Truths Drenched in Fire and Memory

Mae's phone rang, sharp, sudden, and soul-jolting.

The man's head snapped toward her. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a cat who'd just cornered a mouse and wasn't in a rush.

His eyes? No longer red.

Now they were blue.
Not just blue.
Weaponized blue.
The kind of blue people wrote songs about, cried over, and then got tattooed on their ribs after one bad night and too much wine.

"Are you going to answer that," he said, cocking a brow, "or should I be polite and hang up for you?"

Mae stared. Breathing was optional at this point.

"It's just... a phone," she managed, voice thinner than dignity.

"Wow. Thank you. My cosmic IQ just skyrocketed," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "Go on. Pick up."

She did.

"Hello, Mae," said her dad. His voice had that tired warmth that cracked her chest open every time.

"Hi, Dad."

"How's everything? Sylvie make it to class?"

"She... did. And then left."

"Left? Why?"

Mae's eyes flicked to the man, who was now miming 'hurry the hell up' with theatrical hand gestures like he was auditioning for a silent film. She covered the mic.

"Please stop doing that," she hissed.

"I'm helping," he whispered back, grinning like some ancient secret with teeth. "Good daughters don't ignore loving dads. Even when the world's ending."

Mae exhaled. "I have to go," she told her dad, pulse thudding like a death drum.

"Mae, are you okay?"

"Yes. Fine. Totally forgot to close the door again."

"Mae..." His voice dropped into that fatherly register. "Please don't do that anymore. You know how dangerous it is sometimes."

"I know," she murmured.

"Well, I'll be home before dinner. Gonna make chicken noodles, your favorite."

Her stomach twisted. Hard. Like it had just remembered how empty it was.
Right. She'd skipped breakfast. Lunch wasn't looking promising either, what with Supernatural Broadway pacing her living room, ranting about fate and soul taxes.

"I was just thinking..." her dad started again.

The man's head snapped to the phone like a hawk scenting prey. Eyes flaring red again.

"Oh no," he muttered. "Not again. How long is this monologue going to take? We have world-altering revelations to unpack!"

Mae flinched. "Dad, maybe we can talk about this tonight?"

"You need to start going to college, sweetheart. Sylvie's right. You need routine. I don't want to lose you too, after your mom..."

"Awww," the man cut in. "That's adorable. Should we enroll him in a drama school? Full scholarship. Best actor in a guilt-tripping role."

Mae's mouth went dry.

"Anyway," her dad continued, "I'm just gonna grab my coffee, ah, wait..."

Then came the shriek.

"AAAAARGHHHHH!"

"Dad? Dad?!" Mae's voice cracked like glass. "What happened?! What did you do to him?!"

The man blinked. "Do I look like I spilled his damn coffee?"

Mae's heart went into freefall. "DAAAD?!"

Silence.

Then: "Ah, crap. I'm fine! I just, burned my thighs! Coffee was still hot after an hour. Who knew? Going to the bathroom now. See you tonight, Mae!"

Click.

The man smirked like he knew every secret the universe was hiding under its pillow. "Chicken noodles," he said. "My favorite. Tell your dad to save me a plate."

"I consume souls, but I make exceptions for soy sauce."

She gaped at him.

"What?" he said. "Your dad's the one who offended coffee. That's basically a crime where I'm from."

"You're insane."

"No. Just caffeinated."

He winked. "Let it be known: the greatest monsters are born from caffeine, sarcasm, and unresolved trauma."

A scratching sound pulled her gaze to the side.

The diary. It was writing again.

"Oh look," he said, peering. "How polite of it."

Her necklace pulsed hot. Too hot. She slapped a hand over it, but his eyes were already there, on her chest, on the heat.

"You don't have to hide it," he said. "I know everything."

"No, you don't."

"You're a thief."

"You're a..."

He was suddenly close. Way too close. Pressing one finger to her lips.

"Shhh. Don't say such ugly words. Especially with such a soft mouth."

Her breath tangled in her lungs. She couldn't look away. Every nerve screamed danger, but all her traitor body saw was beauty. Devastating, infuriating, forbidden beauty.

"Who's Gwen?" she asked, voice just a breath.

He tilted his head. Smirked. "Ah, someone's been playing with the diary."

She didn't answer. She didn't need to.

"That little book is cute," he said. "Like a child's toy. You write, it writes back. Adorable. But no. That diary contains answers. And now, we talk."

He turned to the window. Rain had begun to fall. A crack of lightning framed him like some cinematic reveal. The face of a nightmare. The body of a fantasy.

"Gwen is your mother," he said.

Mae covered her mouth with her hand.

"But... her name was Lisa."

"For mortals. Gwen was her real name."

"Mortals again," Mae whispered. "What does that even mean? What... what are you?"

He turned. Then vanished, only to reappear inches from her face. His breath warmed her cheek. His scent was something ancient and cedar-wrapped in sin.

He smiled.

"I'm a demon, Mae."

Her world wobbled.

"A demon? What?! I don't understand."

"Yes," he said. "And your mother? She was a badass."

Mae blinked. "Badass?" Memories of her mom working late nights slid into place. A puzzle forming out of shadows.

"Oh God," she gasped. "She had an affair."

He laughed, pacing again. "No, sweetheart. She didn't cheat. She made choices. Big ones. Powerful ones."

"I don't understand."

"You're so innocent," he murmured. "So fragile."

He stopped. Looked at her like he could see straight into her fears.

"I could bend your mind with a smile," he said. "And make you believe things that would make you cry yourself to sleep for a decade."

"What...?"

Before she could finish, he reached out and touched her forehead.

And the world dropped.

She saw herself lying on the ground. Everything gray. Heavy.

Her chest ached. Darkness tugged at her ribs like claws.

Then...

"Mae..."

A voice. Soft. Familiar. Gwen.

She turned.

Her mother stood in the smoke, smiling gently.

"My baby. You're so tired. Let me help you. Come."

Mae stumbled forward.

She followed her mother into the grey.

Into the unknown.

Behind her...

a faint shuffle.

Footsteps.
Soft.
Deliberate.
A woman's shape emerging through the mist. Cloaked.
Eyes glowing gold in the dark.

Closer.
Closer.

And then...