The Devil who raised me

l

hed leather and the faint

avoid smudging the pristine upholstery. The man-Asher-sits across fr

uzzle he's already solved. The weight of his gaze presses again

in velvet. He holds out a blanket, its wool soft and gray, the kin

My fingers curl into the hem of my bloodstained dress, the fabric stiff and tacky

flames claw at the black sky, devouring the rotting w

of the fire. I don't look at the blaze. Instead, I count the cracks in the car's window-one, two,

et. "You'll like my house," he says, his tone casual, as if we're heading

, catches the flickering light from the fire outs

into sharp, elegant spikes. It opens silently, as if it's been waiting fo

e walls rising like a cliff face, its narrow

gazing skyward, but its wings are broken, jagged stu

"This is yours now," he says, gesturing to the house

he orphanage's filth still clinging to my soles. Moving feels like surr

at's half exasperati

unyielding, carrying me like a sack of flour. I don't fight. Fighting never helped

a silent rebellion as he c

nd of sound that seals fates. It's not just a lock;

l polished to a mirror shine. The foyer is vast, its marble floor cold under my fee

dark hair is pulled into a tight bun, and her eyes widen when she sees me-filthy,

so soft it feels like sinking into a cloud. His tone is clipped, aut

At the orphanage, blue was the color of the matron's apron, stained with grease

vously. She reaches for my hand, but I jerk away, my body coiled like a

vibrates through the room. "Leave her," h

d. Because I've seen what happens when you disobey men

il Mira up a sweeping staircase, the house's silen

e whole. Mira turns on the faucet, and steam rises, curling like ghosts in the air. Th

lf?" Mira asks, her voi

rds. She swallows hard, her throat bobbing, a

dirt have fused it to me. The water burns as I step in, turning my

f St. Cecilia's with it. Mira's hands shake as she w

n my shoulders from the cook's iron, the crescent-shape

she whispers, he

es collapsing one by one. I don't answer. Words

rms crossed, his black coat blending into the dimness beyond. Mi

Mira flees faster than I thought possib

g my arms. Asher picks up the sponge, his movements deliberate,

as if he's trying to erase the bruise

bruise on my forearm. His voice is soft but carries a weight that

ming under the bathroom's harsh light. It's the same one he

s lips curve into a smile th

matron lied when she said I'd be safe. The "guests" lied when they sai

m the blood crusted in my scalp. "Do you spea

ords are traps, and I'm n

in a towel so thick it feels

gs, a gray sweater, no buttons or strings,

hide. I pull them on, the fabric strange against my clean skin,

hat glints in the moonlight. The air smells faintly of wax a

reath warm against my ear, "and I'll find you." His eyes search

ree, to give him something. I yawn instead

passing through them. Then he laughs, the sound sharp and star

e leaves, the sound

count the cracks in the ceiling-four, five, six-and list

old beast. Somewhere, a clock ticks, each s

hidden but deliberate, is a small knife-clean, sharp, i

playing a game, but I've survived games before. Anna's cruelty ta

. I don't sleep. I can't. Not when the world beyond these walls is burning