The Devil's Mistress

Chapter 3: The Mark

Night descended upon Hollow Creek like a shroud, the sky black and starless. The town, already steeped in its own strange darkness, seemed to suffocate under the weight of Lilith’s return. She hadn’t ventured into the streets yet. After Henry Blackwood’s visit, she had stayed in the mansion, the black envelope sitting unopened on the parlor table, a silent threat that echoed through the empty rooms.

Lilith paced the floor, her eyes drawn again and again to the envelope, its glossy surface reflecting the flickering firelight. Something about it repelled her, like the feeling you get when you know you're being watched from the shadows. She knew what it represented. Not just the gathering, but a step deeper into whatever had been waiting for her, lurking in Hollow Creek since the night her family had been destroyed.

She stopped in front of the grand mirror that hung over the mantel, her reflection distorted by years of dust and grime. Her fingers twitched at the corner of the envelope, still reluctant to break its seal. She hadn’t told anyone she was back. But then again, she didn’t need to. The town had a way of knowing things before you did.

When she finally forced herself to sit, she opened the envelope with a slow, deliberate motion, the seal breaking with a soft snap that sent a chill through the air. Inside was a single card, black as the envelope, with one word written in elegant silver ink.

Chosen.

Her breath hitched. The word pulsed with an unspoken meaning, and as she stared at it, she felt something tighten around her chest. It wasn’t fear—it was an acknowledgment. She had been drawn back for a reason. But who or what had chosen her? And what role was she meant to play?

A sudden knock on the door shattered the stillness. This time, it wasn’t soft or polite. It was hard, demanding, echoing through the hollow corridors of the mansion. Lilith rose from her seat, the card slipping from her hand and fluttering to the floor as she moved toward the door, her heart pounding with an urgency she couldn’t explain.

She hesitated for only a second before throwing it open.

No one was there.

The street outside was empty, swallowed by the fog. The sharp, cold air crept in, pricking at her skin as she scanned the empty road. But she could feel it—something had been there. Something that had left a presence lingering, watching her, waiting for her next move.

Before she could close the door, her eyes caught something at her feet. A thin, chalky line drawn in a perfect circle on the threshold. Lilith crouched down, her fingers brushing over the pale markings. It wasn’t just a circle—it was a symbol. She recognized it immediately, a sigil she had seen in her family’s old books, something her mother had drawn into the earth during those strange, whispered rituals late at night.

A binding mark.

Someone, or something, was trying to keep her trapped inside the house.

Lilith’s pulse quickened. She could almost hear the whispers again, voices from the past clawing at the edges of her memory. The mark wasn’t there to protect her—it was there to control her. She stood abruptly, her hands shaking as she slammed the door shut. The mansion had always been more than just a house. It was a prison of sorts, a labyrinth of forgotten history, and now, it was clear someone wanted to make sure she stayed inside it.

Turning on her heel, she grabbed the card from the floor and stuffed it into her coat pocket. Whoever had drawn the mark was making their move, but Lilith wouldn’t play their game just yet. She had one card left to play herself, and she wasn’t going to let them win so easily.

Grabbing her coat, she made for the back entrance, slipping out into the garden, where the fog lay thick and low. The air was colder here, and the garden, once lush with creeping vines and flowering plants, was now a wild, twisted jungle of dead branches and overgrown roots. The iron gate at the end of the path stood open, creaking slightly in the wind.

Lilith moved swiftly, her boots sinking into the soft earth as she made her way toward the gate. She could feel the mansion watching her, its looming presence trying to pull her back, but she pushed forward, driven by an instinct she hadn’t realized she still possessed. She needed answers. And there was only one place she could think to go.

The library.

It wasn’t just any library. Hollow Creek’s town library was a relic of the past, tucked away at the far end of the main road, its towering stone structure seemingly forgotten by time. Her family had been involved in its founding—more than involved, actually. The Carvers had donated most of the books that lined its shelves, particularly those that dealt with occult subjects and hidden histories.

If there were clues to what was happening now, they would be buried in the dusty tomes beneath the library’s cracked ceiling.

The streets were eerily empty as Lilith approached the building, its massive stone facade looming ahead. She paused at the entrance, her breath visible in the cold night air, before pushing open the heavy wooden doors. The air inside was thick with the smell of old paper and leather, and the faint glow of candlelight flickered in the distance.

Lilith moved quickly through the aisles, her fingers grazing the spines of the books as she made her way to the back, where the restricted section lay behind an old iron gate. Her family’s collection had been locked away here for years, kept from prying eyes, but she still had the key—another inheritance she hadn’t wanted but couldn’t escape.

The gate groaned open, revealing rows of books covered in dust, their titles barely legible in the dim light. She pulled one from the shelf, its pages yellowed with age, and flipped through it. Symbols, rituals, names—things she hadn’t thought about in years. But one name caught her eye, a name she had tried to forget.

The Mark of the Chosen.

Her stomach twisted. The sigil drawn outside her house, the word on the card—it was all connected. The Chosen were more than just a myth. They were part of the town’s dark history, a bloodline cursed to fulfill ancient promises made long before Hollow Creek had even existed.

And now, it was her turn.

Lilith’s hands shook as she closed the book, her mind racing. Whoever had marked her house knew what they were doing, and they had set a plan in motion that couldn’t be undone easily. The gathering tomorrow wasn’t just a meeting. It was a summons. She wasn’t being asked to come.

She was being demanded.

From the shadows of the library, a figure stepped forward, their presence unnoticed until now. A low voice, dripping with menace, filled the silence.

"You're not ready, Lilith. Not yet."

Lilith whirled around, heart hammering in her chest. The figure remained half-hidden in the gloom, but their eyes gleamed with a knowing darkness.

“Who are you?” Lilith demanded, her voice a sharp edge of fear and defiance.

The figure smiled, stepping into the light just enough for her to see the faint outline of their face—familiar yet distorted, like a reflection in a broken mirror.

“The real question,” the figure whispered, “is who you are.”

The fog outside thickened, pressing against the windows. The clock struck midnight, and the echoes of its chime reverberated through the library like a warning.

Time was running out.