“But you didn’t ans?—”
“Next.”
I gnashed my teeth together in frustration. “Okay, fine. Then tell me why Nymara’s name isn’t plastered all over your forehead? I’m assuming she’s the one who branded you.”
I expected Casimir to scowl, but he huffed a laugh instead. “Aside from the fact that it would be incredibly impractical? Names aren’t often used to enshrine bloodbargains. Symbols or runes are much more common.Yourtattoo, on the other hand—” his gaze dipped lower and he smirked “—that was my own little addition. I thought it might be amusing.” He grinned. “I was right.”
“You—” I spluttered. “You fucking bastard!” And before I could stop myself, I was hurling an empty bottle at his head.
He dodged it with ease. “You wanted to know,” he said with a shrug, tamping out the half-finished cigarette. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”
“Remove my tattoo,now.”
“I told you, it won’t come off until?—”
“Until the bargain ends?” I cut in. “Why don’t you just end it now! That way I won’t have to see you again.” I was on my feet before I knew what I was doing. My skin prickled, as if in response to my anger. His audacity was infuriating! He thought he could just mark me without my consent, like I was his property, and get away with it?
“You’re being ridiculous, Farrow,” he reasoned. “You already knew the tattoos would remain until the end of our agreem?—”
“Yeah.” I whirled around, my vision going hazy with fury. “But I didn’t realize your name being tattooed on my skin was a choice you made! Why not use a runic symbol instead?” I knew I sounded petulant, arguing over the semantics of a magical mark, but I didn’t care.
“Are we really arguing about this?” he deadpanned. “And here I was thinking, you wanted to help August above all else. Can’t swallow your pride long enough to save him?”
“How dare—” I began, but Casimir interrupted.
“Decide now. Do you want to work with me or not?” His eyebrow was arched defiantly, daring me to walk away. “You have until tomorrow morning to make up your mind.”
And with that, he stood and left the Grotto, leaving me with only the remains of my anger and the uncomfortable prickling of my skin in the dilapidated chapel.
Casimir corneredme the next morning in the Labyrinth.
I knew it was him before I’d even bothered to glance up. I’d learned to associate his proximity with the prickling mark on my thigh. It was like a warning bell, useful and annoying in equal measure. An incessant reminder that he had marked me with his magic. I’d come to the library in the hopes of continuing my research into Daemons without interruption. For three hours, I pored over every text I could find on Daemonic folklore and mythology, including several poorly translated volumes on Slovakian Daemons, an encyclopedia on Daemonologie, and a treatise on the dangers of daemonic forces from 1880.
The encyclopedia proved to be most eye-opening. One entry described the Draka, a type of Daemon that lured beautiful women into rivers and ponds, and then promptly devoured them. Then there was the Ewah, a nocturnal daemon who cursed anyone who stumbled across it with madness. In Louisiana, the Toia daemon was accused of giving its victims terrifying visions and nightmares. The book claimed that all daemons preferred to operate in the shadows—some could even shape shift into other forms, both human and animal. Across most cultures, they were associated with sin and indulgence, which presented a considerable danger to the more conservative Western societies during the 18thand 19thcenturies. None of them mentioned a Daemon who lured mortal girls into dark corners and tricked them into making magical bargains.
When, at last, I stumbled upon an entry that mentioned the Drekavac by name, my heart thudded with excitement.
The Drekavac reside on an Isle known to the common folk as Ethervale. Forbidden to mortals, this Isle offers only a painful death to those who seek it. As the old saying goes, ‘in the realm where Daemons dwell, there shall thy coil too, be felled.
There it was again—another mention of Ethervale, with no helpful information as to its location, other than the description of it as an island. Only more doomed, prophetic warnings about the dangers of venturing onto an isle occupied by Daemons. It seemed impossible that there was an island near the Isle of Lorn that yet remained undiscovered to mortal trespassers. Was it possible? I pondered the merits of asking Casimir about it.
Casimir—the Daemon himself—who was watching me from across the table.
“What’ll it be, Farrow?” he spoke as though no time had passed since our last conversation.
Reluctantly, I glanced up at him from my textbook. “What, are you stalking me now?” I asked, not caring if the question sounded rude.
He huffed a laugh. “It’s only stalking if you don’t want me here.”
His demeanor was calmer than it had been last night, with no trace of his former irritability. I wondered if he saw the evidence of another sleepless night in the crescent-shaped shadows beneath my eyes. I’d thrashed restlessly in my sheets for hours before I’d given up. The silence stretched between us until Casimir dropped his taunting pretense.
“I figured you had to study between classes, Farrow,” he explained. “It wasn’t a stretch to guess where you might be hiding.”
I wondered if his tattoo also prickled when I was nearby, but I didn’t dare ask. I was afraid that it was only my skin, my body, that felt his proximity with alarming hyperawareness. If he knew how much his presence affected me, he might never let me live it down.
Instead, I grumbled, “I wasn’t hiding.”
“Farrow,” Casimir scolded.