Chapter 5: The Devil’s Mark

THE DEVIL'S

The Devil's Mark

The morning air was colder than usual, an unseasonable chill that cut through the town of Black Hollow. It carried with it a strange stillness, as if the town itself held its breath. Eleanor awoke feeling as if something heavy was pressing on her chest, though there was no weight. The whispers of the town, Lucian's golden gaze, and the growing number of unexplained deaths haunted her mind like specters.

She dressed quickly and made her way downstairs. Her father was seated at the kitchen table, his head buried in his hands. The sight made her pause. Edward Kane was a strong man, a pillar of Black Hollow who had weathered the worst the town had seen. But now, he looked defeated.

"Father?" Eleanor asked softly.

He raised his head, his eyes bloodshot from sleeplessness. "Another death."

Her stomach dropped. "Who?"

"The cooper's wife. Found in the same way as the others." His voice was heavy with despair. "The town is in chaos, Eleanor. The constable is talking about summoning the bishop, but what can prayers do against this?"

Eleanor's fingers tightened around the back of a chair. Lucian's web was growing, ensnaring more and more lives. The thought of him wandering the town, offering his cursed bargains, made her blood boil.

"I'm going to the cooper's house," she said, her voice firm.

Edward looked up sharply. "No, Eleanor. You've done enough. You've been running yourself ragged trying to help, but this… this is something beyond us."

"Someone has to try," she said, already gathering her satchel. "If we give up now, he'll win."

"Who?" Edward asked, his eyes narrowing.

Eleanor froze, realizing she had said too much. "No one," she said quickly. "I'll be back soon."

Before he could press her further, she slipped out the door.

The cooper's house was on the edge of the market square, its shutters drawn and the door tightly shut. A small crowd had gathered outside, murmuring in hushed tones. They parted as Eleanor approached, their eyes heavy with suspicion and fear.

Inside, the house was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of burnt herbs. The cooper himself, a burly man with a grief-stricken face, sat at the table, his head bowed. On the floor lay the lifeless body of his wife, her face pale and serene, as if she had simply fallen asleep.

Eleanor knelt beside the body, her hands trembling as she examined the woman's features. There was no sign of struggle, no injury or illness that she could discern. But as she leaned closer, she noticed something on the woman's wrist—a faint mark, like a burn.

It was shaped like a crescent moon, jagged and imperfect, as if seared into the skin.

"What is this?" she murmured, tracing the mark with her fingertips.

The cooper looked up, his eyes hollow. "She… she said it was nothing. Just a scratch from the loom. But last night, she said she could hear whispers. Said someone was calling her name."

Eleanor's heart raced. She had seen that mark before—on Margaret Whitlock, though she hadn't thought much of it at the time.

Lucian.

The realization hit her like a blow. He was marking his victims, claiming them as his own.

"Thank you for telling me," she said, rising to her feet. "I'll do everything I can to help."

The cooper nodded numbly, his gaze returning to his wife's lifeless form.

As Eleanor stepped outside, the crowd that had gathered turned to her, their eyes filled with questions and accusations.

"What's happening, Eleanor?" one man demanded. "Why are people dying like this?"

"You're the apothecary's daughter," a woman said. "Surely you know something!"

Eleanor hesitated, her mind racing. She couldn't tell them the truth—not yet. They wouldn't believe her, and even if they did, what could they do against Lucian?

"I'm doing everything I can," she said carefully. "But I need more time."

The crowd murmured in dissatisfaction, but they didn't press her further.

She hurried away, her thoughts spinning. If the crescent mark was Lucian's doing, then he was playing a much larger game than she had realized. She needed answers—answers only he could give.

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the shadows deepened, Eleanor made her way to the forest. The townsfolk had long avoided the woods after dark, whispering of spirits and curses that lingered among the trees. But Eleanor felt no fear. Only anger.

"Lucian!" she called out, her voice echoing through the trees. "I know you can hear me. Show yourself!"

The forest was silent, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the wind.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said, her voice trembling despite her resolve. "If you want me to play your game, then come out and face me!"

A soft laugh drifted through the air, low and mocking.

"Such fire," Lucian said, stepping out from the shadows. His golden eyes gleamed in the dim light, and his smile was as sharp as a blade. "I knew you'd come to me eventually."

Eleanor clenched her fists, resisting the urge to back away. "What are you doing to these people? The deaths, the marks—they're your doing, aren't they?"

Lucian's smile widened. "You catch on quickly. Yes, the marks are mine. A little… signature, if you will. Those who accept my bargains are bound to me, one way or another."

Her stomach churned. "You're killing them."

"I'm fulfilling their wishes," he said smoothly. "It's not my fault if they don't understand the cost."

Eleanor took a step closer, her anger outweighing her fear. "And what about me? Why haven't you tried to mark me?"

Lucian's expression shifted, his smile fading as his gaze darkened. "Because you're different, Eleanor. You intrigue me. Your fire, your determination… I haven't decided what to do with you yet."

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. "You won't win," she said, her voice steady. "I'll find a way to stop you."

Lucian chuckled, the sound low and chilling. "You're welcome to try. But remember this, Eleanor—every choice you make, every step you take, brings you closer to me. And when the time comes, you'll have to decide what you're willing to sacrifice."

With that, he vanished, leaving her alone in the darkness.

Eleanor stood there for a long moment, her fists clenched and her mind racing. Lucian's words were a challenge, a promise of battles yet to come.

She would fight him, no matter the cost. But as she made her way back to the apothecary, she couldn't shake the feeling that Lucian was already one step ahead.

To be continued...