Rain lashed the cobblestones outside Esther's shop, each drop striking like a warning. The storm had risen without warning, clouds black as coal rolling across the sky, their thunder trembling the very bones of the city.
Within, Esther lit no candles. The book remained sealed upon her altar, though even shut, its presence infected the air. Pages fluttered though no breeze stirred. The sigil of the serpent writhed faintly upon its cover, as if alive.
Horace crouched near the door, ears flat, his eyes darting at unseen shapes that moved beyond the threshold. Morrigan beat her wings in restless arcs, croaking sharply at intervals, a herald of approaching doom.
Esther stood in the center of the room, her amulet glowing faintly, its light warring with the creeping shadows that slithered along the walls. She felt it beneath her skin—the Serpent's whisper had not left her since she touched the book. It coiled in her veins, stirring with each heartbeat, tasting the storm like a predator scenting prey.
Then came the sound she had dreaded: a measured knocking at her door.
Three raps. Hollow, cold.
The Watchers.
Her breath caught, but she did not move.
The knocking came again, louder this time, followed by a voice—low, patient, dripping with false civility.
"Esther Harrow. You have something that belongs to us."
Her hand clenched around her amulet. Horace growled low, Morrigan shrieked.
The voice continued, silken and cruel: "Do not think your trinkets or pets can protect you. You opened the catacombs. You touched the book. The mark binds you. Step aside, child, and surrender what is ours."
Esther felt the Serpent stir violently within her, its voice rising with the thunder.
"Mine. They are thieves. Liars. Break them. Bleed them."
Her pulse raced. The storm outside howled as though the sky itself bent to the Serpent's anger. Lightning cracked, illuminating shadowy figures beyond the glass—cloaked, hooded, eyes gleaming faintly white. The Watchers had come in force.
Esther whispered through clenched teeth: "If I fight them, will you guide me?"
The Serpent's whisper wrapped around her like smoke.
"I will fight through you."
The door shuddered under the Watchers' hand, wood splintering as they pressed harder. Horace arched and hissed. Morrigan let out a cry that seemed to split the storm itself.
Esther raised her arms, the amulet blazing like fire.
"Then let the storm be mine," she said, her voice steady despite the terror clawing her heart.
The Serpent roared within her veins, and the night itself bent to her will.