Mom made me go to were clearly a giant waste of time and money. I rub my arms as I remember his crap about demons being real and saying I was one of them. He called me and my family demons for a matter of fact—which is crazy, like new-realms-of-crazy-that-have-never-been-found-yet crazy. It's more likely that the man is a lunatic, and now I'm locked in his basement for the rest of my life.
At least I won't have to go to school again . . .
"Flipping hell, I'm losing the plot," I mutter to myself, crawling to the bars and wrapping my hands around the cold metal. I rest my forehead against it; the cold is relaxing and soothing for a second before I hear footsteps in the distance. The footsteps sound like heavy boots smacking against the stone, each step punctuated by the next until a figure stops outside my cell. It's the same hooded man from outside the church, red eyes and all. Except for this time, he doesn't have any swords in his hands, and he is even creepier as he just stands there.
Maybe I was right about the basement thing after all.
"No messing around or I will be forced to cuff you. The court is waiting for your presence," he remarks, and I realise he isn't the same person from outside the church. This man has an American accent, almost like he is from Tennessee, I suspect. Accents aren’t my strong suit though, so he could be from any state. Handcuffs and a basement . . . yep, I’ve been captured for some cult. That is the only logical explanation. I need to get the hell out of here.
"What's your name?" I ask him.
"I am a guard of hell. We are referred to as Hellers," he tells me as he gets a massive key ring out of his cloak and flips through the keys, the sound of my breathing and the keys banging against each other is the only sound in this place. It's so silent, even the sound of the dripping water is gone now. The Heller finds the right key and pushes it into the lock, clicking it open. The moment it clicks, a wave of red energy flashes across the door, and I step back.
"What was that?" I ask, my hands shaking ever so briefly because it’s easy to believe the Hellers I’ve met are wrong about magic and demons and all that. But seeing it? That is something else.
That was magic.
"It's a demon lock," he replies, not really answering my question because I don't know what a demon lock is.
“Demons are real . . .” I whisper. For a second, all I want to do is laugh as I start to believe the madness. But then it really sinks into my head that this is all real. My parents are demons, and so am I. Why would they never tell me? It doesn’t make any sense.
“Yes. Did you think everyone was lying to you?” he asks. I suspect he is smirking at me from under that hood. "Now walk." He points down the corridor, and I carefully walk past him, keeping his eyes locked on mine. He is looking at me so intently that he doesn't notice as I wrap my hand around the keys and swiftly yank them out of his hand. I curl my other fist and lift it, punching him right in the chest and his gasp, followed by him collapsing means I hit the diaphragm like I wanted to. I lean down and wrap my hands around his neck, putting enough pressure to force him to pass out before I let go and stand back up. I don't bother looking around, knowing that if someone saw me, they would have stopped me by now. I grab the Heller’s feet and drag him into the cage before running outside and shutting the door, the lock automatically engaging. I run down the hallway, passing so many empty cages until I get to a corner. I peek around it, seeing it's empty and there is a door right at the very end. I run as fast as I can down to the door, but a voice makes me stop.
"Alexandria?" my dad's voice drifts to me and I sharply turn, seeing my dad in chains in the cell next to me. Blood pours down his face from deep cuts on his forehead, his hair is sweaty and pushed out of his eyes and