Three days had passed since Malachai's revelation, I disagreed dying minute. I was determined to prove him wrong. Demon? Twenty souls? It was absurd—just like a bad horror movies and darker fantasy novels.
I stood in my bathroom, a bottle of industrial-strength acetone in one hand, steel wool in the other. The black markings had spread further across my back, creeping around my ribs like dark fingers claiming territory. No matter what Malachai said, I refused to believe these were anything more than an unexplained medical condition. Something with a rational, scientific explanation.
"This ends now," I muttered, soaking the steel wool with acetone. The chemical smell burned my nostrils, making my eyes water.
I twisted awkwardly to see my back in the mirror and pressed the steel wool against the largest marking. Pain seared through me immediately, but I gritted my teeth and scrubbed harder. The marks had to come off. They had to.
After ten minutes of furious scrubbing, my back was raw and bleeding, but to my horror, the black markings still remained untouched. They seemed to float just beneath my skin, unaffected by my desperate attempt to remove them. Worse, as I watched, the damaged skin around the markings began to heal at an impossible rate. Within minutes, the redness faded, the broken skin sealed, and the markings appeared even more pronounced against my newly healed flesh.
"No," I whispered, dropping the steel wool into the sink. "This isn't happening."
But it was. Just like the voices that continued to come into my mind—dark, secret thoughts from people around me that I had no right to hear. Just like the strange bursts of strength... and like the burning hunger that had nothing to do with food.
My phone chimed with a calendar reminder. Work in an hour. I had called in sick for two days after meeting Malachai, but I couldn't hide forever. I needed just normal.
I carefully dressed in a high-necked blouse, making sure every marking was covered, and headed to the museum.
***
"Ariel! You're back," Lisa, one of the junior conservators, greeted me in the lab. "Feeling better?"
"Much better, thanks," I lied, forcing a smile as I slipped on my lab coat. "What did I miss?"
"Not much. That Visconti triptych is still waiting for you. Oh, and Martin's been in a mood because some donor canceled a major pledge." She lowered her voice. "The weird guy who came to see you? Apparently, he pulled out completely."
It was Malachai. Of course.
"That's... unfortunate," I managed to say.
Lisa studied my face. "Are you sure you're okay? You look... different."
"Just tired," I said quickly, moving toward my workstation. "Still recovering." I added, pretending to be well.
I could feel her eyes on me as I walked away, and worse, I could hear her thoughts.
*Something's off about her. Her eyes look... strange. Almost like they're glowing sometimes.*
I kept my head down, focusing on setting up my tools. The Visconti triptych waited, its damaged panels showing scenes of heaven, earth, and hell. Ironically appropriate.
As I worked, I found my vision shifting, enhancing. I could see layers of paint that should have been invisible, could detect the artist's original brush strokes beneath centuries of grime and restoration attempts. My hands moved with a precision I'd never possessed before, making delicate corrections that would have been beyond my skills just days ago.
"Remarkable progress, Kaufman." I startled, nearly dropping my brush. Martin stood behind me, examining my work with raised eyebrows.
"I've never seen such fine detail work," he continued, leaning closer to the painting. "How are you achieving this level of restoration?"
"I... I've been practicing some new techniques," I stammered.
Martin frowned. "What techniques, exactly? This level of work is almost... unnatural."
The word hung between us, loaded with suspicion. I scrambled for a reasonable explanation, but found none.
"Just a steady hand today," I finally said, setting down my tools. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get some fresh solvent."
I fled to the supply closet, heart hammering. I was drawing attention. Exactly what I didn't need.
The small, windowless space gave me a moment to collect myself. I leaned against the shelves, breathing deeply, trying to quiet the storm inside me. That's when I heard a low, rhythmic thumping. A heartbeat, but not my own. It came from beyond the wall, from the conservation lab next door.
Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud.
And with it, comes Dark, twisted thoughts that slithered into my mind uninvited.
*She thinks she's so special. Always the favorite. If something happened to that painting, maybe Martin would finally see how incompetent she really is.*
I recognized the mental voice. David Mercer, a colleague who had always been coldly competitive. And now I could hear his jealousy, his resentment, and his plans.
The hunger that had been building in me for days suddenly surged. I could feel his darkness, taste it like something tangible on my tongue. Something I could consume.
The door to the supply closet opened, and I blinked in the sudden light.
"Sorry," Lisa said, "didn't realize anyone was in here."
I brushed past her without speaking, my hands trembling. I needed air. I needed distance from these thoughts, these feelings, this hunger.
The museum's delivery bay offered an escape. I pushed through the doors and gulped the cool autumn air, trying to clear my head. A delivery truck was backing up to the loading dock, its warning beep a steady rhythm as the driver maneuvered the large vehicle.
That's when I saw a young intern, Amy, walking across the bay with her head down, engrossed in her phone, directly in the path of the reversing truck. The driver couldn't see her. No one else was around.
"Amy!" I shouted, but she had earbuds in, couldn't hear me over the truck's engine.
What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. I was running, but faster than should have been possible. The world blurred around me. One moment I was by the door, the next I was tackling Amy out of the truck's path, both of us tumbling to safety as the vehicle backed into the space where she had been standing just seconds before.
"Oh my God," Amy gasped, staring at me with wide eyes. "How did you—you were by the door—"
"I was closer than you thought," I said quickly, helping her up. "Are you okay?" I asked.
But she continued to stare, her expression shifting from gratitude to something closer to fear. "Your eyes," she whispered. "They're... they are red." She stammered.
I turned away quickly. "It's just the light. Maybe you hit your head when we fell." I said, trying to hide the fact.
"No, I saw—"
"I have to get back to work," I cut her off, already retreating toward the building. "Be more careful, okay?"
I fled back inside, locking myself in a bathroom stall. My reflection in the small metal mirror on the stall door confirmed my fears. My eyes were glowing ember-red, just as they had been that night in my bathroom. I closed them tightly, willing the glow to fade, trying to control whatever was happening to me.
When I finally dared to look again, my eyes were back to normal. But the truth was becoming harder to deny.
***
I left work early, unable to focus with the weight of stares following me. Word of my impossible sprint across the loading bay had spread, along with Amy's description of my glowing eyes. The whispers—both spoken and unspoken—followed me through the halls.
*Did you hear what happened?*
*They say she moved inhumanly fast.*
*There's something wrong with her eyes.*
I couldn't bear it. I needed to be alone, to think, to understand what was truly happening to me.
My apartment offered no sanctuary. As soon as I opened the door, I knew he was there. Malachai sat in my reading chair by the window, looking perfectly at ease, as if he'd been invited.
"Breaking and entering is a crime," I said, dropping my bag on the counter.
"I didn't break anything," he replied mildly. "And physical barriers mean little to our kind."
"I'm not your kind,'" I snapped, though the denial felt increasingly hollow. "Whatever is happening to me, there's an explanation. A cure to it. I'm not killing anybody! go away from me!!"
Malachai sighed, rising from the chair with fluid grace. "You saved that girl today. Impressive speed, especially for one so newly awakened. But your eyes gave you away, didn't they? The power surging through you, revealing your true nature."
I turned away from him, gripping the edge of my kitchen counter. "Leave me alone."
"I understand your reluctance, Ariel. The denial. It's natural to cling to what you've always believed yourself to be." His voice softened with what seemed like genuine sympathy. "But fighting your nature will only make the transition more painful. The hunger will grow. The powers will become harder to control and the markings will continue to spread."
"I scrubbed until I bled," I whispered, unable to stop myself. "They wouldn't come off. They just... healed."
"Of course they did. They're part of you—your true name, your essence." He moved closer, and I could feel his presence like heat against my back. "You cannot remove them any more than you can remove your own soul."
I turned to face him, fighting back tears of frustration. "I don't want this. Any of it."
"Few of us are given a choice about what we are," Malachai said. "But we do get to choose what we do with our nature." He reached out, his fingers hovering near my face but not quite touching. "I don't expect you to embrace everything at once. I can be patient."
"Why?" I demanded. "Why me? Why now?"
"Because you were chosen centuries ago, your soul was marked for this purpose. As for why now... you've reached the age of awakening. Twenty-five years of humanity, as the pact demanded." He let his hand fall back to his side. "I'll give you more time, Ariel. Time to accept. But not too much. The hunger you feel? It will only grow stronger. And if you don't learn to feed it properly, it will consume you instead."
"Feed it how?" The question escaped before I could stop it.
Malachai smiled, his dark eyes gleaming. "You already know. You felt it today with your colleague, didn't you? His darkness, his jealousy, his hate. So delicious, so... consumable."
I shuddered, remembering the pull I'd felt toward David's dark thoughts.
"When you're ready to learn," Malachai continued, "I'll show you how to take what you need without destroying yourself. Until then..." He moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "Try not to kill anyone by accident. The first time should be special."
He was gone before I could respond, leaving me alone with the hunger gnawing at my insides and the unmistakable truth I could no longer deny. Whatever I had been before, I was becoming something else entirely. Something inhuman and dark.
Something that terrified and tempted me in equal measure...
****