Chapter 4: The River Deal
The streets were quiet when Celeste stepped out of the hospital after visiting her adopted mother again. The usual warmth she felt after seeing her felt fleeting now. Despite the occasional scolding and her over-the-top antics, Mama Tilda had always been her anchor. The earlier birthday prank, the blind date — it was just her way of keeping Celeste tethered to something that felt like family.
Now, Celeste just wanted to get home and crawl into her blanket. The failed blind date with that tall, brooding man — Damian, she'd learned — left her with a bruised sense of pride. He had been icy, closed off, like a man made of marble. The last thing she expected was to be insulted and left alone in a five-star restaurant on her birthday.
But whatever. That was behind her now.
She pulled her coat tighter and opened the ride-hailing app. A black sedan pinged back almost instantly, "Arriving in 2 minutes." Perfect.
When the car arrived, she barely glanced at the plate number — same model, same color, close enough. She slid into the back seat, rubbing her temples and closing her eyes as the car pulled into the night.
It took her several minutes to realize they weren't taking the usual route.
"Uh... I think you missed the turn for Marigold Street," Celeste said gently.
The driver didn't respond.
She opened her eyes fully, her gut tightening. The interior lights were dimmed, and the rearview mirror had been adjusted so she couldn't see the man's face. Panic crept in.
"Sir?" she asked again.
Nothing.
Her hand drifted slowly to her purse to grab her pepper spray — but it was too late.
The car jerked sharply down an abandoned road that led toward the riverside dock. A place that had seen better days. The tires screeched to a stop on loose gravel.
"You're not my driver, are you?" Celeste whispered.
"No," the man said flatly, turning around with a cold grin. "But someone paid a lot to make sure you never reach home tonight."
He pulled out a knife.
Celeste's scream was muffled as he lunged toward her, but instinct took over. She kicked the car door open and scrambled out into the foggy darkness, running toward the riverbank. Her legs felt like jelly. Her lungs burned. Her heart thundered against her ribs.
She knew she couldn't outrun him. The fog swallowed her every step.
But she wasn't the only one watching.
---
High above, perched like a shadow on the city's sleeping heart — the old Danton Clocktower — Damian stood, the wind tugging at his black coat.
He often came here. Not to admire the view, but to listen. Sin left echoes, trails, vibrations. And when desperation called, it always came as a song only demons could hear.
And tonight, he heard it. A scream. Raw. Sharp. Real.
He tilted his head slightly.
It was coming from the east — the river.
A soul ready to make a deal?
He vanished from the tower like wind off a blade.
---
Celeste tripped and fell hard on her side. Her dress tore at the hem as she crawled through the weeds, her hands scraped and bleeding. She turned to see the silhouette of her would-be killer stalking her, a gleam of silver in his hand.
"HELP!" she cried out hoarsely, almost choking on her own breath. "Somebody! Anybody! Please!"
The man closed in. "No one's coming, sweetheart."
Then the fog thickened unnaturally.
Footsteps echoed — not the rushed stomp of a pursuer, but calm... graceful... terrifying.
The attacker froze. "Who's there?"
From the swirling mist, a tall figure emerged dressed in all black — tailored coat, gloves, polished shoes. His face hidden slightly beneath his shadowed hood.
Damian.
Celeste, breathless and shaking, looked up at him like he was an angel.
"Please," she begged, crawling toward him. "Please help me. I—I don't want to die."
Damian stared at her, expression unreadable. Then slowly... he extended his hand.
"I don't do this for free," he said coolly. "If I help you... there's a price."
"What kind of price?" she asked, shivering.
"Your soul. Signed and sealed."
Celeste blinked through her tears, half-believing this was some sick nightmare. "Are you serious?"
His gaze didn't waver.
She reached toward the contract he pulled out — black parchment inked in crimson. Just as her finger neared the dotted line—
The killer, enraged, lunged forward. "Enough games!"
Before anyone could react, he shoved Celeste hard — and she fell backward into the river.
The splash was deafening.
Damian's eyes widened for the first time in years.
She was the target. She was the deal.
He didn't think — he just jumped.
---
Darkness. Water. Thrashing limbs.
Damian reached her easily — too easily, like he'd done this a thousand times. He wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her back to the surface. She coughed violently, spitting up water, her eyes fluttering.
And then she went still in his arms.
Something pulsed through him.
Not the usual pull of a signed soul. This was... different.
He looked at her unconscious face — peaceful, despite what she'd just faced. There was no seal, no signature.
And yet...
He felt it.
A mark. A transfer.
Something he didn't plan for.
His eyes burned red for a moment as the air crackled.
---
The next morning.
Damian stood in his penthouse, shirtless, drenched, staring at his palm. The contract he carried had vanished. The demon seal had moved — but not to him.
It was in her now.
"What... the hell?"
He looked into the mirror.
For the first time in centuries...
He didn't feel whole.