Her cell phone buzzed to an empty room from the nightstand as Selene touched up her eye makeup in the bathroom mirror. She matched an electric blue eyeshadow to the blue highlights streaking through her long dark hair, curled and crimped. More or less satisfied, she tossed her blue eyeshadow stick into one of a half dozen crystal bowls next to the sink.
Selene headed into her living room and took a seat on the floor amongst a pile of brightly patterned cushions. There are candles all around the room for light, a warm yellow contrast against the evening rain outside. Despite the gloom outside, similar warm lights rise all around in the other towering buildings of Chicago’s skyline.
On her small coffee table, incense streamed out of an oblong bowl surrounded by dishes of herbs. The whole room smelled of sage from yesterday’s protection spell. She always casts a fresh spell when bad weather is due.
Before she could settle in, there was a change in the air. Selene felt it before she heard the knock. A shift in the atmosphere, a pulling at the edges of her wards. Selene rose and moved slowly towards the door.
Before she reached it, the latch drew itself undone. The door swung forward into the room.
From the dim hallway, a rain-soaked figure filled the door. Even though his face wasn’t clear, Selene knew it was him. Malachai.
"You weren’t expecting me?" his voice was soft and smooth.
Selene’s feet felt rooted to the ground. She did not step back, but she could not step forward. "I expected no one."
Malachai stepped inside uninvited, and the candles on her table flickered as the drafty hall air came in with him. The candlelight reflected off his wet coat, his teeth, his slicked hair tied back in a short ponytail. Shadows stretched unnaturally.
"You’ve been working on something," he said, glancing at a chalk sigil half-drawn on her hardwood floor. "Something powerful."
Selene folded her arms. "What do you want, Malachai?"
He smiled, slow and deliberate. "You."
She stiffened. "That’s not funny."
"Who’s joking?" He stepped closer. "You have something I want, Selene. Power. More than most. Did you think that no would notice? That I hadn’t noticed?"
Selene’s fingers twitched. A hum of energy built in her palms, a spell forming. "You need to leave."
Malachai sighed. "You won’t win this."
The air imploded.
Selene struck first, hurling a blast of air at him. The windows rattled, papers flew from the table. Malachai dodged with inhuman speed, countering with a shadowy force that wrapped around her throat.
She gasped, clawing at the darkness constricting her windpipe. Malachai advanced, his voice calm. "Y’know, I hate that you make me do this."
Selene wrenched free with a burst of raw energy, sending him stumbling. She reached for the nearest weapon—a silver athame resting on her altar—but Malachai was faster.
The dagger gleamed in his hand. Fine silver, etched with runes. An old blade.
She did not have time to react before he drove it into her ribs.
A sharp, burning pain spread through her body. Selene choked, hands flying to the wound. Malachai held her upright, watching as her magic flickered, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
"Shh," he murmured. "Rest now."
Selene’s vision blurred, her knees buckling. She gripped his coat, nails digging into the fabric. Her lips moved, forming words. A whisper. Or a warning.
Malachai frowned, leaning in. "What? What are you saying, Selene?"
Selene only smirked, blood staining her teeth.
Then she collapsed.
Malachai exhaled slowly, wiping the dagger clean. The rain outside drummed against the windows.
He knelt, pressing two fingers to her cooling wrist. No pulse.
Taking a final look around the apartment, he reached down and unfastened a locket from her neck. It had become tangled in the midst of her hair, soft black and electric blue curling around. Pocketing it, he strode to the door and disappeared into the night.