Demon mentor. Crypt of the Seven Angels. Natalie Yacobson

arms. Isn’t this a real nightmare. But the face of the statue was beautiful. Can the beauty of the one who kills you make death pleasant? Luciana sat motionless, clutching the stone in her hands, and it seemed to her that very soon someone would come to kill her.

      A strange friendship

      Demon companion. Demon lover. Is there a demon friend? Blaise was spreading the deck of cards she had just found in front of her. According to legend, all Rosiers perfectly mastered the art of the card game, like witchcraft. They have always won. And this talent passed on to the family by inheritance. If he had passed on to her in the past, Blaise would have sat down with her enemies at the card table and, in a couple of tricks, would have brought them to complete ruin and suicide. But now times were different. Family legends have slightly lost their relevance. However, learning to cheat at cards would be useful. Could Damian teach her this?

      He was there all the time, like a shadow. Even if she did not see him, he was present nearby. Suddenly appeared right from behind, brought some things that could be useful to her, in his own way tried to cheer. It was as if he had never slept, always watching her.

      He tried to get as close to her as possible. That is why the cards now occupied her. For the purpose of fortune telling, not a game. Can you trust him? She asked the cards exactly that question. They fell out at random. The answer was one or the other. Only Damian himself remained unchanged. He was just there. And from him there was nowhere to escape, as from his own shadow or reflection in the mirror. Her strange friend. Her companion. Her mentor. Or her jailer, who is waiting for the moment when he can rip her soul out.

      It was said that a strange companion always appeared next to those who made a pact with the devil. Unobtrusive like a shadow. He seemed to be waiting for his moment. People usually feel dislike and suspicion towards him, and he waits. And waiting for his own. Blaise, the thought was unpleasant. However, what is her soul worth? What is the soul? Does it exist at all? Or is it just an illusion? A beautiful metaphor invented by people to give divine meaning to every simplest life? The soul is nothing. At any rate, Blaise seemed to be more interested in Damian’s body. Even when he taught her to fight, something inviting flashed in his gaze, as if he was trying to lure her into bed by roundabout ways, which, however, was not in this house. On a narrow couch, covered with a meager blanket, the two of them would not have fit. He probably slept on the floor, if he ever slept at all.

      When they weren’t fighting, his gestures were inviting, like the call of a lover. It seemed strange to Blaise that she herself did not feel any sexual feelings towards him, although he was very handsome. Much prettier than all the young people she has seen so far.

      Damian got food and drink, and other necessary things somewhere. And she didn’t even ask him where. It is possible that he just stole them. You could expect everything from him. There was indeed a lot of demonic behavior in his behavior.

      Crazy. Cool guy. Rip off your head. Whatever you call it, but it still contained some kind of mystery. Blaise did not undertake to solve it. It just didn’t bother her. The strange friend who took care of her was just an unexpected gift from fate. She took his services for granted.

      If someone had cared about her this way before, she would at least say thank you. But not right now. Quite recently, everything inside her was somehow surprisingly empty. The world has become empty. Now she took everything for granted: almost without emotion and without gratitude. Events moved in front of her slowly or dynamically, like on a movie theater screen. And she just watched, as if she had become just an outside observer in her own life. And at the same time, the sensations were unusually heightened. Sometimes she slept and felt like some kind of supernatural being able to catch the quiet fuss of rats in the basement and in general every movement in a radius of miles around. Perhaps this was not surprising, because around the gloomy house where they settled, complete emptiness reigned. It’s strange how such a place was found anywhere in the world. People didn’t seem to have wandered here at all: even criminals and homeless people. But according to Damian, there was a rather large cemetery somewhere nearby. He loved to talk about strange things: death, resting places, revenge, the laws of harm inflicted on others. If you have offended, then you must offend in return even more, that was his morality. Blaise loved it, but as she clenched and unclenched her fist, she didn’t feel the promised strength.

      «Try to attack me,» Damian taught her. «Try to hit with all your might, as if you’re ready to kill. Do not be shy, imagine in my place someone else, for example, your worst enemy. There are seven of them, like the angels in your crypt. Which one do you hate the most? Who would you like to kill first? Imagine that he is in front of you and strike. Stronger, baby!»

      She was embarrassed to hit, but the last word pissed her off. Damian said it as if he was playing with her rather than trying to teach her something. His voice sounded so teasing. And she hit. Something suddenly crunched under her hand. His jaw seems to be. Or so it just seemed. Blaise was scared. But Damian just laughed like crazy.

      «We can’t hesitate,» he commented. «You will be frightened of the consequences of your own blow, you will not have time to inflict the second one in time. And they can hit you already. Do you understand? Let’s try again.»

      «But isn’t it hurting you,» she wanted to ask. However, the blood on his lips disappeared somewhere, as if it was consumed by darkness.

      «Don’t be afraid, it heals quickly on me,» he repeated his favorite phrase. He used to say that a lot, and Blaise began to make sure it wasn’t just bravado. There really were no scars or bruises left on him. They passed so quickly. Still, she didn’t like the way of making a punching bag out of an opponent. Damian only laughed at her indecision. He advised that one should not be timid in a fight.

      «You still have that lady in you who tried to kill seven feigned friends one night,» he concluded. «The princess did not die, but an iron character woke up in her. You could be the princess of the ring, the assassin, the warrior… but you are shy about something. Really me? I’m just your property, until the contract expires. Your personal demon.»

      His eyes often laughed and he seemed like a maniac. A real complete nutcase. You get scared even at a distance, and Blaise was very close to him, and for some reason she was not at all afraid. Because he taught her to fight? Because he believed that the rights to her soul already belonged to him? Did that mean he wouldn’t want to hurt her? Is there such a guarantee? Even if not, she had no choice either. In the whole world around, distraught and became hostile in an instant, only this abnormal supported her. He liked her desire for revenge. Her looks? Or something else?

      No matter. Blaise tried to learn his lessons. Of course, the chances of her learning how to fight well were exactly the same that one day she would be able to unbend iron with her bare hands. However, she tried.

      Scratches and abrasions on her would not have healed as quickly as on him. and in the house, of course, there would not be a first-aid kit with fresh medicines and bandages. But Damian managed not to hurt her face and not even inflict minor injuries. He did not touch her at all, only taught her how to direct her hand, how to clench a fist, how to strike.

      It was so simple, but it took strength, and Blaise felt she was at a loss.

      Seven patrons

      They seemed to be sleeping in a crypt: cold, silent, empty. But so beautiful. The sight of their icy splendor hurt the eyes. Even in the darkness they shone ghostly. Grave-white, immersed in eternal slumber, insensitive, indifferent and at the same time some kind of threatening.

      Blaise hadn’t come to see them in over a week. The last time she cried sobbing and prayed in despair to them, they did not answer. They never answered. At least to her. And from this she felt the most deprived.

      The stone had to come to life and come down from the pedestal, the wings had to open wide and open for her alone the crushing marble embrace, as for all Rosiers. She was no longer even jealous of all those who had been in this embrace before her, and there were countless