, which might have been why Richard continued to put extra effort into helping Clove. Richard knew what it was like to lose someone he loved—he kept the lone fern on his porch because it had been his wife’s favorite.
Clove shivered, peering at them, seeming too tired to speak at the moment. Her eyes closed, her breaths became even, and Killian knew she had fallen asleep. The bleeding appeared to have stopped, and he relaxed a fraction. He lowered his wife, careful not to disturb her, onto the doctor’s table and took a step back to leave Richard enough room to help her.
Richard pressed his stethoscope to Clove’s chest and took a listen. “Her heart still sounds healthy.” He cleaned the blood from her face with a wet rag, then placed a wrinkled hand to her forehead. “Temperature isn’t high. But by looking at her, I know something is wrong.” Richard studied Killian as though he was warring with himself about something. “You don’t know yet, do you?”
Killian furrowed his brow. “Know what?”
“She’s carrying your child.”
Everything within him stilled. “Child?”
“She came to me a few days ago. I know it’s not my place to tell you, but I would want to know if it was my wife.” Richard paused and changed the subject as if he hadn’t just confessed this news. “Let’s try something else this time.”
Richard left Clove and headed to a small cabinet across the room while Killian’s mind spun.
A child? They had discussed children before, but neither had been ready. As he thought about a boy with Clove’s dark hair or a girl with her deep brown eyes, he couldn’t help but smile. But then he thought about how weak she had become, and he didn’t know if she would truly be able to carry a child to full term.
He clasped Clove’s clammy hand while Richard moved around several glass jars. Richard took two small ones, along with a bundle of sage—twine wrapped around the herb’s middle.
Killian frowned at the bundle. “Why do we need sage?”
“It’s said it keeps the Devil away.”
Killian didn’t believe in the Devil, but he kept his lips sealed, trying to stay polite. Any talk of that would be blasphemy, and he wouldn’t risk the villagers gossiping about Clove. His wife believed in all those things, though—Heaven, Hell, God, the Devil, angels, demons. Because of her beliefs, he would burn the sage for her.
After accepting the items, Killian reached into his pocket to draw out payment.
Richard stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Not today. It’s on me. I’ll pray for her tonight, as I do every night. And I’ll pray for the child growing in her belly.”
“Thank you,” Killian said, not believing in prayers, either. Why would he? They had never been answered in his past. Not when his sister died, not when his twin brother died, not when his parents died, nor when Clove’s parents died. His aunt and uncle still lived in the village, but he rarely spoke to them.
“Remember, don’t say anything about what she’s facing to anyone,” Richard said.
“I won’t.” Killian lifted Clove from the table, her eyes remaining shut, her breathing still even.
As she slept in his arms, he slowly walked back through the forest, careful not to jostle her too much.
The chickens lifted their heads when Killian passed them, as though sensing something was wrong. Clove went outside every morning and spent long hours with the animals, especially the chickens and goats. She would read her Bible, sew, or dance in circles with her hair down, rain or shine.
Killian opened the door and set Clove on the bed in their room. A small squeak escaped her mouth, but she didn’t stir.
He then went into their craft room and tossed the sage on his desk before sinking into his chair. He glanced at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall, noticing the heavy bags beneath his green eyes. His thoughts turned to his wife. Ever since their childhood, Clove had been a free spirit, but it wasn’t until they were twelve that a deep friendship formed between them. He hadn’t loved her at first—he was stupid then. For years he didn’t see it, until one day it had hit him all at once.
Clove still had her whole life in front of her, and she was fighting not only for herself, but their child. He would burn the sage that night, yet for now, he would pray for her, even though it had never helped him before. “I will do anything for her to live. I would sacrifice myself for her. I need my wife to be all right. Please.”
“Do you now?” a deep voice whispered.
Killian whirled around and stood, his wide eyes searching the room for where the voice had come from. He grabbed his rifle from his desk. But no one was there.
“You want to know what is truly wrong with your wife, do you not?” the male voice purred.
Killian glanced toward the mirror, where the voice seemed to have come from this time. Yet only Killian’s image reflected back at him. The oval mirror looked the same as it always did, ordinary—a bronze leafy pattern framed its clear glass. The antique had belonged to his parents, which had been handed down for generations. There had never been anything unusual about it before, but it was no ordinary mirror now.
He reached for the sage, preparing to light it, when the mirror spoke. “That is not going to do anything.” The male voice had clearly come from the mirror, but no face appeared.
“Who are you?” Killian asked, inching closer with his rifle raised.
“You called on me, did you not?” the mirror cooed. “You want your precious love to heal. I can help you with that.”
“A devil would never speak the truth.”
“Her illness cannot be cured by a human. She will die before winter comes.”
Killian’s hands shook as he lowered his rifle a fraction. His wife... Their child... “I will not let her die.”
“Then you will have to trust me.” The voice paused. “Grab her handheld mirror from her sewing desk and break it.”
Furrowing his brow, Killian stared at the mirror, trying to see the face beyond the glass. “That is devil tricks.”
“Fine, then do not believe me.”
Killian clenched his teeth and tightened his fists to stop from trembling. He didn’t quite believe what this being was saying, but he knew with his whole heart that his love was dying. And that she would die while carrying their child.
At the moment, Killian wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or if he was awake, but he decided that if his wife could be healed, he would believe anything—he would dream forever. He set the rifle on the table and lifted Clove’s silver mirror, then slammed it against the desk with a crash, shattering its glass, shards falling against the wooden floor.
Something tugged at Killian. It wasn’t pain—it was as if some unknown, invisible force was pulling at his body. In an instant, his feet left the floor, and he was no longer in his home. He now stood directly across from the Devil himself in a room of mirrored walls.
Killian’s mother had always been superstitious, saying that breaking a mirror would bring seven years of bad luck. He hadn’t believed in any of her superstitions, and if Clove died, he would already be getting more than seven years of bad luck anyway.
He sucked in a sharp breath as he studied the man—no, not a man, but something else—before him in a warm room filled with mirror walls, floor, and ceiling. The male stood tall, staring back at him with irises of silver. Two small pointed horns that appeared to be mirror glass rested on his forehead. His lips were a pale blue, white hair hung to his waist, and pearlescent scales covered his body. The only clothing he wore on his lean and toned form was a pair of tight dark leather pants—even his feet were bare.
Perhaps the Devil does exist.
“Where am I? What did you do?” Killian demanded, clenching his fists so they wouldn’t shake. “You’re the Devil, aren’t you?”
The male’s lips twitched, and Killian’s gaze drifted back to the stranger’s horns, where his own desperate image reflected.
“I am a demon,” the male finally said, “but I am not the Devil you speak of. He is in another place and would not provide you the opportunity that I am. Humans go to him. I do not collect them here. You are in Veidrodis.” His eyes sparked, the silver in them shining as though they were made from glass too.
“You said you would help Clove,” Killian said through gritted teeth. “You lied!”
“I did no such thing.” The demon sauntered forward. “And you may call me Nuodėmė. I will help you save your wife. That is no lie. But you will have to complete several tasks for me first. Something of this nature will not come without payment.”
Nuodėmė had only said the word tasks, but Killian knew it wouldn’t be something as simple as cleaning the mirrors in this room. A demon shouldn’t be trusted so easily, but Killian was curious, desperate. “What do you want me to do?”
“A couple of things today. A couple tomorrow. Two more on day three. A final task on the fourth day. Then your wife will be saved.”
Four days. Killian would only have to be here four days, but did time here work the same? Four days here could be twenty years at home. It would be bad enough to leave Clove in her condition for a short period, but any longer than that... “Four days, in my world?”
“Yes.”
Then, if what the demon spoke was true, Clove would live. He couldn’t let hope seep in just yet, not until she was no longer sick. But ... there was a chance.
Killian nodded and glanced behind him, finding the wall held an oval mirror that matched the one in the craft room. Its glass reflected Clove’s rocking chair.
Nuodėmė cleared his throat and Killian turned to face him. “If you prefer to do nothing, I can leave.” The demon arched a brow.
“I’ll do it.”
Nuodėmė motioned him to follow, and with a wave of his hand, a door within the mirror wall slid open.
Killian swallowed the lump in his throat, his heart slamming against his rib cage as his gaze studied the new room in its entirety. Males and females, not the least bit human, filled the large space, each one appearing different than the other. Some with tails, their bodies the size of humans or small dolls, others the size of giants, their massive heads nearly touching the room’s high-vaulted ceiling. Scales covered several, fur others. Their skin colors all varied, but the one thing they had in common was the mirror horns protruding from their foreheads. Even then, those were different too.
The couple nearest Killian lazily sipped from their silver goblets, and the female wiped a streak of red from her chin that looked suspiciously like blood. A shirtless demon relaxed on a chaise, his eyes closed, his head tipped back while a female wearing a corset and a male in a loincloth fed him grapes.
Killian had never seen such sin in his life. Naked bodies were mounted atop one another throughout the entire room. On one side, a female straddled a male, rocking her hips forward, her back arching. In a corner, a muscular male thrust into a tall male demon against the wall. On the other side, two females joined another male. He gripped one’s neck and kissed her wickedly while the other performed a different kind of kissing between his thighs. His village would yell blasphemy, but Killian would only call it pleasure, just as he would when he and Clove would do acts of sin with their own bodies.
The floor was the same glass as in the room he had come from, except ornate rugs scattered across its length. Thousands of glass lanterns hung from the enormous mirror ceiling, the silvery flames within them shining like stars, reflecting to infinity along the ceiling, walls, and floor between the rugs.
As if sensing Killian staring, the demons turned their heads and focused on him. No, not him—their king. In that moment, Killian knew that this demon was not an ordinary demon—he was king of this Veidrodis.
“Enough gawking,” Nuodėmė said to the demons. “Carry on with your pleasuring.”
They bowed their heads and returned to their activities.
Before Killian could speak, the demon king continued, “On Sundays, I allow everyone to come in here and get their fill of gratification.” He paused. “Now, for your two tasks. I want you to steal a bowl of grapes from someone, then go back to your room and eat them all.”
Killian frowned, not understanding what sort of tasks these were. This demon king who had brought him here wanted him to eat a bowl full of grapes? It was simple, almost too simple. “What if I’m not hungry?”
“Then say goodbye to your wife.” Nuodėmė shrugged and bared his teeth so Killian could see the back ones came to sharp points.
“I’ll do it,” Killian answered.
“Go on.” The demon king flicked his wrist in the air. “I won’t come to you again until tomorrow.” Nuodėmė spun on his heels and arrogantly strutted to his obsidian throne, where he lowered himself with the grace of a great stag. The demon king’s chin lifted, his silvery gaze scanning the room, seeming to look for someone. He unfastened his pants, and the female he must have been searching for swayed her hips as she approached him, then sank to her knees and performed her duty to the demon king.
It took Killian longer than he wanted to remove his gaze from what he was seeing. This was madness. But he needed to do only these two tasks that would get him two steps closer to saving Clove. Or, at least, he hoped it truly would.
Killian’s gaze settled on a glass bowl filled with deep purple grapes, resting beside two kissing females.
A female demon, wearing furs that barely covered her breasts and a skirt which left most of her legs on display, slid beside him. Her chestnut-colored hair fell in waves against pale violet skin. “Are you sure that is the one you want to choose?”
He inspected each dish around the room—glass bowls, purple grapes. “They all look the same.”
She shrugged, her expression unreadable. “Perhaps, or perhaps not.”
“Well, which is it?”
She furrowed her brow and walked away, leaving Killian reconsidering what he was going to do. But then again, a demon would lie.
Thinking of Clove and what her Bible said about the lies demons had spilled, he snatched the bowl of fruit. Before heading back to his empty and windowless room, Killian’s gaze locked on Nuodėmė, who watched him with a smirk on his face as he was getting pleasured.
Scowling, Killian walked into the room and the door slid shut behind him.
Taking a plump grape, he tossed it into his mouth, tasting its sweetness as he chewed. Killian took another and another, growing more ravenous. With each taste, the flavor only got better, and he peered down, knowing they would be nearly gone by now.
However, they weren’t. The bowl was just as full as it had been. His eyes widened as he took a handful, plopping one after the other into his mouth. But the bowl never emptied.
As he continued to eat, the flavor of the grapes soured his stomach, yet he forced himself to keep going.
A panic stirred within him when there didn’t seem to be an end for the fruit. How was he supposed to finish a bowl of grapes if there was no end to them?
But still, he pressed on, gorging himself, shoving them into his mouth, faster and faster, nearly choking, until nausea threatened to undo his task. Terror filled him at the thought, and Killian froze, swallowing, forcing the bile back. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steadying his trembling nerves. I must complete this task and save Clove.
And so, for the rest of the night, Killian continued to eat the fruit. Slowly ... methodically...
When he felt as though his stomach would burst, the blasted grapes finally started to lessen in their bowl, until he shoved the last one into his mouth. His eyelids grew heavy, but he wouldn’t allow himself to sleep on the floor. If he did that, it would put him in an even more vulnerable position in this place. So he relaxed his back against the glass and shut his eyes, still in a position that would be easy to rise from and defend himself if needed. Though, even if he had his rifle in hand, he knew it wouldn’t kill a demon. There was nothing he could truly do against Nuodėmė and his world of demons.
An ear-piercing scream stirred Killian from his sleep, and he jumped to his feet.
“No, no, no. Wake up, Killian!” Clove cried.
It was her, her voice, coming from the other side of the mirror leading to his room. He ran to the glass and found Clove cradling someone’s upper body in her lap. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she continued to tell the man to wake up. Him. The body she was holding and talking to was him. How? He was standing right here in this demon world.
“Clove!” Killian shouted, though he was certain she wouldn’t hear him.
But then she gasped and peered down at his body. “Killian?” Her face fell again when the body didn’t rouse.
Yet, she had heard him.
“Clove! I’m right here in the mirror.” Even to himself, it sounded mad, but as her gaze met the glass, he wondered if she could see him.
Her lips parted and she gently moved his body from her lap. Slowly, hesitantly, she walked to the mirror. Her face held an emotion that seemed to be telling him she didn’t know if she should trust what she was hearing.
“Killian?” she finally said, her eyes squinting at the glass.
“Yes, my lucky clover,” he whispered. “Can you see me?”
Her eyes widened. “I-I don’t see you in the mirror.”
“I’m here, Clove.”
“You’re a ghost, then?” Tears rained down her cheeks as she took a step back, her hands cupping her mouth. Killian wanted to reach his hand through the glass and wipe her tears away. He wanted to draw her close so he could feel her warmth, so she could feel his.
“I don’t know why my body is there. But I’m alive. I know this doesn’t make sense, but I will come back in a few days.” Again, he hoped he would.
“I don’t understand, Killian,” she whispered. “Perhaps I’m mad and imagining all of this in my grief.”
“I swear to you I’m not dead. I struck a deal with someone who can help us save you. Someone otherworldly.” He wouldn’t confess to her that it was a demon because he knew how deep her faith went. She would tell him he was a fool and not to listen to any of them. “I know it’s hard to accept, but please believe me.”
“I don’t know what to believe,” she murmured.
“Leave my body there for now. I don’t know how often I’ll be able to speak to you. But I’ll come back. I promise. I’m going to save you, Clove, along with our child.”
She gasped. “You know? I was going to tell you, but I didn’t know when. Not with everything happening.”
“I know, and we will get through this, all right?” Even though his words sounded true, he didn’t believe them fully. Not yet.
“Please, watch over yourself. If what you say is true, and I’m not imagining this, don’t trust anyone except for yourself. I need you here, Killian.”
He placed his hand against the cool glass, wishing he could press it through to lace his fingers with hers. “Put your palm to the mirror.”
Shakily, she lifted her hand and rested it on the glass. He trailed his palm across the mirror—it was so close to connecting to hers, only a thin line of hardness separating them from one another.
“I know you don’t feel this,” he said in a soft voice. “But I’m touching you, holding you, kissing you, loving you.”
“I love—” Her hand slipped from the glass as a coughing spell erupted from her throat, blood splattering the mirror. Crimson then flooded out from her nose.
“Clove!” Killian shouted.
She didn’t seem to hear him as she stumbled backward and collapsed on the floor. Her eyes fluttered shut while her chest slowly rose and fell. In that moment, he couldn’t do anything to help her.
Yet, he would do anything to save her. He already was.
The mirror door behind Killian slid open, and he whirled around to find Nuodėmė leaning against the frame, the demon king’s arms crossed. Ignoring Nuodėmė, Killian turned back to face his wife.
“Clove!” he screamed, pounding the glass.
“I’m all right,” his wife whispered, but she clearly wasn’t. She pushed herself from the floor and sank onto her rocking chair.
“Do you want to spend all day speaking to a dying woman through the glass?” Nuodėmė purred. “Or do you want to fulfill your tasks and go home to your body?”
Killian scowled. “I’m not leaving her alone.” Not when she was like this.
“Your choice.” Nuodėmė’s lips twitched.
Resigned, Killian’s shoulders slumped, and he knew he couldn’t linger in this room all morning—speaking to his wife through the glass—if he wanted to save her.
“I have to go for now, Clove,” he said. “I promise I’ll be back.” Soon. He would come back to her soon.
“Killian, what’s happening?” she asked, a nervous edge laced in her words. “Killian, what foolishness are you doing?”
He had never ignored her before, not once. But he had to in this moment—otherwise, he wouldn’t find the courage to leave this room, to leave her.
And so Killian turned his back on his wife and went to the demon king. “What’s your prize for all of this? Why are you helping us?”
“Mmm.” Nuodėmė rubbed at his scaled jaw, his silvery gaze dancing with amusement. “Perhaps I like feeding off your misery. Enjoy the grapes?”
That wasn’t a satisfying answer, but the demon king wasn’t going to give a direct one anyhow. “I did,” Killian said through gritted teeth, recalling the alluring flavor of the plump fruit at first. Then how the taste had soured his stomach as he was forced to eat more and more and more. The female demon had warned him about that bowl of fruit, yet he had chosen not to listen. But it was over now. The grapes, all thousands of them, were in his stomach.
Nuodėmė chuckled. “Clove is special, is she not?”
Killian didn’t answer. The demon king didn’t need to know more about his wife than he already did. But Nuodėmė most likely knew everything about them both since the bastard was a demon.
Nuodėmė led him into the throne room, and this time it was cleared out. The settees were empty, not a single demon or bowl of fruit in sight.
“Where is everyone?” Killian asked, trailing a finger across the back of a soft velvet settee.
“They are not needed at the moment.” Nuodėmė’s lips curled into a vicious smile. “Or perhaps, one is. I want you to go into a room down the hall and pierce a demon’s heart, then return here for your next task.”
Horror twisted in Killian’s gut. Eating an endless bowl of grapes was one thing, but murdering someone? “I can’t,” he stuttered.
“You will or you won’t.” Nuodėmė drew a dagger from his waist. The light from above reflected off the weapon’s surface. It was made entirely of silvery glass. “The way to end a demon is by piercing them with mirror glass.”
Killian thought about ripping the blade from Nuodėmė’s hand and shoving it through his heart. But how would that save his wife?
Almost every day, back at home, Killian went hunting. Sometimes Clove came with him and they would track down deer, rabbits, and birds. Other times, he would slaughter their pigs and chickens when their lives had run their course. After each kill, Clove would say a prayer for the animals. She believed not only did humans enter Heaven or Hell, but animals did too.
A demon wasn’t a human, but that didn’t make the task any easier. He would have to think of it as if he was going on a hunt, as though it was necessary.
“Fine.” Killian took the blade from Nuodėmė’s hand and held it tight. It was practically weightless, its surface cool to the touch. “Any demon will do?”
“One from any of the rooms down the hall. My brother, Kosmaras, has them all in a deep sleep. They may be having a nightmare or two at the moment... Kosmaras does not stay here, though. He is in his own realm of nightmares.” The demon king chuckled, flicking his hand in the air and sauntering toward his throne.
Clutching the dagger close, Killian left the room and entered a long hallway filled with silvery doors. As his boots thumped against the glass, he froze, terror threatening to overtake him at last. The walls appeared to be mirrors, the same as the others, but this time his reflections moved on their own, dozens upon dozens of Killians, trapped, pounding soundlessly on the glass—surrounding him on all sides, above his head and below his feet—their mouths moving in silent pleas for him to turn back.
Killian’s heart quickened, his throat tight when he swallowed. Sweat beaded his brow as he ignored the images and passed door after door, not knowing which to choose. But did it matter? He could choose any of them. A part of Killian begged him to listen to the moving reflections, but he couldn’t.
He stopped in front of a door, wondering what sinister hell lay inside. But it appeared no different than the other entrances, so he grabbed the glass handle, his chest heaving. Turning it, he opened the door to silence.
Darkness bathed the room in its entirety, his heart pounding harder as he entered. He couldn’t see a damn thing and was about to choose another room, which could potentially be worse, when the glass blade he held began to glow, casting a silvery light. He lifted it in front of him, its glow illuminating a fur rug sprawled across the floor, a looming wardrobe against a wall, then his eyes widened as they settled on something in the center of the room.
Killian pressed forward, shining the blade’s light on a coffin made of the same mirror glass as almost everything else here. For once, he wished the glass of the coffin was clear so he could see straight into it, see what rested inside.
As he crept closer to what had to be the demon’s bed, Killian shakily pressed a hand to the cool glass. He then lifted the lid, another spell of quiet enveloping him, not a single groan or squeak.
A rosewood scent struck his nose as his trembling hand raised the dagger forward. Inside, a male demon, with small glass horns similar to Nuodėmė’s, slept. His thick eyelashes rested against ivory-furred cheeks, and dark hair cascaded down his naked chest. The demon was more pretty than masculine. His eyes moved behind his closed lids as though he was trapped in a nightmare and unable to wake himself. Killian recalled the words about Nuodėmė’s brother, Kosmaras. He wondered if it would be worse to strike a deal with that demon.
Shakily, he brought both hands to the dagger’s hilt and hovered over the male’s chest. He thought of Clove’s lovely face, begging him to stop, to not do this. For her, Killian repeated one of her prayers that she had written down and placed inside her Bible. Her Bible was full of notes, prayers, and folded pages of her favorite passages. She had never once tried to force him to believe what she did, just as he never tried to make her not believe. But in this moment, he did believe, and in this moment, he knew he was a sinner as he shoved the blade into the demon’s chest, piercing his heart. Or perhaps, Killian wouldn’t be punished since a demon was said to be a wicked, wicked thing. Either way, it was the choice he had made for his wife and their child.
The demon didn’t scream, didn’t even open his eyes, only his lips parted on a sharp inhale before his chest stopped rising.
As liquid pooled out from the demon’s wound, Killian shouldn’t have been surprised by the male bleeding out bright red, but he was. It matched the color that had spilled from Clove’s nose—the same red Killian had bled in the past from injuries. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but perhaps black. This made the male seem all that much more human.
Killian didn’t know what to feel. Sickness thrummed in his gut as he stumbled backward and struck the wall. What have I done? But below the guilt, the nausea, was something else: glee. Like he had enjoyed doing it, even wanted to open a door to another room and do it again. Again and again.
“Stop it,” Killian told himself. “Stop it. This isn’t you.” Nausea filled him, and he tried to expel his stomach but nothing rose to the surface—none of the grapes from the night before made a reappearance.
With a fist to his mouth, Killian ran out of the room, back down the hallway, not looking at any of his reflections—who seemed to stare at him in disapproval. But he had chosen this path and would choose it again as he thought about Clove’s frail body in their craft room at home.
“Ah.” Nuodėmė stood in the center of the throne room, grinning when Killian entered. “Task number three is complete. Do you want your last one for the day?”
No. No more. “Yes.”
Nuodėmė slid up behind him and pressed his chest to Killian’s back, the demon’s breath hot on his ear while he whispered, “Watch yourself in the mirror as you cut out your eye.”
Killian inhaled sharply and whirled around. “What?”
“I said”—Nuodėmė cocked his head and licked his lips—“remove your eye for your next task.”
“Something else.” He shook his head and backed up into the wall.
“You have two,” the demon purred. “You will be fine.”
Like hell I will be fine.
“If you choose not to, then Clove will die.”
Killian’s nostrils flared, but he wouldn’t overthink this. It would be giving a piece of himself for his wife, not Nuodėmė.
Slowly, he peeled himself from the wall and turned to face the mirror. Killian gripped the dagger tighter in his fist as he studied himself: his green eyes, his short and curly red hair.
“Your eyes are like emeralds,” Clove whispered.
He stared at himself—this time his hand didn’t shake as it had with the demon. Focused, he plunged the dagger into his left eye. A sharp, agonizing pain barreled through him, tearing a scream from his throat, the air frozen in his lungs. “Fuck! Holy fuck!” The pain radiated from his eye to his skull, to everywhere. Warm blood spilled down Killian’s cheek, but he ignored it. His breaths came out ragged while he finished cutting the eyeball out.
Nuodėmė lazily took both Killian’s eye and the dagger from him. The gleam in the demon’s smile seemed as though he had been gifted the finest of jewels.
“Now, return to your room. I shall see you in the morning for your next tasks.” The demon king turned around and disappeared from the throne room, leaving Killian alone, trembling.
He entered his room, the door sliding shut behind him. Tightening his fists, he released a roar, spittle flying from his mouth. He screamed once more to escape the agony, both physically and emotionally. Again, he questioned what he had done, then a voice reminded him why.
“Killian!” Clove shouted, hobbling toward the mirror. Just the sound of her voice helped soothe him, even though the pain inside his eye socket burned like flames to flesh.
“I’m here,” he rasped, darting toward her and placing his hand to the glass.
“Why were you screaming?” she asked, her voice tinged with fright.
“It’s nothing. I’m two steps closer to seeing you again.” Three steps away from saving you.
“How are you feeling?” He wanted to focus on her, focus away from what had just happened.
“I’m sewing a baby blanket in a room with your unmoving body beside me, so I’m doing well, it seems.” She smiled, attempting to lighten the mood. But in her eyes, he could see the worry there.
Killian wouldn’t trouble her now about everything he had done, but when he saw her again, he would confess to her his sins, and then she could help take them away with her prayers and kisses.
Killian opened his eye, and his gaze settled on the demon king standing across from him. “Why are you watching me sleep?” He shoved himself away from the wall to a standing position. Not once had he slipped and allowed himself the comfort of curling up on the floor. Throughout the night, Killian had thought about the demon he had slain inside his glass coffin. The pain in Killian’s eye socket had faded to a dull throb that reminded him of what he had also done to himself.
“I am only waiting on you to wake,” Nuodėmė cooed, pushing a lock of silky white hair over his shoulder.
“I’m awake now.”
“Let us not waste time, then.” Nuodėmė motioned him forward. “Now, shall we?”
Killian peered into the mirror, finding Clove still asleep in her rocking chair, a patchwork blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her hands clutched her stomach while she slept as if protecting their child.
The day before, they had talked to each other until they could no longer hold their eyes open. Clove hadn’t had any bloody spells and their chatting had felt like before, when they hadn’t had any worries in the world. It had been the perfect distraction from him remembering where he was.
Killian didn’t want to disturb his wife, so he pressed his hands to the glass and whispered, “I love you.”
“Love...” Nuodėmė drawled.
“What of it? Do demons not love?” Killian scowled as he stepped up beside the king at the door.
“Not usually.”
“Have you?” Killian asked, recalling the female who had pleasured the demon king in the throne room.
Nuodėmė smirked, then spun on his heels and the door slid open. Voices echoed from the throne room. Killian followed behind Nuodėmė, and this time the large space wasn’t empty. It was as it had been the first day, filled with demons chatting, groping one another, and bowls of fruit beside them.
“What do you want me to do now?” Killian asked, his gaze settling on a small, wrinkled demon, the size of his hand, painting on a large canvas. What do you want me to do that is worse than yesterday?
“Sit. Relax. Enjoy.”
Killian furrowed his brow. Enjoy what? Tearing out another eye?
Nuodėmė narrowed his gaze, then clucked his tongue. Killian heeded the warning and took a seat on an empty settee. He swallowed deeply as the demons around groaned and moaned, and he couldn’t help but feel like a voyeur. Someone sank down next to him—it was the female from the other day who had warned him about the grapes.
“You did not listen to me,” she said.
“No.” He paused. “It doesn’t matter—I did what he wanted.”
“If I were you, I would stop now.” She stared straight ahead as though she wasn’t talking to him. “Do it for your wife.”
“I am doing this for her,” he whispered.
“You will not like what is next.”
It didn’t matter what the next task was, either—he would do it. As he glanced over to tell her just that, his body froze.
The demon was peeling off her top, her breasts exposed, her nipples pebbling. He jerked his head in the other direction, but from her movements, he knew she was removing her skirt as well.
“Fuck her,” a voice whispered at his ear, breath hot.
He turned around to find Nuodėmė beside him once more, a smirk on his face.
Killian’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “No.”
“Your next task is to fuck Rožė.”
“I can’t.” He wouldn’t. He would never... That was one thing he couldn’t do.
And then Rožė’s hand was on his knee, drifting up his thigh. Killian’s heart pounded and his chest heaved when her palm was so close to touching his manhood.
“I said no.” He pushed himself to stand, away from Rožė.
“Ah, aren’t you the little fighter?” Nuodėmė chuckled. “This one time, all right? You will not have to couple with her, but you will have to spill yourself while watching her.”
Killian ran a hand down his face. That still felt wrong. So incredibly wrong. But that would be something Clove could forgive him for. If he had lain with a demon, or anyone else for that matter, it would have been unforgivable. But this he could do, and he would imagine it was his wife while watching the female.
“Fine.” Killian’s hands shook as he unfastened his pants and pulled himself out.
“Look at you,” Nuodėmė purred. “You could please anyone here if you so choose.”
Killian closed his eye, holding his anger back. If he didn’t, he would find a way to slit the demon king’s throat. A sinful thought. A sinful urge. But he didn’t give a damn in that moment.
He opened his lid, finding Rožė standing before him, and Killian inhaled sharply. He ignored her large breasts and how she lacked curls between her violet thighs. Everything about her was different than his wife, and he didn’t know if he would be able to fulfill the task—if he could get himself to spill for her and the demon king.
He kept his gaze trained on Rožė’s face, only he pretended as though he was looking at his wife. His beautiful, perfect wife. Her milky skin, her long black hair, her ruby red lips. The light scar that fell across her stomach from when she had scraped it on a sharp rock in the river. He pictured her dark curls between her thighs, her small but perky breasts, her peaked nipples.
A heat spread through him then, dipping lower, straight to where he needed his hand to stroke. He did just that, staring at the demon’s face, but seeing Clove in his mind. Killian focused on the times over the years when they had been flesh to flesh, him inside her. The first time he had truly noticed her, when she had leaned against a tree, watching him chop wood. She had been buried in her Bible as usual, but something in her gaze that day had told him she was looking at him as something more than a friend. Killian had brought other women in the village to his bed before that, but it had been different as he studied Clove that day. He had wanted her too.
Killian’s hand continued to move as he thought about their first kiss in the river, then him worshiping her body beside the water. A few weeks later, he had asked her to be his wife, and she had said yes. He imagined Clove’s lips on his, his hand between her thighs, her hand on him, then her mouth, before finally sinking onto him as his fingers dug into her hips. His wife’s hips rolling and rolling until he groaned, whispering her name in a room full of demons, instead of back at home where he would hold her against his heaving chest afterward.
“Now, clean yourself up.” Nuodėmė held out a red cloth.
“Is that my next task?” Killian said between gritted teeth, taking the cloth and wiping himself.
“Ah, I love your humor, my sweet. But tease like that again, and I may have you remove your other eye.” Nuodėmė leaned forward, his smile turning into something dangerous. “Then how would you see your precious Clove’s face?”
Killian knew when to keep quiet, and this was one of those moments. So his gaze shifted to Rožė who was now fully dressed, even though most of her flesh was still on display. As her eyes met his, there was a look on her face that seemed like she wanted to say something else. But she shifted her stare to Nuodėmė, who was watching her.
“Thank you, my king,” she whispered and scurried away, leaving Killian wondering what she was afraid of. And what was her connection to Nuodėmė?
“What’s my next task, then?” Killian asked, breaking the tense silence between them.
Nuodėmė took back his red cloth and tossed it on an empty settee. “I want you to go to your room and sleep until morning.”
“How is that a task?” he asked, knowing he should have bitten his damn tongue before speaking the words.
“Would you rather me send you to collect the heart of a demon or have you cut out your tongue?”
Killian’s eye widened. Sleep it was, then. Sleep would get him out of this forsaken room.
“I’ll do it. Thank you.” Even though Killian had woken not long ago and wasn’t the least bit tired, he would force himself to sleep. This seemed the simplest of the tasks thus far, but ... he had assumed that about the grapes. His stomach churned as he thought about the fruit, and if he did truly get back home, he would never touch one again.
“Go then,” Nuodėmė turned and walked away.
With one last glance at the demon’s back, Killian returned to his room. The bright light shone from the ceiling, and he wasn’t sure that would help him sleep. He hurried to the mirror where he found Clove stitching a yellow and green blanket in her lap, one that could only be for their baby. Guilt washed over him as he watched her, knowing what he had just done in front of another female. But he hadn’t seen Rožė, not once—it had all been his wife.
“I’m here, Clove,” Killian rasped, pressing his hand to the glass.
His wife dropped the blanket and rushed to the mirror, a smile and worry both on her face. She placed her palm to the glass, almost perfectly aligning with his.
“Are you holding your hand to the mirror?” Clove asked.
“I am,” he whispered. “Tomorrow, I’ll hopefully come back to you.” Hopefully.
“Your body is stiff already, and an odor is starting to come from it.” Her voice quivered. “I don’t know if you’re truly dead and I’m imagining our conversations. What if it’s because I want you to be here so much that I’m delusional? I don’t know what to do.”
“Trust me,” he pleaded. “Trust me that I’m not dead.” At least, he believed he wasn’t... But what if the demon had truly taken his soul to linger here forever while his body rotted. He could just be the demon king’s toy, his plaything. No. He would trust that Nuodėmė wouldn’t go back on his word, regardless of what he was.
“All right, Killian,” she finally said. “I will continue to pray. So far, I haven’t had any bleeding today, either.”
Perhaps with each task, she was getting better. Her skin no longer appeared an unhealthy shade of pale, and her body didn’t seem as frail.
Killian smiled. “Thank you, and that’s wonderful. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“I love you, husband.”
“I love you more, wife.”
Killian’s hand slipped from the mirror, his lids flickering. Tiredness swept through him, seeping into each layer of muscle, all the way down to his bones. He yawned and lowered himself to the floor, then leaned against the wall. As he closed his eye, he would dream of his wife and their child, along with the beautiful possibilities they could have together one day.
“Still asleep, human?” A booted foot kicked at Killian’s leg.
His lids peeled open for a brief moment, then fluttered shut.
“Wakey, wakey,” Nuodėmė said and snapped his fingers near Killian’s ear.
His eye opened wide, the tiredness clearing instantly. He pushed himself to stand and felt as though he had been awake for hours with energy running through his veins. No dreams or nightmares had come to him while he slept. There had just been that—sleep and darkness.
“Is it time for my final task?” Killian asked.
“You are correct,” the demon purred. “I did not say when it would be, though.”
“You said the fourth day.”
“I suppose we can do it now, then?” He grinned before turning on his heels and motioning Killian with a finger to follow.
Killian wasn’t in the mood for Nuodėmė today, but he kept his mouth closed. One more task would allow Clove and their child to live.
He followed the demon king and headed into the throne room. This time, it wasn’t filled with demons, but it wasn’t only Nuodėmė and Killian, either. A tall male wearing only fur pants, hooves for feet, and a face appearing more like a buffalo, stood there. Beside him was a familiar face with dark hair to her waist and a lacy dress hanging down her body.
Clove.
Clove was here.
“What if I tell you she is to die?” Nuodėmė said, not a single emotion in his voice.
Killian’s heart pounded as the beastly male drew Clove to his chest, pressing a glass blade to her throat.
“Stop!” Killian shouted.
The buffalo demon gripped Clove’s shoulder with his other hand, and she gasped. She tried to mouth something, but no words came out. Just like when he had gone down the mirror hallway to kill a demon. He hadn’t heard his images speak that time, either. Killian couldn’t read her lips while they moved, yet he strained to do so.
Killian had to find a way to get to his wife without this demon spilling her blood. Anger boiled in his veins. “Let her go, damn it!”
“How would this make you feel?” Nuodėmė asked, flicking his wrist in the air.
The buffalo male took the blade from Clove’s throat and shoved it directly into her chest.
Time stopped. Everything stopped. His wife’s knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor.
Rage rose within Killian, so much so that he flung himself at the buffalo male and punched him in the face, pounding and pounding him over and over. The demon didn’t fight back, just seemed to take it as Killian wrapped his hands around his fur throat and squeezed. The rage in him wouldn’t stop—it grew stronger with each passing second. He wanted to snap the male’s head off.
“Enough,” Nuodėmė demanded. “Look at her, and you will see.”
Killian didn’t want to stop—he wanted to tear the buffalo demon apart. But he willed himself to glance at Clove and stilled. It wasn’t the body of his wife he was looking at, but Rožė. Her chest didn’t rise, and her eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling. A rush of feelings barreled through him—relief but also pity and sadness even though he didn’t know her. Yet behind all that, the lingering anger wanted to rise once more.
“Why?” Killian didn’t truly know what he was asking as he released the buffalo demon and stood. Why kill her? Why have Rožė pretend to be his wife? Why do any of this? Even though it wasn’t Clove, his body still trembled as if it were—he couldn’t unsee her with a dagger in her chest.
“The last of your tasks was to show true anger, and now they are complete.” The demon king clapped his hands. “Do you wish to go home?” A grin spread across his face. “Or you can stay here.”
Killian wanted to tell Nuodėmė to leave him the hell alone. “Send me home.” Send me home to my family so this can all be a nightmare.
Nuodėmė gestured for Killian to follow him back to the room with the mirror leading to Clove. Once inside, the demon king produced a handheld mirror from behind his back. At the top of the object rested two horns, and the bottom looked like twisted rope. Same as the dagger before, the entirety of the object was mirror glass, the light above reflecting off its surface.
“Take it,” the demon king instructed.
Killian took the object from Nuodėmė’s hands and tightened his grip on its cool handle. “What do I do with it?”
“Break it as you did before, and you will go home.”
“And Clove?”
“She will live.” He placed a hand on Killian’s shoulder briefly before stepping back. “Now break the mirror to go home.”
Please be true. Lifting the mirror, Killian slammed it against the wall, where it shattered, the sound of breaking glass reverberating as the shards struck the floor.
Killian looked around the room, but he wasn’t back at home. He was still here in this glass hell. A tightness formed in his chest, knowing he had been tricked. Yet there had always been a chance. Even if he died then, he and Clove would meet each other again in the Heaven she so believed in because he would choose to believe in it too. Unless this was truly his hell.
Another body appeared on the floor in front of him, her chest heaving. A female demon. Satiny white hair fell to her waist against pearlescent scaled skin like Nuodėmė’s. She wore a silky ivory gown, and eyes of silver peered up at him. Triangular mirror horns protruded from her forehead, and her lips were the color of crow wings. Her face fell, full of melancholy, and he knew that expression.
“Clove,” he rasped.
“You returned my daughter to me.” Nuodėmė chuckled. “I have been searching for her for thirteen years. She would have died in your world, but now she won’t because you saved her. Without you doing the seven tasks, I couldn’t have brought her back home.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Killian asked as the room spun, seeming to close in on him. Something in his chest ached, like it was cracking, and he couldn’t find the air to make his lungs move.
“Your wife belongs here, with me. As punishment for her abandoning her family to be with you, I give you seven years of bad luck before you die.”
“Killian!” Clove screamed, tears flooding her eyes. “Killian!”
He backed up into the wall instead of toward her. As soon as he realized he should have run to her instead, he was no longer in Veidrodis. Threads and blankets and furniture surrounded him—he was back at home in the craft room. Not standing, but lying on the floor inside his body where Clove had left it beside her rocking chair.
Shakily, he rolled over and released a choked sob. Clove’s still body sat in the rocking chair, her eyes wide open, the blanket she had been sewing for their baby resting in her lap.
Killian scooped her dead body from the rocker and cradled her close to his chest. Her body was still warm. But she was gone. He sobbed into her hair, wanting her to reach out and stroke his face, tell him that everything was okay.
The demon had been inside Clove. Thirteen years she had been missing from Veidrodis. Killian swallowed, thinking, thinking back to their past. That meant she had been inside Clove’s body since they were twelve, when they had grown closer. It was the demon who he loved all this time.
He set Clove’s body back in the chair. His hands trembled as he rushed toward the antique mirror. “Clove!” he screamed, pounding his fist on the wall. “Clove! Come back to me. Please.” But nothing. There was no answer.
Then realization struck him. He had performed seven tasks for Nuodėmė. Seven. Seven deadly sins, like in Clove’s Bible.
Greed—taking the grapes. Gluttony—eating the grapes. Pride—killing the demon. Envy—removing his eye. Lust—him spilling himself. Sloth—his deep slumber. Wrath—his anger toward the demon.
All this ... all of this was somehow a way to bring the demon king’s daughter home. Killian continued to beg for someone to answer him, willing to do anything to undo this. But only silence answered his prayers.
Nuodėmė had said Killian would have seven years of bad luck before he died. He should have known from the beginning to never break a mirror, as his mother had always said. Killian had believed his lucky number was seven. But seven was truly the unluckiest of numbers.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
Dobilai sat in her room—the same one her husband had been in—peering out the mirror at Killian, who had sobbed himself to sleep while calling for her. She pressed her hand to the glass, but he would not see or hear her. In seven years, he would die, and for seven years, she would weep.
The door behind her slid open to her father. As soon as Killian’s soul had vanished from the room and returned to his body, her father had left her there to mourn.
“You knew I would find you, daughter,” he said.
Dobilai had not. She thought he would never find her. With the help of her servant, Rožė, Dobilai had let her twelve-year-old soul slip from Veidrodis and enter another child who had recently passed. After that, she had quickly become friends with a young boy who she fell in love with. Dobilai had always wanted to be a part of the human world—she had never wanted to be here, and now because of the broken horned mirror, her power was gone. Her father had never treated her wrong—she simply had not agreed with him or this world.
“Father—”
“For seven years, you will stay in this room and watch as your husband withers. For seven years, this will remind you that the abomination which grew in your belly—that was killing you—is now gone. Then when the seven years end, you will become my daughter once more.”
Dobilai fought back her tears—demons were not meant to cry, but while being a human, she had learned to feel. Had learned to love. For the past thirteen years, while in Clove’s body, she hadn’t forgotten what she truly was. Each day, Dobilai had read her Bible to keep the evil at bay. The moment she had heard Killian from the mirror, she had known he was in Veidrodis. But she could not let him discover the truth because she did not want her father to realize she still knew who she was. Dobilai had thought it could save him. She had also known that if Killian did not complete the tasks her father had set for him, he would have been trapped in Veidrodis and died there. And while he would suffer back in the human world, his soul would not be trapped here.
But hers would be. Alone. So, while Killian would have seven years of bad luck, she would have an eternity.
“You truly believed you saved him, did you not?” Her father harshly lifted her chin. “His soul will go to Hell, your child will be in Heaven, and you will eternally be here in Veidrodis. The three of you separated forever. In seven years, I will see you again, and we will go on as if none of this ever happened.”
Her heart stopped. Hell? No. No. No!
“Father, please,” Dobilai begged, hot tears spilling down her cheeks as he walked away from her.
“See you soon, daughter.” The door slid shut behind her father, leaving her alone and shaking. Killian wouldn’t be rejoined with their child. He would go to a place that she feared the most, full of burning, torturous flames.
Pressing her hand to the mirror, she whispered, “I will always love you, and if you truly knew me, you would hate me.”
Dobilai gathered the broken horned mirror and its glass shards, setting them in front of her. Then she sank to her knees and clasped her hands together in prayer. Though her beloved Bible wasn’t at her side, she prayed and prayed, begging the humans’ god to hear her call.
