Chapter one : Old town we call home
It was my first night back at my grandparents home. Back in the dark woods behind the church. No one ever came near that house. Or that run-down busted church where only the crackheads and underage delinquents go off to smoke pot and drink.
It's an old town, full of old folks and old things that people left behind. Hidden. Like in the shadows of the large buildings in the city. Underground. Unnoticed. Many words describe my hometown except loud and bright.
A lot of farmland covers the town, there's a couple gas stations with simple convenience stores like 7-Eleven and the typical run-of-a-mill supermarket named "Jadies". They serve really stale beef sandwiches and really, really bad coffee.
I never expected to be back again, the trauma and disappointments filled the air turning into a suffocating gas every time I stood on those old creaky floorboards in that old house. with my parents and grandparents breathing down my neck.
I hadn't had a moment's rest since the day I was born it feels.
I was c-sectioned and my mother after I was born decided she hated me and attempted to murder me by suffocation one night in the hospital.
The nursing staff had to pull her off me. The doctors said she had post-partem anger or something. Like her hormones caused her to become hateful and crazy. Or something.
I don't think it ever left, she was crazy up til she kicked the bucket from crashing into a tree, drunk and on some movie celebrity drug. I was 15 when that happened. We didn't even have a memorial, barely a funeral. She was cremated and put into a plastic bag at the morgue.
I don't know what happened to her ashes after that, thrown in the lake or possibly in a box somewhere. I didn't really bother.
Other than giving me life and a head full of unforgettable memories, my mother didn't bother to do much for me and mostly kept to herself.
By the time I was 9, I was cleaning, cooking, and shopping with whatever my parents threw at me.
I basically became independent when I turned 16. I saved up enough money to buy a shitty motorcycle from my work at Jadies. I started working at Jadies when I was about 11 years old, of course it wasn't legal so under the table it was for me. No one cared and no one reported me working there, a lot of people thought it was odd but everyone knew everyone. The owner that hired me called it a "family business" and he was a distant uncle.
He wasn't. I just lived close and he wanted the extra labor without having to pay minimum wage.
2 years later I was home alone so often for months at a time, CPS was called by a teacher at the middle school and my grandparents had to come back from Arizona to live with me. My mom was off getting high at some hippie retreat again.
My grandparents Louie and Alica were too old to do much other than argue about dumb things and I was already doing everything in the household anyways.
It felt like babysitting a bunch of toddlers.
My dad divorced my mom after the incident at the hospital and said he didn't want to deal with her crazy and he was too much of a coward to fight to take care of a baby so; I was left with her. He tried to come see me when I started middle school but he stopped showing up again after a while and well. I wasn't going to keep my hopes up.
Everything was simple when I started to become used to being alone. I liked it. I enjoy being alone and having freedom to do whatever I want.
I hate worrying about whether he or she is going to be okay. I'm tired of that. I wanted to live my childhood but I couldn't because of them and I've been envious of others for a long time.
I'm constantly told different things and honestly a lot of them I don't care about. My brain has become so fired and I've only just begun.
A year ago I moved towns to live with another guy and go to a different school. My previous one became incredibly underfunded and people. You know those people. A small town usually meant a lot of snobs. A lot of red necks. Closed minded people. A person like me ends up a fat target for every person with an opinion in that town. Let me be outright, I'm gay and have an extreme interest in witch magic, superstitions and I'm a big nerd. I try to dress and act normal in public but inside I have a huge closet filled with nerdy, goth, anime, witchy things that would blow another geek's mind away. My room is covered in rituals and what would look like dark magic from a storybook. I practiced a lot with dark magic and with my blood. It's not as scary as it looks. I find it to be healing.
I have good relationships with the deities and I feel protected.
Most people would freak if they saw the things I've done and experienced.
Chapter two : Creaking floors
My eyes are red and swollen as I swing my luggage up the few stairs onto the porch. My blue beetle bug car still amongst the low fog, its headlights warm the shadows forming against the garage door. My suitcases rattle with each pull; up the steps.
The silence of the night was thick; it felt like I could scream and no one — not even the animals would hear me. I fumble for my old house key hidden under the faded plastic flamingo lawn ornament—a ridiculous piece of trash my grandmother insisted on keeping—and finally get the old rusted lock to click open.
The door groaned a loud, protesting sound, announcing my arrival to the empty house. The air inside hit me—dust, tobacco, and the faint, unmistakable scent of woodsmoke trapped in the old yellowed drapes. It smelled exactly like my childhood, and a wave of homesickness and deep, bone-weary exhaustion washed over me.
I dropped the bags just inside the doorway and kicked the door shut with my foot. Thunk. It echoed in the hallway.The wallpaper peeled and the orange light from outside was just barely about to end. I didn't bother turning on the main lights. The moonlight soon pouring through the thin, lace-covered windows was enough, casting long, distorted shadows of the furniture. Everything was covered in white sheets—ghosts of the life that used to live here.
My grandparents had left everything just as it was when they drove back to Arizona six months ago, after my graduation. They were tired of waiting. Tired of me. They thought I would need this place one day and today is that day.
I pulled out my phone. No signal. Of course. The dark woods always swallowed the radio waves. I didn't mind. I hadn't come here to talk to anyone honestly. I came here for the quiet, for the dense, canopy of trees, and for the kind of isolation that let me breathe. I wanted to find myself again.
I picked up the heaviest suitcase, the one filled with my books, my crystals, my deck of Tarot cards, and the small, leather-bound journal I used for my workings. This wasn't just a visit; it was a retreat. It was time to get back to the old roads and the old ways.
When I moved to the other town and with that guy. That guy was my 21 year old boyfriend at the time— I was 17. Of course it wouldn't last and it didn't. He was too– too-faced. The kind that just gives you a headache. He was a narcissist and selfish but not in a sexy way– like the stubborn but still has a soft spot and selfish for you kinda way. Yeah. He wasn't that way.
He was a creak in the step.
It felt like all these people were a creak in the steps that I tried sneaking away from. The feeling of running my fingers through the peeling yellowed nicotine soaked wallpaper and the grainy texture of the orange sparkled curtains that looked almost curled at the ends from the strings being pulled out; Brought me memories of the sunsets that would lower as I would sit on the couch watching T.V with snacks from Jadies. I thought to myself with a small smile forming at the corners of my mouth.
The smile didn't last. The house was far too quiet, the air too heavy with the past. It felt like the animals were even holding their breath. It was the kind of quiet that amplified every tiny sound—the tick-tick-tick of the refrigerator struggling to keep cold air, the distant hush of the wind moving through the pines outside. And then, there was the creaking.
I walked toward the kitchen, my footsteps barely audible on the covered floor, but the floorboards beneath the sheets still managed to complain. Every third step, a sharp, high-pitched screee would slice through the silence. That wasn't just the house settling; that was the house watching.
I pulled the white sheet off the kitchen counter. A thin layer of grit coated the faded Formica. I needed a glass of water, something to cut through the dryness in my throat. I found an old faded red ceramic mug, chipped near the handle, and filled it at the sink faucet. The water tasted metallic, heavily chlorinated, but I drank it anyway.
As I leaned against the counter, surveying the dusty, familiar room, I remembered the reason I had fled back here in the first place, running from the mess I'd made—or, rather, the mess he'd made, and the way I'd let it break me. The breakup with the narcissist had been messy, public, and had left me feeling hollowed out, like a pumpkin after Halloween. I'd lost my focus, my energy, and worst of all, my connection to the magic. I'd stopped practicing, stopped writing in my journal, stopped feeling the protection of the deities. That kind of spiritual neglect was a dangerous thing for someone like me.
I looked down at my hands. They felt strangely empty. I missed the cool weight of my favorite obsidian pendant, which I'd left at the other guy's place in my rushed departure. It felt like a piece of my shining armor was missing.
A louder, more purposeful CREAK came from the hallway, closer this time, near the front door. I froze, the mug halfway to the sink.
It's the house, I told myself, the wood is expanding.
But it didn't sound like wood. It sounded like a foot shifting weight.
I walked slowly, deliberately, back to the front hall, my eyes scanning the shadows. The moonlight still painted the room in silver and black, highlighting the ghostly furniture. Everything was where it should be.
I reached down and placed my hand on the heaviest suitcase—the one with the books and crystals—and felt a faint, comforting thrum of energy under the leather. Okay. I had my tools.
I took a deep breath, letting the dust and stale tobacco fill my lungs. "It's just the wind, old house," I whispered, mainly to myself.
Then, the sound came again, soft and scratchy, like a fingernail dragging across the lace-covered window pane in the living room. It was definitely not the wind. It was coming from inside the house.
Of course it was coming from inside the house!! Fucking great– I thought to myself.
Should I ask who's there or just grab a knife?
Or both?
I shout with slight panic.
"Who's there?!"
My fingers tremble before having a firm grip on the chef knife taken from the oak holder.
I yell out again
"Is there someone here?!"
Silence.
A slender muscular figure fills the hallway with his hands spread and fingers slightly bent in the air. His hair curly, with a dark chocolate shine.
His eyes are almost blue. A deep sweet gray with blue in the center.
He's much taller — at least 6'5.
I thought I was tall but he seemed to tower over the hallway and. Me.
Then I saw the special features.
"You're a demon!" I almost scream
His horns penetrated the top of his skull but covered by his hair, the deep scaly red spines covered the abnormalities that grew from his large form.
His scaled dragon-like tail swooshed across the floor like that of an alligator or some large reptile.
He stutters to speak but quickly finds his grounding
"You summoned me."
–I summoned a demon?! I think to myself. I might've said it out loud. Or screamed. Not really sure.
My body feels like it's screaming. I've never actually summoned anything and why NOW is it coming to my aid?
"Who are you and why are you here? Do you know why?"
I shutter out, the words and questions mixing.
"I was summoned because you, yes, you, are my mission. I'm meant to fill a hole in your heart so please put the chef knife down."
The demon begs. He almost whimpers.
I almost fluster
"What?? What does that mean?" I manage out
The demon shifts closer, each step seeming like a mile compared to me. His strides are long and –appealing.
There's no doubt that he was in fact— a handsome demon; The kind in sexy dreams or movies.
"It means," the demon sighed, running one of his large, scaled hands through his dark curls,
"that you have been feeling… incomplete. Your practice has slowed and decayed. Your protections have weakened. And there are forces in this town, on these old roads, that have noticed your return along with the decay."
He chuckles lightly, almost bittersweet before taking a breath in and continuing his words
"They've missed you, Val– Valentine Cornwell."
He stopped about two feet from me, the light from the moon catching the subtle metallic sheen on his skin. He didn't seem threatening—not in the way a creature of the fire pit should be. He looked more annoyed, like a highly paid professional who had just been dragged out of a long, pleasant slumber for a nuisance call. But also a bit flirty, tired but still interested I suppose would be the way to describe such a character.
I give a look of confusion–
"I was sent to be your spiritual guardian, your assistant, and, if the contract holds, your… significant other," he finished, the last part he grumbles as if it's just part of the work and a customary pay line to say but never actually happens.
My grip on the knife didn't loosen, but my internal panic was starting to curdle into sheer, dumbfounded bewilderment.
"A contract? I didn't sign a contract," I argued, trying to keep my voice steady. My eyes darted from his unsettlingly beautiful face to the low-grade kitchen knife in my hand.
It felt utterly useless against him.
I loosen my grip and shove it back in the oak holder. –Why bother? I thought.
Kael dropped his hands, crossing them casually over his chest. His posture was so relaxed, so human, that it almost made me doubt the massive, reptilian tail flicking patiently behind him.
Then he let out a soft, almost sweet chuckle that seemed to vibrate in the floorboards.
"Not with blood and quill, human. Not in the way the old stories tell. But your intentions, your focus, your need—that was the binding agent. When you told yourself you needed to 'find yourself again,' when you reached for your books and your working journal, when you felt the absence of your armor… that was the call. A distress signal, if you will, broadcast on a very old,
very private frequency."
He tilted his head, his gray-blue eyes studying me with an unnerving intensity. "My name is Kael, demon of love, passion, protection and the one that helps make sure our mortals stay happy."
Kael flaunts his titles then pouts realizing I had stopped paying attention and more focused on other things. The point was Val wasn't paying attention to him
"Hey, my darling. I'm starvinggg" Kael drags
"Starving?" I repeated dumbly.
"For attention. For the energy of a proper working," he clarified, his lips twitching into a semi-smile that was simultaneously disarming and almost alluring. "Look, I can't exactly protect a powerful witch whose focus is scattered and who is still reeling from a bad break-up Pick one: panic, or plan."
planning was always my preferred coping mechanism.
"Okay, Kael," I said. saying his name– It felt strangely intimate on my tongue. "If you're here to fill a 'hole in my heart,' and act as a 'spiritual guardian,' what exactly does that involve? And why do you look like a rejected, surprisingly hot cover model for a Goth romance novel?"
Kael sighed dramatically, rolling his luminous eyes. "Must you always be so reductive? And to answer your questions: One, it involves whatever you need to get your power back. Protection, focus, energy. Two, this is my preferred form for engagement with mortals in the lower planes; it's universally well-received. And three, the terms of the 'significant other' bit are negotiable, but let's be frank, that part of the contract is mostly just flavor text—unless you want it not to be."
My face flustered red at his last comment. So odd.
"No! No, there's no need for that."
I scuff out with a sigh and attempt to relax.
Chapter three : Demon boy
Valentine has always had the upper hand in most situations and acted as though he never needed help. So a demon– suddenly appearing — telling him that he,val, needed help to stabilize? HE, VAL. No, that could never happen. I'm meant to be Valentine Cornwell, I'm not meant to have these struggles anymore.
I hesitate before inviting Kael into the living room
"Do you want a seat– or um something?"
Not sure what to ask in all honesty, I never usually have guests. Especially here.
"I'm perfectly alright darling. I know my way."
The demon smiles in such a flattering way. It's almost devilish.
"Okay, then sit. And explain," Valentine commanded, walking into the living room and pulling the dust-sheet off the large, floral armchair his grandfather always claimed. He tossed the sheet carelessly aside, watching a cloud of fine dust motes dance in the moonlight.
Kael walked past him, his large form moving with a disconcerting grace. He didn't sit in the armchair. Instead, he took a position leaning against the mantelpiece, his tail coiling around his feet like a patient snake. The movement was a subtle reminder of the danger he represented, even in his 'well-received' form.
"You've been through a kind of spiritual drought, Valentine," Kael began, his voice dropping to a serious, almost academic tone. "A lack of focus is an open invitation. This town, as you rightly know, is ancient. It sits on crossroads, old lay lines. The kind of magic you practice—blood magic, calling on the older deities—leaves an energetic signature. A powerful one. When you left, that signature started to fade, but it didn't disappear."
Valentine folded his arms, leaning against the doorway, skeptical but listening intently. The feeling of utter bewilderment was slowly being replaced by the familiar rush of intellectual curiosity—the one that made him a 'big nerd.'
"When you came back, reeling from the break-up, drained and spiritually unfocused, you were essentially a lit beacon with a broken shield. The things that missed you, as I mentioned, are… local entities. Not demons, necessarily. More like territorial spirits, old hungry things that feed on strong energy. They were drawn to your return and your current vulnerability."
"So I'm being haunted by a bunch of local energy vampires?" Valentine summarized dryly.
Kael gave a look of mild annoyance. "Don't be crude. They are forces of nature responding to an imbalance. And yes, they were actively attempting to gain entry. That screee on the floorboards? That was them testing your wards, finding them weak. The scratching on the window? That was an attempt to manifest."
"And you," Valentine gestured with a quick flick of his chin, "just happened to arrive at the perfect moment to save me?"
Kael chuckled again, the sound like gravel rolling on silk. "I don't 'just happen,' Val. I'm summoned. Your deepest, most desperate, subconscious need for protection and stability broadcast the distress signal. It was a simple transaction of energy. You were giving off so much chaotic need, it opened a door. And I am the response."
"The demon of love and passion," Valentine muttered. "Seems awfully convenient."
"Convenient, but necessary. My role is to re-establish your energetic integrity, reinforce your connection to the deities you work with, and essentially be a visible, powerful deterrent to anything local that wants a taste of the powerful witch who returned home." Kael pushed off the mantelpiece and slowly walked toward Valentine.
"And the 'fill a hole in your heart' part?" Valentine asked, his voice barely a whisper as Kael closed the distance between them.
Kael stopped, his gaze unwavering. "That is the true nature of the contract, Val. Magic works best from a place of wholeness. The break-up left a void—a spiritual wound that is draining your power. I'm here to seal that wound, to help you find that focus and passion again. Whether that 'filling' is done through strictly spiritual work, or if the optional 'significant other' clause is utilized, is entirely up to you. But the healing must happen, or I cannot fulfill the rest of my mission."
He reached out a large, scaled hand and gently touched Valentine's cheek. The scales felt surprisingly cool, not rough, but distinctly non-human.
"Now, how about we start with step one: A warding ritual. And perhaps," Kael's lips curved into that alluring, devilish smile, "a proper meal. Demonic assistance is hungry work."
Part 1. Ritual unfolding
"Since you're here.. And meant to help me; help me unpack and clean the house" Valentines's voice is scratchy and it seems his body aches from the long car ride. His body demanded a rest.
"So bossy, my dear~" The demon says, swaying closer to Val's direction with an almost condescending tone.
"Shut up." Val spurts with annoyance
"Fine, fine. Have it your way princess." Kael grabs 2 of the suitcases and turns to the hallway, a smug face emerges from the corners of his mouth as he walks to Valentine's room.
The room used to be his parents and was the grand master but he ended up moving into the grand when he was much younger due to them never being there.
Kael swung the grand master's door using his elbow to open the door and a smack from his reptile tail. A clunk comes from the suitcase's wheels against the metal rim threshold that divides the rooms beneath the door. —Valentine gives a look of exhaustion. Wondering just when would this nightmare end.
Val grabs the last suitcase, the smallest of the three and his dark purple Jansport backpack. He slides the suitcase over to the door where Kael stood and slips over to the threshold.
"Your room is very. Interesting."
Kael looks over his shoulder after examining the oddities– paintings, large crystals, books upon books upon books, dark, and almost like a gloomy gothic scene of a teenage witch from a movie with starry lights.
Valentine's face grew a little red,
No one ever saw his room so he's never had to hide his things
"Yeah."
"So, —Kael." Valentine crosses his arms and waves his left hand as if he is talking with his hands.
"I guess I should create a protection seal around the house again?"
Val suggests
Kael nods then unzips the dark brown leather suitcase holding candles and various other ritual supplies.
"That would be a start."
Part 2. Ritual unfolding
We begin to set the ground with salt to create a pentagon. The salt is pure and holds protective qualities that seal, summon, and cast. It is the basic symbol for all spellcasting and rituals.
The salt sparkles against the light of the candles lit around the circle. The candles wax spilling over and gluing itself to the floorboards.
I grabbed my grimoire and began to flip through the pages to look for the right protection spell. My front and back cover is dusty, leaving gray speckles on my fingertips as I hold it in my left hand.
"I need Rosemary.. Sage and Lavender."
I point to the writings and little drawings of the herbs.
"Found em." Kael says brightening a smile holding the little plastic bags that held the ingredients.
I begin to read off the latin words once each ingredient was in position
"Domus haec protege" the words gently leaving my lips. I look over to the window that's slowly opening.
A soft wind blows through the window, the moonlight peers in and the trees sway lightly. The forest speaks to me and tells me they're here.
"Hic domus protegetur"
My words begin to echo into the night, it almost doesn't sound like me the further I go on.
"Custodire hanc domum!"
The words echo louder, as if the spirits are yelling.
"Custodire hanc domum!"
"Custodire hanc domum!"
"Custodire hanc domum!"
"Custodire hanc domum!"
The candles flicker and the salt trembles beneath the floorboards.
Silence.
All goes dark,
The candles go out
As if the entire world stopped and everything went blank.
It wasn't working.
The ritual wasn't working.
Something is here.
What sounds like screeching coming towards the right side of my house —to me– begins.
It feels as if it's crawling up my outer skin, the house is my armor.
The screeching is getting louder and louder. Closer.
It's close.
—No doubt, it was most definitely after me.
"Kael?!"
I look back over to Kael. His face was mildly upset, like he was thinking 'shit I have to do this now?'
He drops the bags of herbs and starts for the window. Too late, it was here. The shadow bolts in through the window passing me, just barely passing.
The creature slams Kael against the wall, toppling a few shelves with books over onto the ground. The creature seeming to have itself at Kael's throat, he coughs for air. His chest attempting to expand, he wraps his alligator-like tail around the beast and pries it off of his throat.
The shadowed beast creature was almost in the same category as an invisible man but the beast has a shadow.
Kael throws the shadow beast out of the window like a piece of furniture. Almost ripping the only somewhat decent curtains in the house he manages out the evil beast.