“A demon is the worst thing in this world, Eden, so I need you to recognize when you may confront one.”
The words resounded in the numbed mind of Marquise Eden Savidge, the warning of her late father Donahue before he taught her one of the few tricks of the trade she was allowed to learn before becoming an adult. They were on repeat, a soft warning against what she was already etching into her own flesh with her once-perfect nails – now ragged and scratchy things, with blue paint chipped, and the end of one index finger stained with fresh and dry blood as she worked at the etching in her own thigh.
The glyph was coming together, not created in blood which could be smeared, but as the lines of a wound that would scab over, one day, if she lived. There was enough light around her cage for as she sat in it, and none suspected anything of their broken little lamb as she sat with glazed blue eyes and made no more sounds of protest.
No one recognized any extra blood on her already bloody and bruised body.
Whenever one walked by, she covered the marking with her dress.
They – whoever they were, a question Eden needed answered more than she needed to heed her father’s warning – did eventually come to gather her from her cage the day the glyph was finished. Well, Eden thought it was the same day. With no access to natural lights, and no apparent schedule for anything, Eden couldn’t honestly be sure – but she was sure the scratchings were immaculate when the cage door was opened and a sweet voice called, “Come with me, little one. It’s almost over now,” she cooed, “we have what we need, so come – you can go free.”
As if Eden believed that.
Still, like a kicked dog, Eden moved forward to the extended hand and even took it, accepting the help to stand on weak legs that trembled from hunger and blood loss as she lifted her gaze to the woman who was all smiles – not even malicious smiles! Gentle and kind, with a soft touch to stroke Eden’s blonde hair, “It’ll—”
Eden yanked with all the strength she had left on the woman’s hand to bring her down to her own height.
“Anyone who summons a demon is desperate or stupid. The stupid are nothing to worry about, but the desperate….”
Hot blood rushed over Eden’s lips and across her tongue, as it gushed from the woman’s neck. Her shriek was short-lived, not because of what Eden did, but the silenced shot that followed and ended her misery.
The silenced gun aimed itself at Eden, but she felt no fear as Enochian words whispered over her lips. Likely just nonsense to the others in the room, if they even heard the sounds, but she wasn't worried about being shot for it. They weren’t going to kill her. Not yet. Not here. They kept her alive this long for some reason.
And they didn’t seem to notice, or care, about the gentle aura of light that hovered over the body of their fallen comrade. Fluorescents, right?
“Put her in cuffs, and cover her mouth,” the one holding the gun said to the others, “did you all forget?” Whatever they might have forgotten, he didn’t spell out as others scrambled, and someone grabbed her hands and yanked them behind her back. There weren’t formal cuffs, but someone had zipties.
It didn’t phase Eden. The glazed look returned. No cry escaped her lips when the plastic dug into abused wrists, or when the guards were now significantly harsher in dealing with her. She felt the burning in her flesh, and she knew, the call was heard, the offer extended to the universe.
“The desperate know what they’re doing.”